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Chapter Text

August 1976

Sirius sat, stiff-backed and blank-faced, and tried to remember a time he hadn’t hated this house. When having to exist here, with them, didn’t feel like a slow and painful death. Although it was true that, before Hogwarts, he hadn’t resented every waking minute of his existence here as he did now, it hadn’t exactly been sunshine and roses. But back then, he had nothing to compare it to.

On the other side of the table, Regulus picked at his food and didn’t dare meet his gaze. The brothers had hardly exchanged two words the whole summer—a feat made easier by Sirius’ insistence on spending nearly all of the holidays so far in his room. He wouldn’t even be in the house at all, but his mother had expressly forbidden his visiting James as planned, throwing in some painful new wandwork to make sure he understood that she meant it. He dragged himself down to dinner each night, knowing it was either that or starvation, and for the first month or so it had been easier to tune out the endless jibes, the vile bigotry that counted as mealtime conversation to his parents.

He had reached his limits, though, resistance worn down by too much time away from his friends. James had told him to keep his head down, ignore the fuckers and wait for September to roll around. Sound advice, except that keeping his head down was not a sustainable task for Sirius. Last week, he’d called his mother an inbred cesspit of a human being, after one of her rants about impure blood. His father had rewarded this outburst with judicious, merciless use of the ornate gold poker that sat by the fireplace. The bruises on his arms and torso weren’t likely to fade for a while.

But even with his father’s penchant for beatings using a truly innovative variety of objects, once he had started, Sirius couldn’t stop. He could not sit there and just listen passively as they spouted yet more brainless shite, toxic bile that denigrated some of the very best people in Sirius’ life. Surely his silence was as good as his tacit agreement—surely that would make him just as bad as them. And then how was he supposed to look himself in the mirror, to look his friends in the eye? He couldn’t—wouldn’t—do it. So he collected a few bruises, learnt some new curses. A small price to pay, he thought.

“Maybe Durmstrang is the answer after all,” his mother was saying, swirling red wine idly round the glass resting in her palm. Sirius glanced over at her sharply, and she smirked. “Far fewer Mudbloods and half-breeds there. Could be the palate cleanse the boy needs.”

“Could be prudent,” his father agreed mildly.

"What?" He looked between the two of them; they just stared back at him, passive and devoid of anything resembling normal human emotion. "You can't take me out of Hogwarts—"

"Perhaps Durmstrang will get rid of his compulsion to speak when he's not being spoken to," Orion Black noted, voice cold and bored. 

Enough. This was more than enough. Whatever little restraint he'd had left snapped like a twig; fuck manners, fuck keeping his head down. Fuck these people. “I’m not going to that shit-hole,” Sirius snapped, his fork clattering to the table. “You can’t do that.”

“Can’t we?” Walburga raised a sharp brow. “You are not of age yet, dear boy. I rather think we can do what we please.” She sipped her wine. “You would certainly benefit from proper discipline.”

“Discipline won’t change me to the pureblood twat you want it to,” he spat, scraping his chair back. It felt like his heart was going to thump out of his chest, adrenaline ratcheting through his veins. “I’m not going anywhere except back to Hogwarts.”

“With those wretched traitors and scum you call friends—?”

“Oh, why don't you go fuck yourself, mother?”

Regulus, who’d been studiously—and with no small amount of cowardice—staring at his plate so far, snapped his gaze up at this. The brothers shared a look: there’s the catalyst, then.

If Sirius thought that the past few weeks had been bad, he was about to get a lesson in escalation. Because that was when things really went to shit.

“It was a great castle, once.”

Remus glanced up at the ruins, squinting, trying to see what had once been there. He liked castles, liked ruins and history and places with stories, he really did—but this wasn’t new to him. They walked up to the castle ruins every summer—sometimes many times—and had this same conversation. His uncle Meirion had found many years ago that Remus was the only one left of the “young’uns” who would listen to him talk about Llantrisant Castle. Given they had grown up just down the road from it, he couldn’t blame the others for having lost interest. So, while his cousins sunbathed, or rather, lay sprawled on the grass, flicking dried clumps of turf at each other, he did his nephew-ly duty and engaged in conversation. “It’s quite something,” he agreed politely.

“Bloody good spot for defence,” his uncle added, as he always did. “You can practically see all the way to England from up here.”

“Yes,” Remus nodded, looking around him idly. He didn’t say, you’d have to have exceptional eyesight, just felt guilty for letting the snide thought cross his mind. It was too hot for this. “Impressive.”

“We should get down to Cardiff tomorrow,” Meirion pondered, still staring up at the crumbled pillar of ancient rock. “Now that’s a cracking castle.”

“Mm,” Remus agreed.

“Motte and bailey castle,” his uncle shook his head happily. “Marvellous, it is.”

Remus nodded. He was sweating profusely now, even though they’d only left the cottage about fifteen minutes ago. His Muggle cousins never did understand why he wore long sleeves even in the height of summer; these trips were always an exercise in trying to maintain a reasonable body temperature. Still, he liked seeing them, and he knew his mum loved spending time with her sister. If he had to suffer shirt sleeves for a few weeks, well, so be it.

“Da,” a bored voice interrupted what was sure to be further details on Cardiff Castle. “Can we get an ice cream? It’s bloody boiling.”

“Watch that mouth, Bethan,” Meirion frowned, but turned away from the ruins nonetheless. “Or you’ll get nothing but a clip round the ear from your mother.” He looked over at Remus. “Ice cream, lad?”

Remus nodded, falling into step with his uncle as they made their way back down the slope. Bethan and her sister joined them, merrily chatting away about some exploits planned for next week with friends. “Have you seen much of your friends this hols, Rem?” Bethan asked. “Do they live round your way?”

“No, not really…they’re in London, Sheffield, Malmsmead—"

“Where?”

“Don’t interrupt, Ang,” Bethan scolded her sister. “And it’s in Cornwall.”

“Devon,” Remus corrected her. “Exmoor.”

“Well,” Bethan shrugged with a grin, “same thing.”

“They haven’t come up to Hereford then?” Angharad asked. “That sounds dead boring.”

He was used to it by now. He knew that Sirius and James often saw each other in the holidays, and Pete spent most of it working for his father to earn extra pocket money. Last summer, they’d all been invited to James’ for a week, but it fell across the full, and his parents wouldn’t let him go. Besides, he had spent years being used to solitude, and, unlike his friends, he was perfectly capable of losing himself in a book for days on end. So, it was dull by most people’s standards—but it was bearable.

The solitude and distance had also given him some time to sift through his own thoughts. Fifth year had not been without its ups and downs: he felt fairly confident that he’d scraped through the O.W.Ls, at least. But something had shifted amongst their group—Sirius seemed to look at him differently, treat him differently, and he had no idea why. Remus had always prided himself on his ability to keep his crush under lock and key, so he was pretty sure that the changes weren’t because Sirius had cottoned on to his friend’s feelings. That was small comfort though, and had done nothing to quell the riot of questions and hormones that seemed to wash over him every time Sirius so much as glanced his way.

On top of that, Snape had decided that Remus was keeping a secret—which, in fairness, was not incorrect—and had been determined to find out what it was. So far, he’d been unsuccessful, but Remus worried that it was only a matter of time. The boy was clever, as much as James and Sirius would never admit to it, and seemed utterly unwilling to let this drop. A small part of Remus felt like returning to school was going to be akin to walking into a trap of his own making.

But another part of him told him that he thought too much (that part seemed to have the voice of his friends, funnily enough) and to stop worrying. He had hoped that his usual jaunt to his cousins’ in Llantrisant would help do that job.

Evidently, hope was no match for Remus Lupin’s overactive brain.

He shook his head, and gave his little cousin a half-hearted smile. “I’ll be seeing them all again in two weeks anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

The time would go quickly. Maybe he wasn’t in as much of a rush to get back as he’d thought he would be. And at least he was going to be spending a week of that time with family—overheating in long sleeves, maybe, but easy-going company.

Maybe the overheating would shut down his brain. One could dream.

The air in the garden was still. The grass had suffered in the drought, and was now a scratchy yellow rather than its usual lush green. And, although it was hotter than Hades even at six in the evening, it was still marginally cooler outside than it was in the house. That was why Lily had persevered, sitting in the shade of the weeping willow, trying to take in some of the information from her summer reading. Perhaps she shouldn’t have chosen today to try to tackle Advanced Arithmancy.

She normally loved tackling her reading list over the summer break—she soaked up the new learning like a sponge. Her friends usually had to tear her away from studying to meet up in London or Nottingham or wherever had caught their interest this time.

She knew why it was harder this summer. Why everything seemed harder.

Having someone she thought of as her best friend—the boy who had introduced her to magic, who had made her feel part of this hidden world—call her something so deeply, disgustingly awful was enough to send anyone’s mind off-kilter.

She’d been so busy just getting through her exams, and then getting to the end of term, that she hadn’t let herself really face up to what had happened until she returned home. Unsurprisingly, being back in Cokeworth brought up memories of Severus. Memories of what had happened. Memories of the look on his face as he’d spat that word at her. Memories of how her insides had turned to ice at the sound. Memories of how it had taken all of her energy, all of her sense of self-preservation, not to burst into tears right there in front of Potter and Black and half the bloody school. She didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t want to think about it, but it all kept resurfacing over and over, like a stone that refused to sink.

A large part of it was that she felt humiliated. Humiliated, that she had ever thought this person cared about her. That she had put her faith in him, for nothing. That she had defended him, over and over, to her other friends.

And, yes, humiliated to be baited into yet another argument with Potter. Humiliated to be asked out in front of everyone they knew, a joke to him that was not remotely funny to her. Humiliated to think that dating her was just another hilarious prank in a long line of hilarious pranks designed to make others feel small.

She bristled. This wasn’t about him. She couldn’t give a toss if Potter wanted to pretend he fancied her for a cheap laugh. Surely she had more maturity than that.

No, the Potter of it all was easier to push aside. A leopard couldn’t change its spots. It was, as Marlene had delicately phrased it, the ‘M-word’ issue.

You couldn’t be a Muggleborn at Hogwarts without having had that word hurled at you at least once a year. From the likes of Avery and Rosier and Mulciber, it glanced off her now. It was old news. Oh, you think I’m impure scum that should be wiped off the face of the earth? Find me when you get some new material.

Severus calling her that, though…and so easily, too. As if he’d thrown that word out before, used it to cut someone down, to raise himself up. After telling her that her blood didn’t matter, that it wouldn’t matter, that she was just as clever and talented as anyone else.

Breaking news, she thought glumly. People are lying shits.

The one benefit, she supposed, was that she felt hardened to it all now. What had once hurt so acutely, now was simply numb. She didn’t need friends like that. She didn’t need to give him the benefit of the doubt when that word undid everything they had built between them in a mere two syllables.

She sighed and cast the book aside, reaching back to scrape her hair up into a hasty bun. Maybe an errant breeze might offer some relief. Miracles did happen.

“Lil?” A voice called through from the house. “Dinner’s almost ready, love.”

She glanced guiltily at the book now laying on the lawn. At least she still had two weeks to catch up on reading. She just needed to get her head on straight.

“Coming!” she called back.

James had known it was going to be a bad day as soon as he had woken up that morning. A bad day to add to a summer of bad days, frankly. The glorious (if unrelenting) sunshine of the past weeks had shifted into a heavy humidity, the sky an unbroken, flat grey that didn’t seem close to offering rain. The air was thick, ominous almost, and he couldn’t even top up his suntan to make up for the heat. He had already worked his way through everything Devon had to offer that could possibly hold a sixteen-year-old’s interest, and some other things besides. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d marched up Dunkery Beacon, as if maybe this time he’d see something different from the top. Yesterday he’d been bored enough to accompany his mum on a shopping trip to Barnstaple. A shopping trip, something James had long considered the worst kind of outing. And there were still two whole weeks to get through.

He whiled away the day largely through swimming, messing about on his broom, and bothering his parents; by the evening, he was slumped in the living room, a book about Quidditch just barely holding his attention, and wishing something interesting would happen.

Which was when his best friend came tumbling out of the fireplace in a flash of green flames.

“What on earth—” his dad bolted up in his armchair, his copy of the Daily Prophet dropping to the ground. “Is that—?”

“Sirius?” James leapt up, stepping forward just in time to catch the other boy as his knees crumpled beneath him. “Mate, what’s—”

The words left him when his friend managed to straighten up, blinking away ash and clearly trying very hard to focus on James’ face. Sirius was pale, and littered with bruises. He was holding his arm close to his torso in an odd way, as if scared to move it much. His lip was swollen and bleeding.

James hadn’t meant something at this level of interesting.

It took more than an hour for Euphemia to patch him up, and Sirius sat the whole time in silence, staring dully ahead as if he couldn’t see them at all. It was more than a day before he spoke, in fact, simply saying that he wasn’t ever going back home again, and he wouldn’t bother them for long, just needed somewhere as a stop gap. All three Potters had (gently) shouted that idea down at once.

“You don’t need to convince me, sweet,” Euphemia told James at breakfast a few days later. “Even if that awful woman comes here in person, he’s not setting foot back in that house. I won’t allow it.”

He knew that he should’ve felt relieved—he did, sort of—but something was still tugging at his insides, as if a part of him deep down knew that nothing was ever going to be as simple as all that. That even if Sirius now lived with them, even if his parents treated him like a second son, even if he was swaddled in love and kindness and safety, his friend would still not be okay.

James watched him over the next two weeks, feeling as if this boy was someone different, someone he had never quite met before. Sirius had always been prone to moods, to darkness and anger; but usually it sat alongside his bright smile, his warm and generous laugh, his tactile nature that wanted to hug and be hugged and get in people’s personal space, whether they liked it or not.

This Sirius did not seem to want to be particularly close to anyone; he couldn’t seem to smile, or laugh, or joke around with James as he usually did. James hoped, fervently hoped, that returning to Hogwarts might bring his friend some desperately-needed lightness. That it might mean the return of the boy he knew and loved like a brother.

If anything, it made it worse.

Chapter Text

The weather broke over the August bank holiday weekend, in a prime example of typical British luck, and rained all over Lily’s plans to enjoy the end of summer with her parents. Still, it was cooler now, and that was no small mercy.

The first of September dawned overcast and cold. Commuters around King’s Cross had already made the shift to raincoats, clutching brollies as they stepped gratefully on to the station concourse. Lily said goodbye to her parents outside a small café that faced the departures board—they were hurrying off to visit Petunia in her new flat in Vauxhall. Lily didn’t mind heading through the barrier to 9 ¾ on her own: she still got that rush, that same thrill that she had, pushing through at age eleven. But, being alone, she didn’t linger on the platform. It was too crowded to spot anyone she really wanted to talk to, anyway.

A seventh year—Ravenclaw, she thought, although she couldn’t remember his name—gallantly offered to help her get her trunk on board, and after depositing it (and her) in her usual carriage, bade her farewell with a wink. Intriguing. She really should find out his name.

With a contented smile, she sank into a seat by the window to await her friends’ arrivals…and she didn’t have to wait very long at all.

“Look at you,” Lily sighed, as Mary Macdonald dropped in to the seat opposite. “I wish I tanned.”

Mary looked just slightly smug, adjusting her white t-shirt as if it had been even remotely out of place. “Well, three weeks in France will do that,” she replied. “Anyway, don’t be daft, you’re still gorgeous.”

“Pale to the point of translucence,” Lily pointed out, “but thanks.” She looked out the train window at the platform, still crowded with students and their families—if they didn’t hurry up, the train would leave without them. “Have you chatted to many people yet?”

Mary propped her feet up on the cushion next to her friend, stretching out her long legs. “Oh, just Lucy Miller, Tim Hawkins—Dorcas, for a bit, not sure where she got to—ooh!” She straightened, and Lily automatically mirrored her. “Did you hear about Black?”

Lily’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why, what’s he done now?” she asked. “Surely even those prats can’t get in trouble before the Express has even left London.”

“He ran away from home, apparently,” Mary replied with the pleasure of someone in the possession of prime gossip. “Heard a whole gaggle of Slytherins talking about it. He lives at Potter’s now.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I heard Rosier laughing about how Black’s parents had been using Unforgivables on him.”

“Bloody hell,” Lily breathed, and felt a strange sensation, one she’d not experienced before – she actually felt sorry for Sirius Black. “That’s awful…”

“I saw him getting on the train with Potter and Lupin,” Mary added. “He had a face like a smacked arse.”

“Well, I think I would, too, if that had been my summer,” Lily considered.

“The Slytherins are going to have a field day with this,” Mary said, glancing darkly out the window as if Rosier were standing right there. “I hope Black’s learned to practise a bit of restraint, or he’s going to be in detention for fighting within days.”

Lily’s thoughts turned, unbidden, to Severus. This was the sort of news which he would relish hearing. She knew exactly how much he detested the Marauders, and Potter and Black in particular. She’d never said as much to him, but she sensed a large part of it was jealousy. Everything came so easily to the pair—they barely had to put any effort in but still sailed to the top of each class. Plus, in stark contrast to Severus’ utterly miserable home life, they were both from wealthy, loving families. At least, that had been Lily’s impression until about five minutes ago. Apparently, it was just Potter who had devoted parents.

“If you’ve already caught wind of it, the whole school will know by the time we get to Hogwarts,” Lily noted. “Hopefully we’ve got enough considerate classmates to balance out the cretins.”

Mary’s expression clearly showed what she thought of that idea, but any reply was cut short as Marlene McKinnon bounced into the carriage. “There’s my witches!” she crowed happily, a vision in torn jeans and Bowie t-shirt—Lily felt that, if she had been the one wearing that, she would’ve looked like she was trying too hard. Marlene, with her cascade of dark curls and infectious smile, would look good in a bin bag. “Slept late, thought I was going to have to hitchhike up to Scotland.”

“We were about to send out a search party,” Lily teased fondly. “Have you seen Dor?”

“Oh, she’s hobnobbing with her Runes Club cronies,” Marlene waved a hand airily, sinking into the seat next to Mary. “She’ll be along soon.” She rifled through her bag, eventually producing a large bag of mint imperials which she offered round. “Ooh, you’ll never guess what I heard Bertha Jorkins gassing about out there—apparently, Sirius has—”

“Yes,” Mary interrupted, “run away, we know.”

Marlene looked put out for only a moment. “Is it true, then?”

Lily shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s considered polite to go up to someone and ask if it’s true that their family treated them so badly they had to leave.”

Mary turned to Marlene. “You two have always been…” She searched for the right word, and couldn’t find one. “Well, you know. Maybe you could get the real story out of him.”

“What, fuck it out of him, you mean?” Marlene raised an arch eyebrow. “I’ll have you know I haven’t had that man betwixt my thighs since before Christmas. Remember? I’m not a fan of the whole ‘friends with benefits’ situation anymore?”

“Oh yeah,” Mary frowned despondently. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see, then.” She shot Lily a smirk. “I’m sure Potter would tell you anything you wanted to know, Lil…”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Piss off, MacDonald.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen him yet,” Mary laughed, “he normally finds an excuse to wander past our carriage a few times before we’re even out of London.”

“Perhaps being eviscerated by the lake last May has made him change his ways,” Marlene teased.

“Eviscerated,” Lily huffed. “Please.”

“Joking, joking,” Marlene held her hands up in supplication. “Let’s just enjoy the peace, shall we?”

“Besides,” Mary added with a grin, “there’s still hundreds of miles of tracks to go.”

Sirius woke up slowly, the sounds of movement and murmuring filtering in through the closed hangings around his bed. He never used to sleep with them closed. Now, it felt like an almost primal survival instinct—he could not, would not have them seeing him toss and turn every night, thrown sweating and afraid from dreams which always centred on a dark room, the cold fury of his father, his mother’s wand levelled at him, prone on the ancient brocade carpeting, the hiss of crucio once again, the pain as real in his subconscious as it was in actuality barely a month ago. He didn’t want to be seen trying to catch his breath, swiping at his eyes, waiting for the trembling in his hands to subside. Bad enough everyone in this damn castle seemed to know that he was now homeless, family-less; he couldn’t stomach their pity, too.

If night was when fear ran roughshod over his psyche, anger was the over-riding emotion during daylight hours. He’d never exactly been blessed with patience before, but now he found a visceral ferocity, a red-hot grip at his throat always one false step from emerging. Even James, his closest friend, their worst argument never about anything more dramatic than a play during Quidditch, had found himself on the receiving end of a newly vicious temper. Sirius could not have stopped the rage from fighting its way out of him even if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to. He wanted to hammer and punch and hack and scrape at everyone and everything around him until it all faded to nothing. And the kinder they were, the angrier he felt. 

As he lay there, muffled murmurings between Remus and James barely decipherable, he wondered, not for the first time, why it was he felt this way. “So, you’re…free?” Peter had asked on the train, classically wide-eyed and with the expression of someone unsure if they had just stepped on a mine. Sirius had shrugged his reply, fixing his gaze on the blurred countryside rolling past the window. Because the truth of it was, he didn’t feel free. He’d thought that getting out of that place, finally saying I won’t be returning, would be enough—a severing, a clean cut, and he’d feel like his wings could unfurl at last. But somehow, he was still caged, still bent-backed and downcast under his parents’ black thoughts and his own Black name. If this act hadn’t freed him…then what would?

“Pads?” James’ voice was much closer now; he thought that if he reached out, he could probably poke his friend in the ribs. “You’re going to miss breakfast, mate. It’s bacon bap day.”

Sirius did what felt perfectly natural: glared up at the ceiling of his four-poster. Speaking felt like it would be a bridge too far, even if it was only a reply to such an innocuous statement. Silence was one of the weapons he still had control over, could wield like a knife. He wasn’t letting go of it.

There was a pause, then a sigh. “Alright,” James said, and Sirius listened as his footsteps faded across the room, until there was no other sound but his own breathing, and the thudding of his pulse in his ears.

It had come as a surprise to absolutely no one when, at the end of their fifth year, Professor Smythe had announced he was leaving. They hadn’t had a Defence teacher who’d lasted longer than a year: sometimes, this was fine—Remus remembered Professor Lucas of third year with a distinct lack of fondness—but sometimes, it was disappointing. Smythe had been their best Defence professor yet, with an encyclopaedic knowledge of curses, hexes and the dark arts in general, and a kind, fair approach to teaching that endeared him to almost all his students. He’d told them, though, that he’d decided to get back in to curse breaking—the career he’d battled through before teaching—and wished them best of luck with their N.E.W.T.s. Now, sitting in front of their new professor in their first Defence lesson of the year, Remus felt they would need all the luck they could get.

Dumbledore had introduced her at the opening feast, of course, but that had given them little to note apart from Sirius muttering, “at last, a teacher we can fancy”, to the eye rolls of those around him. Professor Merryton had merely nodded her thanks at the head teacher, cast a quick, guarded glance around the great hall, then returned to her glass of pumpkin juice.

Her name, it turned out, was far more cheerful than the woman herself. She was tall and willowy, with blonde hair so pale it was almost silver, scraped back into an unforgiving bun. She had the sort of bone structure that Sirius had lucked into—cheekbones that could cut glass—and piercing blue eyes. These things could have made her beautiful, Remus thought. Instead, the overall effect was of an iceberg in human form: cold, hard, all jagged edges that could maim or murder.

“We will,” she was saying, her voice calm and quiet to the point where they had to lean forward to hear exactly what she was saying, “be ensuring that any gaps in your prior learning are covered in the first month. It will be intense. It will be demanding. I have very high expectations,” she levelled her stare at Remus for a moment, before (thank god) turning it on someone else, “and you will all meet them, come what may.”

He heard Sirius mutter something under his breath behind him, but didn’t dare turn round to look; he felt as if one wrong move might land him in detention.

“My syllabus is formulated to an exacting standard. Complete all work asked of you, work diligently, and you will find N.E.W.T.s a much simpler proposition.” Merryton tapped her wand on the chalkboard, where words immediately appeared—a complicated essay title, by the looks of it, along with a due date mere days away. Remus’ heart sank. “If you have a question, you may find me at the end of our lessons or during office hours. I will only answer academic queries or concerns—not personal ones. I am your teacher. Not your friend.”

Remus wondered which poor, misguided student in the past had made the mistake of considering this woman their friend. Surely no one would make an error that glaring.

“Here is your first assignment,” she gestured to the board, “which will build on our learning today. Make sure you’re paying attention, take careful notes, and this essay will be straightforward."

James leaned ever so slightly towards Remus from his desk to the left of him, and murmured, “I’m not sure an essay can be classed as straightforward when it has the words treatise, metaphysical and Dark-adjacent in the title.”

Remus hummed his agreement, his quill moving as quickly as possible across the parchment in front of him. Hopefully the discussion today would illuminate the matter, because, although he recognised all of the words individually, he had no clue what it meant when they were strung together like this. And he was good at Defence.

Merryon’s words evidently had the desired impact: the whole cohort spent the lesson furiously scribbling notes. For a woman with very few facial expressions, she wasn’t dull to listen to—that, at least, was a relief. By the time the session ended, Remus felt like his brain was over-saturated, but he’d definitely learned something. Whether he could translate it into an essay, well, that was the next challenge.

“Merlin’s sainted arse, that was a lot,” Peter sighed as they trooped out of the classroom, pressing through the crowded corridor to head down to the greenhouses for their last lesson of the day. “She’s going to take one look at my essay and turn me to mincemeat.”

“You haven’t even written it yet, Pete,” James pointed out. “Don’t give up before you’ve started.”

“First wank-worthy teacher we’ve had,” Sirius added, a look on his face like he was daring them to chastise him, “and she turns out to be some kind of ice-queen sadist.”

Remus held back his desired reply. “She’s just a hard taskmaster, that’s all. Nothing we’ve not had before.”

“’Nothing we’ve not had before’?” Peter repeated painfully. “Moony, I sneezed and she looked at me like she was going to garrotte me.”

“That’s what happens when you wipe your nose on your sleeve, mate,” James grinned.

Remus shrugged. “Just try not to make any sudden movements, I’m sure we’ll survive the year.”

Sirius snorted. “’I survived the year in her class.’ High praise indeed.”

They had made it outside by now; it was cooler, the sun having sunk behind the trees, although the sky was still a clear, unending pale blue. Remus looked up, almost against his own will, to seek out the soft glow of the waxing gibbous moon already in the sky. The full was in two days. He hated it when it fell so early in a new school year—it felt like he was starting already on the back foot, already behind on classes, already exhausted.

James caught his stare, and gave him a friendly nudge with his elbow. “At least it’ll be a Thursday,” he said. “You’ll only have to get through Friday and then you can recover all weekend.”

He nodded, a small but grateful smile tugging his lips. “Yeah, true.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Sirius said nonchalantly. “Fuck knows we could do with a night letting off some steam.”

Remus looked over at him, feeling that familiar lump in the pit of his stomach at this sentiment. His friends knew all too well how he hated them making light of it, hated the very implication that him having to turn into a slavering, bloodthirsty monster once a month was a chance to ‘let off steam’. It was thoughtless, it was infuriating, it was painful; it made him feel sub-human, ‘other’, all over again.

But Sirius was going through some things, he reminded himself. Sirius was struggling, and so the filter between his brain and his mouth had taken a sabbatical.

It was only this repeated mantra that stopped him from telling his friend, his close friend, his friend he had had strange, unquantifiable feelings for now for at least two years, to kindly fuck off. Instead, he drew in a deep breath, and marched ahead to the door to greenhouse six, just about hearing Sirius mutter behind him, “what have I done now?”

Not that James would’ve ever admitted as much to anyone, but being friends with Sirius was starting to feel like one of those tedious Ministry admin jobs he’d always been desperate to avoid: thankless, with little renumeration and veering wildly between dull, worrisome and terrifying (the Minister himself was displeased with your filing, or Sirius had disappeared into the Forbidden Forest with a terse “don’t fucking follow me, Prongs”, for example). The stress of trying to gauge his best friend’s moods pressed down on him from every angle—if it wasn’t for Quidditch, a chance to get away for a few hours and lob quaffles with increasing ferocity, he thought he’d have gone mad by now. He’d even written to his mum on the second day back (something he hadn’t even done when he was a firstie, for fuck’s sake), essentially begging for some advice, some heal-all that would fix everything. Her reply had been gentle, loving, and utterly devoid of solutions.

The morning finished with double Charms, and although he was hungry, he took his time sorting his parchment and textbooks as Remus and Peter wandered on. Sirius had decided to skive off lessons that morning; his “I’m charming enough as it is, mate” had been delivered with a smile, but it was a strange one, a mocking smile that James couldn’t look at for long. He had no idea what it was going to take to get the old Sirius back—if it was even possible, at this point—but at this rate, there wouldn’t be anyone left willing to interact with him.

He got up and finally took stock of the world around him. The class had emptied save for Lily Evans, who had been asking Flitwick some earnest-sounding questions. He wondered half-heartedly if she thought he’d engineered this, so that they left the class at the same time. He hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity—even if it was going to be as awkward as all hell.

“Um, hello,” he spoke up, stepping into her line of sight as she turned away from the professor to leave the room. He gestured for her to go through the door first, which she did, shooting him a wary glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to…be a prat or anything.” He paused thoughtfully. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

She let out a world-weary sigh. “What do you want Potter?”

He stopped walking, and somehow, against all odds, she did too; they turned to face each other. James rammed his hands in his pockets, largely to avoid the temptation to touch his hair and give her a chance to accuse him of being a vain idiot yet again. “Look, I…just wanted to apologise.” Surprise flickered across her face, but she stayed quiet. “For, well, lots of things. I know I’ve been a huge—how did you put it?” A smile! Well, a fragment of a smile, but he took it as a victory nonetheless. “’An arrogant toe-rag’?”

She flattened out that hint of a smile, and nodded. “You have been,” she agreed evenly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, almost a little embarrassed by the weight of sincerity in his own voice. “I’m sure it doesn’t mean much, and I’m not expecting forgiveness. I just…wanted you to know that I’m really sorry.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably; he hadn’t thought this far through the whole apology scenario.

She pursed her lips, and for a moment he thought she might be thinking up a fresh new way to call him a twat. But, then: “Thank you.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Um. Of course. Thank you for hearing me out.”

She held his gaze for a second, then looked away. “Well,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Lunch beckons.”

“Ha, um, yes,” he agreed. “I just need to—I’ll see you down there, I mean.”

“Right you are,” she nodded, before beating a hasty retreat down the corridor.

Well. That could’ve gone a lot worse.

Lily had managed to avoid her former best friend for a full week—pretty impressive, she thought, given how many classes they were in together. Marlene, Mary and Dorcas had all stepped up to shield her from having to deal with Severus in any way (including a memorable passing in the corridor when they formed a bubble around her, steering her firmly away by her elbows) and she was eternally, thoroughly grateful for it. That combined with the incident in May having fallen off everyone’s gossip radars—replaced, of course, with Black and his family woes—meant that she had had a rather peaceful, pleasant first week back at Hogwarts.

She had cause to wonder if that was over, though, when Slughorn stood proudly at the front of the class for double Potions and announced a group project to kick off the year. Not only a group project, but a project in a group of three—surely the least useful pedagogical number. Last year, she’d wound up doing a project on Polyjuice potion with Peter Pettigrew and George McMillan: both passably decent potioneers, but any hope for a fair and even spread of workload vanished when they'd discovered a mutual, fervent and abiding obsession with the same much-maligned Quidditch team (the Chesterfield Challengers, apparently bottom of the league every year)—they spent every session discussing their chances against this team or that team, or how so-and-so was recovering from his excruciating groin injury.

They’d passed, of course, but entirely due to Lily’s efforts. Not that she was bitter about that.

But old Sluggy loved a group of three, and especially loved a spell of his own creation which pulled names at random from a pearlescent glass jar, meaning they couldn’t even soften the blow by grouping up with their friends.

“Lily Evans,” he read out with a fond smile. “Ah, a lucky group indeed…and she will be joined by…” A flourish of his wand, and another scrap of parchment appeared. “Sirius Black. Narcissa, of course, a fine potion-maker. Good family stock there.” Lily caught a glimpse of Sirius’ face—if looks could kill—before she looked back over at their teacher. Please, not Severus, repeated through her mind. “And lastly…ah.” Slughorn looked uncertain. “James Potter. Well…I suppose you two will be sensible, won’t you, with N.E.W.T.s and all. And of course, the Potter name, synonymous with potions success and pedigree. Yes, yes, a fine group—one to beat there, I feel!”

Slughorn moved on to the next group, keeping up his running commentary on the compatibility and academic qualities of each pupil—just choosing the groups was going to take most of the first hour, at this rate—while Lily stared down at her parchment. Well, at least it wasn’t Severus; that wish had been granted. And Potter had apologised…still, she wasn’t feeling particularly thrilled at the thought of having to corral those two into doing any work at all just so she could keep up her grades.

As predicted, it was at least forty-five minutes later before Slughorn finished the groups, and then he spent another ten explaining the assignment itself. Finally, the class could get moving, and students shuffled their seats to group round a bench each.

Black slouched on to a stool to Lily’s right, Potter close behind and moving to the space on her left. She wondered how long it was going to take to get them to concentrate on the task at hand—and was surprised, then, when Potter spoke up: “So, an ingredient that interacts differently depending on the potion, producing three different results.” He paused thoughtfully. “Well, we don’t want to go middle of the road with beetle eyes, do we, that’s too obvious.”

Lily blinked. “Oh—yes, I agree.”

“Not sure the potions with valerian sprigs have enough of a marked difference,” he added, flicking through his textbook. She watched with interest as he shot what seemed like an almost nervous glance at his best friend. “Any ideas, Pads?”

Sirius had been staring blankly at the cauldron in front of them, but tore his focus away to look quickly from Potter, to Lily, then back at the cauldron with a shrug. “Lethe river water?”

She didn’t understand the dynamic here: something had obviously changed. But it wasn’t her business, and she wasn’t going to deny she was pleased they were just getting on with their work instead of pratting around like they usually did. “The potions themselves won’t be very interesting for us to make, though, at the practical stage,” she offered. “If we’re doing this, let’s at least make it fun.”

Potter smiled slightly, nodding his agreement. “Very true,” he conceded. “What do you reckon, then?”

“Well, when he told us the focus…my first thought was aconite,” she admitted, pointing down to where she’d even scribbled it in the corner of her parchment followed by three urgent question marks. She didn’t know why she felt sheepish—she certainly wasn’t embarrassed to be good, better even, at Potions than two of the cleverest boys in their year. Maybe it was because she was still getting used to Potter’s personality transplant. He’d apologised, he’d given her space, he hadn’t once heckled her across the common room or made some smart-arse comment in her direction down the dinner table. Apparently he now was hard-working and focused, too. To call it unsettling was putting it mildly. “Then we get quite a lot of differing choices, from healing potions, up against that one which paralyses the drinker, and the ones where it’s used to make someone bend to your will…”

Potter quickly found the page in the textbook for aconite, nodding with enthusiasm. “Christ, yeah, I hadn’t noticed the range of uses before,” he said. “Good shout, Evans.”

“Praise be,” Sirius muttered.

Potter ignored him. “Right, let’s get stuck in, shall we?”

Maybe it was the lingering confusion over not wanting to shout at him, or cast a hex on his unmentionables. But she found herself smiling, just a little, and straightening her parchment with an officious nod. “Yes, let’s.”

James’ first year as Quidditch captain was off to an inauspicious start. After three evenings of try-outs, he’d managed to fill the three gaps on the team, but their first practice together had been…well, not what he had hoped. The new chaser was a fourth-year, Kasim Choudry, an amazing flyer with lightning reflexes—but who flinched when he saw the bludger anywhere near him. They’d ended up spending the last twenty minutes playing Dodge The Bludger in a desperate attempt to get the boy to relax a bit. Given the game had ended with Charlotte Swift limping off to the hospital wing, it was possible that it hadn’t had quite the effect he’d been after.

But he wasn’t one to get disheartened. Or, at least, not for very long.

The others had trudged back up to the castle by the time James had put the equipment away, and so he made his way back alone. The sky had darkened rapidly even since they’d finished practice, and he quickened his pace, knowing that it wouldn’t be too long before he would have to be sneaking back out of the castle and out to the shack.

He wasn’t sure how Sirius was going to behave. If the dog version was going to be anything like him as a human, it could be a long night. He’d tried to have a conversation with his friend about it earlier in the common room while Remus was sleeping—the days leading up to the full always seemed to wear him down—but didn’t get very far. “Relax, Prongs, it’s not like we haven’t done this plenty of times before,” Sirius had said blithely. James doubted that he hadn’t truly understood what he was trying to say, but pushing it wasn’t worth it. He only had so much energy to expend, and he wasn’t going to use it up talking in circles with someone determined to miss the point.

Remus hadn’t said much about it—typical Moony, who’d rather stick his head in a bowl of bubotuber pus than express a strong emotion—but he could tell his friend was struggling. James knew he had his oblivious moments, he was only human; however, even he had noticed a shift in Remus and Sirius’ friendship last year. Neither of them acknowledged it, or even seemed to know what it was themselves. To go from…whatever that had been, to this strange, strained eggshell-parade must have given Moony whiplash. Maybe he should try to talk to him about it. It wasn’t like Pete was going to step in to offer counsel. His talents lay elsewhere.

James made his way up the steps and into the castle, along the dimly-lit hallways back towards the prefect’s bathroom. His promotion to captain meant he now officially had the password, rather than having to pester Moony until he caved and handed it over. Sweaty and covered in mud, all he was interested in now was a hot bath and maybe some of those bubbles that smelled like chocolate eclairs. He was so single-mindedly focused on this prospect, in fact, that he barely noticed someone leaving the bathroom until he walked into them.

“Shit! Sorry, mate,” he stumbled backwards, a ready, apologetic grin on his face—until he saw who it was. Severus Snape was not the sort of person he had ever imagined testing out the bubble bath taps (although, in all fairness, he was vehemently against even thinking of the boy in that context), and yet here he was, swamped in robes too big for him, glaring at James like he’d just insulted his mother.

“Watch where you’re going, Potter,” Snape bit out. “Strutting around like you own the place…”

“Christ, I was just in my own head, it’s not like I did it on purpose,” James’ eyes rolled automatically. “Calm down.” He paused, eyebrows raised, waiting for Snape to shift out of the doorway. “Anyway, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do…”

Snape narrowed his eyes, his hand moving slightly to hover over his pocket—presumably where his wand was. “More schemes with Black and Lupin?” he guessed, voice heavy with malevolence. “Don’t think I’m not on to you.”

James just sighed. “Look. I’m sorry about—well, what happened last summer, and I suppose things that have happened before,” he replied, quite reasonably, in his opinion. It wasn’t like Snape didn’t give as good as he got, or instigate things at random himself. “Let’s have a clean slate, eh? Won’t it be more fun to go round just ignoring each other’s existence instead of trying to get deeper into this strange blood feud? I like a grudge as much as the next person, but, fuck, let’s move on.”

Snape took a step closer, his eyes hooded and dark. “I’m going to find out what you’re all doing,” he hissed. “And then you’ll be sorry.”

Another sigh. Well, nobody could say he hadn’t tried. “Blood feud it is, then,” he said cheerfully, stepping round Snape to get to the bathroom door. “If that’s what you want.”

He considered it personal growth that he hadn’t drawn his wand and hexed the balls off the bloke—in fact, that possibility hadn’t even occurred to him until he’d sunk into the steaming water. Maybe maturity had come for him at last. His mum would be pleased.

When Remus woke, it was with a start; his heart pounded in his chest and he blinked rapidly, letting his eyes adjust to the pitch-black of the room. He wasn’t sure what had woken him—often, so soon after the full, it was either dreams or pain that did it. A quick assessment of his body told him he wasn’t in pain, or at least, no more than he’d been in before he’d gone to bed. Dream it was, then.

He heaved on to his side, propping himself up on his elbow to grope blindly for his watch and his wand on the bedside table. Just gone three in the morning. No wonder he still felt like he’d been run over by a lorry.

It was only as he sank back into his pillows, preparing to switch his busy brain back off, that he noticed a faint, blue-ish glow from under the closed bathroom door. Wand light. He sat up, glancing back towards the other beds, but couldn’t make much of anything out.

Part of him—a large part, the part that was still recovering from his body being ripped out of itself and reformed by force just a day or so ago—wanted to just leave it. Chances were, it was Pete taking a leak. But a small part of him, a tiny sliver, didn’t think it was Pete at all.

He wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep now, was he? His mind had kicked into a higher gear and wouldn’t be satisfied until he did some digging.

His feet found the cold stone floor and he swallowed a shiver, grasping for his frayed but warm dressing gown at the end of his bed. With a whispered lumos, he slowly padded over to the bathroom, pausing for a moment at the threshold. He wasn’t frightened—it wasn’t nearly such a simple emotion as that. He couldn’t put a name on the tangled mess that sat behind his ribs.

He tried the door handle; it opened with its customary creak and he followed the pale blue light of another wand to its source.

Grey eyes, rimmed red, stared back at him.

“Padfoot,” Remus whispered, feeling for all the world like he was shouting into a storm, like he wouldn’t even be heard over the din of his own heartbeat, his anxieties and frustrations and, okay, yes, fear, at seeing Sirius like this. Raw, wounded, beaten down: he was hunched over against the far wall, knuckles white around his wand, toes pressed into the tiled floor like he was scared of being wrenched away. It hurt, to see it. “Are you…why are you on the floor?”

Sirius just looked at him for what felt like hours, looked without really seeing, as if there was a whole other world between them, opaque and bleak. Then, he blinked, and glanced down at himself. “Not sure,” he murmured; his voice scratched and scraped. It sounded like he’d been crying.

Remus took a tentative step forwards, then another. “Are you hurt?” he asked next, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. “Are you okay?”

At that, Sirius let out a huff of air that could have been a laugh, could have been a sob. “I don’t think I am, actually.”

He couldn’t stop himself from closing the gap completely, slipping to the floor next to his friend. Sirius had been touch-averse lately, so he resisted the temptation to reach for his hand, or wrap his arm round his shoulders; instead, he placed his lit wand on the floor, and folded his hands neatly, pointlessly, in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “That was a stupid question.”

Sirius didn’t nod; he wasn’t even sure he’d heard him, until the boy spoke again. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Remus frowned, glancing up at the bathroom door—he was torn between wanting to make the most of the now-rare time alone with Sirius, and desperately wanting James to come in, to help him navigate this extremely choppy water. To help them all find a way through this storm. “I wish I could help,” he said, and was embarrassed by the need in his voice, the way he sounded stripped bare, frantic. “How can I help?”

Sirius shrugged just barely, and wiped at his eyes. “’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Been a shitty friend, haven’t I?”

“It’s fine,” Remus said quickly, hating himself for having thought that many times in the not even two weeks of term so far. “Don’t worry about it. We understand.”

Sirius tilted his head, finally looking at him properly, squinting in the dim light. “You look knackered, Moony,” he noted. “You should go back to bed.”

He pursed his lips. “I will when you do.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, both staring down at the floor: Remus wished, not for the first time, that he had the right words. The right words, in the right order, which could wipe clean the look of quiet, dulled devastation on his friend’s face. But if the words were in there, they were buried under years of coping mechanisms and polite repression and blank lies that covered ugly truths. He felt useless. Small. Ill-equipped.

“Alright,” Sirius breathed, eventually, and pulled himself to his feet. “Bed, then.” He reached to help Remus up, tugging him to standing just a few inches away from him. Remus met his gaze and noted the smallest, saddest smile there. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Remus whispered, and could only exhale when Sirius turned and silently padded out of the room, back to his bed.

It ought to have been a happy occasion - a free period, no professors insisting he pay attention or stop doodling or not roll his eyes when they speak (Slughorn, a grumpy sod even on a good day). Fifth-year-Sirius would've been leaping around like he had springs in his shoes, bothering every single person in the common room who'd dared to try to study.

Sixth-year-Sirius didn't have the energy. Or particularly want the company.

He knew Moony was up there—probably already a few inches into his Defence essay, fingers stained with ink—and usually that was all the impetus he needed. Over the past year or so, he'd felt a growing compulsion to seek out Remus' opinions, to engage him in conversation even if it was only about what, exactly, was his favourite number and why, or which was the best Beatles song and why was it Blackbird? It was as if someone had flicked a switch, ignited a need that he couldn't name or even admit to out loud. Even now, living within the shadows of his mood since the events of the summer, he felt the urge, down in his guts, in the very core of him, to seek Moony out. To draw comfort from him. To be distracted by him. To just…be near him.

But he couldn't seem to move. He just sat, slouched in an alcove in the Transfiguration corridor, staring out the window across from him, thinking about doing something instead of actually doing it.

Part of it, maybe, was that he didn't want to inflict this darkness on his friend. He knew all too well that he wouldn't be able to joke around and chat and act as if everything was perfectly normal—that ability seemed to have vanished from his skillset. At best, he might have sat there, feeling morose, weighing his friend down with sadness and pain until he was suffering just as much. At worst, he would become a bastard again.

That was how James phrased it. "You're being a bastard again," he'd taken to saying, as warmly as he could, when Sirius had thrown out a remark that cut Peter into shreds, or belittled Remus' worries, or any number of prick-ish, bastard-y things that he would normally never think of saying out loud. He knew when he was being a bastard—he felt it rise up inside him like acid, immutable, overwhelming. He didn't need James to act like his moral counsellor—of all fucking people—and he didn't need anyone to excuse him away, either. Hit me, he wanted to shout in Pete's pale, hurt face. Just fucking punch me, you coward!

In a way, it actually made him angrier that they wouldn't lash out at him in return.

So, the alcove it was. The corridor was hardly a public thoroughfare once most students are in lessons; all the better to avoid human interaction. He could sit there, the cool stone leaching the warmth from his body, for as long as he needed to.

Or so he thought.

"If it isn't the runaway reject himself..." He glanced up, finding himself face-to-face with Avery and his usual cluster of suck-ups and idiots. Regulus stood just behind his friend, determinedly avoiding eye contact. "Can't take a curse, I hear."

Sirius stared blankly at him. "Not sure if it counts as rejection if I take myself out of the situation," he replied, quite calmly, he thought. "But don't worry, Avery, words can be very tricky. You'll get there."

The other boy's eyes narrowed. "Thrown your lot in with the traitors and Mudbloods, eh?" he spat. "Reg, how long was it before they burned his useless face off that tapestry of yours?"

Sirius' gaze flickered to his brother; the coward was still staring at the wall. Regulus almost swallowed the words, only just audible. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes!" Avery crowed. "If I was that easily expendable to my family, I'd throw myself off the Astronomy Tower."

"Do it anyway," Sirius suggested. "Do us all a favour."

Avery just smirked. "Poor little rich boy, homeless and alone," he twirled his wand in his hand idly. "I'd keep an eye out if I were you, Black. Won't be long before you find yourself under much worse than mummy's crucio."

Regulus dared to look at his brother then: Sirius just stared back, cold, empty. Why give him the satisfaction—why give any of them that satisfaction—of knowing how this felt like a kick in the teeth? He'd be damned if he gave them that kind of gift.

"Well, thanks for the warning," he replied eventually, boredom weighing down his voice. "I'm trembling in my boots."

Avery raised his wand, about to say something—probably not something particularly intelligent, Sirius thought—but the sound of approaching footsteps halted him. He narrowed his eyes, pocketing his wand again, and glanced back over his shoulder. "C'mon, I've got better things to do than talk to blood traitors and cowards," he told his group of lackeys. "Let's go."

"Great catching up, Reg," Sirius called after them, noting with pleasure how his brother's shoulders stiffened.

The alcove had lost its appeal. The corridor was quiet once more, but now it was the place where his thoughts kept returning, magnetised, to the mental image of his name being burned off the family tree. This is what you wanted, he told himself. This is it.

He hauled himself to his feet, and set off at a trudge back towards Gryffindor Tower.

Those thoughts wouldn't stay in the alcove, though. They were going to linger.

At four o’clock that day, as Lily had been trying to take in the finer details of the Patronus charm—it was coming up soon, she knew it, and she was damned if she was going to fail in front of everyone—Sirius Black found out that it was Alison Tratt’s birthday. Despite the fact that Alison was a fifth year, and someone Lily had only ever heard him refer to as “what’s-her-name with the hair”, by four thirty he was arranging a blow-out party for the common room that night. Given how utterly shirty the boy had been for every lesson she’d shared with him since term started, Lily was somewhat surprised by this turn of events.

At first, she could ignore the preparations—people trooping in and out of the common room, someone struggling to decorate with streamers and a banner—but after dinner, once the alcohol came piling out, she felt she should step in. Remus had been watching the scene unfold with an unreadable look on his face; she knew because she’d twice had to interrupt his lost-in-thought stares to ask his opinion on this wand flick or that word emphasis, and found him with the shutters down behind his eyes each time. “Okay,” she said at last, and he looked round, like he’d only just noticed she was there. “We need to do something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t suggesting we try to stop this?”

“Christ, no, I’m not suicidal,” she cast her book to one side and looked around the room: clusters of younger pupils were studying, or chattering happily, or—most worrying of all—eyeing the firewhiskey with far too much interest. “We need to make sure this is age appropriate, that’s all.” She shot Remus a grin. “Unless you particularly enjoy getting hung, drawn and quartered by McGonagall?”

“Best avoided if possible,” he agreed, and stood up. “I’ll take firsts and seconds, you take thirds and fourths.”

Fifteen minutes later, their prefect-ly duty was done: through careful application of chocolate frogs and fizzing whizbees, they’d managed to bribe everyone in the fourth year or below to stay in their dormitories for the rest of the evening. Sirius had bemoaned the “lack of respect for the lost art of mentorship” on hearing this news. Typical Black.

It turned out to have been for the best, unsurprisingly. By eight, most of the remaining Gryffindors were well on their way to being drunk, and as ten to eleven rolled around (not that she was checking her watch, waiting for a less square time to go to bed), things had really taken a turn.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Black this drunk,” Lily remarked, taking a seat on the sofa next to Remus. He, too, had evidently decided to carry on his earlier task of observing, rather than joining in. “And that’s saying something. Remember the party after Gryffindor-Slytherin last year?”

Remus nodded, but didn’t take his eyes off Sirius, who was now flirting shamelessly with Mary. She, at least, seemed to find the whole thing entertaining if nothing else. “Yes, I’d thought that would be hard to top.”

“And yet…”

“And yet,” he agreed.

“I didn’t realise he even knows Alison,” she added thoughtfully.

“He doesn’t,” Remus replied, and she could hear an edge to his voice. “I think it was a case of, as good an excuse as any.”

“Dulling the pain with booze?” she wondered. “How bourgeois.”

“Terribly plebeian,” he nodded.

“Not drinking yourself into oblivion, then?” she nodded to his bottle of Butterbeer.

He shrugged. “Someone has to make sure nothing gets set on fire.”

“That and it’s a Tuesday?” she smiled.

“Exactly.” He managed a smirk. “I save my binge drinking for weekends.”

“Very wise—”

“Evans!” Somehow, despite only moments ago having been staring down Mary’s top, Sirius appeared in front of them, grinning a rakish grin before sliding himself into the small gap between Lily and the arm of the sofa. From this distance, Lily could see how glassy and bloodshot his eyes were. “You avoiding me?”

She gave him a remarkably patient smile, given the circumstances. “Why would I need to avoid you, Black?”

“Why indeed.” His voice had the slightest slur to it—he was obviously highly skilled at almost holding himself together, even in the face of gallons of booze. “You look fit as anything tonight, did’ya know that?”

She paused, swallowed. On her other side, Remus stilled. She wasn’t entirely sure why this made her feel even more uncomfortable. “Oh. Thanks.”

Sirius reached out to give her thigh a squeeze, a brazen move matched with a brazen smirk. “I’ve got an idea.”

They were drawing attention now. Lily glanced round awkwardly and found herself looking at Potter, staring over at them with a look of great confusion on his face.

She removed his hand gently; he hmphed, then slipped his other arm round her shoulders. “You. Me. Astronomy Tower,” he wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully. “I’ll make you see stars.”

Lily rolled her eyes, and glanced over at Remus for assistance—he seemed to have lost the power of speech, though, and was no help whatsoever. “How about you, a glass of water, and being tucked up in bed?” she suggested lightly.

“Tuck me, baby,” Sirius cackled. “Tuck me all night long.”

“Okay.” Remus had found his voice at last (and not a moment too soon, as far as Lily was concerned), and stood up, reaching for his friend. “Time for some sleep, Pads.”

Although it looked about as easy as hauling a sack of bricks off the sofa, Sirius went willingly enough. “No one has a sense of fucking humour anymore,” Sirius sighed, leaning against Remus heavily. “As if Evans and I…she wishes, eh love?” He leaned back to give her one extremely suggestive wink, before Remus managed to get him over to the dormitory stairs. “You don’t need to put me to bed, you’re not my mother.”

Remus, who had managed to rope in Potter to help, somehow, even though the boy looked shell-shocked, replied calmly, “I’m well aware of that, thanks.”

Lily watched them go, Mary joining her on the sofa. “You okay, Lils?”

“Yeah, fine,” she replied, with a small shake of her head. She managed a smile. “I think that’s our cue for bed, don’t you?”

James came back to himself by the third or fourth step, which was a relief as the stairs were hard enough to drag their drunken friend up even with two of them. Pete seemed to have disappeared, which, Remus thought, was probably a wise decision. Once in the dormitory, Sirius fell into his bed, made an off-colour joke about blow jobs, and promptly fell asleep.

Remus and James stood at the foot of the bed, quiet for a few moments. “He’s…he was plastered,” Remus offered eventually, and chanced a glance at the other boy. He was watching Sirius with a faint frown.

“I know,” he replied, and tore his gaze away to meet Remus’. “It’s fine.”

Remus let out a soft, pained laugh. “It’s not really, though, is it?”

“No,” James agreed sadly, looking back at the snoring figure in front of them. “It’s not.”

Chapter Text

The end of September brought the rain to Hogwarts. Apocalyptic, unrelenting, build-an-ark-and-hope-for-the-best rain. The enchanted ceiling in the great hall spent days a wash of dark, foreboding grey, making every meal a dimly-lit affair.

Breakfast that morning was no exception: the sky was a canopy of murky, purplish clouds, like a series of angry bruises. This seemed to be reflected in the general mood below—subdued, glum students picked at their food, conversation not rousing above a general murmur. The Marauders sat, relatively quiet, at their usual spot in the middle of the table—just far enough from the teachers that they didn’t need to worry about being overheard, but not so close to the doors that they felt like they were eating their meals in a tube station.

“It has to stop raining eventually,” Peter suggested, casting a nervous glance to the ceiling as if afraid he was tempting fate.

“Yes, autumn in the highlands, known for its sunshine and clear skies,” Remus replied, spreading marmalade onto his toast with gusto. Crap weather demanded a thicker layer of spreads. “Never been so glad to have dropped Care of Magical Creatures as I am now.”

“Merlin, don't remind me,” Peter sighed. “I'll be wetter than a haddock’s swimming costume out there in this shite.”

“Well put, Pete,” James smirked, leaning across Sirius to nab the teapot. “Anyway, relax, the lot of you. A bit of rain never hurt anyone.”

“A bit of rain?” Remus asked, shooting his friend a dubious glance. “I’m surprised they haven’t evacuated us to higher ground yet.”

“We do sleep at the top of a ruddy great tower,” Peter reminded him through a mouthful of porridge.

“True…” Remus allowed.

James dropped two lumps of sugar into his tea from an impractical height, watching the splash they made. “Well, that’ll give us some time, when the flood comes, won’t it,” he grinned over at Peter, who grinned back, glowing with the attention. It was true that Sirius’ moods had at least one positive—James’ focus was much more evenly spread. “And by the time it reaches the dorm window, we’ll have transfigured ourselves a boat.”

Remus crunched on his toast, his gaze wandering the great hall as Peter and James discussed what would make the safest vessel in the event of a flood. Further down the Gryffindor table, Lily was deep in conversation with Dorcas, Mary and Marlene—she caught his eye briefly and gave him a smile. He had to admit, he was relieved that tensions seemed to have settled a little between Lily and James: it was exhausting, as a friend of them both, to experience the battles and then have to deal with each of them dissecting it in the aftermath. He’d always thought that if James could just calm down a bit, and if Lily let go of some of her long-held grudges, they’d probably get on like a house on fire. He’d never said as much, of course…he didn’t have a death wish.

Beyond Lily, a pair of staring, sullen eyes caught his attention. Severus Snape managed to make eating poached eggs look menacing; he was hunched over his plate, ignoring those around him and watching Remus with a look of intense distrust. He held the Slytherin’s gaze for a moment, not willing to show that he was unnerved, before returning to his toast.

Any opportunity to dwell on this was interrupted by the arrival of the owls, swooping in with the day’s post. Remus’ mum had sent a letter, asking how the last full went and wishing him luck for the next one, fast-approaching, along with stories of her work at the Muggle post office in their village. There was no mention of his father, not that that was unusual. Hope Lupin tried to only write about pleasant or amusing things in her letters—something which Remus appreciated.

“Bloody hell,” James muttered, frowning as he unfolded his copy of the Daily Prophet. “Look at this…”

Remus leaned over to catch sight of the headline: FOUR DEAD AND TWO MISSING IN DIAGON ATTACK. “Was it…?”

James was already scanning ahead through the article. “Looks like it,” he confirmed grimly. “That creepy snake-skull thing was found over the building.”

Peter looked decidedly anxious. “I thought things had settled down a bit…”

Sirius had been silent up to that point, hunched over a bowl of cornflakes with a blank expression. But at Peter’s statement, he looked up, snorting derisively. “What, did you think these mental cases were just going to decide they don’t want blood supremacy after all and go home to their mummies?”

James glanced first at Peter (who had blushed and returned to his food at this reply), then Sirius. “It has been a while since the last attack,” he pointed out. “Months, I think. You can’t blame a man for hoping for the best.”

“Hoping for the best won’t stop them from killing you,” Sirius replied, and stood up, shoving his bowl to the centre of the table. “This is just the beginning, isn’t it.”

With those ominous words, he stalked out of the great hall; Remus watched him go with that now-familiar weight in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t worry about it, Pete,” he said at last, turning back to his friend. “He’s just…in a bad mood.”

“Again,” Peter sighed, then looked quickly at James. “I mean—”

“You’re not wrong, mate,” James shrugged. “Trust me, I know it’s getting old, being his punching bag.”

Remus tried not to let his expression change, to let his worry or concern shine through. He had long worked at keeping parts of himself back—it was necessary to his survival, after all. He was so used to guarding closely-held secrets that it had become second nature. And he wasn’t sure, but something told him that this wasn't easily ignored, the way he couldn’t detach himself from his worry over his friend, couldn’t seem to drain the deep well of concern that had lingered since September the first, stepping on to the platform and seeing Sirius, blank-eyed and stiff, and knowing that something had changed. Ever since their late-night interaction in the bathroom, Remus had watched, waited, to see if any more fissures would show in Sirius’ armour, if they were approaching the straw that would break the camel’s back. On the tense morning after Alison Tratt’s birthday, watching Sirius mumble an apology to James, Remus had wondered if this was it—him finally opening up, finally starting to come back to himself. He didn’t wonder it for long, of course. Sirius was back to his sullen, sharp-edged self within a few hours. Remus’ anxiety only grew, and he knew it wouldn’t be hard to read between the lines if he let any of it bleed through his sensible veneer. The thought of James and Peter knowing—wondering where it stemmed from, why it seemed so out of proportion to their own worry for Sirius, when he himself could barely explain it—made him feel nauseous.

“I just wish we could help,” Peter was saying, glancing back towards the entrance hall as if he could still see their friend there. Remus loved this about Pete—no matter how much of a prick Sirius was to him, he just wanted to make things okay. He wanted to fix things, to smooth over rough surfaces; he was always on hand with a bar of chocolate and a warm smile the days after the full. “Something has to change, right?”

James nodded, as if he could guarantee that at all. “I think we just need to keep giving it time…”

The trouble was, as far as Remus could tell, time was only making their friend angrier.

It was the sort of day that should have been written off from the start. Lily had woken up late, making it down to breakfast when all that was left was dry toast and a solitary fried egg, its yolk already pierced and run dry, congealed on the plate. An abandoned copy of the Prophet told her that two Muggleborns had been killed in Durham, with what was now being dubbed ‘the dark mark’ seen above the house where their brutalised bodies were found. A hint of a headache at the start of the morning had bloomed into a dull throbbing by lunch. Every professor had issued yet more stacks of homework, and their Arithmancy lesson had been so fiendish that Lambeth Shaw, a Hufflepuff of usually solid constitution, burst into tears trying to solve one of the set problems. The rest of the lesson had been set to a soundtrack of her sniffles while Professor Sindha pretended not to notice. To top it all off, they’d been trying non-verbal spells in double Defence that afternoon, and she’d found herself repeatedly thrown to the floor by Dorcas (who, at least, had the decency to apologise profusely each time.)

This was how she came to be slumped in an armchair near the fire, refusing to let anyone else take control of the record player and staring glumly into the flames. Joni Mitchell may not have been the most modern choice, but she needed to be soothed. This was the third play through Both Sides Now (her favourite), and she was starting to find peace.

That was short-lived: the Marauders trooped in, Sirius loudly asking, “who chose this melancholy shite?”

Lily did not feel that such a stupid question deserved an answer, and so chose to ignore it.

“My mum loves this record.” Remus’ voice lifted her gaze; he sat heavily in the chair opposite her.

“Mine too,” she replied quietly. “It makes me feel like I’m six again, listening to her sing while she makes dinner.”

They sat there for a few moments, Lily losing herself in the words again: and if you care, don’t let them know—don’t give yourself away…

“Dearborn has changed the rota, by the way,” Remus said, a little awkwardly. He stared into the fire, allowing her a moment to watch him. “I know we were scheduled for Wednesday, but I’ve, I’ve got to go home—mum…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she frowned. It didn’t ever seem polite to ask what exactly was wrong with his mother, but she sensed there was a lot more to the story than he would say. Severus had shared some suspicions last year—ludicrous ideas that, admittedly, made sense astronomically if not in any other way. But maybe it was that she didn’t want it to be true—for him, not for herself—that she clung to the notion that her ex-best friend was just resentful and cruel, and the friend in front of her just had a sad, difficult home life that he didn’t like to talk about.

“I’m sorry to mess with the schedule,” he replied. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes like blossoming ink stains. “Anyway. We’re Monday, now, instead.”

“It really doesn’t matter, Rem,” she told him, desperate for him to believe her, so that she could take even a little of the weight off his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it.”

He met her gaze with a small, tired smile. “Thanks.”

Mary and Dorcas joined them soon after, similarly fatigued. “Is it possible that Merryton is trying to kill us?” Mary wondered, stretching her neck with some caution. “Marl obliterated me this afternoon. Cheeky cow, she must’ve been practising her non-verbals in secret.”

“If she’s trying to kill us, she’s taking the long way round,” Lily pointed out. At Mary’s expression, she added, “I won’t rule it out, though.”

“Can’t believe I thought I was working hard last year,” Dorcas sighed. “It feels relentless and it’s only just October.”

“We need something to look forward to,” Lily decided. “Something fun.”

“Not another party,” Remus said darkly.

“No, probably best to keep things dry,” Lily agreed. “But we don’t need booze to have fun!”

“The first Hogsmeade weekend is in a few weeks,” Mary piped up. “We should make the most of it.”

“How? Popping to Scrivenshaft’s for new quills?” Dorcas asked with an arched brow.

“A scavenger hunt.” All heads turned towards the new voice; Lily noticed that Potter looked sheepish rather than the smug she’d expected. “Keeps everyone moving, rings the changes. A bit of healthy competition.”

Mary’s eyes had lit up. “I love scavenger hunts! My church youth club went on one in Weston-Super-Mare a few summers ago. Totally beat the vicar’s son even though he cheated.”

Dorcas fondly stroked Mary’s dark hair. “I love these insights into the Macdonald summers, Mare.”

Mary poked her tongue out. “Shut it, Meadowes.” She turned back to James. “But someone won’t get to play, they’d have to make the treasure list and then they’ve got an unfair advantage.”

Potter sat on the arm of Remus’ chair, slouched back in a way that shouldn’t have looked as cool as it did. “We could adapt Sluggy’s randomiser charm, for objects instead of names,” he suggested. “That way, everyone who wants to can play.”

“You can do that kind of magic?” Lily tried not to sound too doubtful. “That spell is complicated even before you make structural changes…”

Potter raked his hand through his hair—but it came across as nerves rather than arrogance, oddly—and glanced down at Remus, who nodded. “We could do it,” was Potter’s reply. Again, no arrogance—just quiet surety. “That’s if you don’t mind me joining in…”

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter in the slightest. “I say let’s open it up to anyone who fancies it.”

“Are we competing for a prize?” Mary asked, a glint in her eye.

“Eternal glory not good enough for you, Mac?” Potter shot her a grin.

“Eternal glory doesn’t keep me in strawberry lip gloss, Jamie,” she replied with a wink.

“I’m not sure we can stretch to a cash prize,” Lily spoke up, not entirely sure why she wanted to interrupt what was clearly flirting. “But I’m sure we can come up with something worth winning.”

Dorcas beamed. “You’re right Lil—it does help to have something to look forward to.” She leaned back against her friend’s chair comfortably. “I’m going to wipe the floor with the lot of you.”

Potter met Lily’s gaze and gave her a small, almost apologetic smile (although she couldn’t puzzle out why he would feel sorry) before pulling himself up to standing. “Well, I can hear my bed calling,” he said. “Night, all.”

“I’ll come with you,” Remus decided, accepting Potter’s hand to be hauled out of his chair. “See you all in the morning…”

They walked away to a chorus of ‘goodnight’s, and Mary and Dorcas turned to look up at Lily. “Have we rescued the end of your crap day?” Mary asked hopefully.

Lily gave her friends a fond smile. She could always rely on them to rally around her, even if she didn’t really know why she needed it. “You have.”

There was a time, in the not-so-distant past, that James would’ve been thrilled—obnoxiously excited, even—to be meeting Lily Evans in the library. A planned meeting, too, not just chancing across her and pestering her until she stormed off. But, although he was pleased, he was also extremely nervous. She was just barely tolerating him again—he didn’t want to slip up and return them both to a frostier state of relations. The pressure was on.

It wasn’t even that he was anxious about ruining his romantic chances: she’d made her feelings on that front perfectly clear at the lake back in May. Part of his summer of reflection had involved the dawning realisation that, no matter how he felt, it just wasn’t reciprocated. Time to let it go and move on. Easier said than done, of course, but James was nothing if not a trier.

No, it was more a concern about crushing the fragile green shoots of friendship under his clumsy heel. He knew he was not perfect—far from it, in fact—and a tendency to act or speak without thinking was probably at the top of his list of faults. If he wasn’t careful, he’d fuck up any chance of civility between them before they’d really had a chance.

Arriving late probably wasn’t a good start, he was well aware. They’d agreed on ten—late enough to allow a lie-in, not so late as to derail their whole Saturday—and it was now almost quarter past. He had a good excuse though; he’d been trying to locate the third member of their Potions project group.

Sirius was nowhere to be seen. James had even checked the dorm to see if he’d taken the cloak, but it was still safely stowed away in his trunk. Finally, having asked every Gryffindor he’d passed if they’d seen him, he gave up. If Sirius didn’t want to be found, there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

He skidded into the library (earning a vicious look from Madam Pince) and made his way to the tables that were clustered by the far windows, behind the Transfiguration stacks. It was a prime study spot—most students congregated nearer the entrance, so it tended to be quieter, and the windows meant you didn’t miss time passing as you slogged your guts out over this essay or that assigned reading.

He could see the back of Lily’s head, her red hair pulled into a clever plait thing which looked like it would take hours to undo. Not that he had reason to think of loosening her long red locks…He shook that thought right out of his head as he got closer. Her shoulders were tensed, her back ramrod straight, so he knew already he had grovelling to do.

“Sorry, sorry,” he slid into the chair opposite her; her face was stony. “I was trying to find Sirius and time got away from me.”

She pursed her lips. “It’s fine,” she replied, clearly lying. “So Black isn’t coming?”

James shook his head wearily. “Couldn’t find him for love nor money. I suppose we’ll just have to get started without him and hope he turns up.”

Lily sighed, but pushed a heavy book towards him. The gold lettering on the cover had faded so much that the title now read ‘..va…s in …ot..s’.

“Ah, ‘vas in ots’,” James nodded, flipping it open. “A favourite of mine.”

“Advances in Potions,” she said. She didn’t seem able to stop frowning. “It was written in 1856. There’s three chapters on aconite.”

James nodded, pulling a quill and a stack of parchment from his bag. “Seems like a good place to start, then.”

It was at least a minute before she opened another book, presumably still glowering at him for his lateness; they sat in a slightly awkward silence for a while. He had never been very good with silence, though. “Devil’s helmet, queen of poisons,” he noted with a smirk. “Some people had a heck of a time giving aconite nicknames, eh?”

Lily glanced up, and reluctantly replied, “Women’s bane is my personal favourite.”

“Funny, that’s what they call me, too,” he joked, flipping the page. He could tell she was trying not to let herself smile. “I guess we’ll need to include a section about the differences between using fresh and dried…”

She hummed her agreement. “It does seem to have a significant difference on the outcome.” She turned her book so it was angled towards him. “There’s a chapter in here about it being used in Ayurvedic treatments. Slughorn likes stuff like that.”

James shifted into the chair closest to her—better able to see from there, after all—and squinted at the page. “Merlin, yes, he bloody loves a bit of history. Good find.”

She nodded, almost primly, and opened her mouth to speak again—but was not given that opportunity.

“Lily.” They both looked up, finding Severus Snape looming over them; he had his gaze fixed unwaveringly on his former friend, his jaw clenched. Clutched in his arms was a huge tome; the spine read, in thick, black cursive, ‘Detection and Defence Against Dark Beasts’. “I need to speak to you.”

James’ gaze flickered to his study companion, who was now rigid in her chair, a look of utter coldness on her face. “Well, I don’t need to speak to you,” she replied. “We’re busy.”

Snape shifted his stare to James briefly—more of a glare, really—before trying again. “Lily, please. It’s important.”

“I’m not interested,” she told him, voice quiet but firm. “Leave me alone.”

It was excruciating to watch, and a tiny, miniscule part of him almost felt sorry for the other boy. He’d never understood their friendship, couldn’t understand what exactly had bonded them together when she was everything Snape was not—bold, vibrant, effervescent, like a bolt of sunlight breaking cloud cover. That she could have ignored his darker tendencies for so long—pushed aside everything that seemed so completely obvious to James, as if you could just smudge away someone’s hatred for a whole subset of people, make it blur until it faded into the background—was baffling to him. But, as she’d so often pointed out to him, she had never asked for his opinion on her friendship, nor did she need it. So he’d done what any normal boy with a crush would have done: flirted ostentatiously with her while taking out just a few of his frustrations on Snape. Now that he had some distance on it, and just a smattering of maturity, he could see why that had not endeared him to Lily.

“Lily—”

James found he could no longer sit in silence. “If she was any clearer with you, Snape, she’d be a window,” he interrupted cheerfully. “She wants you to piss off.”

Anger flashed in Snape’s eyes. “No one asked you, Potter—”

“He’s right, though,” Lily snapped. “I want you to piss off.” And with that, she turned her whole body so it was pointedly facing away from him, back towards James. She met and held his gaze, fire in her eyes. “Where were we?”

But, although she’d seemed made of iron when Snape was there, as soon as he left, she wilted. She leaned forward, face in her hands. James hesitated, unsure what to do next, unused to her being so vulnerable around him. Merlin knew it would be even easier to fuck things up now—he was determined not to. He was just wracking his brains for something helpful, and not insulting, to say, when she spoke up. “Why won’t he just give up,” she mumbled into her fingers.

“He’s a resilient fellow,” James replied grimly. He watched her a moment. “And I s’pose I can see how losing you as a friend would be hard to accept. But you can’t let him guilt his way back into your good books. Some things can’t be taken back.”

She sighed heavily, still hiding in her hands. “I know…”

He paused, wondering if it would be too weird to put his arm round her. Yes, it probably would—and she might think he was leaping on the opportunity to take advantage of this low moment. He shook his head, knotting his hands on the table in front of him. “Look, Evans…don’t let him get to you. He’s not worth it.”

For a few seconds, he was afraid he’d said the wrong thing—that even though those two had fallen out, her loyalty to her former best friend might still bubble up to the surface. That fear was short lived, though, as she dropped her hands, straightened her back and gave him a nod of agreement. “You’re right. Fuck him,” she said dismissively. “He can take a long walk off a short pier for all I care.”

He let out a burst of laughter at this statement. “That’s the spirit,” he patted her on the arm, unable to hold himself back any longer. “I couldn’t agree more.”

She couldn’t quell her small but fiery smile, holding his gaze for a long moment. “Right,” she said at last, looking back down at the book. “Aconite…”

“Aconite,” he echoed, and wondered why his stomach suddenly felt so wobbly.

He found her in the Owlery. Well, ‘found’ was stretching the truth, but he wasn’t about to admit to her that he’d bothered Macdonald until she’d told him where Marlene had gone. He should’ve expected her to be here, though, knowing her as he did. She wrote to her parents every week, and had an odd, symbiotic relationship with the school owls. They never nipped her on the finger for no reason.

Sirius paused in the doorway, watching her for a moment. She was leaning against the sill, gazing out across the grounds towards the lake. Being Saturday, she was dressed in jeans and a mustard-yellow jumper which hugged her curves and made her dark hair seem an even richer mahogany. The girl knew how to dress her assets, that was for sure, even in casual wear.

“Fancy bumping into you here,” he said at last, and she turned her head quickly, smiling at who she found there. “Communing with the avians again?”

“There are these things called ‘letters’,” she replied with a smirk. “You write stuff down and then send them for someone to read.”

“That’ll never catch on.” He sidled closer, leaning against the sill next to her. “See anything interesting from up here?”

She turned her gaze back out to the stretch of sky. “Not unless you find the giant squid interesting.”

“You know the two of us are old flames,” he replied. “Don’t be jealous.”

She laughed. “I’ll try not to be.” Still staring out across the grounds, she leaned in to nudge his shoulder with hers. “What brings you up here, Black?”

“Fresh air,” was his blithe reply. “And the view, of course.”

She tilted her chin, watched him with a grin. “I’m not going to shag you, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” she echoed. “Don’t you prefer being friends? Much nicer for all involved.”

“Can I point out, to you and the owls,” he replied, “that I never asked for a shag?”

Marlene smirked. “You didn’t need to ask. I can always tell.” She paused, and for the first time he felt a flicker of unease under her gaze, like she could see through the bullshit and right to his blackened, shrivelled heart. “Having sex with me isn’t going to make you any less…angry. Or sad.”

It never used to require this much effort. Sometime in the middle of fourth year, they’d got drunk at a post-Quidditch party and stumbled off together to that tiny alcove behind the Gryffindor reading room that hardly anyone knew was there. After that, all it took was a raise of eyebrows, or a lingering brush of a hand, and one or the other of them could make their intentions perfectly clear. Neither of them wanted a relationship—frankly, it wasn’t worth the effort, as far as Sirius was concerned—but the chemistry they had was too good to write off completely. By late November of fifth year, though, something had changed for both of them. Marlene had told him, gently, as if not to upset him, that she wasn’t interested in this kind of hook-up anymore—that she wanted more, or even just some time on her own, to sort through her “thoughts”, whatever those were. Sirius, for his part, had been relieved; ever since his birthday party, when they had returned to the common room looking pretty debauched after a firewhiskey-fuelled, frantic fuck in a broom cupboard, he’d caught sight of the look on Remus’ face and felt like his stomach dropped out of him. It wasn’t even a look of hurt, necessarily, or of jealousy…more like walls closing in, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he’d swallowed down whatever uncomfortable feeling had arisen, and Sirius knew beyond anything else in the world that he would sooner throw himself out the common room window than be the reason that Moony looked like that. Not that he ever said as much to Marlene, of course—he was happy for her to think that she was the instigator of their ‘break-up’, such as it was. It wasn’t like he could say, “oh, good, yes, I agree, because I have these strange, unnamed feelings about one of my best friends and our rigorous sex is getting in the way of that.”

That would’ve required far too much self-reflection and honesty.

His instinct was to brush it away. “We won’t know if we don’t try,” he pointed out, as lightly as he could.

“Oh, Sirius,” she sighed, and turned her attention back to the grounds. “I hope you’re at least talking to Potter about all this, or Lupin, or Pettigrew…”

“All this,” he repeated with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about, Marls, unless you mean your denial of how hot you find me.”

She was quiet, the only sounds the soft hooting of the owls behind them and the gentle patter of raindrops on the Owlery roof. Then: “I’m sorry about your family, Sirius. You deserve better.”

Did he? That was part of the problem—he wasn’t so sure. “You know how to kill a mood, McKinnon,” was his uncomfortable reply.

She turned, studying his face a moment before she pressed a kind (and clearly platonic) kiss to his cheek. “You know where I am if you want to talk,” she said. She was smiling, but her eyes betrayed sadness, concern. Something he was becoming all too familiar with seeing.

She was gone before he could drum up a smutty reply, and although he wasn’t wild about hanging around in a place that stank of bird faeces, he didn’t make an immediate move to leave too. Leaving here meant wandering alone, or going back to the common room where his friends would edge round him, scared to cut themselves on the serrated blade of his mood. Honestly, he was as fed up with himself as they probably were.

He stared out, watching the distant blur of a figure walking round the lake, pausing every now and then to watch the raindrops ripple across the surface of the water. At least he wasn’t the only lonely bastard here, he thought. That had to be a bonus.

It was as the figure walked round to the near shore that Sirius was able to make out who it was. Snape was clutching a book, turning pages with an almost feverish focus. His stopping wasn’t to watch the rain dance on the water, after all, but to mutter to himself and stare into the middle distance. Sirius watched him, feeling that familiar urge to fuck with the boy—Snape was lucky he was too far away for any kind of decent hex. He’d been itching to dish out a bit of rough justice ever since their run-in after the DADA exam in May—it was only because James had asked him not to that he hadn’t gone after Snape himself. Maybe Snape wasn’t pureblood, but he seemed to have picked up the vocab and pleasantries of the worst of his kind. A bloody good hexing might knock the word Mudblood out of his greasy mouth.

With a sigh, Sirius turned away. Surely the only thing worse than the pity of his friends was standing up here, wasting valuable cognitive function on that miserable, spiteful little shit.

It was a bit of a vicious circle, really, Remus reflected as he hung back at the end of their Defence lesson: he was feeling nervous about having to talk to Merryton, so he’d been distracted for the last twenty minutes of the class, which meant she was probably already irritated with him, which made him feel more nervous. God, what he wouldn’t give to have the nerves of steel James and Sirius seemed to possess. He made a mental note to try to work on that, somehow.

Professor Merryton had wiped the chalkboard clean with a flick of her wand, and was now tidying the papers on her desk, ignoring the chattering students as they left the room. Remus lingered, chewing on the inside of his lower lip, ostensibly waiting for everyone to be gone but also, yes, putting it all off as long as he could. He damn near wet himself when she spoke up: “I presume you are loitering with intent, Lupin?”

“Oh,” he said cleverly, and quickly moved forward, shooting a glance to the door—the last of his peers had finally gone. “Yes. Sorry, professor. It won’t take long.”

She raised her gaze to his, eyes calm and cold and distinctly uninterested. “It will take longer, I suppose, if you never actually get to the point.”

He swallowed. “Yes. Of course. Well, I—that is, Thursday’s double lesson, I—well, I won’t be able to attend, and I know our latest essay is to be handed in then—”

She didn’t remark on him not attending her lesson—Remus assumed that, even if she didn’t know precisely why, she knew she wasn’t supposed to kick up a fuss about it—but merely raised an eyebrow. “I explained when it was set, Lupin. There are no extensions.”

“No, I know,” he agreed quickly, “and I wanted it ready to hand in today, but, um, well—it’s not—” Bloody hell, he felt like he was going to wither and die here, under the impersonal brutality of her stare. “—anyway. I wanted to check if it’s okay if one of my friends hands it in for me.” Not something he had to ask any other professor, but he remembered quite vividly how she had dealt with poor George McMillan a few weeks ago, trying to hand in David Garnet’s essay while he was laid up with the flu. The whole class had shrank back in their seats, and no one dared speak for the rest of the lesson.

She pursed her lips. “And why would that not be acceptable?”

He blinked. “Oh. Well, I thought—George, the other week—”

“McMillan had written it for his friend,” Professor Merryton interrupted. “He didn’t even bother to disguise his handwriting. I assume this essay will be entirely your own work?”

Well, at least her reaction made more sense now, even if it still wasn’t entirely in proportion. He decided not to mention how many times he’d written essays for his friends, or they for him. “Of course, professor.”

“Very well, then,” she gathered the parchment on her desk into her arms, and turned away, already making her way up the small, winding staircase that led to her rooms. “I will look forward to it being handed in on Thursday by one of your classmates.”

He exhaled heavily, managing a quick, “thank you!” before she shut the door behind her and he was left on his own. Again, he wondered at the simple fact of how utterly terrifying this woman was; he felt like he needed a strong drink. Instead of giving in to that instinct, he drew in a slow, steady breath, and made his way out of the classroom—

—where he found Severus Snape, lurking, a darkly pleased look on his face. “Missing classes again, Lupin?” he sneered. “How unusual to know in advance when you will be taken ill.”

Remus worked hard to keep his face impassive, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “I would’ve thought you had better things to do than eavesdrop on your teachers and classmates, Severus,” he replied steadily. “Surely anything would be more interesting.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” The boy’s voice was silky, yet barbed. “I find your monthly exploits very interesting, Lupin. And once I’ve got proof, you’ll be thrown out of this school, along with your reprobate, enabling friends.”

Remus sighed. “Okay,” he agreed, as if he didn’t care, brushing past him to carry on his journey.

But he did care. Of course he did. This was his most shameful secret, the part of himself he despised and feared in equal measure. To think that Snape was closing in on him, could tear apart his whole life, his future—that his peers would stare at him, and be frightened of him, and hate him—was too much to bear.

But when he got back to the common room, and James asked if he was okay, he didn’t tell them what had happened. It felt like admitting it, letting his worry loose, would just invite it to happen even sooner. Far better to push it down. Why change the habit of a lifetime?

At least it meant that Sirius wasn’t the only brooding Marauder in the dorm that night. Misery did love company.

Lily could remember a time when she found the prospect of prefect duty rounds exciting. She’d been so thrilled, the summer before fifth year, to feel the extra, unusual weight to her Hogwarts envelope, knowing what it was and yet still nervous about getting her hopes up. “A prefect!” her mum had smiled. “Our little Lily, a prefect!” She’d put the badge in pride of place on her bedside table for the remaining two weeks of the holidays, and lay on her side, watching it catch the light of her lamp each night before she fell asleep.

The day of her first duty rounds, she’d been almost twitching with eagerness to get started. To march round the castle, to feel in control, to help those who needed it and, yes, scold those who deserved it. If she had the patience, she’d probably have made a good teacher in years to come. For the time being, though, being a prefect was enough.

She was paired with Remus Lupin, who up till that point had just been the least foolish-seeming Marauder. She knew next to nothing about him, apart from the fact that he had a sickly mother, and seemed to get into a surprising number of accidents or fights for such a mild looking chap. They had fallen into step as they set off for their first loop, quiet for a few minutes before he mentioned having seen her reading Jane Eyre in the common room a few days prior, asked her what she thought about the brutality of poor old Helen Burns’ fate, and that was that. They’d been friends ever since.

Now, aged and wise in their sixth year, Lily found prefect rounds much less thrilling. To be honest, they were usually quite dull, and time that could be better spent tackling the piles of homework they’d already accumulated. Professor Merryton had been predictably scathing in her feedback to most of the students on their first essay, and declared another, even more complex essay was needed to make up for it. Professor McGonagall—far and away Lily’s favourite teacher—had started the year reminding them that their very future hung in the balance, and dished out acres of required reading that made Lily, a self-confessed book worm, want to scream into a pillow. And that was even before you got to Slughorn and his delight in adding new requirements to their research project. Every moment spent patrolling the corridors was a moment she could be spending in the library, cramming knowledge into her brain whether it liked it or not.

Alas, the rota did not care how much homework she had.

“So,” she spoke up as they rounded the corner past the prefect’s bathroom and then again, towards North Tower. “Apparently, the broom cupboards on the fourth floor are being put to good use.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, shooting her a smirk. “Is that so?”

“I heard Jones and Elphick complaining about having to fill in more forms about it in the prefect office yesterday,” she confirmed. “Whoever it is has been caught a few times now.”

“You’d think they’d have the common sense to find somewhere else,” he remarked drily. “Are you saying we have to go and make sure no one is being debauched down there?”

“Debauched,” she laughed. “You’re a Mills and Boon come to life, Rem.”

“You say the nicest things.”

“But, yes, I’m afraid that is what I’m saying,” she added. “Once we’ve covered this floor, anyway.” They paused to peer into a classroom, but all was empty, quiet. “Have you ever put the cupboards to good use?”

Even in the dim light from the flickering torches on the wall, she could see that had made him blush, just slightly. “Lily Evans,” he said, his voice put-upon prim. “What exactly are you implying?”

She smirked. “Just trying to dig a bit deeper, uncover the raging currents beneath that placid surface,” she teased. “C’mon, there’s no shame in it.”

“You tell me first, then,” he retorted.

“Fine—the head boy found me and David Garnet snogging in a broom cupboard in fourth year,” she replied, holding her head up high. “It was mortifying and I vowed never to be caught in such a way again.”

Remus laughed, patting her on the back consolingly. “Not to do it, or just not to get caught?” he teased.

“No comment,” she grinned; they turned another corner and set off down a corridor as quiet and dull as the last had been. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

“Oh, I’ve never been caught.”

“Remus Lupin!” She smacked him on the arm. “You must have something to share—you led me on!”

“Maybe I just do all my snogging in more secure places,” he grinned.

“Fine, fine, I won’t pry,” she shot him a begrudging glance. They reached the stairs and started down towards the fourth floor. “Maybe I’ve missed all the gossip with my nose stuck in a textbook, but it feels like things have been quiet on the romance front lately.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “Although, Pete asked Iris Fenwick to Hogsmeade the other day,” he offered. “She said yes and scared him shitless. He wasn’t expecting a yes.”

“They’ll make a cute couple,” she decided. Iris was a quiet, sweet girl, a Hufflepuff through and through; Lily sat next to her in Ancient Runes and they’d long had a tradition of trading bewildered looks each lesson, and trading garbled study notes in the lead-up to an essay. “Good for him for asking. That takes guts.”

Remus shot her a look that she couldn’t quite read. “Yes, it does.”

Now on the fourth floor, they set off past the library—it took all of her inner strength not to suggest stopping in for just a little while – and down the corridor. “Anyone you want to ask out?”

Remus smiled slightly, the edge of discomfort in his eyes. “You are relentless.”

She nudged him gently. “You’re my favourite Gryffindor male, Remus,” she pointed out. “I feel like I have a vested interest in your happiness.”

He hummed his response, along with a dubious glance.

“Besides, I have to offer you a sensible shoulder if you need one,” she added. “It’s not like your other mates are going to be much help, advice-wise.”

“James has his moments,” Remus chuckled. “And Pete, if you catch him just after a meal.”

“If you say so,” Lily replied. They turned another corner, and she held out her arm to stop his path. “This is one of the ones,” she whispered, nodding towards the broom cupboard a few feet away.

“’The ones’?” he repeated, voice at a similar whisper, but with a decidedly mocking tone. “The sex cupboards, you mean?”

She rolled her eyes, and took a few cautious steps forward. “C’mon, let’s see if we can catch someone out,” she hissed. “I haven’t filled in a report form since February! I need a change of pace.”

“This is voyeurism at work,” Remus told her, but followed willingly enough. They paused in front of the cupboard door, sharing a glance. “On three?”

Lily nodded. “One,” she whispered, her hand edging to the door handle. “Two…” On the count of three, she heaved the door open—and found nothing but a few mops, a broom (it would have been disappointing not to have found one, in a broom cupboard) and two buckets.

“Oh my stars,” Remus remarked. “How deeply erotic.”

She sighed, closing the door and setting off again down the corridor. “That’s not the only one, of course,” she said, trying not to sound too hopeful at the possibility that they might still catch some unlucky couple in the act. “Apparently there are five ‘hot spots’.”

The next three of the so-called hot spots were a similar disappointment. The third one had briefly raised her hopes, but what she’d thought was a student was in fact an old robe hanging off the end of a broom. Remus had laughed solidly for the next three minutes after that one.

The laughter had died on his face, though, when they opened the fourth broom cupboard door.

“Oh my god!” A blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who Lily vaguely recognised as being a fifth-year Ravenclaw quickly stood up from where she’d been on her knees in front of Sirius Black. He, for his part, looked unbothered by the interruption and merely buttoned up his trousers.

Lily cast a glance at Remus, but he wouldn’t look back at her. He seemed unwilling to say anything, anyway, so she turned back to the pair: the girl was now frantically trying to button up her blouse, not having noticed that her skirt was still rucked up to show off her bright pink underwear.

Black raked his fingers through his hair and met Lily’s gaze with an insolent one of his own. “Can we help, Evans?”

The absolute brass balls of this boy. She gaped at him for a moment before she recovered. “Merlin, Black! It’s past curfew and you’ve been caught getting a blowie in a cupboard. Do you know what shame even is?”

“Oh, god,” the girl muttered, her cheeks bright red. “Oh, god…”

Lily shot the girl a pitying glance before returning her gaze to Black. “What’s her name?”

Sirius tilted his head thoughtfully. “You know, I’m not sure we’d got that far.”

“It’s Cassie,” the blonde girl said with a hurt frown. “I told you that half an hour ago!”

“Cassie,” Lily sighed. “Get back to your dorm, please. Now.”

She didn’t need to be told twice; avoiding meeting either Lily or Remus’ eyes, she slid past them and hurried off down the corridor, her blouse mis-buttoned and her skirt still in a state. Lily couldn’t blame her for wanting to beat a hasty retreat.

She rounded back on Black. “What in the name of Circe is wrong with you?”

Sirius sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you had an orgasm once in a while, Evans, you’d be less uptight,” he suggested. “Give it a whirl.”

“We’re going to have to report this,” she told him. “McGonagall will have to find out! Don’t you care?”

“Report it all you like,” he shrugged. “Minnie’s already had three conversations with me about lewd behaviour in cupboards.”

Her eyes widened. “You are the one they keep catching?” she asked. “Christ, haven’t you run through all the girls in this castle by now, Black? Trying to shag away the pain?”

Black met her gaze at that, and she almost took a step back: apparently her words had pressed on a bruise, a livid ache. “Get fucked, Evans.”

Remus cleared his throat, and they both turned their heads to look at him. Before, Lily couldn’t read his face—now, he just looked resigned. “Go back to the dorm, Sirius,” he said. His voice carried no humour, no anger: nothing at all. “Now.”

Sirius paused, as if considering a smart-arse reply, then shrugged. “Yes, sir,” he replied, and shouldered past them to head off at a purposely-slow saunter.

They stood there, watching him go until he had disappeared round the corner. Lily closed the cupboard door again, quietly, as if any louder a noise would shatter the fragile peace that had descended. She looked up at her friend, and felt a strong urge to hug him. She resisted.

Remus blinked, and pulled his gaze away from where they had last seen Sirius. “Well,” he said, and didn’t seem sure of what to follow it with.

“Well,” she agreed. A pause, then she gently looped her arm through his, and guided them away, back onto their duty route. “Mystery solved, eh?”

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “I suppose it is.”

Sirius had strolled back into the dorm as if he’d only been gone for five minutes, rather than disappearing with a dark look on his face just after dinner, and went to lounge on his bed. James was working up the courage to ask him what he’d been up to all evening when Remus returned from prefect rounds.

“Alright Moony?” James said, relieved to have someone else to talk to (Pete having fallen asleep at least an hour ago). “Have fun protecting the castle from ne’er-do-wells?”

Remus had an odd sort of look on his face as he met James’ gaze, and glanced behind him at Sirius for a moment. “Ne’er-do-wells is right,” he said, unknotting his tie.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Sirius piped up; James turned to see he’d abandoned his quidditch magazine and was looking mutinous. “So you found me getting sucked off in a cupboard, hardly worth getting your knickers in a twist about-"

“Wait, what?” James’ eyes widened. “That’s where you’ve been gone this evening?”

“He’s making quite the name for himself,” Remus replied, voice steady and calm.

Sirius heaved a put-upon sigh. “You should try it yourself, Moony, loosen up a bit.”

Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say—Sirius’ specialty, lately—because Remus climbed into his bed and quietly, firmly, pulled the hangings closed.

James turned back to his best friend, eyebrows raised. “So you’ve had a fun evening, then?” he asked after a short pause. “Because you might want to tell that to your face, mate.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, laying back down again. “Well, they did interrupt at a rather crucial moment, so…”

James got up, crossing the short space between their beds and climbing on to the end of his mattress. Normally, this was not something unusual, but as he did it, he realised they hadn’t done anything close to this all term so far—Sirius always had his hangings closed, or at least his emotional walls up. Well, fuck it. He was not against running into walls if needed. “What is this about, Pads?” he asked, lowering his voice. “I know things aren’t….easy. Since…” He exhaled heavily. “But it feels like it’s got even worse lately.”

For a long few moments, he wondered if Sirius was even going to answer. The boy was staring down at a small hole in the toe of his socks, as if he hadn’t heard him at all. Then: “She blasted me off the tapestry.”

James frowned. “The what?”

His friend looked up, his gaze measured, controlled. “The family tree tapestry.”

Sirius had told him about the family tree tapestry a few years ago, and he’d slotted it away along with the other “okay, that’s barmy” facts he’d gleaned about the Black family. Not to say he didn’t have a family tree too—it just wasn’t embroidered with the finest silks and golden threads. No, the Potter family tree was on a worn old piece of parchment, folded and unfolded so many times that parts of the tree were near impossible to read anymore. Once, he’d pointed out “——ius Potter, 1723-1745” and asked his dad if he knew who it was. “Crikey, no,” was Fleamont’s reply. “And in the 1700s, the Potters had a sort of ad hoc competition going to see who could most startle the Wizarding Baby Registry, so the name really could have been anything.” Another family member lost to the obscurity of the folds of paper.

And they didn’t hang the thing on the ruddy wall. They did the normal thing and left it in the top drawer of the old filing cabinet in his dad’s study, sitting alongside Euphemia’s Muggle driving license (“it was more about proving to your father that I could, dear, rather than because I thought I’d actually use it”), the deeds to the house, and a ratty old card folder labelled JAMIE in bold letters. That folder was retrieved more often than the family tree, actually, brought out to add to or to embarrass him when his friends were over. It held such treasures as some crayon-ed masterpieces from his tender youth, various photos deemed too random to be on display, and every letter he’d ever written them from Hogwarts (the shortest of which read: “McG floo-ing you tomorrow. Please remember that truth is a highly subjective art, and water damage is actually quite easily fixed. Love, James. P.S. can you owl me some more cash? I’ve run out and owe Sirius five galleons on a completely unrelated bet.”)

James shook his head. “Did they write to you to tell you that?” he asked. He wouldn’t put it past Sirius’ parents to be that vindictive. “When did you find out?”

“No, Reg told me,” he replied. “Well, he told Avery, who was reminding me how expendable I am.”

James automatically rolled his eyes. “He’s a prick and you know that—wait,” he paused. “When did this happen?”

At this, Sirius looked down at his socks again. “Last week. Before the party.”

Ah. Well, that made more sense now. He’d known it wasn’t a sudden interest in Alison Tratt (who, two days later, had approached Sirius to warmly thank him for the party and had received a, “I’m sorry, have we met?” in reply). And Sirius’ determined efforts to get absolutely trollied that evening made sense, now, too. “I wish you’d told me.”

Sirius shrugged. “Wouldn’t have made a difference.”

“Yes it would,” James replied stubbornly. “A problem shared is a problem halved, as my mum says.”

Sirius glanced up, raising his eyebrows. “It’s not a big issue,” he tried instead. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you now…”

“Look,” James reached to pat his hand. “There are better ways to handle things, mate. Talk to us, instead of going off and…I dunno, breaking more girls’ hearts.”

“How is it breaking—”

“You know very well how, Pads,” he pointed out, sternly but gently. “They want the Sirius Black as their boyfriend, not for a quickie in a cupboard.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Sirius replied, but he did have the decency to look a bit embarrassed. “But…I take your point.”

“Keeping it all in clearly isn’t helping,” James added. “So…let it out.”

Sirius didn’t look so sure, but nodded nonetheless. He didn’t say anything for a minute, just stared down at James’ hand on his. “Time for sleep, I think,” he murmured at last.

James let go and stood up, knowing a brush-off when he saw one. “Yeah. Get some rest, mate. See you in the morning.”

“Night,” Sirius murmured, and pulled his hangings shut tight.

James stood there for a moment or two, in the dim light, and hoped desperately that maybe they’d finally turned a corner.

That hope remained, a gentle flicker of light, for just over a day. But then it was the full, Sirius woke up in a foul mood, and wound up in detention that afternoon with McGonagall.

And James naively thought that was the worst the day could get.

Sirius idled along the corridor, hands in his pockets. His detention had finished just as the clock struck nine o’clock, although McGonagall had added another lecture to her repertoire as he tidied away the Transfiguration tests she’d had him marking, which meant that it was closer to half past by the time he got out. All this fuss over a bit of light swearing. (Or, as James had framed it, “Pads, you dropped a see-you-next-Tuesday on Avery in front of a teacher—what did you expect?” Fair enough, although Avery had fully deserved the epithet.)

He knew James and Pete would be waiting for him in the dorm, ready to head out to the shack. Remus didn’t like them being there for the actual transformation, so they tended to sneak out under the cloak, transform in the tunnel, and find Moony waiting, already tearing the place apart looking for his pack. Sirius was fine with this arrangement, although it did tug at him inside that their friend had to experience that excruciating pain, that vicious pulling apart of his whole body, all on his own. Still, there was no reasoning with Remus when it came to the full. Better to go along with his way of doing things than change anything and risk his wrath when he woke up the next day.

Still, he didn’t hurry. He was feeling irritable this evening, a bit raw, to be honest. His sleep the night before had been plagued with nightmares, his mother standing over him, his father raising his wand, his brother watching, muted and useless, as pain spread through his body like a wave. He had woken several times, struggling to catch his breath, but every time he went back to sleep, he returned to that dream. By morning, he was exhausted and furious, and worst of all—sad. The sadness only made him more angry, because he couldn’t explain why he felt so low. It wasn’t as if he missed his parents, or wanted to return home. His mind was a mess.

And so, he ambled along, feeling that if he was irritated, then James and Pete should be, too. Perfectly reasonable.

As he rounded a corner, a figure stepped out from the shadows that shrouded the walls. Sirius flinched, surprised at this reaction in himself—then narrowed his eyes when he saw who it was. “I can understand the urge to hide in the dark with a face like yours,” he told Snape, “not that it isn’t a delight to see you, Snivellus.”

Snape’s lip curled. He did not move out of Sirius’s path. “Big night for your lot, isn’t it?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be hurrying along to your half-breed friend?”

If Sirius was surprised to find that Snape had even the inkling of a clue about Remus, he didn’t let it show on his face. Years of Black family training had helped him there. “Shouldn’t you be licking the arse of someone bigger and uglier than you?” he replied lightly. “Mulciber looks the type to protect others for ‘favours’, if you’re any good on your knees.”

Snape scowled. “I don’t need protection.”

“No, I suppose you’re in with those cretins already, aren’t you?” Sirius twirled his wand idly round his fingers. “I’ve seen you trailing after my baby brother plenty of times. I ‘spose they don’t have to be bigger and uglier, do they? As long as they’re pure enough.”

Snape stepped closer. “Oh, the things your brother has told us,” he hissed. “You can pretend to be the big I Am around here, Black, but we know the truth.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “If you say so—”

“How you cried and cried for mercy under the cruciatus,” Snape interrupted, voice dark, cruel. “How much of a colossal disappointment their oldest son and heir was. Beatings with a poker, was it? Regulus said the bruises would last a long time.”

Sirius bristled, jaw tensing. That his coward of a brother would tell his friends—Sirius’ enemies—the intimate details of some of the worst weeks of his life was like being back in that house again. Betrayed, beaten down. “Fuck off, Snape,” he snapped.

Snape clearly saw that he’d found his weak spot. “Pathetic, traipsing around school like you own the place when you’re nothing but a weak, broken-down traitor who consorts with dangerous beasts—”

“Merlin, you are obsessed, aren’t you?” Sirius bit out. “Is it because you have no real friends of your own, Snape? Can’t leave mine alone?”

“I know how you sneak out every month,” Snape scowled. “I know you’re protecting that pathetic monster of a friend—”

“Oh, Christ’s sake, don’t you get tired of your own whining voice?” Sirius asked. He knew the anger, the frustration, was now clear in his voice—no use trying to pretend he hadn’t been got at. “If you’re so fucking curious, why don’t you nip down to the Whomping Willow and bash that huge nose on the knot, see where that gets you?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, and a glint of something flashed in his eyes. “What?”

“Or better yet, why don’t you crawl back into whatever hole you came out of and leave the rest of us to enjoy a world without your ridiculous face in it?” Sirius barged past him, and was half-way down the corridor before he realised that he’d had the last word—most unusual—and glanced back.

Snape was already gone.

Chapter Text

“Mummy?”

The witch sighed, blinking from her sleep, and rolled over to find her son next to her bed. His blonde hair and pale face caught the moonlight that drifted in through the window—she had been too tired to close the curtains before falling into bed that night. Another long day, and her husband away on business. Exhaustion easily took over on days like that. “What is it, my lovely?” she asked, fighting off a yawn.

His eyes were wide, frightened. “The screaming,” he murmured, “it woke me up.”

Screaming? She frowned, sitting up, and was about to ask him what he meant when a sound—a shriek, a howl—cut through the night, and his small body tensed. “Oh, darling,” she said, and reached for him; he gladly hurried into her arms, burrowing under the duvet, protected from the noise by his mother’s embrace. “It’s okay. It’s just the Shack, remember?”

He nodded, voice muffled against her nightgown. “Just the ghosts, mummy?”

She let her gaze drift to the window again. The last time it had been bad enough to wake her son, he’d been only three. Now, nearing his fifth birthday, she knew that some explanations didn’t cut it anymore. But truthfully, what else could she say? That their home, the place they should feel safest, sometimes felt like the least safe place in the world? That Hogsmeade was home to such furious, distressed apparitions that it made it near impossible to sell their cottage and find somewhere quieter? Apparently, the quietening of the spectres over the past year or so had been something they should not have taken for granted. Maybe, despite everything they told their son, there really was something to fear in this dark, cold corner of the highlands.

That howl, again. She felt an icy wash of fear down her spine.

“Just the ghosts,” she whispered, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “Nothing to be scared of…”

James had led a charmed life, really. His parents adored him, he wanted for nothing, he had a group of friends who would do anything for him and who he would protect and support till his dying day. He was clever, and bright, and charismatic. For many years, he thought the scariest thing to happen to him was when he wandered away from his parents in Diagon Alley aged six and couldn’t find them again for twenty minutes.

But in all his sixteen years of charmed existence, he hadn’t truly known fear. Not until now.

A branch swiped at him, catching his cheek, drawing blood, but Severus did not care. All he could think was that he was so close, now, that finally the pendulum was swinging his way and he was not going to miss his chance to see those—those cretins, those bullying bastards get what was coming to them.

The knot performed as Black had suggested it would. Wildly-waving branches stilled, and he crept closer, seeing the gaping mouth of a tunnel that had previously been disguised behind the movement of the tree.

The tunnel was dark, silent but for his own footsteps. It crossed his mind that maybe Black had fooled him, that he would just end up somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, or off the grounds entirely, and his grip on his wand tightened.

He paused, to gather his wits, to consider turning back—

—and then an unmistakable sound, a scream that sent shivers down his spine, echoed off the rough, mud-strewn walls.

His eyes narrowed.

Sirius watched in surprise as James bolted out of the room. I’ve never seen him move so fast, he thought, almost amused.

He turned his gaze to Peter, taking in the familiar round face, now pale, the blood drained from it minutes ago at his friend’s words, his eyes wide and horrified. Sirius frowned. Peter swallowed, hard. “Fuck,” the boy murmured, then dashed out of the room after James.

Sirius stared out the open door, waiting for his mind to catch up with what had just happened. They were overreacting, surely? Christ, could no one take a joke these days? As if that oily git would go anywhere near the Willow, would ever dare to chance across Remus—

Remus.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and was moving before he even realised it.

The moon pulled, pulled at a deep fury inside the wolf—wrenched and dragged and shattered to pieces until it could not hold itself back any longer, howls tearing from its throat, throwing itself again and again against the splintered wood of the trapdoor—nothing but the base instinct of where are they, where are the pack—and then the scent, that stench of prey, so close, and it washed over the wolf like blood, claws bared, ready to slash and rip—

The pack never arrived. The moon was relentless. The wolf could not find respite.

Time and space were a blur as Sirius pelted out of the tower, out of the castle, the cold night air hitting him in a frigid crash. He reached the Whomping Willow and found its branches still, creaking just slightly in the wind. No one else was there. Which meant…

A howl, barbaric and torn, rent the air.

Sirius dropped to his knees, and vomited.

He would see it, he thought, in every nightmare for months. That face, that utter terror distilled in dark eyes, face pale as it turned back to him, gasping and stuttering and wholly drowned out by the thump and thud and scratch of the wolf, smelling them there in the tunnel and trying frantically to get out, to rip them limb from limb.

“Snape,” James hissed, his heart thudding so loudly and so desperately that he felt sure the wolf could hear that, too. “Quick, we have to—”

“You tried to kill me,” the boy’s eyes widened further, if it were possible, hands shaking as he raised his wand. “Tried to—to set your—your monster on me—”

James did not have the time or the patience to listen to this turd describe one of his best friends in this way, no matter how currently accurate it might be. He lunged forward with Quidditch-honed reflexes, grabbed Snape’s sleeve, and hauled him back down the tunnel.

Another howl, like a scream from deep down in his bones, chased them back to the Willow.

There had been many times when Peter Pettigrew had wondered why he was in Gryffindor. Brave was not typically a word anyone had ever used to describe him before he arrived at Hogwarts, and, if he hadn’t been sure that a hat could not make an administrative error, he would’ve gone straight to Dumbledore and asked to be sorted again.

These thoughts lingered at the back of his mind for years. Even when, in fourth year, Sirius—of all people—had said to him, “Pete, you’re performing illegal, underage magic to better support your unregistered werewolf friend—how much braver do you want to be?”, he hadn’t fully believed it. But he started to consider that maybe, this was just how his valour manifested itself. Not everyone could have the bold and brazen bravery of James or Sirius or even Remus. Some people had to have quiet courage, surely?

This was what he told himself as he raced from their dorm, not out to the Whomping Willow, but to Professor McGonagall’s living quarters, hammering desperately on the door until it swung open, his head of house frowning with concern, wrapped in a tartan dressing gown and trying to blink sleep away. “Goodness gracious, Mr Pettigrew, what on earth is the matter?” she asked.

Be brave, young Wormtail, he told himself. Be bold.

“Something has happened,” he blurted out. “And now Snape’s gone after the werewolf…”

Her breath stilled for a moment.

He’d never seen her look so frightened.

Sirius vomited for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. Nothing was left in his stomach now, and acid burned the back of his throat. The least he deserved. He slumped to the ground, the dull cold washing over him. He closed his eyes, and, not for the first time, wished he were dead. That maybe death could have come for him even an hour ago, before he opened his stupid fucking mouth and brought the whole fucking world down around him.

Brought his friendships down around him.

The thought made him heave again. That was how McGonagall found him, heaving, hunched on the grass.

“Sirius,” she said quietly, urgently, and it struck him that he couldn’t remember the last time she called him anything other than a pointed ‘Mr Black’. Probably first year.

He lifted his head, finding her gaze through the blur of sweat and fear.

She took in the sight of him, the pitiful mess of teenage boy clumped on the ground, and something almost softened in her gaze. “Go, wait in the headmaster’s office.”

He nodded, and slowly stood, before something else drew his attention. Behind him, the silence was shattered by two scrambling figures, emerging gasping from the tunnel. Pale and bruised and shaking, yes, but James and Snape were okay—they were alive—they were unhurt. Sirius felt like he could vomit all over again, this time from relief. He stared past Snape to his best friend, trying to catch his eye, to communicate his own fear and pain and somehow, his regret, regret that raged like a wildfire in his gut.

But James wouldn’t meet Sirius’ gaze.

“—a werewolf, professor! They tried to feed me to a, a werewolf, they’ve been hiding under your nose this whole time!”

Dumbledore did not blink, did not move his gaze from the sallow-faced boy in front of him. His fingers were steepled in front of his chin, and he was settled in his chair as if playing a particularly challenging game of chess. You wouldn’t have guessed that it was nearing midnight, or that he was having hate-filled invectives hurled at him.

James found he couldn’t stand any longer, and sank into the nearest chair. He had avoiding sitting when he first arrived, as the only chair left was next to Sirius, his friend who was so desperate for his gaze, his reassurance, that it damn near radiated from him. He’d instead stood in the corner, arms crossed tightly in front of him, trying to steady his breathing back down to something calmer. It was not easy.

Snape had barely stopped rambling since they’d crossed the threshold of Dumbledore’s office, trailing behind McGonagall like a funeral march. James had decided early on to try to tune it out, unless he was addressed directly; otherwise, he worried that the anger would boil back to the surface, and he might lose control. Something he’d been battling against since Sirius had sauntered into the dormitory, and said with a smirk, “Well, I had an entertaining journey back here.”

He became aware that the headmaster was now looking at him, those blue eyes not twinkling with mischief as he was so used to seeing, but searching, sombre, for some kind of answer. “I’m sorry,” James murmured, shaking his head to bring himself back to the room. “What did you say, professor?”

Dumbledore didn’t seem angry that his attention had drifted; if anything, he looked more understanding. “I asked if you might tell your side of the story, Mr Potter. It does not do to only hear one perspective.”

James’ gaze flicked briefly to Snape, then to Sirius, before returning to the headmaster himself. “Of course, sir.”

Dully, as if reciting a list of dates from a Binns lecture, he talked through what had happened. Sirius’ laughter at the thought of Snape maybe getting bashed about by the Willow in the dark; his apparent lack of understanding that maybe, just maybe, the boy might have latched on to what he said about the knot; the frantic race through the castle, into the tunnel; finding Snape with his hand on the handle of the trapdoor, frozen in terror; the sound of the wolf—

His voice cracked at that part. He looked down, drew in a breath. “I got him out of there,” he finished quietly. “Moony—Remus, was still safely in the shack when we left. The door was—it was splintering. But he didn’t break through.”

Dumbledore inclined his head in a brief nod. “You acted with great courage, Mr Potter.”

“Courage?!” Snape repeated, his whole body tense, bristling with anger and indignance. “Him and his—his little gang have been hiding a werewolf, and tried to get me turned, or worse, killed—”

“I think you will find,” the headmaster interrupted, voice calm but cool, “that the only person who has been hiding a werewolf is me.”

Snape gaped at him, finally stunned into silence.

“It also seems, Severus, that you knew you were going somewhere you had no place going, purely to act on a vendetta you cling to,” Dumbledore added. He turned his gaze to Sirius, sharp and knowing. “That is not to say that you were not helped along by a truly thoughtless act.” Sirius hung his head, face pale. “But I feel safe in determining that it was not said in order to truly hurt you.”

“But—”

“No one has been hurt this evening, and for that, we must be incredibly grateful,” he continued gravely. “A great many things could have gone wrong, and lives could have been ruined irrevocably.” He paused. “Mr Potter, for your quick thinking and undoubted bravery—150 points to Gryffindor.”

James didn’t feel grateful. He just nodded.

“I think you should return to your dormitory, and try to rest,” Dumbledore advised. “Mr Black and Mr Snape, I require your company a while longer.”

James glanced at his best friend, taking in the misery, the guilt that mired his features. But he didn’t acknowledge it, just stepped round and made his way to the door. “Goodnight, sir…”

Not that he thought he’d be able to even close his eyes.

The dormitory was quiet when Sirius returned, but no one was asleep. He paused in the doorway, heart thudding in his chest, taking in the scene before him: James sat on his bed, propped up wearily against the pillows, staring at the bedcovers. Peter was perched at the end of the bed, looking exhausted and out of his depth.

“Prongs…”

James looked up at Sirius’ voice; he looked older, resigned. “Did he—”

“I’m not expelled,” Sirius said quickly, stepping forwards, his voice cracked and quiet. “Detention, for the foreseeable. And…mentoring sessions, with McGonagall.”

James nodded blankly. “Snape?”

“Same, but with Slughorn.” Sirius shoved his hands in his pockets. “And Dumbledore said that if Snape tells anyone about Moony, he’ll be out.”

James nodded again, looked down at his hands. “Hopefully that’s enough to keep his mouth shut.”

Sirius was fairly certain it was—the look on the other boy’s face at the not-empty threat had said a lot—but didn’t say so. He knew he was on the thinnest of ice, could hear it creaking and cracking beneath him. He chewed on his lip a moment. “Look—I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right—”

“I’m not angry.” James looked up at him again, and it was true, he didn’t seem angry—didn’t seem much of anything at all. It was disconcerting from his best friend, who normally let every emotion play out across his face, no matter how ridiculous it made him look.

“You…you must be something,” Sirius pointed out, glancing at Peter; the boy flinched, looked away, apparently desperate not to be drawn into this conversation. “Surely you’re angry?”

“Not angry,” James said again, quieter this time. “Sad. I feel—sad, Pads.” He rubbed his face wearily. “You didn’t think, didn’t think about anything except how you felt, and you weaponised our best friend. Just because you didn’t think.”

Sirius swallowed hard. “I was just—the things he was saying—”

“You knew better,” James interrupted at a murmur. “But you did it anyway.” He looked up at Sirius again, a look on his face as if he were trying desperately to understand something, to break a code. “If Snape had got that door open before I found him…he could’ve died. I could’ve died, Sirius.”

Sirius’ stomach clenched at those words, and he knew that if he had anything left to throw up, it would be making an appearance now. “You wouldn’t—”

“And then how would Remus have lived with himself?” James carried on, quiet, relentless. “If we’d been injured, or killed…they would have had to involve the Ministry. Remus could have been arrested, or executed—”

“Stop,” Sirius’ voice cracked under the weight of his friend’s words, the weight of his own guilt. “James, please—I know I fucked up—just, please. Stop…”

James held his gaze for a long moment before breaking it. He looked at his watch, heaved a sigh so worn and frail it almost hurt to hear. “It’s late. I want to be up to check on Moony in the morning. We should try to sleep.”

Pete shuffled over to his own bed willingly, while Sirius remained, frozen in place. “I’ll go with you. In the morning, I mean.”

James met his gaze almost pityingly for a moment before he climbed under the covers, removing his glasses. “Good night, Pads.”

It was a dismissal. He turned and made his way to his bed, wondering how he was ever going to sleep tonight. He would’ve preferred his best friend’s anger, he thought as he slid between the sheets. Fury would have felt justified. Fury was something he was used to, something he knew how to face. But instead, he closed his eyes and saw in his head, like a series of wizard photos—James’ blank, emotionless face; Snape’s pale, terrified rage; Peter’s wide-eyed panic; and Moony, alone in the shack.

He eventually fell asleep, tear tracks dried on his cheeks.

Poppy Pomfrey liked predictability. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy a challenge, of course, but in her line of work, if a situation became unpredictable, it meant more could go wrong. No, she much preferred knowing what she was getting herself into.

That was why, back in 1971, when Albus had told her she’d be caring for a werewolf each month, she had nodded, thanked him, and immediately taken herself off to the library. Her readings on the subject, however, did not match up to her practical experience when she met Remus Lupin for the first time in Minerva’s office after the start of year feast. The books had told of monstrous viciousness, of barely-human beings who could not be trusted no matter what state the moon was in; meanwhile, in front of her was a scrawny, pale boy, scarred and shy and unwilling to meet her eyes for more than a few seconds.

It had taken him months to trust her. Each full moon, she would walk with him down to the Shack, trying to make idle conversation. The next morning, she would fetch him, and try to keep the pity and concern from her gaze. Usually, he needed to lean heavily on her as they made their way back to the castle. Sometimes, she would have to perform dozens of healing spells before he even had the strength to leave the Shack. But he was always polite, always murmured a faint “good morning” as she called out her arrival.

It had been a surprise, antithetical to her research, to find a marked improvement in his post-transformation state towards the end of his fourth year. Reading had told her that puberty, that change from boy to man, would have a brutal effect on the wolf as well. And yet, he seemed to be improving, barely needing more than a quick diagnostic spell and a few hours of sleep to recover.

It had lulled her into a false sense of security, she supposed. Maybe they had found the right combination of potions, and maybe he was just the sort of boy who could cope, she thought.

Until October 9th, 1976.

Dawn was reaching its rosy fingers across the sky as she crossed the grounds, a light frost crunching beneath her feet as she went. She’d heard about the ruckus the night before, of course—had personally checked over two of the boys in question, finding only a few bruises and a scratched face, thank Merlin—and was now considering whether Remus might want to take some breakfast before he slept, a warming cup of tea, perhaps. She felt a little parched herself; yes, tea would be just the ticket.

She should have considered it a warning sign when she entered the Shack, called out her customary, “good morning, Mr Lupin,” and received no reply. Unusual, yes, but surely nothing to get too worried about. She checked the downstairs rooms and found no sign of him, then made her way wearily up the stairs, not noticing the blood that smeared the banister. Nothing untoward at all, in fact, until she opened the door to the bedroom where he sometimes rested until it was time to return to the castle, and saw him lying on the floor, drenched in his own blood.

“He wasn’t even conscious,” she told the headmaster later, the exhaustion and the fear finally catching up to her. “Much longer and I might not have been able to…”

“But you were,” Albus reminded her gently, and pressed another cup of tea into her hands. “You were, and he’s going to be just fine.”

Unpredictability. She couldn’t bear it.

Lily was not usually one to wake up early. She was of the firm belief that waking up even a minute before her alarm was a betrayal of the highest order, and she was often the last in their dorm to crawl out of bed, reluctant to part with the cosy nest of covers.

But that morning—or night, she thought resentfully, looking out the window at the still-dark sky—she had woken at four thirty on the dot, and could not seem to get back to sleep. After lying in bed for a while, bitterly thinking about the sleep she could be having, she finally hauled herself up, wrapped up warm in her robe and slippers, and padded quietly to the door. Might as well get some work done, if she had to be up.

She was not expecting anyone to be in the common room at this hour, and so startled slightly at the silhouette of a figure, slumped on the sofa and staring into the fire. Only when she was a few feet away did she work out that it was James Potter.

He turned his head, as startled to see her as she was to see him, and she frowned. He looked…terrible. Exhausted, yes, but also sad. Broken.

He took his glasses off to rub wearily at his eyes. “You’re up early,” he said, voice scratchy, worn down.

“So are you.” She sank onto the sofa next to him, watching him with some apprehension. She had never seen him like this before. “Are you…okay?”

He shrugged, turning back to the fire. “That’s a bit of a complicated one,” he replied.

She paused, wondering why she cared to try and alleviate his troubles like this. She felt like she couldn’t just leave him here, not like this. “Want to talk about it?” she offered. “I can cope with complicated.”

He smiled a smile so unlike any she’d ever seen from him before—the vulnerability was overwhelming, the ache behind those hazel eyes. “It’s not really my story to tell,” he admitted. “But thanks.” He paused. “Have you ever felt just…utterly let down by someone? Like you should be furious but instead you just feel…disappointed and sad?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You might as well be describing me and Sev,” she pointed out, adding, “although I admit there has been some fury, too.”

He winced, shooting her an apologetic look. “Right. Sorry…”

She shrugged it off. “It is hard to feel like that about a friend.” She watched the flames dance in the grate. “I assume this isn’t a friend you want to cut ties with?”

He sighed heavily. “He would deserve it,” he murmured. “But I couldn’t.”

This had to be about Black, but she couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what he could’ve done to send his best friend into such a maelstrom. “Well,” she said softly, “you’re allowed to feel let down in the meantime. And I suppose…work out what it is you need to make things better.”

James was quiet for at least a minute. When he did speak again, he sounded older than his years, world-weary. “I’m not even the one who has to forgive him,” he murmured.

She frowned, confused, but he didn’t seem willing—or able—to say more. She glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece. “You look knackered,” she told him gently. “Maybe you should try to get some sleep.”

He followed her gaze, seeming surprised to find it the time it was, and nodded. “Yeah,” he got up, and looked down at her. “Thanks, Evans.”

“Of course,” she murmured, holding his stare until he turned away. “See you…”

She listened as his footsteps faded up the stone staircase, and stared into the fire once more. She wasn’t sure how she’d be able to focus on her reading now…

Remus had once confessed to his parents that he couldn’t remember his transformations, not even the first one. He’d been eleven, about to head to Hogwarts, and when he started speaking he wasn’t even sure why it felt like something to confess to. It just came out, blurted across the breakfast table, the fear behind the words like ash in the back of his throat. That was when he realised why: these transformations were so violent, so agonising that his mind could not process them, could not keep them in storage. That was the beast he was, and yet they were sending him off to school? To be surrounded by hundreds of other people, potential victims each month when he had no control, no memory, no mercy? It was a terrifying prospect.

His father had said nothing, just clutched his mug of tea and stared on uncomfortably. Difficult feelings like fear were not in Lyall Lupin’s comfort zone.

His mother, however, had shifted her chair until it was alongside his own, and wrapped her arm round his bony shoulders. “It’s not you, though, is it? It’s the wolf. That’s why you don’t remember it.” Her voice had been so soft, so calm, enough that he would’ve gladly believed anything she said. “I’m sure it must be frightening, love. But maybe it’s best not to remember. You remember coming back to yourself at dawn, don’t you?” He nodded, and she gave him another squeeze. “I’d say that’s the most important thing to remember. Professor Dumbledore promised to keep you safe. We have to put our trust in him that he will.”

Remus had nodded, brushing his cheek to try to discreetly wipe away a tear. “I know…”

“Just think,” Hope Lupin smiled warmly, “all the things you’ll learn—all the friends you’ll make. Oh, sweetheart. You’re going to love it. Those will be the things to remember.”

Six years later, when Remus couldn’t remember waking up in the Shack, coming back to his human form, he knew that was a bad sign.

It was a mixture of pain—blinding, insistent pain—and the shriek of the wind outside that woke him eventually. Remus slowly opened his eyes, taking stock of where he was and how he felt. He was already in the infirmary, and the room was dimly lit, candles on the walls casting irregular shadows. Through the window opposite his bed, he could see that it was dark outside; he had slept all day.

How he felt was a trickier proposition to understand. The pain was quite unlike anything he’d felt for a while: his arm—his wand arm—was strapped to his chest and throbbed with dull spasms of discomfort. His face felt like someone had smashed something heavy into it. Something on his legs was agony, but being covered by the usual hospital wing linens, he couldn’t see what it was, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to peel back the sheets to look.

An uncomfortable turn of his head showed the bedside table was laden with potions—Skele-grow he recognised, along with the stronger painkilling potion he sometimes had to take, but there were also several others he wasn’t familiar with. The ache in his head made reading the tiny labels, written in Pomfrey’s meticulous and swirling handwriting, essentially impossible.

It was at this angle, though, that he noticed a figure in the chair by his bed. Slumped in the chair, his glasses askew, was James, eyes closed. If he was asleep, Remus thought, it wasn’t doing him much good—he looked terrible. He hadn’t seen his friend look that awful since…well, ever.

It was as if puzzle pieces were slowly, carefully slotting together, but he still couldn’t see what the whole picture was. He only knew that it left a discomfited feeling in the pit of his stomach.

James’ eyes blinked open then, and he sighed heavily, shifting in the chair to get comfortable before he noticed that Remus was awake. He sat up quickly. “Moony,” he murmured, clearing the sleep from his voice. “You’re up…”

“I am,” he confirmed. His voice sounded like he’d been shouting half the night, scratchy, hoarse. “Not sure it’s better than being asleep, to be honest…”

James cringed, trying for a reassuring smile. “I’ll get Pomfrey, you’re probably due some more potions by now…” He stood, stretching awkwardly and pausing to give his hand a squeeze. “Glad you’re okay, Moony.”

Remus frowned, or tried to, because moving the muscles in his face brought new pain. “Prongs…what happened?” he asked. Judging from the look on his friend’s face, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. “Is everyone okay?”

James looked towards Madam Pomfrey’s office, as if the Medi-witch might bustle in and save him from having to say anything at all. But no one came, and he turned back to Remus, drawing in a slow breath. “Everyone’s fine,” he promised. A pause. “We…should talk about it tomorrow. When you’re feeling a bit better.” He hesitated. “Professor Dumbledore wants to be the one to talk to you.”

That was the opposite of reassuring. “James,” he croaked, surprised at the need, the worry in his own voice. “What happened?”

James hesitated, before lowering himself back into his chair and gripping Remus’ hand once more. As he started talking, he lifted his gaze to meet Remus’, and the exhaustion and sadness there seemed even louder than the words he spoke.

But, of course, he heard every word. He just wished he hadn’t.

Sirius had managed only a few hours of unbroken sleep, lurching from his dreams of Moony and the shack and a blood-curdling fear that felt almost tangible, even on waking. When the sun came up, he dragged himself out of bed and into a shower, hoping the scalding hot water might bring some desperately-needed clarity, but everything remained muddy, blurred around him. He knew it was going to take more than a wash to cleanse this from him.

He’d passed through the common room—Evans had called after him from her position in front of the fire—and through the quiet corridors until he found himself facing the heavy wooden doors of the infirmary. It was there that he came to a juddering halt, his legs leaden, a visceral ache in his throat. On this side of the door, he was still just Sirius, just Padfoot—a nuisance, maybe, a moody shit, but a friend. Flesh and blood and someone who could be cared for, cared about.

On the other side of the door…well, he didn’t want to open it and find out. Not yet.

He didn’t go to classes that day, or go anywhere near the Great Hall or the common room. He didn’t want to interact with anyone, to have to wear a mask, to have to see the disappointment and blame in his friends’ eyes. He didn’t think he could stomach it.

Outside, a fierce wind whipped through the trees, broke the surface of the lake, brought a cool that permeated through his robes. The weather seemed appropriate: wild, untethered, damaging. It also had the benefit of keeping most of the Hogwarts population indoors, leaving him to brood in peace.

Maybe peace wasn’t the right word. His thoughts were spiralling, as if caught on the currents of the wind as well, the same words circling and sinking and rising like a broken chorus. You did this. You were always going to do something like this. This is just who you are. They were always going to see that darkness eventually.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t do much but try to steady his breathing, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for the axe to fall.

When the dull grey light had faded from the sky, leaving behind too-bright stars in their mocking patterns, he pulled himself up, dusted himself off, and made his way back to the castle. Once again, outside those heavy wooden doors, he stopped.

That was where James found him, an hour later. Slumped, now, against the cold stone wall, knees drawn up to his chest, drawn together like a small child and not a sprawling, aching, nearly-seventeen-year-old. He looked up quickly as the infirmary doors opened, watching his best friend—his brother—emerge.

James looked like a different person. Care-worn, tense, stilted. Sirius looked up at him and wondered if this, all of this, was going to be the thing that made James see who he had really been friends with all this time. A Black, through and through. Black of name and heart and soul and life.

James stopped when he saw Sirius, raking a hand through his hair—trying to delay the inevitable, perhaps. He paused. “You can’t go in there, Pads.”

Sirius hauled himself off the floor, took a step towards his friend. “I can sweet-talk Pomfrey if need be—I just, I need to talk to Moony—”

“Mate.” James reached out, rested his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. It was a small gesture, barely anything in the pantheon of expressions of love and friendship in their six years together, but it made Sirius want to curl up in a ball and sob. “He doesn’t want to see you. I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Surely he knew better than that. And yet the words carried a sting, delivered a gut punch that could have blinded him. “He—” Sirius murmured, blinking. “You…told him?”

James looked uncomfortable. “He kept asking what had happened. He was…getting himself worked up, Pads. I had to tell him.”

Sirius opened his mouth, but no words came. He shook his head, glancing back towards the doors as if he could see Remus there, beyond the oak and hospital curtains and linens, beyond the inevitable bandages and potions and healing spells that always hung in the air post-full, fizzing with kinetic energy, working to stitch up the wounds the moon had wrought. His friend, his Remus, lying there. Hating him.

James squeezed his shoulder, a gentle pressure that brought him back to himself. “Tomorrow’s another day,” he told him quietly. “Give him time.”

It was a nice sentiment. Sirius just wasn’t sure that there would ever be enough time to heal this.

Chapter Text

Never let it be said that news did not travel quickly around Hogwarts. This event was no exception, and was deemed especially interesting due to the people involved. At the start of breakfast on the morning of October 9^th, Hufflepuff Lucy Rawlings had told her friends that she’d seen Potter, Black and Snape trailing McGonagall back to the headmaster’s study. Lucy was considered by everyone to be an extremely reliable source of information, known throughout the castle for her honest streak and lack of verbal embellishments. By the time the food had vanished and students were reluctantly starting to head to their first lessons of the day, however, it was widely believed that Lucy had seen Potter carrying Snape’s prone and limp body away from some kind of skirmish, and that Black had had to be physically restrained by Hagrid and Filch.

No matter which version of the story pupils had heard, though—and there were many, many fascinating variations—the consensus was clear: James Potter, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, voted by the fifth years as most handsome glasses-wearer in the castle, and seen by many people last summer hoisting a particular Slytherin into the air via the levicorpus hex, had saved Severus Snape’s life. No one was quite clear on Sirius Black’s involvement, although he had been the subject of many mutterings since the start of the school year—everyone knew that he had run away from home over the summer, and the black mood that matched his name and followed him around every corner since then did nothing to dispel the gossip. Chances were, he had done something reckless and dangerous. It certainly wouldn’t have been out of character, and there was no love lost between him and Snape.

But if people wanted to know more details than that—and they really, really did—they were out of luck. For some mysterious reason, James Potter came away from his meeting with the headmaster tight-lipped, pale and looking ready to either punch someone or vomit. One hundred and fifty points had been added to the Gryffindor total, and that, apparently, was that.

Black and Snape didn’t show their faces in the Great Hall that day, or the next. In fact, it was three days later before anyone caught sight of any of the so-called Marauders.

Breakfast was its usual messy affair, students either half-slumped in porridge and struggling to keep their eyes open, or possessed of enough energy to indulge in chatter over bacon and eggs. Lily and Marlene fell into the latter camp; Marlene always could be fuelled by a good bit of gossip.

“I mean, saved his life,” Marlene was saying, shaking her head. “That’s not exactly un-melodramatic wording, is it. I thought Potter would sooner leap off the Astronomy tower than help Snape.”

Lily didn’t want to be as interested as she was. After all, it was two boys she had effectively sworn off last summer term. Severus had tried to speak to her many times, to apologise, but she wasn’t interested in apologies. That ship had sailed. Potter, meanwhile, had been uncharacteristically normal around her since the start of the year—and that was normal compared to his usual standards, in that he was hard-working, respectful and hardly annoying her at all. Their interaction in an otherwise-empty common room a few nights ago had taken on new meaning since the news about Potter and Snape had broken, although she still wasn’t quite sure how what he had said played into things. And she also wasn’t sure why she cared quite so much.

She hadn’t mentioned the fire-side chat to any of her friends. It had seemed private at the time, and now even more so.

“No, they’re not exactly mates,” Lily agreed. “I think ‘mortal enemies’ might be closer.”

Marlene nodded her fervent agreement. “It must have been bad, too, for them not to be shooting their mouths off over it,” she added. “Sirius normally loves telling us about his daring pursuits.”

“Well, he’s hardly been himself lately as it is,” Lily pointed out. “He doesn’t seem to love much of anything this year.”

“Obviously there’s more to it,” Marlene declared, waving her fork demonstratively. “And I intend to—bloody hell, Lupin!”

Remus gingerly slid onto the bench next to Lily, and they both stared, open-mouthed, before remembering their manners. Remus, she knew, was prone to injury, and she had not failed to notice that he had often looked unwell or, worse, like he’d been attacked, after the times when he had said he was visiting his mother. Knowing Severus’ thoughts on the matter hadn’t made her more inclined to believe Remus’ stories, although she was firmly of the belief that it wasn’t her business, and that if Remus wanted to tell her more, he would. So she would nod along, and sympathise over his latest bout of illness.

But this…this could not be explained away as a run-of-the-mill illness. His arm was in a sling, held to his chest at a forty-five degree angle, presumably to keep it elevated. On his face was a fading, but still visible bruise: it spread across his cheekbone and down to his jaw. What looked like a slash of red disappeared into his shirt collar.

Apparently having had enough of their stares, he raised an eyebrow. “You should see the other bloke.”

“Remus…what happened?” Lily asked with a frown.

She watched as he took his time transferring slices of bacon from the platter to his plate. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was giving himself time to think up a good excuse. “Bit of an accident. Long story.”

“So bad that Pomfrey couldn’t just give you some Skele-grow and send you on your way?” Marlene wondered, nodding to his arm.

“Ah, well, the break was…a bit spectacular,” he replied awkwardly. “Did quite a lot of damage to the tissue around the bone. The bone is fixed now, but she says the rest will take a bit longer to heal.”

“Blimey,” Marlene exhaled sympathetically, watching as he tried to negotiate eating his breakfast with his non-dominant hand. It was only a moment before she tutted and reached over to slice his food up for him. “You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

Lily poured him a cup of tea—milk, one sugar, she knew his order well by now—and slid it over to him. “How come your gang aren’t here waiting on you hand and foot?” she asked.

Something in him stilled, just for a moment. “I came straight from the infirmary.”

“Ooh, maybe you’ll know the full story,” Marlene realised. “What happened with Potter and Snape? All we know is he saved his life, but we’re dying to know where Black fits in.”

Lily noticed his jaw tense, noticed his unwillingness to lift his gaze from his food. “No idea,” he replied simply. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

There was definitely more to this than he was letting on, and it unnerved her. Surely his injuries weren’t connected…? If they were, how was it that he had come away looking like he’d been attacked by a mob, and the other three didn’t have a scratch on them?

So much for leaving people to their own business. Looking at her friend—the kind, gentle, funny boy who kept her mind off the stresses of schoolwork as they traversed the castle, who had listened sympathetically every time she had anguished over her sister, who cared deeply about his friends, every last one of them, no matter what they did—she knew that she was not going to be able to stop herself from trying to help. Not when he looked like he was only just managing to keep his composure.

It would take some doing. Some finesse. Sensitivity, definitely. But Lily liked a challenge.

The days in the infirmary had been a bit of a blur for Remus. After James’ visit, he’d laid there, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, his thoughts twisting and fracturing as he went over his friend’s words again and again; in the end, he’d got himself into such a state of anxiety that Madam Pomfrey had given him a large dose of Dreamless Sleep potion and he’d slipped into a blissfully empty, coma-like state for the next twelve hours.

Waking to find the headmaster by his bedside was unnerving. Dumbledore had gazed at him over his half-moon glasses, a gaze that seemed to do more than just look at him—as if he could read his mind, his cyclonic emotions, too. Unsurprisingly, his version of the story was almost identical to James’, albeit with far less swearing, and he spent a while talking through Sirius’ remorse, and his and Snape’s punishments. Remus hadn’t even realised he was tensing up, that the threat of tears was gathering at the back of his throat, until Dumbledore had said that Snape would keep his secret on threat of expulsion. He had blinked desperately, trying to force the tears back, not sure why this of all things was what would push him over the edge he’d been clinging to since yesterday.

“Remus,” Dumbledore had said, softly. “You are still safe here. You are not at fault. I hope you know that.”

A tear escaped, painting a trail down his bruised cheek. “If…if Snape says something…”

“I of course cannot guarantee it,” the headmaster had replied. “But I am confident that he will not say a word.”

He wanted to be reassured. Maybe he would be, eventually, once the shock and the sadness and the pain had worn away. He had simply nodded, unable to find words that could express the knot in his stomach, the lump in his throat.

After Dumbledore left, Remus asked Madam Pomfrey if he could not have any more visitors. He’d had a feeling that Sirius was waiting, keen to get his side across, to seek absolution—and Remus did not feel remotely ready to deal with that.

And so, he’d slept a lot, quietly asking for more painkillers, or just staring out the window as day faded into night into day into night. Eventually, though, it could be avoided no longer. Back to reality.

He’d tried telling himself that, now that he was less physically damaged than he had been, he could look Sirius in the eye, that he could have a calm and reasoned conversation with his friend. But it turned out to be almost impossible to even be near him: it became his mission to stay out of the dorm, out of the common room, to eat—when he could—early, or late, to sit on his own in lessons and fix a neutral, empty expression on to his face. It was all in the name of self-preservation.

He had become so used to trying to break his own fall, to anticipate when pain was coming; it was a habit ingrained over years. Maybe it was his own fault, all this, for letting his guard down, by assuming friendships were something he could have and keep, live in and be consumed by without the wolf tearing that to shreds too. His father had warned him about getting too close to anyone many times. He’d so wanted to prove Lyall wrong.

But this was the truth, wasn’t it? Someone who he thought cared about him, someone he’d been secretly, achingly desperate to be near for the past few years, had shown Remus who he really was. A monster, a chess piece to move into place, a prop in a prank.

Did that make it hurt more, the way he felt about Sirius—even if those feelings were complex and confusing and overwhelming? He tried to imagine how it would have felt if James or Peter had done the deed instead, but didn’t get very far. Peter wasn’t someone who got riled up (McGonagall had described him as “being so laid back as to be practically horizontal”, and she did not mean it as a compliment), and he cared far too much about what the others thought of him: he’d have thought immediately about James’ reaction, if indeed the thought of saying something would even cross his mind in the first place.

And as for James… although James thoroughly enjoyed dancing right up to the line, nudging it with his toe, he would never cross it. His sense of morality, of justice and fairness and brotherhood, was so strong that to even accuse him of betraying a friend would be the worst kind of insult.

Sirius had always been a wild card. Unpredictable, mercurial. Wildly loving, funny, kind, caring deeply for his friends, yes. But he had that edge of cruelty in him, probably from growing up in that mausoleum of a house, with parents whose every thought and word was scathing and sharp. He’d never learned to control his temper, and now, Remus was the one paying for it.

All these thoughts felt like iron in his lungs. A sharp, constant pain at the base of his skull. His coping strategies were only barely enough to paper over the cracks that had formed, and he knew that everyone else around him knew it, too. James and Peter—when he saw them—watched him anxiously, hovering, obviously frantic to fix him, fix their group. Lily, Mary and Dorcas were clearly trying to make their observations less blatant, sidling up to him in the Great Hall or happening to ‘bump into’ him in the hallways. Marlene McKinnon, who he had harboured unfair feelings against for a good portion of their school career (not that he ever made it obvious, of course), had decided to act as his personal assistant, copying out her notes from their shared classes, lingering nearby when she saw him at the meal table to help him with his one-handed issues, and even offering to write out his essays for him.

A more logical mind, not quite so tormented and exhausted as his own, would’ve seen all this as friendship in action—the one thing he was so sure now that he didn’t have.

That was the trouble with pain. It overwhelmed the senses.

Sirius Black was not someone who was used to being ignored. In his tender youth, as the heir apparent, he had been the focus of family gatherings; his parents directed their attention to him—not in a doting way, of course, or with anything that could be misconstrued as being close to affection, but still, he’d been the little prince of Grimmauld Place. At Hogwarts, his boisterous manner, easy intelligence and aristocratic good looks had made him centre of attention once more, and if that hadn’t been enough to do it, the constant pranking and general tomfoolery would’ve got him there. Even within the Marauders, it was he and James who took the spotlight, every emotion or thought too big to be contained just inside their own heads.

Finding himself ignored, now, was unmooring.

Not that he blamed Remus. He knew, all too well, that when control was slipping out of your fingers, you clung to what little of it you had left. For Moony, he could control his interactions with Sirius. He could look past him, look through him; he could avoid him in classes, avoid him at meals, shut the hangings of his four-poster so that Sirius couldn’t even have access to his presence as he slept. Sirius guessed that it was this small amount of control that had stopped his friend from screaming himself hoarse, or cursing him sideways, or just punching him in the face.

Understanding all that didn’t make it easier.

Seeing Moony for the first time since the…incident, bruised and bandaged and pale, had been like a bludger to the stomach. Pomfrey had insisted on no visitors, and so it had been over the breakfast table that he at last laid eyes on his friend, and saw for himself the damage he had wrought.

Remus had looked up, his guard down for only a moment before he realised who was there, and it was like a veil had been drawn. He’d stood up—awkwardly, clearly finding it hard to manoeuvre with his arm strapped to his chest as it was—and left the table without a word. Evans, sitting next to Remus’ now vacated space, had watched him go with a deep frown, before glancing up at Sirius and James. She hadn’t needed to say anything; her expression spoke volumes.

After that interaction, and seeing Remus determinedly sit at the back of every class they shared, well away from Sirius, he had realised that his hopes of trying to explain this all away, of begging for forgiveness, were all for naught. Moony had no intention of letting him get that close to him, physically or otherwise. In the dormitory that night, Remus had said a stilted goodnight to James and Peter, before retreating into his curtained fortress. Sirius had felt the distinct edges of magic, then—a silencing charm, probably, and his heart ached in his chest at the thought of his friend, alone, having to magically muffle the sounds of his tears.

The heartache was part of the penance. That much, he knew.

James was acting as neutrally as he could. Sirius was at least grateful for that, knowing very well that he could have easily cast Sirius aside and given up on him completely. But now their friendship was split: James sat with Sirius, and talked with him, and said kind, comforting things, and then he would leave, to do the same for Remus. Sirius knew that Remus deserved that comfort far more than he did himself. But James was too good a person, too kind a friend, to ever let that show.

Peter, for his part, seemed utterly unable to decide how he felt. Clearly, he felt a kinship with Moony—he cooled considerably towards Sirius whenever Remus was in the room. When he wasn’t around, Peter was much more like his normal self, perhaps in an attempt to appease James. Sirius felt a bit put off by the see-sawing of his affections, but again…he knew he only had himself to blame.

In order to let Remus have time in the Tower, Sirius tried to stay away as much as he could. It didn’t seem fair that he was the one who had caused these problems but he was allowed free rein of the castle. That was why Mary Macdonald found him slumped behind one of the greenhouses, chain-smoking and oblivious to the cold.

He’d always been fond of Mary—she was friendly, and pretty, and laughed with a freedom he envied. They’d been paired up in first year Muggle Studies. She’d turned to him with a twinkle in her eye and said, “You’re in luck here, Sirius Black, I’m Muggleborn through and through”, before realising with delight, “hey! We’re Mac and Black!” and he’d liked her instantly. Their matching distaste for pureblood nonsense, along with an abiding obsession with Muggle music, had bonded them from the off. They weren’t the best of friends, by any stretch, but he always knew that he could count on her for a friendly face if he needed one.

“Black,” she greeted him, as if they had arranged to meet there instead of her just turning up out of the arctic winds, and dropped on to the ground next to him.

He shot her a curious look. “Mac.”

She reached for the pack of cigarettes in his lap, pulling out one for herself. “I was wondering where you were,” she said lightly, pausing to light it with a flick of her wand and taking a drag, watching as the smoke drifted idly away. “Hiding?”

He snorted. “I’m not many people’s favourite person at the moment,” he pointed out. “Thought I’d give everyone a break.”

Mary pushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear, glancing his way again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you what happened.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Very restrained of you.”

“I thought so.” She blew out another plume of smoke, aiming it towards the haze of grey clouds. “I’m still not sure that isolating yourself is a great idea, though.”

A pinch of heat at his fingers reminded him that he’d forgotten how low his own cigarette was burning; he ground it into the earth and vanished the butt. “No?”

“No,” she confirmed. “I get the instinct is to be alone, I do. But it’s not going to help you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mac—”

“I know you’ve been all, damaged and what have you,” she interrupted, almost breezily. She had an impressive quality of making even the most serious of subjects sound gentle and meandering. “I knew when you were chatting me up at Tratt’s party.” She shot him a wry smile. “You have to be quite messed up to flirt with me, Black.”

Sirius frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Fifth year, after your uncle died,” she reminded him. “And again in fifth, when you and your brother had that big argument in the Great Hall. And that’s just a few of the times…”

Well, that was hard to argue with. Their relationship had always remained happily platonic, but when things got hard, Sirius got drunk—a winning coping strategy, if ever there was one—and blurred the boundaries that held him together. It was usually just heavy flirting, although one time, they’d had a frantic snog outside the portrait hole, and it was only his hand sliding down to squeeze her arse that made her leap back, burst out laughing, and bring events to a close. He knew it hadn’t been his finest moment; luckily, she was the forgiving sort.

He shifted uncomfortably. “Look. I think that reflects worse on me than it does on you, if that helps,” he replied eventually. “You know you’re great.”

“Oh, I know,” she agreed, and gave him a brighter smile this time. “I’m not trying to make it about me. I’m just saying, I knew things were bad.” She offered him her cigarette, since he had not lit a new one, and he took it, pulling in a long drag. “Marl is worried you’re going to spin out of control and, I dunno, hex someone into oblivion. Or throw yourself in the lake.”

He passed the cigarette back to her, watching as she took a drag, the soft pink stain left behind by her lipstick. “She doesn’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” she pointed out. “We worry because we care.” She paused, frowning slightly. “You know we’re your friends, right?”

“Right,” he agreed, although he didn’t quite believe it.

“People don’t just like you because of your status, or your money, or your ridiculously attractive face,” she added. “Have a bit of self-worth, my love.”

Sirius couldn’t help a smirk. “Ridiculously attractive, eh?”

“Oh, stop,” she waved a hand with a laugh. “You know you are. Besides…” She trailed off.

“Besides what?”

She hesitated. “You just…don’t seem as interested, anymore,” she said, glancing at him with caution. “I mean, I know you had a period of getting your rocks off in all the broom cupboards in the castle, but…”

He felt himself tense up. “But?”

Her earlier confidence seemed to have faded. “But…it seemed a bit like an over-correction,” she said softly. “A bit of a…mask. That’s all.”

He looked away. Fight or flight was kicking in, and for once, he wasn’t about to lash out. Icy fear seemed to have sunk over him at her words, at her knowing gaze; they both knew this was about more than just running away from home. They both knew it, but she was the only one brave enough to acknowledge it. “Dunno what you’re on about, Mac,” he said, as glibly as he could.

She watched him stand up, before standing up too, and gave him a small, apologetic smile. “Okay,” she agreed. She looped her arm through his, an olive branch. “Sorry.”

They walked back into the castle together, Sirius managing to steer the conversation onto much safer ground. Mary let him, and he knew she was letting it go, allowing him this…whatever it was. Denial? He could only face one problem at a time, and the current problem was a sizable one.

“Come find me next time,” she suggested as they reached the portrait hole, and he finally met her gaze again. “I’ll keep you company.”

Despite the awkwardness, the rise and fall of their wandering discussion, he found himself nodding. “Thanks, Mac.”

She gave him a wink before stepping through ahead of him. “Any time, Black.”

Although the rain had stopped (for now), a vicious wind still whipped round the castle, and icy draughts slipped in under doorways and round windowpanes, making it even more of a wrench than usual to leave the toasty warmth of Gryffindor Tower. Nevertheless, James set off out the portrait hole, winding a scarf round his neck and trying to clear his head.

It had been a long few days. Remus had emerged from his determined isolation in the infirmary, intent on avoiding Sirius as much as he possibly could. James wasn’t sure he blamed him for that, but it didn’t make it easier to bear. After all, avoiding one of the Marauders was as good as avoiding all of them. Moony ate at different times, sat apart from them in lessons, shut himself firmly away behind his bed curtains; when they did see him, he kept a careful, closed expression.

James had no idea how to get Moony to open up, to let out his frustrations. He hadn’t exactly been doing a bang-up job of helping Sirius through his emotional turmoil before this had all kicked off, had he? He felt distinctly out of his depth. All he could do was give his friend the chance to talk, and pray that he took it.

So, although he was due in the library with Evans and Sirius to look at the next section of their research, instead he picked his way through the corridors, keeping an eye on the usual places.

Remus was, if nothing else, a creature of habit. When he wanted space, a break from his noisy and rambunctious friends, he could mostly be found in the same spots: lurking at the back of the quiet but warm spare classroom on the second floor; sitting cross-legged in the dim light of the secret passageway behind the tapestry of eccentric Herbologist Aloysius Wendle on the fifth floor; or sat amongst a secluded outcrop of rocks on the far shore of the Black Lake. James rarely felt the urge to be alone—he replenished his energy stores through others’ company, their affection and attention—but he liked to know where the good hiding places were, just in case. One couldn’t ever be too prepared.

The passageway was empty apart from a suspicious, and empty, bottle of Ogden’s Old. The spare classroom was playing host to a pair of Ravenclaw seventh years, who had been deeply unimpressed to have someone walk in and interrupt their busy schedule of feeling each other up. James sighed: outside it was, then.

Unsurprisingly, the icy draughts inside the castle were nothing compared to the bite of the wind outside. Fishing his gloves out of his pocket, and tucking his chin into his scarf in a bid for warmth, he set off across the grounds towards the lake. A few hardy types were out and about, including a small group of first years who were trying to practise wingardium leviosa with no thought to how the wind speed might impact their efforts. Still, there was something heartening about seeing them try—James hid his smirk behind his scarf and battled on.

He had already been walking for fifteen minutes, navigating the uneven, slippery path that laced the lake shore, when he finally spotted the top of a familiar head. The brown curls were being buffeted by the blasts of cold air, and he saw an irritated hand reach up to try to tamp them down (surely a fruitless endeavour, James thought). If it wasn’t Moony, then it was going to be someone a hell of a lot like him.

Finally, he rounded a corner and the seclusion of the rocks gave way. Sure enough, Remus was sat, hunched over, staring out across the water, his mind clearly somewhere else entirely. James hesitated, not wanting to scare his friend, and cleared his throat. “There you are…”

Remus glanced up, blinking rapidly before he cast his gaze back out across the water. “Here I am,” he agreed.

James picked his way through the lumps of stone and patches of nettles, lowering himself on to the flat expanse of rock next to him. “There are warmer places to be alone, you know.”

Remus nodded. “Well, I thought if you were going to hunt me down anyway, I might as well go for the least comfortable option.”

James watched him, taking in his tired eyes, the lines of tension in his neck. “You are one of my best mates,” he pointed out. “It’s my job to hunt you down and make sure you’re still in one piece.”

Remus smiled faintly, but with no real humour. “Not sure everyone has the same rules for friendship as you do, Prongs.”

James pushed his glasses up his nose with a sigh. “I’m not taking his side,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

He shrugged, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t ask you to take mine.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” He leaned in, nudging Remus’ shoulder with his own. “You’re stoic like that. I can love him and be his best mate and still be disappointed, angry. Sad.”

Remus looked down at his hands, fiddling with the bandage that still shrouded his arm. “Look. I—I don’t really want to talk about it.” He sounded more assertive than he ever had before, if not still deeply tired, weary to his bones. “Okay?”

“I’m not going to force you,” James replied simply. “But…you know it’s going to have to come out eventually.” He paused, adding quietly, “Sirius didn’t let it out, and look where that got us…”

Remus pursed his lips together. “That’s his convenient excuse, is it?”

“No,” James sighed. “No, he knows there isn’t an excuse. Not really.”

There was a long silence, not uncomfortable, as such, but loaded, burdened. When Remus spoke again, it was so quiet that James had to lean in a bit to hear. “I should’ve known.”

James frowned. “Should’ve known what?”

But wherever he was, he was too weighed down with his own thoughts to hear his friend. He stared out at the lake, blinking fiercely.

“Moony,” James murmured with a worried frown, pausing before wrapping his arm around the boy’s slight shoulders. Remus remained tense, but dropped his gaze to his hands again. James wished, deeply, desperately wished, that he knew what to say. “I’m sorry…”

His voice was thick with the tension of holding himself together. “S’nothing for you to be sorry for,” he mumbled, and let out a pained chuckle. “You saved Snape from a monster…”

James couldn’t help but give his friend a heartfelt squeeze, trying to put so much into the embrace: sorrow, love, comfort. “What have I told you before,” he said, quietly, firmly. “I won’t have you talking about my best mate like that. We don’t use the M word.”

Remus ‘hmm’ed a response, and James watched from close quarters as a tear slipped down his friend’s cheek. “It’s the truth, though.”

“No it isn’t,” James replied, giving him another squeeze. “Moony, you’re many things, but you’re not a monster. You’re clever, you’re devious, you’re annoyingly strong, you’re a great friend, you’re a really bad cheat at card games—”

“Alright, I get the gist,” Remus mumbled, finally seeming to give in to the fact that he was being hugged, like it or not. He leaned into his friend with a heavy sigh. “I can be a monster as well as those things, though, can’t I.”

“You have to stop saying that about yourself. Thinking that about yourself,” James insisted. “I won’t stand for it any longer, do you hear me?”

There was a pause. “Merlin’s beard, you’re bossy,” Remus murmured.

“Think you’d be used to it by now,” James pointed out. “Slow on the uptake, are we, Moonpie?”

This brought about a real laugh, still a bit teary, but far less broken than before. “Christ, I thought we were past the ‘Moonpie’ phase.”

“I’ll never be past the ‘Moonpie’ phase,” James replied proudly. “In fact, it’s not a phase. It’s a way of life.” He paused, grinning. “So get used to it.”

Remus pulled back, meeting James’ gaze with a small but genuine smile. He was quiet a moment. “Thanks, Prongs.”

“Any time,” he replied sincerely, before glancing round them. “Can we go in now before we freeze to death, or develop some awful wind-borne wasting disease?”

Remus nodded, letting James help him up, and together they set off back towards the castle. “I suppose I should be doing some work,” he noted. “That Transfiguration essay won’t write itself.”

“Get started and I can look it over once I’ve finished with my Potions thing,” James suggested. “You’ll have a killer essay by the end of the day.”

Remus seemed buoyed by this, and James didn’t mention the fact that it meant the boy couldn’t keep avoiding his friends today. If he had to proofread and revise a thousand essays to get Moony to stay in their orbit, he’d bloody well do it.

It seemed a very small price to pay.

Lily waited in the library, trying to take in the words on the page in front of her, and trying not to analyse why she was finding it so hard to concentrate.

Yesterday, she’d bumped into Potter in the common room and reminded him of their next Potions project meeting. He had nodded vaguely, his gaze shifting around the room, and she realised for the first time what it felt like to not have his undivided attention.

“4pm tomorrow,” he’d replied with a distracted nod, evidently not seeing whoever it was he was looking for. “We’ll see you then,” and then he’d disappeared up the boys’ staircase without a backwards glance.

She didn’t care not to be his only focus—Christ, she’d wanted that for years at this point—but it did nothing to quell the distant unease, the concern that had lingered ever since she’d found him in front of the fire a week ago. His demeanour since then had invited Dorcas to guess, bluntly, “maybe he’s had a blow to the head and it gave him a new personality.” Unlikely, Lily thought, but she wasn’t going to rule it out.

But then again, it appeared that his whole little gang had undergone the same character transplant. Pettigrew was even quieter than normal, and seemed constantly, twitchingly on edge. Black incessantly looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. And Remus…well, he had all but vanished. He arrived at lessons just as they started, sliding into a lone seat at the back instead of alongside his friends; she’d seen him at the Gryffindor table maybe twice in the past week; in the tower, he was never in his usual spot of the armchair near the fire. She’d seen him so rarely that when she did, his injuries came as a surprise each time. His arm was still bandaged, although he no longer had to have it strapped to his chest, and the shock of bruises on his face still had not faded completely. Even without these injuries, though, she’d have thought he looked fragile. Like he was only just managing to hold himself together.

The sound of footsteps lifted her gaze, but it was just a pair of first years, traipsing up and down the stacks in search of a particular book and muttering to each other in frustration. She glanced at her watch and wondered whether, with whatever conflict was raging in their social circle at present, maybe James had forgotten. If he had, she wasn’t even sure she was annoyed about it. Strange.

Footsteps again, and someone slouched into the chair next to her.

“Black,” she said, not able to hide her surprise. “Hello…”

“Pr—James is on his way,” Sirius replied dully, pulling parchment, quill and ink from his bag. “He just had to…he’s looking for Remus.”

She took this in with a dazed blink. “Is—is Remus okay?”

Sirius finally met her gaze, and gave her a brief, sad smile. “Don’t know,” he said, and returned his attention to his books. “But James wanted to check in with him, so…he’ll be along soon.”

Lily frowned, and cast a glance around them – no one else was nearby. “What the hell is going on with you lot?” she asked, her voice low, urgent. “Is this to do with people saying Potter saved Severus’ life?”

Sirius tensed. “He did save his life,” he replied evenly. “But we’re not allowed to talk about it.” He looked up with a smile more angry, more mocking, this time. “Sorry, Evans.”

She held his gaze, her frown deepening. “You did something, didn’t you,” she guessed quietly. “You fucked up somehow.”

He let out a huff of air that could have been a laugh, under different circumstances. “Don’t I always?”

“Oh, don’t,” she waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t start with the self-pitying bullshit, Black. We both know better.”

He tried to shrug it off. “Have to live up to the family name.”

“A name isn’t a self-fulfilling prophecy,” she pointed out. “Don’t use it as an excuse for whatever you did.” She paused, then added, more gently, “But you also don’t have to use whatever you did to batter yourself with. Self-flagellation won’t make anything better.”

She had never seen Black look so human as he did right then. For six years she’d viewed him as a rich, handsome, clever prat who knew his assets all too well, who let any slight just glance off him, as if he was too good to care. Even since starting sixth year, his anger and moodiness had seemed aristocratic, almost filmic—the attractive, brooding antihero. But here, sat in front of her, was a boy, a boy trying—struggling—to not let himself care too much, to not let himself crumble; a boy with dark shadows under his eyes, like looming thunder clouds, and hands that, she realised, could not keep still. As if, if he stopped, it might all catch up to him.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he murmured. “He won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me…”

This wasn’t about Potter, then: James seemed to be at the very least on speaking terms with his friend. “Do you mean—”

“Sorry I’m late.” James flopped into the chair on her other side. He looked drained. “What did I miss?”

“Did you find him?” Sirius asked, before Lily could reply. There was something like hope in his eyes, but hope ringed with shame.

James glanced briefly, awkwardly, at her before looking at his best friend again. “Yeah. I found him.”

Sirius swallowed, hard. “Is he—”

“Let’s…not do this now, Pads,” James suggested, not unkindly. “Okay?”

She’d never seen Black look chastened before. It was unsettling. “Right. Sorry.”

James pulled a stack of parchment from his bag. “This is my research so far…”

Lily tried to listen, to take in what Potter was saying…but she couldn’t help but feel like they weren’t going to get much work done today.

A rather nervous-looking second year had delivered the news: McGonagall wanted to see him in her office. “She said, erm, now,” the girl had added, avoiding Sirius’ gaze as if she expected him to lash out at her at any moment.

Sirius had been slouched in an armchair by the windows in the common room, watching the clouds pace across the sky and thinking about Moony. Not the most productive way to spend his free period, true, but it was about all he felt capable of at the moment. Although this wasn’t anything that could not be interrupted, he still took his time gathering his things together and ambling at a snail’s pace towards his head of house’s office.

Apart from the classrooms and the tower itself, McGonagall’s office was probably where he’d spent most of his time during his school career so far. Detentions, scoldings, meeting after meeting where they discussed his ‘potential’ and ‘disregard for the basic safety of others’. In all his years, though, he’d never seen her truly furious or truly disappointed in him…until now.

But then, that wasn’t a surprise, was it? Almost killing several people and almost costing his best friend his freedom wasn’t exactly comparable to stuffing fifty dungbombs into the Slytherins’ vat of lunchtime tomato soup.

He paused outside the doorway, frowning slightly—he could hear more than one voice. But the wood was too thick to identify anyone (something he knew already, of course, from years of trying to listen in to James being bollocked for something that he himself had got away with) and so he drew in a breath to steel himself, and knocked briskly.

“Come in,” a raised voice called.

He had already stepped in and was closing the door behind him when he truly took in the sight before his eyes. McGonagall was sat behind her desk, cup of tea and saucer in front of her, and in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk was Euphemia Potter, complete with matching cup and saucer and an expression of deep sadness.

He swallowed. Shit.

“Ah, Sirius,” McGonagall nodded her head, and stood up. “Good. I asked Mrs Potter to meet with me this morning regarding…everything that has happened.” She glanced at her watch. “It has been a useful conversation, I feel. I must go and speak with the seventh years, briefly, and will be back so we can talk about a plan to move forwards. In the meantime, I suggest you two have a discussion.”

Without giving him a chance to say no, his teacher swept out of the room; he turned to look at Euphemia, his nerves like a boulder in his gut.

She studied his face with a frown. “Sirius, dear, sit down,” she encouraged, patting the chair next to her. “You don’t need to be frightened of me, for Godric’s sake.”

He nodded, moving to take a seat; he often forgot that not everyone had the same reactions as his own mother. “I—I didn’t know they’d contacted you…” he said sheepishly.

“Minerva is very concerned about you.” She set down her teacup and reached for his hand. “Fleamont would have come, too, but he had some big to-do with the International Potions Society,” she told him, and paused. “Are you…alright?”

He tried to smile. “Well, everyone hates me, now, and I ‘spose they’ve got good reason to.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said, firm but fond. She reminded him so much of James in that moment. “I know for a fact that my dear son does not hate you. And perhaps it is just necessary that you give Remus time.”

He stared down at her hand on his. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I really fucked up.”

“Language,” she tutted, but it seemed more automatic than actually intended. “I know that you’ve been struggling, since the summer. James has been very worried about you. We all have been.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “You cannot let your family control you like this, Sirius. Rule your life so that your moods live and die with them. Anger is a wasted emotion—it will only wear you away, not them.”

He looked up at her—his best friend’s mum, a woman who had shown him more love and devotion in the few years that she had known him than his own mother had in his whole lifetime. It hurt, to acknowledge that. To think that his life, his personality, his heart could have been so different if only he hadn’t been born into the family Black.

“It’s not just anger,” he said, his voice strained. He wasn’t sure why he felt like he could lay out every thought and emotion with her, when it seemed impossible with everyone else. But it suddenly felt as if he would break, shatter into pieces, if he didn’t let these feelings stream out. “I’ve felt…broken. Sad.” He shook his head, frustrated. “Can you imagine it? Sad, to be away from those hate-filled arseholes?” The words seemed to crack in his throat, and he realised, with embarrassment, that he had tears in his eyes. “Why am I sad about it? I fucking hate them, they—they never cared about me, they only cared about—about blood purity, about the fucking dynasty—keeping up appearances and clinging onto control—why am I sad to be away from that?”

It had all come rushing out of him, and Euphemia Potter had sat there, watching him, not flinching away or getting angry at his words or cutting him down.

After a moment, she leaned forward, and he almost flinched back out of instinct, but before he knew what was happening, she was folding him into her arms and giving him the tightest, warmest hug he’d ever had.

“You’re sad because you love them, Sirius,” she spoke up, rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s very common for abused people to still love their abusers. It’s not something to punish yourself for—it’s something to come to terms with, to let go of.” She paused. “I’m sorry, sweet. I’m sorry you’ve been feeling this way and felt you couldn’t talk about it.”

Abused. He closed his eyes tight at that word, letting it sink through him like a stone. “It’s not an excuse, though, is it,” he murmured eventually. “Doesn’t make it okay that I betrayed my best friend.”

Euphemia released him from her embrace, pulling back enough to pat him gently on the cheek, then to press her still-warm cup of tea into his hands. “No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “But you won’t be able to get anywhere if you can’t even acknowledge and deal with your own feelings first.”

He let this churn in his stomach for a moment, and was about to say more when the door opened again and McGonagall entered. She hesitated, silhouetted in the door frame with the daylight behind her. “I can give you more time?” she offered.

Sirius shook his head, quickly wiping his eyes and determinedly avoiding her gaze. Crying in front of McGonagall – not an experience he’d ever wanted to live through. “’S’fine…”

Euphemia gave a small smile. “Thank you for contacting me, Minerva. I care very deeply about my boys and want to help in any way I can.”

Her boys. Plural. Sirius blinked, trying not to start tearing up again, although this was a warm feeling, one he was much less familiar with. To be cared for, loved, as a mother loves her son.

“Certainly, Euphemia,” McGonagall nodded. “I believe James is in a Divination lesson now, if you’d like we could send for him?”

“No, it’s fine, I’m sure he’s busy studying the tea leaves.” Sirius swore he could see the hint of a smirk exchanged between the two women. “So,” Euphemia continued. “Detentions each week? And mentoring sessions, did you say, Minerva?”

“Indeed,” McGonagall nodded. She looked at Sirius. “We will be exploring ways to control anger, and finding better ways to channel emotions—into positive things, not negative.”

Sirius gave a brief, glum nod: that sounded bloody awful, but he knew he was not within his rights to complain.

“If there is anything more you think would help, please do say,” Euphemia said. “Monty and I will do whatever is needed.”

After finishing her tea, Euphemia gave Sirius one last hug—saying “do tell Jamie I love him, and make sure to do it nice and loudly in front of as many people as possible, dear”—before climbing into the green flames in McGonagall’s fireplace.

The room felt smaller, emptier without her vibrant presence. Sirius looked up at his teacher, not sure what to say at first. In the end, he settled for, “…thanks, Professor.” And he truly meant it. Until now, he hadn’t realised exactly what it was he needed.

McGonagall gave him a look, a kind look, almost warm—certainly a long way from the scathing one he had expected. “Of course,” she replied. “You know where I am if you need anything, Mr Black.”

As he walked away, back to the common room, he realised that, actually, he might take her up on that offer.

Remus wasn’t a clubs sort of person—probably put off by the fact that he hadn’t been able to attend any as a child—but when Pete had invited him along to the first Chess Club gathering of the year, he’d agreed. It was either go along or stay back in the Tower, and Sirius was there. An easy decision, then.

He liked chess as much as the next person, unless the next person happened to be one of the twenty, ardent members of Hogwarts Official Chess Club. The club was a bit of a revelation, to be honest. It was no surprise that Pete was good at chess, having been roundly thrashed by him in every game they’d played since first year. But seeing him amongst his chess club cronies, Remus had realised that actually, Pete wasn’t just good—he was ruddy brilliant. If he got nothing else from the evening, he at least was able to watch his friend wipe the floor with every player he came across.

“Well, I did alright,” Pete said with a modest shrug as they made their way back to the Tower a few hours later. “We were just playing for fun tonight, really. The strategy kicks in next week.”

“You won every game,” Remus pointed out. “I feel sorry for you now, being stuck playing against me for the past six years. That must’ve felt like playing against…” He searched for the right word. “Against a goldfish.”

Pete grinned. “You’re better than a goldfish, Moony.”

“High praise indeed,” Remus smirked.

“Think you’ll come back next week?”

“Probably not,” Remus admitted. “I like to keep activities that make me feel sub-intelligent to a minimum.”

“Same, that’s why I don’t listen in Transfiguration.” Pete stopped as they reached a junction that, to the left, took them back to Gryffindor, and to the right, down to the Entrance Hall. “I’m starved. Fancy a kitchen run?”

“You go ahead,” he replied. “My appetite is still recovering.”

Pete nodded sympathetically. The painkillers had given Remus the eating habits of a small bird. “Alright, mate. See you up there.”

They parted ways, Remus listening to the fading footsteps of his friend until they vanished completely. He glanced at his watch; it was nearing nine, reaching the point where he couldn’t avoid his dorm for much longer. At least Sirius had stopped trying to talk to him every night. He could just go in, brush his teeth and shut himself away for the duration. Simple.

He rounded another corner as a figure stepped out of a classroom; their eyes met, and his heart sank to see the cold gaze directed at him. How they had managed to avoid each other so far was something of a mystery.

“You,” Snape spat, drawing his wand.

“Severus—”

“You almost killed me, you monster—half-breed.” Snape’s voice was dripping with hatred, venom like nothing he’d heard before. “And here you are, just wandering around because you’ve got that pathetic Dumbledore’s protection…”

Remus swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Severus, but—”

“Sorry,” he repeated, scathing, bitter. “You don’t deserve to be here, you’re putting everyone at risk so you can claw yourself an education you won’t even be able to use, because who’d want a monstrous beast in their employ—”

All of these words were ones that had run through his own mind before, many times. It didn’t make it easier to hear them voiced aloud. “I’ll steer clear of you, you can steer clear of me.”

Severus’ lips curled in an ugly snarl. “Oh, how benevolent of you, Lupin—a werewolf, offering me reprieve—”

A small clearing of a throat. “It’s nearly curfew.” Lily Evans’ voice was calm, steady. “You should both be back in your houses.”

Remus felt like his heart was going to thud out of his chest completely—how much had she heard? She had to have heard what Snape had just said… so that meant… he blinked hard, trying to calm the rising tide of panic.

“Lily,” Snape started, voice losing the edge of malice. “You don’t understand—”

She stepped forward, now in Remus’ field of vision, although he couldn’t bring himself to look over at her. “Go back to your common room, Severus,” she said firmly. “Or I’ll have to dock points.”

“Lily—”

“Now.”

Snape shot Remus a final glare, and swept past them, muttering to himself under his breath as he went. Remus felt some of the adrenaline that had powered him so far seep out of him; he drew in a shaky breath, staring down at the floor and willing his heart to slow.

“Remus.” Her voice was soft, kind. The polar opposite of his last conversation companion. “Rem? It’s okay…”

He finally looked up, finding her in front of him now, face awash with concern. He didn’t know what to say. It seemed like all he could do, all he could focus on, was trying to calm his breathing, slow his heart rate back down.

“It’s okay,” she repeated, and reached to give his hand a squeeze. “Okay?”

He nodded, unable to do much more. He wasn’t sure he trusted that it really was okay, but he had to cling on to something.

She glanced at her watch. “You should get back to your dorm,” she suggested gently. “Do you want me to walk with you?”

At last he found his voice, although it shook, tremulous, cracked. “No. I’m okay,” he replied. “You finish up your patrols.”

She gave him a small but genuine smile. “It’s not the same without you,” she told him. “Reuben Riley is not nearly as good company.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, and managed a smile too, somehow. “I’ll be back in commission again soon.”

“You will,” she agreed, pausing before leaning in to dot a kiss to his cheek. “Night, Remus.”

“Good night, Lily.”

With the first game of the year fast approaching—Gryffindor against Slytherin, or as James framed it, “good vs evil”—practices were becoming more frequent and more intense. Their previous captain, Lizzie Lewis, had been well-liked but known for being a fierce taskmaster; no one had minded, though, since it led to a high level of success on the Quidditch pitch. When James had taken on the role, some hopeful (foolish) team members had been pleased, thinking that at least the pressure might ease. They had been wrong.

Maybe he was channelling his energy into something he could have an impact on—a problem he could solve. Maybe he would have been like this anyway: after all, there weren’t many things in life he took more seriously than Quidditch. But, not being in possession of a time turner, there was no way of knowing if things would’ve been different. The Gryffindors were stuck with the captain they had, and this captain was training them to within an inch of their lives.

He finally called a halt to proceedings around 9pm, feeling that he was flagging just as much as his team by that point. It had been a long day, no free periods, and an afternoon sweltering in the Divination classroom followed by a rushed dinner—his bum barely hit the bench at the Gryffindor table before he was hurrying back out again down to the pitch to set up for practice. Well, at least they couldn’t say they weren’t prepared. And Kasim was finally able to be near a bludger without panicking and almost falling off his broom, so that was the sweet smell of progress. One had to take the small victories in life.

The team walked back to the castle together, chatting idly about the state of the other house teams this year. James fell back into step with Charlotte Swift, a fifth year and a current cause of some concern. Charlotte was normally lively, energetic, even in the face of relentless drills. This evening, she’d been subdued, not saying much on the ground and then hovering with an air of distraction in front of the hooped goalposts. James knew that people had off days but Charlotte never had before. She was a machine.

“So,” he said, throwing caution and subtlety to the wind. “What’s up?”

She looked over at him as if she’d only just noticed he was walking next to her. “Hmm?”

“Something’s up,” he pointed out as they trudged up another staircase. “I’m wondering what it is.”

“What what is?”

“The thing that is up,” he replied helpfully. “C’mon, Charlie. Out with it.”

She sighed. “Sorry. My mind’s a bit…” She waved her hand, and he nodded in understanding. “It’s nothing, really. I’ll be back on form for next practice.”

“I’m sure you will,” he agreed, “but you’re not okay now, are you?”

They reached the portrait hole, and both seemed to come to a silent agreement to stop before going through. Charlotte glanced behind her. “Did you see the Prophet this morning?”

He furrowed his brow a moment. “Yeah, briefly,” he nodded. “Another attack…”

“Oxford,” she nodded grimly.

He paused. “Oh! Aren’t you—”

“Yes,” she sighed.

“Was it—” he paused, thought better of that question. “Have you been able to contact your family?”

She nodded again. “McGonagall helped me. They’re all fine. But…it was another family like ours.”

James watched her, the discomfort writ large on her face, the worry and anxiety and fear that made her look so much older than sixteen. “You’re Muggleborn,” he said softly—a statement, not a question.

“It’s fucked up, isn’t it,” she murmured. “To be glad other people died instead of my own family?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think anyone else would have a different reaction.”

“I’m scared to tell them the extent of it all,” she added. “I think they might pull me out of school if they knew.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry,” he offered quietly. “I can’t imagine how it all must feel. Is there—” He shook his head. “I wish I could help.” That was it, wasn’t it. Another problem he couldn’t solve, another person he couldn’t help. There weren’t many things in the world he hated more than being helpless, feeling useless. “You’re a talented witch, Charlie. Not to mention a bloody marvellous Keeper. Your ancestry doesn’t change any of that.”

She met his gaze, managing a small smile. “Thanks, James.”

“And if I can do anything to help…” He sighed. “You’ve got lots of people on your side, okay?”

Charlotte nodded, about to speak when they both became aware of someone behind them: James turned to find Lily Evans, standing quietly and watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. Charlotte gave the girl a slightly stronger smile. “Hi, Lily,” she greeted her, before turning back to the portrait hole. “Right, I need to sleep. Thanks again, James…”

“No problem,” he called after her, watching as she stepped through and disappeared towards the dormitory stairs. He paused, not sure why he felt strange all of a sudden, and glanced back at Lily. He hesitated. “Alright, Evans?”

She blinked as if breaking from a reverie. “Oh. Yeah,” she replied. He’d not seen her look so unsure before. “You?”

He smiled awkwardly, nodding to his muddy Quidditch gear. “Just in need of a shower,” he said, and gestured to the portrait hole. “After you, ma’am.”

She slipped past him, mumbling her thanks, and disappeared to the dormitory stairs as well. It was only the Fat Lady muttering, “are we going to take all day, here?” that propelled him forwards too.

His dorm was quiet; Remus’ bed hangings were firmly shut, and Sirius sat on his bed staring glumly at a Defence textbook. “Where’s Pete?” James asked. shucking off his scarlet jumper and knocking his glasses askew. “Didn’t see him in the common room.”

“Don’t know,” Sirius replied. He cast a glance towards Remus’ bed. “Haven’t seen him since he went off to his club.”

James nodded; he knew that Peter was avoiding too much alone time with Sirius lately. He’d told James that he didn’t know what to say to him. James didn’t, either, but didn’t tell Pete that. “You okay?”

Sirius closed his textbook with a thud. “McGonagall called your mum in.”

He stopped, muddy trousers half-way down his legs, to squint at his friend. “I’m sorry, what?”

Sirius’ sigh was weary. “She got your mum in for a meeting, then summoned me for an ambush.” He raked a hand through his long dark hair, more habit than necessity. “Your dad would’ve been there too but apparently he was busy tarting around with some potions committee or something.”

James kicked his trousers off to one side. “Bloody hell…”

“Yeah, well,” Sirius shrugged, looking down. “’S’not like they were going to bring in my parents for a cosy chat about helping me become a better person, were they.”

James crossed the room in his pants—they had no boundaries, and never had done—and leaned against the post at the bottom of his bed. “Was she…cross?”

Sirius seemed unwilling to meet his eyes. “No. She was nice about it.” He picked at a thread on his quilt. “Gave me a hug.”

James smiled slightly. “Ah,” he nodded. “Good, aren’t they?”

Sirius finally looked up, eyeing him with slight distrust before he allowed, “yeah…”

James studied his face, tried to decipher the expression on his friend’s face. “So…”

“So we talked about my…parents,” he replied uncomfortably. “And how I’ve felt since I left.” He sighed heavily. “I might have cried.”

“Well,” James offered, “crying can be cathartic.”

“Doesn’t change anything, though, does it?” he asked. He sounded tired, sad. “I’ve still fucked up. I’ve still ruined one of the closest friendships I had.”

“I wouldn’t say ruined,” James frowned. “You just need to give him—”

“Time, yes,” Sirius interrupted. “I’m just not so sure that time is the great healer you think it is.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he replied. “But if it matters to you—if Moony matters to you—you have to try.”

There was a pause. “Offering wisdom in your pants,” Sirius mumbled at last. “What has happened to you?”

“Good question,” James smiled. “I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

It started, as many things do, at breakfast.

It had been a few days since James’ mother had met with Sirius and McGonagall—and chose not to see her own son, thank you very much, mum—and he had been pleased to see a difference already in his best friend. He seemed less withdrawn, and was even sometimes willing to talk. James had long suspected that his mum had superlative diplomatic and interpersonal skills, and it was nice to see them put to a different use than just soothing his father after another frustrating Sleekeazy’s board meeting. She’d been retired from the Ministry since he was born—something high level in the Department of Mysteries (“it’s called the Department of Mysteries, Jamie, not the Department of Tell Everyone You Like, so please do stop asking”)—so it wasn’t often he got to see that side of her. 

But while Sirius was making small strides in the right direction, Remus seemed to have withdrawn further into his shell. James wasn’t sure what had brought this on; as far as he knew, the boy hadn’t had a single exchange with Sirius that could’ve set him off—in fact, he hardly spoke to anyone if he could avoid it.

Frankly, if he thought he could get away with it, he might have called his mother back in to try her hand at sorting out Remus. But even James had to admit that there was something a bit babyish about getting your mum to sort out your problems when you were an ancient sixteen years of age. He’d have to handle this one himself.

He was puzzling over this very matter, watching with distracted interest as the rich yolk from his fried egg slowly invaded the rest of his plate, when Lily Evans plopped herself unceremoniously in the seat across from him. James, Sirius and Peter all looked up with some alarm: she usually chose to sit as far away from them as she possibly could.

“Good morning,” Lily said, reaching for the jug of pumpkin juice. “Remus not down for breakfast again?”

James blinked. Why did she so often leave him feeling like he was one Gobstone short of a set? “No…he’s been sleeping in a lot the past couple of days…”

Lily sighed. “It must be because of the thing with Severus.”

To his right, he heard a clang as Sirius dropped his fork. “What thing?”

She glanced uncomfortably between them. “Oh…did he not tell you…?”

James drew in a steadying breath. “Tell us what, Evans?”

She busied herself serving up a bowl of porridge. “If he didn’t tell you, maybe I shouldn’t—”

“Yes, yes, you’re very noble,” Sirius interrupted. “What happened?”

James watched as she stirred brown sugar into her porridge, staring resolutely down at the mixture; he could identify, to the millisecond, the point at which she dropped her resolve. “Alright,” she sighed and lowered her voice, leaning in closer, looking round them for eavesdroppers. “I was on prefect duties, and I came across Remus and Severus—Severus had his wand out, and was—well…” She looked almost apologetic. “Calling him some pretty awful things.”

“That slimy little shit—” Sirius started, heaving himself out of his seat.

James reached out without looking and yanked him back down again, keeping his gaze on Lily. He was desperately trying to read her expression. “You…heard these things?” he asked, quiet, careful.

She met his gaze. “I did,” she admitted. She checked around them again. “He was calling him a monster, a half-breed—said he didn’t deserve to stay here, that there was no point anyway because no one would hire a…” She hesitated, and finally, murmured, “A…you know.”

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit. “You…know?” James asked, fear like ice through his chest.

She nodded. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while, but…that confirmed it.”

He frowned, catching Peter’s eye across the table briefly; his friend looked stunned, a forkful of sausage and bacon frozen half-way to his open mouth. Unattractive a sight as it was, James could understand the feeling entirely. “Have you told anyone?” he turned back to her.

She looked affronted. “What? Of course not!” She dropped her spoon back into her bowl. “It’s not my business. And those things he said…they were abhorrent. They were bullshit.” She sat up straighter, frowning with righteous indignation. “Remus is amazing.”

Sirius’ voice was very quiet and very sad when he spoke up. “He is.”

Lily’s gaze flickered over to Sirius, then Peter, before finally returning to James. “Remus was really shaken…I had to basically talk him down from a panic attack,” she said. “I had hoped he would come back and talk to you lot about it…”

James glanced at Sirius, who was now staring at his plate, chewing on his bottom lip with a ferocity he hadn’t had in a while. “No. He’s…he’s been pretty withdrawn the past few days.” He paused, then added, “More so than before, I mean.”

She hesitated. “I’d like to talk to him.” This wasn’t a side of Lily he often saw: she was usually so sure of herself, so determined to claim her place in this world. “Do you think…would he be okay with that? I can’t bear the thought of him thinking I hate him or I’m going round telling people about…all this.”

James nodded. “I think you should,” he agreed. “I think he needs to hear it from someone other than us—it's probably become white noise, a bit.”

She nodded too, and heaved a sigh before standing up decisively. “Well, then,” she said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Tell Binns I’ve got period pains or something. I’ll see if I can get him talking and out of the dorm in time for Potions.”

Peter let out a nervous laugh next to her. “Period pains—?”

“Will do, Evans,” James managed a small grin, giving her a salute. “Good luck.”

The redhead disappeared out of the Great Hall, leaving a stunned silence in her wake. James’ gaze lifted, searching the Slytherin table for that familiar, hated face. “I should’ve guessed something had happened,” he said, frowning in frustration. No sign of Snape anywhere. “I know he was quiet before, but this has been something else entirely.”

Sirius’ jaw was clenched, the muscle there twitching with the effort of holding himself together. “When I see Snivellus—”

“You’re going to do absolutely fuck all,” James interrupted firmly. “Don’t get yourself expelled over that oily twat. He’s not worth it.”

Sirius turned, incensed. “Are you saying we should just sit back and let him harass our friend whenever he bloody wants?”

“No,” he replied, stabbing a piece of bacon with more force than strictly necessary. “That’s not what I’m saying. But there are ways of dealing with this that don’t get you kicked out of school, and that don’t make our friend even more self-conscious and miserable than he already is.”

There was a pause, then it was like seeing a needle pierce a balloon: all the outrage wheezed out of him. “Fine,” Sirius muttered, glaring at his scrambled eggs. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

Peter opened his mouth, but caught James’ eye and quickly shut it again. Thank Merlin for Marauder instincts, because James didn’t think Sirius would handle ridicule very well right now. “Good. Eat up, we’re going to be late for History of Magic…”

“Yes, mother,” was Sirius’ scathing reply.

So, business as usual, then.

A benefit of skiving lessons—not that it was something Lily usually did, the only stain on her record being a string of Divination lessons in fourth year when she had a bout of what is even the bloody point-itis and couldn’t drag herself up that ridiculous silver stepladder—was that most students were in their lessons at this time of the morning, and so there were only two people in the common room when she came through. Only two people to glance with mild disinterest as she strode up the boys’ staircase, shifting her bag strap so the whole lot didn’t come clattering down. She was a woman on a mission.

She paused at the doorway to the sixth year’s dorm, wondering whether she should knock, but decided that he would probably only ignore it. As she entered, she realised that this was her first time venturing into their dorm (their “sacred space”, as Potter liked to describe it, to much eye-rolling from everyone in earshot), and she decided that it was merely professional curiosity that sent her gaze roving keenly around the room. She was essentially an anthropologist, venturing forth to uncover secrets unknown about a mysterious species. Although, as she took in the discarded socks, muddy Quidditch gear, books strewn with their spines cracked up to the ceiling, she could admit to herself that maybe these boys weren’t all that mysterious. Fairly typical, in fact, if her visits to Luke Brand’s dorm last year had been any indication.

The bed closest to the communal bathroom had its hangings closed. She still would’ve been able to guess this was Remus’ bed, though, since he at least had some respect for books—there was a neat stack of them on the bedside table, alphabetised and diligently bookmarked. She placed her bag on the floor and stepped closer, pausing before clearing her throat. “Remus?” she said, her voice sounding small even in the silence. “Open up or I’m coming in.”

She could almost hear the frown, and sure enough, that frown appeared, tremulous, anxious, in a gap in the hangings. “Lily?” He looked pale, exhausted, blinking in the daylight of the dorm.

“That’s right,” she confirmed brightly, and gave him a smile. “Budge up, will you? I feel a right twat just standing here.”

There was a long pause, his face unreadable, before he finally tugged the hangings open fully, shifting up into a sitting position so she could clamber on to the other end of the bed. She crossed her legs neatly, smoothing her skirt down—she didn’t want to flash her knickers at the poor bloke too, on top of everything else—and folded her hands in her lap. “Thanks.”

He watched her, inscrutable as ever, and it took a few moments before he seemed to realise himself, remember his self-consciousness; he pulled at his pyjamas, covering scars that seemed to sink down his chest like silver thread. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes after that. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked eventually.

She gave him a look—or tried to, difficult to catch his eye as it was—and twisted a chunk of fabric from her skirt between her fingers. “Your miscreant friends say you’ve been even more quiet the past few days,” she said. “And I thought it was probably to do with all that horrible shite Severus was throwing at you the other night.”

It didn’t seem as if he could get much stiller, and yet, he found a way. The gentle pulse of a vein in his temple was the only clue that he was struggling. “I—I don’t know what you heard, but—”

“Rem,” she interrupted, gently. “I know.”

His gaze lifted at that, and she saw something like real, palpable terror in his eyes. It was gutting, to think that he might be so afraid, so used to awful, hideous reactions that it had become all he could expect. “You…know,” he murmured, fractures in his voice like broken glass.

“I mean…I’ve suspected for a while, and…the signs were all there.” She paused, and leaned forward, grasping his hand in hers—she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Remus, you’re my friend. As far as I’m concerned, you’re no different to me now than you were a week ago, or a month ago, or a year ago, or six years ago.”

He stared down at her hand on his; the tension was coming off him in waves. “Lily, you—you don’t have to say that, just to be…I understand if you want to step back, or—or patrol with someone else.”

“Oi,” she frowned, squeezing his hand; he looked up. “Did you hear what I said? You’re my mate and knowing this hasn’t changed a bloody thing. You’re not a—a monster, or any of the other bollocks Snape said. You’re Remus, you’re—you’re bloody great, okay? Do you hear me?”

He squinted at her, as if her face presented some complex puzzle that you’d need a decoding cypher to understand. “…really?”

She gave him a frustrated sigh. “Yes, really,” she confirmed. “I’m sorry that you got all that nonsense from Snape—I’m sorry that maybe some people have been shite before. But that’s not what’s happening here, okay? You’re not losing a friend.” She paused thoughtfully. “You’re gaining a more informed friend.”

A smile finally cracked through that anxious surface. “Sometimes I forget how determined you are.”

“I don’t know how you could forget,” she said airily. “I do my best to remind people.”

He watched her a moment. “You and James have more in common than you think.”

She frowned slightly, knocked off kilter by the mention of Potter. “Do we?” she asked, as if she didn’t care. “Anyway. I’ve skipped Binns’ class with an excuse that I think has scarred Pettigrew for life—does he not know what a menstrual cycle is?”

Remus couldn’t help a stronger smile, then. “He does, I gave them all the Talk in third year.”

“Anyway,” she shrugged. “I’m free and easy now until ten thirty, at which time you and I are going down to the dungeons and showing those potions who’s boss.”

He ran his hand over his face, not able to wipe away the smile. “Alright,” he agreed, and paused. “Thanks, Lily.”

She matched his smile with one of her own. “Any time,” she replied. “And any time you want to talk…about anything…you know where I am.” She leaned back against the bedpost. “Sometimes it helps to have a different perspective.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah…I suppose it does…”

She reached out to give his hand another squeeze. It seemed he had reached his saturation point for emotional outbursts today; she wanted to give him a pleasant distraction. “So,” she said cheerfully, “shall we play ‘transfigure Potter’s things so he doesn’t know where anything is’?”

Remus’ laughter filled the quiet dorm.

Sirius often found it difficult to concentrate during History of Magic—something in Binns’ tuneless drone just seemed to flick the off switch in his ears—but today was even worse than normal. The ghost might as well have not been talking at all for all Sirius heard of his lecture on the Great Goblin Uprising of 1642.

They didn’t share this class with the Slytherins, which was probably for the best, since Sirius still felt like his temper was a lit fuse, waiting to burn down. He knew James was right—he really was on his last chance, and giving Snape the battering he so richly deserved would feel gratifying for about five minutes before Dumbledore threw him out of school; bad enough, surely, to be disowned, disinherited, cast off from one’s family—no need to add ‘expelled for grievous bodily harm’ to the list.

Still, knowing James was right didn’t make it any easier to cope with. He kept remembering Remus’ white face, eyes fixed on the ground as he’d returned to the dorm the other night. Sirius had watched him, had seen the tension set into his shoulders, the stiff straightness of his spine, trying to keep himself upright…but he’d assumed he was just reacting to Sirius’ presence there, no one else around to act as a buffer. He should’ve said something, should’ve swallowed down his cowardly instincts and asked if his friend was okay. Another failure, another dereliction of duty on his part.

At least he knew that James and Peter were as anxious and angry about the whole situation as he was. Peter had spent the entirety of Binns’ lesson frowning out the window, lost in thought. There wasn’t a single drop of ink on the parchment in front of him. James seemed, at first, to be taking notes, but when Sirius leaned over to get a better look, he saw what seemed to just be the ramblings of a madman. He saw the words ‘attacks’, ‘Muggleborn rights’, ‘all living things’ and ‘organise’ from amongst the scribblings, and realised that perhaps James was trying to redirect his fury and frustration into something more positive. It was classic Prongs—he’d never met a problem he didn’t want to try and solve.

A small, selfish part of Sirius knew that there was another reason for his own anger (beyond the fact that Snape was an irredeemably heinous, nasty little git): none of it would have happened, could have happened, if Sirius had kept his mouth shut. Snape had had his suspicions, of course, but Sirius had wandered in and presented him with the confirmation of his theories on a ruddy silver platter, and now he could hurl vicious bigoted tripe at Remus as much as liked, as long as he didn’t actually tell anyone Remus’ secret.

There was no point in going to Dumbledore, either—Snape didn’t tell Lily, she’d overheard, and apparently had guessed as much anyway. So it wasn’t as if they could move on from this event by cheering as Snape was thrown unceremoniously out on his bony behind. No. All there was were repercussions, even more reasons for Remus to hate Sirius, because it was his selfish, thoughtless behaviour that had landed them in this mess to begin with.

A flash of memory, then, of being on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, heart still racing after being wrenched from his nightmares, eyes wide and unblinking, tears still damp on his cheeks; and all along, Moony sat at his side, quiet, reassuring in his stillness, the gentle curl of his words like a blanket round his shoulders, the crisp, clean scent of him, the warmth of his arm next to his. Remus might not have felt like he’d done much to help that night, but to Sirius, it had been everything. And now, he wasn’t sure if Remus would let them be that close again.

The bell signalled the end of the lesson, and the students hauled themselves up and off to their next class: for most of the Gryffindors, N.E.W.T Potions.

James and Sirius settled themselves into their usual bench at the back of the dungeon, watching as others filtered in. Snape entered with Avery, and Sirius felt James tense up in unison with him. It was an October miracle that they both managed to stay silent and seated.

Just as Sirius was beginning to think that Lily had not been successful in her quest, she came into the classroom, arm looped through Remus’ and chatting merrily. To most, this was not an unusual sight, but Sirius noticed immediately how Snape stopped mid-conversation, watching the pair as they made their way to the bench in front of James and Sirius, his face fixed in a frown of confusion and anger.

James leaned forward. “Morning, Moony,” he said; Remus turned to give his friend a small smile. “You’ll be glad to know you missed precisely bugger all in History of Magic just now.”

“I’m sure your notes will be as rigorous as ever,” Remus replied, glancing briefly, fleetingly, at Sirius before he turned back to face the front.

Sirius watched as he leaned in to murmur something to Lily, who smiled and muttered a quick reply. That was all he could witness, though, before Professor Slughorn bustled in and called their attention to the front.

Sirius decided to actually concentrate on the lesson—as if that alone might convince Remus to forgive him—and so went about taking careful notes and not purposely going out of his way to sabotage his and James’ attempt at the memory-mending elixir they were studying today. This focus held up quite well, all told, until close to the end of the session when he overheard two low, intense voices in the ingredients store cupboard behind him.

“—how you can pal around with him—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I’d asked for your opinion.”

Sirius stilled. It took all of his willpower not to turn round and punch Snape right in the nose.

“He must’ve said I was lying, but I wasn’t, Lily. He is a—”

“Stop.” Lily’s voice was sharp, cold. “He didn’t say you were lying. I know all about it.” There was a pause. “Could you please move? I need the newt eyes.”

A shuffling of footsteps. “But—if you know—”

“He’s my friend,” was her simple reply. “And you are not.”

Sirius saw Lily emerge from the store cupboard, resisting the urge to give her a standing ovation as she went, and it was a minute or two before Snape followed, looking mutinous.

Well, if Sirius hadn’t respected Lily before…he certainly did now.

He turned back to James, who was laser-focused on their potion, hair even wilder than normal from the humidity. “So you’re plotting a revolution, are you?” he asked.

James looked up, briefly confused, before he nodded. “I’m fed up with good people being treated like shit,” he replied, gesturing widely with the long-handled spoon he was using. “It’s not right. Something has to change.”

Sirius couldn’t help but feel that, although he made for a slightly mad-looking rebel leader, James might just be the sort of person who could do something. “Well, whatever you’re planning…I’m in.”

James gave him a small but determined smile. “Knew I could count on you, Padfoot.”

Perhaps knowing that most of the school were headed to Hogsmeade, the next day dawned with an insistent squall of sleet that refused to let up. The fine, blinding slush pelted from the sky as they lined up for carriages, as they trundled down to the village, as they gathered outside Zonko’s. Remus was hard pressed to feel too irritated, though—it felt wonderful to have a change of scenery, even if it was one viewed through a miserable, stinging lens.

James had reminded him of the scavenger hunt plan the night before, and between the two of them it had taken all of forty minutes to rework Slughorn’s randomiser charm to suit their purposes. Peter had helped them make copies of the hunt list, pleased to be a part of the project. It had almost felt like a normal evening again.

It had helped, of course, that Sirius had spent the evening in his weekly detention with McGonagall. But Remus didn’t want to think about that.

Mary had made posters and plastered them around the common room, as well as handing them out to friends in other houses. Now, a surprisingly large group had gathered outside the joke shop, chattering idly and handing over three sickles as an entrance fee.

“Right you ‘orrible lot!” Mary’s voice rang out cheerfully; within seconds, she had everyone’s attention. “The rules are simple: teams of three, no stealing, nothing illegal to get your list filled. First team to our independent adjudicators—” she nodded at Marlene and James, who looked suitably sombre. “—in the Three Broomsticks wins the entrance fee pot. Any questions?”

“How much is the prize pot?” Lambeth Shaw called out from beneath a thick, dark blue scarf.

Mary rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Lam, even a broken bowtruckle can do that kind of maths,” she replied. “Look at the crowd, multiply it by three sickles per person—it’ll be a decent amount, okay?”

“How do we know those two won’t just favour the Gryffindors?” asked David Garnet with a cheeky grin in James’ direction. There was a longstanding, mainly friendly Quidditch rivalry between the two team captains.

James held his hands up in innocence. “There are no favourites in a scavenger hunt,” he replied. “I would never want to betray the purity of the competition.”

“Alright, alright, we have to be trusting of someone, and they volunteered not to win all that dosh themselves,” Mary added. “So, if you don’t like it, you can—”

“Nicely go away,” Lily interjected.

“Hmm.” Mary shot her friend a look. “Right. You were given a bit of parchment when you paid the entry fee—”

“Oh, was that important?” Kasim Choudry frowned. “I put my bubble gum in it…”

“More fool you, Kas,” Mary rolled her eyes, but handed him a fresh piece anyway. “After three, tap your wand against it three times and the list will appear. Good luck!”

She hurried over to Lily and Dorcas, the latter of whom looked almost terrifyingly ready to compete. Remus wasn’t sure he wanted to cross her. He wandered over to Peter, not having thought about who he would team up with yet. “Want to be mediocre at this together?”

Peter turned, opening his mouth to reply—but was drowned out by Mary bellowing, “Three…two…ONE!”

There was a flurry of excitement as the crowd performed the simple charm and the lists populated the parchments, and before long most people had dashed off to start the hunt. Remus turned back to Peter, finding Sirius standing sheepishly next to him.

“Pads asked earlier,” Peter explained awkwardly.

“Sorry, I—I thought you might go with Lily,” Sirius spoke up, or rather, mumbled into his scarf.

Remus drew in a slow breath. “It’s fine,” he replied, and it sounded like it was. “We can be a three.”

Sirius looked unsure. “Really? ‘Cause I can just go sit in the ‘Sticks—”

“It’s fine,” Remus said again, more than anything just wanting this discussion to be finished. “Let’s get cracking.”

“Most of the other teams headed off to the first thing on the list,” Peter noted, studying their parchment carefully. He took this sort of thing very seriously. “I say we start at the bottom of the list, avoid the crowds.”

“Good idea,” Remus agreed, shoving his hands in his cloak pockets—the sleet was almost horizontal now, the wind sending it flying into their faces. “And maybe we can divide and conquer? It doesn’t take three of us to—” He paused, leaning in to read the list more closely. “—to get Scrivenshaft’s shop assistant to give us a paper bag with the word ‘PAINT’ written on it.” He frowned. “Crikey, I’m not sure I noticed how truly random the randomiser charm was…”

“Charming a shop assistant sounds like Padfoot’s specialty,” Peter decided; Sirius nodded. “Moony, you go for the business card from Flanson’s Bakery. I’ll get a butterbeer mat from the Hog’s Head. Meet back here in five minutes?”

A plan agreed, they split off on their tasks, Remus bowing his head against the onslaught of wind and icy slush. This was the sort of in-between weather he hated: he needed it to just commit to the cold and fully snow. Then, although you could freeze your nads off, at least the scenery was stunning to make up for it. Especially around the castle—the Forbidden Forest glittered like a freshly-iced Christmas cake. As he picked his way through the crowds on the high street and through to the alley that led through to the next row of shops, he wondered idly if it might be snowing by the next full.

Of course, the next full presented its own problems. He never looked forward to them—why would he? But the approaching full just stirred up all the frustrations and sadness he’d been trying to keep under control the past few weeks. He was just barely on speaking terms with Sirius as it was; how could he trust him enough to do their usual moon night, larking around the forest as if nothing had changed? Even just the thought of it made him feel sick with nerves. He also knew that, with Snape’s knowledge of his lycanthropy, he’d be under even heavier scrutiny than ever before. Just because the boy was forbidden from telling anyone about it, didn’t mean he couldn’t still make life very difficult for Remus—as he’d proven earlier that week. He didn’t want to be a weakling, a person who needed an entourage to move around the castle for fear of being cornered by Snape. There didn’t seem to be a straightforward answer, a way to deal with all of these issues, so he carried on with the tried and tested repression approach; while pushing it all down wasn’t helping, it was better than letting the anxieties percolate and strengthen in his weary brain.

Shaking off this thought, he made quick work of his task, and within minutes was back at the meeting point. Peter was nowhere to be seen—his task was the trickiest, in fairness, given the barman of the Hog’s was notoriously taciturn and unwilling to do anything that might be considered “for a laugh”—but, as Remus sat on a bench to wait, he saw Sirius’ dark head emerge through the veil of sleet. Bugger.

“Oh, hi,” his friend said, realising it was just the two of them at roughly the same time Remus did. “Pete not back yet?”

Remus held his gaze a moment. “No, here he is,” he replied drily, gesturing to the empty spot next to him. “Trying out a new look.”

Sirius snorted. “Alright, sarky.” He paused, seeming to remember that things were decidedly different between them now—they weren’t exactly on joking terms. Or were they? Remus was too tired of it all to care at the moment. “He’s got the parchment, too.”

“Yep,” Remus confirmed, glancing down the high street again. “Didn’t think that one through, did we?” He looked back up at Sirius, standing awkwardly nearby, stiff and nervy. “You can sit down, you know.”

“Right.” Sirius moved to plonk himself down on the bench, leaving a large gap between them. Another thing different: last year, he’d sat so close to Remus that he was often as good as in his lap. Remus didn’t want to analyse whether he was bothered about that or not. “So we’ll wait, then.”

Remus nodded, rubbing his hands together in an attempt at warmth. His gloves were at least three years old now, not really big enough anymore, and certainly worn thin from use. He made a mental note to ask for some new ones for Christmas, and was just wondering whether he could ask for gloves and a new book, when—his hands felt much warmer.

He looked down, then over at Sirius, noting the subtle ripple of magic in the air between them. A warming charm. Sirius was staring at his boots, scuffing the toe against the paving stones. He almost looked…embarrassed. “Thanks,” Remus murmured.

Sirius lifted his gaze. “You’re welcome, Moony.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, Remus feeling an odd flush up his neck, before they finally looked away—Peter had appeared, breathless and cheery. “Right, that’s three down!” he crowed, then paused, looking between them. “Alright?”

Remus swallowed. This was going to be a long day. “Alright,” he agreed.

The pub was as busy as ever, crowded with Hogwarts students—most of the locals knew to stay well clear when it was a Hogsmeade weekend for the school. Rosmerta had taken on two new staff members to help with the rush: a wizard who looked so much like Rosmerta that he might’ve been her brother, and a young witch with the killer combination of glossy blonde hair, bright blue eyes and—

“Huge tits,” Marlene marvelled, watching from their position at a table by the windows. She shook her head, her gaze following the blonde as she bustled about pouring butterbeers. “No wonder she’s so popular.”

It was true: the blonde had a queue about fifteen people deep, mainly blokes, while the wizard at the other end of the bar only had a few people waiting. “She’s got an accent, too,” James offered. “That’s always a draw, isn’t it?”

Marlene shot him a smirk. “Everyone’s got an accent compared to you, Mr R.P. Potter.”

He scowled. “I’m not that posh, Marl!”

“I suppose there are posher,” she allowed, taking a swig of her drink. “But still. You’re pretty middle-of-the-road England, aren’t you.”

He gave her a nudge. “My point, before you went and slagged off the way I speak, is that our blonde friend over there has a lovely Irish accent.” He paused thoughtfully. “Boys find it soothing.”

“Girls do too,” Marlene replied.

He finally tore his gaze away from the woman, looking at his friend instead. “Also, don’t think I’ve forgotten you talking about her tits,” he told her. “If I’d said that, you’d have hexed my balls off.”

“I know,” Marlene sighed sympathetically. “It’s a cruel double standard, isn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes. “Who d’you think is going to win this thing, then?” he asked, glancing at his watch. They’d been sat there for almost two hours now, conversation ranging from Puddlemere United to family holidays to, at one particular low point, their favourite colours. (Marlene’s was purple. James was partial to green. It had been a very short talking point.) “It won’t be too long now before someone turns up…”

“If Dor doesn’t win, there’ll be hell to pay,” Marlene considered. “She’s terrifyingly competitive.”

“She always looks so serene and friendly,” James shook his head.

“All an act,” she told him. “She’s a monster.”

James grinned. “Noted.”

“Who do you think?” she asked. “Your merry band of ne’er-do-wells?”

James snorted. “I doubt it. Pete has the fighting spirit, but he’ll be held back by the other two.”

“Sirius does like to seem too cool to care about this sort of thing,” she allowed, then paused. “He seems…a bit better.” She scrunched up her nose, and corrected, “or at least, less angry.”

“I think he is,” James agreed quietly. “Things are still…complicated.”

Marlene was quiet for a few moments; he looked up and over at her, trying to work out her expression. “It’s not just about his family, is it,” she said at last. He shook his head without a word. “And…I don’t think it’s just about whatever has happened between him and Remus, either,” she added.

James frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know. I just…sense there’s more to it. That he doesn’t want to acknowledge.” She shrugged. “This is all guess work. He’s hardly a feelings-sharer at the best of times, is he…”

“Not really,” he agreed, raking his fingers through his hair. “But I think he’s trying to change that. To get a better handle on his temper.”

Marlene smiled grimly. “Better late than never, eh?”

James took a long sip of his drink, pausing before speaking again. “Marl—do you think—”

But his question, and what would have been a no doubt forthright answer, were lost to a scramble of bodies appearing: Kasim and his teammates had sprinted in ahead of Dorcas, Lily and Mary. The fourth year practically hurled himself across their table to present a sack full to the brim with scavenged items. “We did it!” he declared, raising his arms in victory and knocking James’ drink over in the process. “We DID IT!”

“Cheats!” Dorcas was shouting as she marched across the pub. “You shoved me out of the way, Choudry! That’s some pretty dirty tactics!”

“He bumped into you, that’s all,” Kasim’s teammate, Robert Turner, informed her haughtily. “Don’t be a sore loser.”

“A sore—” Dorcas turned to Lily, so enraged she couldn’t seem to speak. “A sore—”

“Okay, let’s get you a drink,” Lily laughed, wrapping her arm round her friend’s shoulders to guide her away; as she did so, she briefly caught James’ eye, offering him a small, awkward smile before she looked away again.

James watched them go, distracted from the dramatic ceremony Kasim and Robert were enacting as Marlene handed over the prize money. It was certainly nice to be friends with Evans instead of pissing her off at every turn, although it was sometimes hard to remember that he had decided to leave any feelings beyond friendship behind in the summer. Especially when he saw how thoughtful and kind she was to Remus…

He shook his head, returning his attention to the table. Kasim and Robert had already swaggered off to the bar; Marlene was watching him with a knowing smirk. “What?” he asked self-consciously.

“Oh,” Marlene replied lightly. “Nothing…”

Lily leaned against the bar, trying to catch someone’s attention to order another round of drinks. In the hour they’d been ensconced in the pub, she’d managed to avoid going up to the bar and having to navigate the crowds there. But she was no round-dodger, and when it was her turn, she’d gathered her energy and put on a brave face. She was a Gryffindor, after all.

The blonde witch had her hands full with about twenty drooling Hogwarts boys; Rosmerta had disappeared, presumably for a well-earned break. That left her trying to catch the eye of the other man behind the bar, who acted as if every paying customer was a huge inconvenience. With a sigh, she rested her elbow on the sticky bar surface and her chin in her hand: she was going to have to be in this for the long haul.

“I think we’d have better luck being served in the Hog’s Head.” She turned to the source of the voice, recognising the handsome seventh year Ravenclaw who’d helped her with her trunk at King’s Cross. She’d seen him a few times in passing since then—he always gave her a friendly grin, and even, once, to Mary’s delight, a wink—but she still hadn’t worked out his name. “But what you gain in speed of service, you lose in general stench.”

She laughed. “True. I think I’ll stick it out here.”

“Wise.” He leaned against the bar next to her. “You’re Lily Evans, right?”

“Right,” she confirmed, embarrassed to find herself blushing. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name…”

He gave her an easy smile. “No need to be sorry,” he replied. “Raphael Thicknesse, but everyone calls me Rafe.”

God, even his name was cool. “Thicknesse,” she repeated thoughtfully. “That rings a bell…”

He looked sheepish. “My dad’s deputy head of the DMLE,” he replied. “He gets in the Prophet quite a lot. I usually wait till the third date before I drop that tedious fact.”

She smiled, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she teased. “Are you saying this is a date? Bumping into me propped up against the bar on a Saturday afternoon?”

Rafe grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “Anything can become a date if you try hard enough.”

She blushed again, looking away for a moment. “Are you here with your mates?”

He nodded, gesturing over to a group of seventh years clustered together in a booth. “Taking a break from essay writing and revision to blow off some steam,” he replied. “You?”

She wasn’t sure why she felt strange pointing out her own group—Mary, Dorcas and Marlene were sitting with the Marauders, although now that she was looking, she noticed that James seemed more focused on the bar area than the people in front of him. “Staying out of the cold,” she replied, meeting Rafe’s gaze again. He had such an air of ease about him; it was entrancing. “Still, it’s been nice to get a change of scenery.”

“It has,” he agreed, and paused, holding her gaze. “Refreshing, even.”

She swallowed.

The miserable barkeep finally arrived. “What’re you having?”

Rafe shot Lily a questioning look. “Three butterbeers, four Ogden’s Old, and a Gillywater—what are you lot wanting?”

She shook her head. “No, c’mon, I can get my own round—”

“Lily Evans,” he cut her off with a smile. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

She paused, then sighed. “Eight butterbeers, please,” she told the barkeep, who simply grunted and moved to start gathering their order. She looked back at Rafe. “You really don’t have to.”

“Well, you could make it up to me,” he considered lightly. “Next Hogsmeade weekend?”

Her ears must surely have been bright red by now. “As…a date?”

He smiled. “Ideally, yes.”

“Okay,” she replied, probably far too quickly to be cool. “Lovely. Thanks.” Yep, definitely not cool.

Rafe handed over a pile of coins to the barman, and even offered to help Lily carry her round back to her table, but she was determined not to seem like a completely helpless idiot in front of this exceedingly good-looking bloke, so she politely refused. They parted ways, him giving another wink and murmuring, “looking forward to the next time, Lily,” before he headed back to his booth.

Lily was still blushed a furious tomato red when she made it back to her table, not helped by Mary pouncing immediately. “Was that your hottie Ravenclaw flirt?” she demanded.

“It was,” she admitted, sliding back into her seat between Remus and Dorcas. “He’s called Rafe.”

“Ooh,” Mary craned her neck to see if she could spot him across the crowded pub. “Now that is a cool name. Did he flirt some more?”

Lily tried mumbling her reply into her mug of butterbeer; she was all too aware that everyone’s attention was on her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Lily sighed. “He asked me out,” she repeated, a bit louder this time.

Mary squealed with delight. “Yes! Get in there, my friend!” She leaned across the table, pulling Lily’s hand in the air for a forced high five. “You two are going to make a gorgeous couple!”

Lily rolled her eyes, looking away from her friend—and catching sight of an inscrutable expression on James’ face. He was staring with determination out of the window. She shook her head a little, looking away again. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, eh?”

“I’m glad the day wasn’t a complete wash,” Dorcas spoke up wistfully. “Even if we had victory cruelly snatched from our hands by a pair of feckless cheats—”

“Fucking hell, Dor, give it a rest, will you?” Marlene interjected.

“—feckless cheats,” Dorcas repeated, pointedly, “Lily was still able to make a romance connection.” She paused. “And I got a new self-inking quill.”

Lily smiled. “You make a good point, Dorry.”

“So, another scavenger hunt in a few months?” James spoke up at last, and everyone’s gaze shifted to him. Lily decided that he probably wasn’t trying to change the subject. “Since this one was a roaring success…”

“Definitely,” Mary agreed, raising her butterbeer mug. “To us, and our amazing ideas!”

“To Mary, and her overwhelming humility,” Marlene raised her glass with a cackle.

That night, Sirius slept better than he had in months. Maybe it was all the fresh air. Maybe it was all the butterbeer combined with the couple of shots of firewhiskey they’d managed to sneak in. But Sirius thought it was more likely the fact that Remus had actually talked to him—had spent most of the day with him, in fact. Yes, it had been extremely awkward most of the time. Yes, Moony’s face had largely remained a closed-off mystery when he looked in Sirius’ direction. But it was more contact, more interaction than they’d had since…well. He was happy to take what he could get.

The day in Hogsmeade seemed to have settled them all somewhat: although you could hardly say that things were back to normal, the edge Sirius had felt he was teetering on seemed to become less of an edge and more of a ledge. A bit more stable, a bit more space. Remus came down to meals with them now, and sat with them in lessons—although always with James, Peter or Lily, never with Sirius. It was fine, he told himself. Small steps.

As the month drew to a close, conversation turned to his impending birthday.

“Seventeen, mate,” James had said, as if Sirius needed reminding of his own age. “We can’t just let it slide past.”

“It hardly seems the time for a party, though,” Sirius had pointed out in return. “I know things are better, but they’re not that much better.”

James had nodded thoughtfully, and Sirius considered the matter dropped until the Halloween feast when he’d addressed the gathered throng (the Marauders and the sixth year Gryffindor girls, but James liked to call them a throng). “Our venerable Mr Black is coming of age,” he’d announced, “and to celebrate, we will be hosting a small gathering in our dorm.” At Sirius’ expression, he’d added, “Not a party, just…a group of friends. Drinking. Eating cake.”

Sirius had glanced at Remus then, but his face gave nothing away—in fact, he’d just laughed at Mary’s question about the dress code. “Black tie optional,” had been James’ smirking response.

His birthday fell on a Wednesday—“hardly a day for partying—I mean, gathering,” James had sighed, as if the calendar had been out to get him—and the full was the following Sunday, so it was decided that Friday would be the best evening to celebrate. Remus would be tired, he always was in the days leading up to the full, but in a darn sight better state than if they waited until afterwards.

The day itself passed with a small amount of fanfare: James leapt on him first thing in the morning, shouting, “happy birthday, you old bastard!”, and Euphemia and Fleamont had sent a large parcel containing a card, several generous gifts and a box containing a humungous chocolate cake. James handed over his own pile of presents, while Peter presented Sirius with a new record from both him and Remus (who had mumbled a quiet “happy birthday” on his way to the shower).

Given the past few months, he felt that this was a pretty decent birthday, all things considered.

Friday rolled around, and the girls piled into their dorm. James had arranged pillows and blankets around the floor, as well as transfiguring other things into cushions. An array of food had been acquired from the kitchens, sitting alongside their illegal stash of booze on top of Peter’s desk. The record Pete and Remus had given him—AC/DC’s High Voltage, which Lily declared “quintessential Sirius”—was playing. It wasn’t long before things got a bit sloppy.

Everyone was a few drinks in and sprawled bonelessly on the floor when the conversation turned to the romantic goings-on of the castle. “And then she dumped him, right there at the table!” Mary was saying, shaking her head. “Absolutely brutal. I feel sorry for the lad.”

“You called him a berk not two hours ago,” Lily pointed out.

“What’s a berk?” Peter asked, reaching for the bottle of firewhiskey.

Lily and Mary exchanged a grin. “Well, Pete, it’s Cockney rhyming slang,” Mary replied sweetly. “You know, like apples and pears means stairs?”

“Right,” Peter agreed, still frowning in confusion.

“So, berk is short for Berkshire hunt,” Mary carried on. She looked absolutely delighted to be telling him this. “Which rhymes with—”

“Oh!” Peter flushed bright red. “Crikey, I didn’t realise.” He turned to send an accusing look at James. “You called me a berk the other morning!”

“No offence meant, Mr Pettigrew,” James laughed.

“Anyway,” Mary sighed dramatically. “Now that those two have broken up, she’ll be on the prowl. Keep hold of your boxers, lads.”

“Oh no,” Peter replied flatly, “please protect me from the beautiful girl coming near my pants.”

“Of course, it won’t be long before Lily and Ravishing Rafe go to Hogsmeade together and set the gossip wheel a’turning,” Dorcas said, looking up from her slab of cake. “Could be the new golden couple.”

Lily rolled her eyes; Sirius could sense that she was feeling uncomfortable talking about it. “Calm down, I barely know the bloke…”

“And maybe I’ll be part of the next Hogwarts golden couple,” Marlene interjected. “Ever think of that?”

“You and who?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged. “I could find the love of my life in the next two weeks, you know.”

“Stranger things have happened,” James agreed.

Marlene grinned. “Exactly! Like you saving Snape’s life.”

The air in the room seemed to deaden; Sirius’ breath was caught briefly in his throat. James looked over at him, a soft, sympathetic look which he wasn’t sure he deserved.

It was Lily who jumped in. “We might need to start introducing you to new blokes, then, if you want to find the love of your life in the next fortnight.”

Marlene smiled sweetly. “Blokes, birds—I’m open to suggestions.”

Several gazes snapped to her at that remark, but Sirius wasn’t surprised. Even when they were shagging, they’d discussed this sort of thing. “We’ll start making a list,” he told her lightly.

Peter shook off the look of surprise on his face fairly quickly. “If we’re making lists, I could do with one too…”

“Wait, what about Iris Fenwick?” Mary demanded. “You two’ve only been going out a few weeks!”

Peter shrugged. “Some things are not meant to be,” he said, trying to sound philosophical but mainly just sounding tipsy.

“Nothing wrong with being a bachelor, Pete,” James spoke up.

“Now, you are another quandary,” Mary grinned, turning to him now. “If the Quidditch captain with abs you could eat your dinner off of can’t get a girlfriend, then no one can.”

“How nice of you to have noticed my abs,” James replied with a wink.

“Hard not to, the way you flash them about,” Dorcas added. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken your shirt off yet tonight, this must be a new record.”

“Alright, alright,” James waved her off. “We’re here to celebrate Padfoot, not rip me to shreds.”

“To Padfoot!” Peter echoed, raising his glass.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mary wrapped her arm round James’ shoulder, and shot Sirius a smirk. “There’s no reason we can’t do both.”

Nothing had really changed.

It felt more like he’d just…given up.

Why bother putting them all through this, this medieval shunning? He could no longer see the purpose it held.

Because of course, Sirius would be let back in the fold. Of course, James would warm back up to him. Of course, Peter would forget why they’d fallen out in the first place.

He remembered, vividly, James telling him that he wasn’t taking Sirius’ side. He remembered staring out across the lake, thinking about how deep the water was, how cold it would be. He remembered the hurt, the ache inside him that thought, but Sirius doesn’t have a side. He’s in the wrong.

That was when he realised, as kind as James was, as deeply as he cared, he didn’t understand the full scope of this pain. None of them did, really. Lucky for them they didn’t—that they’d never felt like the friendships they had were little more than bargaining chips, playing pieces to move and secure victory over an enemy. Lucky that they’d never felt used up and cast aside. Lucky that they’d never felt like a thing rather than a person.

He couldn’t say all this to James. He couldn’t say it to anyone. So he did as he was expected to do: he looked at Sirius; he spoke dull mediocrities with Sirius, like “pass the salt” or “what did McGonagall just say?”; he sat near Sirius at dinner and breakfast and lunch as if he was just like he had been before, and not this scooped-out, worn-thin shell of a Remus Lupin, a boy who so desperately wanted and desperately didn’t want someone to just ask, hang on, are you okay?

He even chipped in for a bloody birthday present.

He sat there, between Lily and Peter, and listened. Listened, and watched, as Marlene made some joking comment about James saving Snape’s life—listened to the dull silence that followed, and watched as James and Peter both looked to Sirius with sympathy. As if he was the one who needed it. As if Remus hadn’t been a part of it at all.

After that exchange, something in his brain had just shut down. He barely paid attention, just drank, and stared out the window, the waxing face of the moon staring back at him, knowing, waiting. When they called it a night, he stumbled to his bed, wishing he could squash down the feelings that were rising inside him. A tumult, sadness and anger and jealousy and loneliness, all entwined like vines on a branch, impossible to pick one off without tugging at and revealing another. Someone hadn’t closed the curtains at the window, and moonlight hung over him, making it easier to see where his fingernails were digging so fiercely into his palm that they drew blood, to see where the lines of tension ran up his arms alongside the silvery tributaries of scars.

Here, in this room with three other boys, three boys who knew him better than anyone else in the world, he’d never felt so alone in his life.

As he forced his eyes closed against the bitter sting of tears, he thought that he probably should get used to this feeling.

Chapter Text

Maybe they should have noticed. Later, James cannot believe that he didn’t. He had thought that, with the idle conversation, the meals together, the occasional eye contact, Remus had turned a corner with Sirius and was willing to forgive him.

It was incredibly naïve, really. But that was James down to the ground: painfully, blindingly optimistic. Hopeful to the last.

He’d explained away the quiet, the time spent in bed, eyes firmly shut, as being a natural consequence of a post-gathering hangover. After all, they were all a bit worse for wear on the Saturday. So Remus slept through breakfast and lunch…James himself had only crawled out of bed at midday because it became too difficult to ignore his stomach rumbling.

There was also the approaching full. Back before they knew that Remus was a werewolf, James had noticed how his hushed, reclusive friend started to slow down, sleep more, look more uncomfortable in the days leading up to ‘visiting his mother’. Once the truth had come out, it made more sense. Remus was in thrall to the waxing moon, and felt every hour of the days approaching the full in the tightening of his muscles, the creaking of his bones. It wasn’t unusual for him to need to sleep more, to be weighed down by discomfort and distraction.

It was only on Sunday, late afternoon as the sun set in the distance, that James realised that he had entirely misjudged the situation.

“I’m going to do the full alone.”

That had got everyone’s attention. Three heads snapped up, James dropping his textbook that he’d only been half paying attention to on the bed in front of him. Remus’ face was blank, a gaze which gave no warmth. It was unsettling, to see him like this. As if he didn’t even know them.

“You…what?” James asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But—”

“Have a month off,” Remus interrupted, as if granting them a much wished-for holiday. The lightness in his tone didn’t make him sound happy—just hollow. “Get your Potions essay done.”

“Fuck Potions,” James replied, clambering off his bed and glancing over at Sirius. His best friend was staring at the ground, a look of abject misery on his face. Good, James thought uncharitably. “We don’t want to write an essay,” he turned back to Remus, who was now heading for the door. “We want to be with you.”

Remus paused, his hands rammed in his pockets. “I don’t want you lot there.”

The words stung like a slap across his face. “But—Moony, you—”

“I’m not joking,” he said bluntly. “Don’t come,” and left before anyone could say anything more.

The silence he left behind was crushing, dangerous.

Peter was the first to find his voice. “D’you think…maybe he doesn’t mean it…?”

James sank on to his bed, still staring at the door. “No. He meant it.”

Peter’s pale face loomed into his field of vision. “But—he’ll hurt himself—”

“Yes,” James agreed quietly. “He will.”

“So we should go anyway,” Peter tried, sounding torn between wanting to believe his own words and wanting to be told otherwise.

James met his friend’s gaze. He didn’t understand what was happening—none of them did, except the person who’d just walked away. The person who was apparently closed off to them now. “If we go now, against his express wishes…he might never talk to us again.”

Sirius moved at last, over to the windowsill. The sky was darkening, and they all knew it wouldn’t be long before the moon appeared. James watched him, frustration bubbling up inside him like molten lava. “Did something else happen?” he asked. “It seemed—it seemed better…”

Sirius shook his head. “Nothing happened,” he murmured. “I thought…” He trailed off, voice splintering in his throat.

James tried to calm himself, but panic had joined the frustration now, a pulsing, fearful wash over him that he couldn’t breathe through. It felt like they were standing on a precipice, about to fall and completely unable to do anything about it. The inevitability of the abyss below. “Didn’t you think this would happen?” he asked. The words seemed to scrape their way out—he didn’t talk to Sirius like this. “When you said all that to Snape? That Moony was just waiting for one of us to fuck it all up and prove him right?”

There was a long silence; James couldn’t see Sirius’ expression, his face in shadow at the window. Eventually, words found their way out. “We can still fix this,” he said, and he sounded as if that hope was like a knife at his throat. “I can still fix this…”

James ran a weary hand over his face. “I hope so,” he murmured. “I really do.”

The sky was a haunted charcoal grey through the cracks in the boards which covered the windows. Clouds obscured the stars, normally so clear up there in the highlands, and threatened rain. Remus sat on the end of the rickety bed, thought about how the rain would disrupt the Herbology lessons he wouldn’t be able to attend tomorrow. The rain, when it came, hammered down on the greenhouse roofs, Professor Sprout’s voice lost in the constant dull drumming. Students found it hard to focus, in there, in the rain.

That wouldn’t be a problem for Remus, though. Remus would lie in a bed in the infirmary, listening to the rain against the stone walls, remembering again the many ways in which he was so different, so unwelcome, so unnecessary. A burden and a danger to this school, to his classmates, without them even realising it. A burden and a danger to his friends, although they pretended otherwise.

Friends. A word which had become shapeless, nebulous in his mind. He closed his eyes against the headache which burned in his skull, the falling pressure which meant rain like driving rusty nails into his brain.

It was nearly time.

When they had first told him that they knew, they knew what he was, when they’d said they didn’t care, he had struggled to believe them. Three earnest faces had gazed back at him, eyes wide, so intent on convincing him. They must have done an excellent job of convincing themselves. They’d convinced him, after all.

Sirius had asked, later that evening, as the four of them sat cosied up on Remus’ bed, what transformation was like. “Does it hurt?” he'd asked, so innocently that Remus could have laughed in reply. He had tried his best to describe it—to describe that agony, that fear and hatred and ratcheting pain, like losing yourself more with every second, the awareness that sits over you, even beneath the feeling of bones breaking and realigning, of claws tearing through skin. But it was almost impossible to fully explain. They had nodded, and listened, and looked suitably wan at his description. “It’s fine,” he had finished, quietly, as if that short, useless sentence could make them less frightened, less full of pity. “I’m used to it.”

In a way, he was. You got used to something if it happened once a month for over a decade. But at the same time, each time, it was a surprise. As if maybe this time, his mind thought it might be different. Might be better.

If only.

When he could open his eyes again, he carefully folded away his clothes, his wand, as he always did. Usually, he would sit there, listening to quiet footsteps below, to the murmurs of James and Peter and Sirius, and knew that they would help sand down the rough edges of the night. Usually, that distant company kept him together during the transformation. It still hurt, of course it did, but it was a pain tempered by the understanding in his gut that he was not alone.

Tonight, the moonrise dragged the wolf, kicking and screaming, from the boy. And the wolf knew. It knew it was alone.

That was the last thought he remembered.

Dawn broke, a scattering of dull light across the shack floor, catching dust motes and splinters of wood and rivulets of blood in its travels. A shallow beam fell across Remus’ face, his own face again, broken and rearranged bones like pieces of glass from a shattered vase, and the daylight forced his eyes open. Even his eyelids felt heavy. Several minutes later, he felt able to move his arm—a clumsy, severe movement—to feel the tender, swollen skin around his left eye. His fingers come away sticky, wet. If he had to guess, he would say a broken cheekbone. Maybe the eye socket. It felt like it did when he’d woken up, aged eleven, his last full at home before leaving for Hogwarts, to find his face almost caved in. The wolf had felt the stress and nerves as keenly as the boy, evidently.

It took several tries, but soon he was sat—slumped, maybe—on the floor, leaning heavily against the bed frame, the ripped and frayed blanket covering as much of him as it could in the frigid November air. Through his one, unswollen eye, he saw the damage inflicted on the room around him. The wolf was not used to being kept inside anymore. That much was clear.

“Remus?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was nervous. Remus couldn’t blame her, after the carnage of the last full. At least he was conscious this time.

“Up here,” he called back, although he could barely raise his voice; he felt suddenly aware of the pain of breathing, the tenderness on his right side. He shifted the blanket, looking down to see the stretch of a bruise across his torso, purple and blue mottling his pale skin like storm clouds.

“Oh, dear,” Pomfrey’s voice lifted his gaze; she had entered the room without him realising. She knelt at his side, gently touching the bruising. “Looks like a broken rib or two. You poor thing.”

“I’m,” he murmured, the breath catching again, “I’m okay…”

“Hmm,” she gave him a quelling look, wand drawn now. He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the bed as the numbing buzz of healing spells settled over his torso. “And your face, too—anything else of note, Remus dear? Before we go back to the hospital wing, I mean.”

“Dunno,” he whispered, and tried to smile. He didn’t think it worked. “Least I’m not bleeding to death on the floor this time, eh?”

“Hmm,” she said again; he opened his eyes (or, eye, as one remained stubbornly, swollenly, shut) to look at her, to catch the barely concealed sadness, distress, on her face. She wouldn’t have to experience these sad, distressing things, he thought, if it wasn’t for me. “Small mercies, Mr Lupin. Right, I think this should be enough to get you back to the infirmary without too much pain.” She stood, fetched his clothes and wand from the usual place, and turned to give him some privacy—an absurd notion, really, given the state she had seen him in over the years. Once dressed, she gently linked her arm through his, and they started the slow, steady procession back to the castle.

Outside, the grass was glistening with rain. “Between showers,” she said, casting a nervous glance up at the sky. “It’s been on and off all night.”

He didn’t have the energy to say anything in reply. She didn’t expect one, anyway. Over the years, she had become adept at keeping up a soft string of commentary that didn’t require a response, that kept him sufficiently distracted from the pain. He considered it a kindness on the same level as her skill with her wand, or her talent with a healing potion.

No one else was in the infirmary when they arrived. “Illness taking a break?” he murmured as she helped him into his usual bed, behind the usual array of privacy screens, the bedside table filled with the usual painkilling draughts and bandages.

“So it would seem,” she replied lightly, drawing the sheets up and over him in a gesture so much like his mother that for a moment, his heart seemed to physically ache in his already-painful chest. She paused, sighed, looking down at him, and he wondered what it was she saw. A pale, damaged, bleeding boy. A monster, just beneath the surface. “Right, let me fix up that face of yours and run a few diagnostic spells before you go to sleep,” she said after a moment. “I’ll have you feeling as good as new in no time.”

He swallowed, and nodded, fixing his gaze to the vaulted ceiling. “’kay…”

It was often once back in the quiet of the hospital wing that they discovered the smaller, more insidious injuries he had inflicted on himself in the night, the ones that weren’t showy, that hid themselves before baring their teeth. The arm he had so spectacularly broken last month had taken a hammering - no wonder it had felt so clumsy to move earlier - and now featured a long, jagged slash down the length of his inner arm, elbow to wrist. “An inch to the left and you’d…” Pomfrey had started, then shaken her head. “Well. Anyway.”

That fixed, she’d then had to deal with a litany of scrapes and gouges on his legs—yet more scars to add to his collection. It was over an hour later before she stood back, satisfied. “There,” she said softly; he met her gaze. “You’ll sleep better now, dear.”

He hoped that was true. A creeping sense of shame, of unease had drifted over him as he lay there, in pain, and he wanted it to go away. “Dreamless…?” he murmured.

She hesitated, but nodded, reaching for the sleeping draught in question. She poured out a small measure and helped him hold the goblet to his lips. “Good. I’ll check on you in a while, but you know where I am if you need anything…”

With any luck, he’d be in a comatose state before too long. He didn’t need anything there. “Okay,” he agreed nonetheless. “Thank you…”

He closed his eyes, listening as her footsteps faded in the direction of her office, and before he could wonder if perhaps he should tell her about the clawing, clinging dread he felt, he had already drifted off into an uneasy slumber.

It was already getting dark again when he woke next, rain still falling sheet-like against the windowpanes. He blinked his one good eye, letting his sight adjust to the dim flicker of the candles that cast an almost ethereal light over the hospital wing. Turning his head—slowly, carefully, aware of the dull throb of his face, still—he first found his watch, then found a figure, watching him.

“Lily,” he murmured, and she sat forward with a small, sad smile. “Hello…”

“Hi,” she replied, nodding towards his watch. “It’s just gone five.”

That saved him trying to read the tiny clock face through one blurry eye. “Monday?”

She nodded. “How are you feeling…?” She seemed all too aware of the pointlessness of such a question, judging by the expression on her face. He could understand the need to fall back on social niceties, though.

“Oh, you know,” he replied, shifting slightly in to more of a seated position—and wincing as his now-mended, but still sore, ribs protested at the movement. “Been better. Been worse.”

She let her gaze wander to what must now have been a remarkable bruise and scar around his eye and cheekbone. “I thought…doesn’t Pomfrey fix you up?”

He smiled slightly, without much humour. “This is me fixed up.”

“Christ,” she muttered, then looked embarrassed. “Sorry…”

He would’ve shrugged if he’d had the energy. “’s’fine.” He looked down at his arm, at the wound now healed and the thick, ridged scar it had left behind. “She mends the bones and seals up the wounds. The rest of it has to just…sort itself out.”

“You broke some bones?” she asked sympathetically.

“I think…eye socket, or cheekbone,” he pointed needlessly at his swollen-shut eye. “And a few ribs.”

Lily was quiet, watching him, for what felt like forever. He shifted again under her gaze; he hated the pity more than anything else. Now that she knew, now that it was confirmed for her, was their friendship going to be reduced to her, pitying him, and him, tolerating it?

Finally, she spoke up. “It’s barbaric, that you have to go through this,” she said. He looked up to her face, surprised. “So many amazing minds, the whole world of untapped magic, and no one has even researched how they might be able to help.”

He closed his eye a moment, exhausted just at the thought of it all. “No one wants to help monsters.”

“Well, that’s bullshit.” His eyes still closed, he felt her reach and grasp his hand. “One, you’re not a monster. And two, you’d think it would be in everyone’s best interest for a lycanthrope to be safe and well during their transformation.”

He didn’t say anything; he remembered James and Sirius having a similar, heated discussion last year, when another nasty piece of legislation had tried to be forced through the Wizengamot. He didn’t see much point in talking about it—it wouldn’t change the fact that he was helpless, no matter what, that he was less than in the eyes of his own government. They could hate it as much as they liked. Nothing would change.

“Rem…” He opened his eye at that to find her green eyes fixed firmly on him. “I…I don’t claim to know everything that’s going on with you and your friends. But you don’t need to shut yourself away from them—from anyone.”

“You’re right,” he agreed quietly. “You don’t know everything that’s going on.”

If she was hurt by that, she didn’t let it show. It was a quality he so admired in Lily: she was resilient almost to a fault, setting aside her feelings to make her point. “They care about you,” she carried on. “You should’ve seen Potter today. He could barely concentrate. And Sirius—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted her, surprised at the rawness of his own voice. It felt too honest, too open. “I don’t—Sirius doesn’t give a shit.”

She frowned. “I really don’t think that’s true…”

It wasn’t that long ago that he would have agreed with her. When it seemed to him that actually, Sirius did care, quite deeply, and maybe on the same level that Remus cared about him in return. And yes, it was confusing, and yes, neither of them could confront it, and yes, it was amazing and terrifying all at the same time. Like the first time flying a broomstick: exhilarating, but with the threat of a long, painful fall.

Now, though… now he looked back at all those times when he had thought there was something more, just there, fizzing under the surface, and realised that it had been a fiction—a lonely, pathetic boy seeing what he so desperately wanted to see. Because how could someone feel that way about him, how could they make him feel seen and on the edge of something spectacular, and then turn around, trade him off as a weapon? It was the act of someone who had never really seen him, at all, but saw the potential of what use he could be, of what terror he could instil, of what destruction he could inflict.

And he should have known. All along, he should have seen this coming. Because alongside the sadness and the anger and the betrayal was a thick, viscous layer of shame, shame that this was who he really was, shame that he had clung to the idea of being normal, just like anyone else, when he wasn’t. Sirius wouldn’t, couldn’t have used James or Peter in this way. Only him.

His dad had said, so many times, “be careful who you trust.” How utterly ridiculous for Remus to imagine that he didn’t need to listen to that advice. That people weren’t exactly who Lyall Lupin thought they were. That Remus wasn’t exactly who they all knew he was.

“Remus,” Lily’s voice filtered through again. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

He nodded, because it was true, although he couldn’t pinpoint whether it was just physical or something more. Every spiralling thought was exhausting; it all just led him down into the dark, where he didn’t want to go. “Yeah…”

“I’ll get Pomfrey,” she decided, standing up and bustling off before he could say anything else. He stared at the clean white fabric of the privacy screens that cut his bed off from the rest of the ward, a sight he saw every month, and took several slow, deep breaths. He tried to hear his mother’s gentle voice in his head: there we are, in….and out…steady now, Re. You’re okay. She’d so often had to bring him back down from the brink of anxiety, spikes of panic that could hurt as much as the wounds that littered his body. Thinking of her voice now just brought the brief sting of tears to his eyes. He felt six again, wanting only the comfort that his mother could provide. An embrace, a kind word, a warmth he could find nowhere else.

Lily and Pomfrey returned as he was carefully trying to sit up, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Oh, dear,” Madam Pomfrey clucked in sympathy, moving towards the bedside table and the stash of potions there. “Time for some more painkillers, I think.”

“I’m okay,” he murmured, as he always did.

She gave him a dubious look, then glanced back at Lily. “He always says that,” she said, trying to sound light. “I’ve tried to get him to break the habit, but…”

“You don’t have to be okay,” Lily pointed out, moving to the other side of the bed to give Pomfrey space to work. She took his hand again. “It’s okay not to be.”

He just nodded, staring resolutely at her hand on his, at the chipped blue nail varnish on her thumb that looked like the colour of a clear evening sky. Madam Pomfrey muttered some more healing spells and dosed him up with more potion, pausing to pat him gently on the shoulder. “You must get more rest now, Remus,” she told him, and looked up at Lily. “Miss Evans, I’m sure he’s been glad of more…stable company, but perhaps you should take yourself off for dinner now and leave him to sleep.”

Lily nodded, and gave his hand one last squeeze before she let go. He already could feel the potions working their magic: a drowsy numbness was sinking over him, the edges of everything becoming blurry and soft. “I’ll come again to see you tomorrow,” she said; she sounded like she was speaking from the end of a tunnel. Maybe the tunnel to the shack? No, that wasn’t safe… He blinked, looking up at her again. “Rest up, Rem.”

He must have watched her walk away, and Pomfrey, too, but he wasn’t aware of it. Before too long it seemed like it would be a very good idea to close his eye, just for a minute, and so that was what he did.

Sleep was a mercy.

It was nearing nine o’clock, any remaining light long gone outside the windows, the rain having finally stopped. When he had woken, Pomfrey had insisted that he eat something before he have any more painkillers—“you need to line your stomach with something, dear”—and so he was picking at a piece of toast with disinterest when he heard the huge wooden doors of the infirmary creak open, and footsteps approach.

James’ expression was careful and controlled, his hands shoved down into his pockets as he rounded the privacy screens with some hesitation. He stopped, shuffled from one foot to the other, before saying, “Can I come in?”

They both felt uneasy at that, Remus could tell. He’d never asked before. Never felt like he needed to.

“Okay,” he agreed quietly, tearing the crust from his toast.

James moved to the seat that Lily had occupied earlier, dragging it with a sharp scrape across the stone floor so that it was as close as it could get to the bed without crushing his legs. He sat down, his gaze roaming Remus from head to toe, clearly trying to calculate the damage. Remus had to admit, James was very good at regulating his reactions; he hardly ever flinched, or gasped, or winced at the sight of that month’s injuries. Finally, he looked back up at Remus, and nodded at his eye. “Looks sore.”

Remus stared at him, trying to work out where this was headed. “It is,” he replied.

James glanced away, over at the potions and other medical detritus that was gathered nearby. “Saw Evans at dinner,” he said. “She said she came to see you…”

Ah. Well, Merlin only knew what else Lily had said—although some of the visit was a potions haze, he knew he had lost some of his grip, some of his carefully-managed veneer. “Yes,” he confirmed, voice steady. “For a bit.”

“Broken ribs,” James said next, and Remus thought he saw something like guilt flash on his friend’s face. “And your…cheekbone?”

He chewed mechanically on a small bite of toast, swallowing it down like sawdust before he replied. “Well, who needs two eyes, anyway? Overrated.”

James sighed, sat forward. “Moony…what happened?” he asked. “I thought—I don’t understand. None of us do.”

It was probably the part of Remus that was still in pain, that was exhausted and fed up and weary to his core, that made him want to make this as difficult as possible for James. “Don’t understand what?”

James frowned. “Things seemed okay,” he barrelled on—of course he did. It was James, after all. “But then you told us not to come. Why?”

Remus tore bits off the remaining toast, focusing his attention there. “I didn’t want you there.”

“But…Sirius could have stayed back.” James sounded so sad, so confused. He wanted to make that better, he did, but he also wanted to lay back down and close his eyes against it forever. “Pete and I—”

“I didn’t want you there,” Remus said again, finally looking up and meeting his gaze. He couldn’t hold it for long, though. “I’ve done this on my own hundreds of times before, James. Will have to do it hundreds of times to come.”

“But you don’t have to be on your own,” James argued, frustration clear in his voice. “Is this…punishment, for us? You’d rather rip yourself to shreds than just tell us what’s wrong?”

He’d never liked confrontation. It left him feeling sick, uneasy, although he never showed that. Another one of his skills, crafted over the years—don’t show how you feel. “Nothing’s wrong,” he replied. “I just wanted to be alone.”

“Bollocks.” He looked up, then; James was staring at him, fierce hazel eyes locked on his. “You know that’s bollocks, Remus.”

“It gives you all a safer month,” he said, as if James hadn’t said anything at all. “You get more sleep.”

“Fuck sleep!” James glanced over his shoulder, reluctantly lowering his voice. “Do you really think that sleep is more important to us than you? Our best friend?”

“Sirius is your best friend.” As soon as the words came out, he wished he hadn’t said it. It had just slipped out, too honest, too blunt—he couldn’t hide behind this.

James’ face had fallen, an expression of something between hurt and sorrow marring his features. At first, he couldn’t seem to find the words. They both just sat there, James staring at him, Remus staring at the sheets covering his scarred body, the silence roaring around them. “Remus,” he murmured at last; he had never heard him sound like that before. “You’re my best friend, too. It’s…not a hierarchy. You’re just as important as—”

“Stop,” he shook his head, pulling in as deep a breath as his bruised ribs could manage. “Forget I said it. You don’t need to…to try to make me feel better, it’s just the way of it, isn’t it—”

“That’s not what this is,” James insisted. “I thought you knew that. I—did—what happened, to make you think…?”

“Really,” he said, and swallowed hard. “I’m not—you know, we’re not children, it…people have friends who are closer. I mean, other people do.”

“Moony,” James said, voice heavy with something that Remus didn’t want to examine. “I’m sorry that I—that we made you feel—but it’s not true.”

Remus looked up, forced a smile to his face that they both knew wasn’t real. But it felt like all he had left. “Sorry,” he murmured. “The potions are making me…y’know. I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

James watched him, clearly torn between wanting to believe him and knowing, in that way that friends know, that it just wasn’t true. “I think we—should talk, some more,” he said, with a worried frown. “But, yeah, maybe tomorrow…when you’re feeling a bit more with it.”

Remus nodded, knowing that it wasn’t going to happen. “Thanks.”

“I’ll…let you get some sleep.” James reluctantly stood up, hesitating there at his bedside before shuffling back to the privacy screens. He paused there, looking back at him. “You know we bloody love you, mate? You know that, right?”

Remus let his gaze flick back down to the torn-up toast on the plate in his lap. “Right,” he agreed, voice as light as he could make it. “Thanks…”

James sighed. “Night, Moony…” and unwillingly disappeared, footsteps fading back away until the room was silent once more.

He just wanted to sleep again.

The next morning, Madam Pomfrey deemed him well enough to leave the infirmary. He wasn’t so sure he agreed, but he still hadn’t told her about the weight that seemed to sit on his chest—he knew it wasn’t physical, so what could she do about it, anyway? It seemed pointless.

She told him to go to breakfast, and then his first lesson, but instead he found himself outside McGonagall’s office, his whole body tense as he knocked on the door. “Mr Lupin,” his head of house greeted him with a surprised frown. “I was just going down to breakfast—”

“Can I talk to you?” he asked. It wasn’t like him to interrupt a teacher—much more Sirius’ speed—but it seemed enough to make her realise this was something she needed to pay attention to.

“Of course,” she stepped back so he could enter, closing the door behind him. “I’ll get some tea and toast sent up, shall I?”

More toast. He didn’t have anything close to an appetite, but nodded anyway, taking the seat across from hers. He tuned out as she murmured with her wand, and before he knew it, she had pressed a hot cup of tea into his hands. He looked up. “Milk, one sugar, yes?”

“Right,” he agreed, watching the surface ripple with his shaking hand as he lifted it for a sip. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she nodded, pausing to spread raspberry jam on a slice of toast. “So. How can I help?”

It wasn’t until that moment that he knew what he wanted to say.

The air was crisp and cool as she made her way up the hill, out of the village. On a clear day like today, you could see the spire of Hereford Cathedral in the distance, the sun glinting silver off the winding River Wye which curled in and through and then out of the city like a ribbon. It was a slow walk back from her work at the post office, but she never minded it, not with views like this one.

By the time she reached the crest of the hill, her breath came in short puffs, drifting like smoke away from her. Here, she could see the copse of trees that shielded their home from the lane. Nearly home, and just in time for a mid-morning cuppa. She never cared when Sue gave her short shifts here and there to fill in gaps in the schedule—it meant she still got to make the most of the day, and every penny added up.

The house was silent and still as she let herself in, pausing to pick up a few letters from the mat. This sort of post was only ever for her—sure enough, ‘Hope Lupin’ on every envelope. Lyall’s post came by owl, something she was still getting used to even after being with him for close to two decades.

Cup of tea in hand, she went to settle in to the living room. In winter, it was by far the warmest room in the house—just about the only room they could afford to heat. She took her time building up a fire that would last before sitting back on the sofa and opening her post.

She was just reading a letter from an old friend from sixth form when the fire suddenly flared a startling green. She dropped the paper and almost spilled her tea as a tall, slender woman in long black robes stepped out of the flames. It took her a moment to recognise her.

“Professor McGonagall!” Hope stood up quickly. “Good morning!”

“I’m so sorry to arrive unannounced,” her son’s teacher replied, dusting herself off. “I tried to call through the Floo earlier but no one was home.”

“I was working,” Hope replied with a frown. “Has—has something happened? Is Remus okay?”

“He is fine,” she assured her, taking the seat she was offered. “There were a few injuries, of course, from Sunday, but nothing too unusual.” She paused. “He has asked if he can come home.”

The frown on Hope’s face only deepened. “Come home? But…why?”

McGonagall sighed. “He will not tell me. He’s not upset, as such—doesn’t seem emotional. But when he came to see me…” She paused. “He is not himself. And—I suspect it is to do with the incident last month. He has not been coping well since, from what I have seen.”

Hope was used to feeling confused in conversations with magical folk. “The incident?”

“Ah…” McGonagall winced, just slightly. “He hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

The story that followed left her feeling desolate—desperately sad for her son. She knew his insecurities all too well, and how this would have played right into them… “Well, then,” she met the teacher’s gaze. “If he wants to come home, he should. Maybe recuperation time is needed.”

McGonagall nodded. “I have spoken with the headmaster; he feels a short time away would be beneficial. But he thinks—and I quite agree—that if he is away for too long, it will be that much harder for him to return.”

Hope pursed her lips: she didn’t like to be told how to parent her only child, her beloved son, even if it was by someone so well-meaning. “We will take each day as it comes,” she replied evenly. “And of course I will keep the school updated.”

“Very well,” McGonagall agreed, and stood. “I will go and send him back through. Apologies again for the interruption, Mrs Lupin.”

It felt an oddly anxious few minutes, standing staring at the fire, but eventually it flared green again and the bruised, hunched form of her son tumbled through.

She took just a moment to look at him, her heart aching. One eye was swollen shut, bruises blossoming out like dark petals across his face. He was holding himself strangely, and she could tell he had hurt his side somehow. But all of that was not so unusual, sadly. What she wasn’t so used to, not since he’d gone to Hogwarts and found friends, found a place in the world, was the broken, hollow expression on his face. Without a word, she stepped forward and folded him into an embrace. He may have been sixteen, and getting on for six feet tall, but he was still her little boy.

He seemed to crumble in her arms; they stood for a while, her rubbing his back as he buried his face in her shoulder. It was discomfort, clear as day on his face, that ended the hug, and she took in his dull eyes before she took his hand in hers. “Come on then, my lovely,” she said softly. “Let’s get you into bed, hmm?”

He nodded his assent, following her up the narrow staircase to his bedroom. It wasn’t long before she was tucking him in under the patchwork quilt her late mother had made. “Get some sleep, Re,” she murmured, dotting a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

His eyes closed almost gratefully. She sat there and watched as the discomfort eased from his face, slumber washing away all else, for now at least.

They lived in a small house, all they could afford on Hope and Lyall’s meagre salaries, with all of Hope’s inheritance sunk into reinforcing the cellar for Remus to transform in each month and little left over for much else. But, even with being away at school for the majority of the year, he was still used to being able to hear every conversation in any room of the house if it raised much above a murmur. That was how he woke up, several hours later.

“—but they said physically, he’s fine?”

“Well, yes,” his mother’s voice was frustrated, “but that’s clearly not the point, Lyall! He’s—he’s depressed—”

“Oh, stop with your Muggle nonsense.” His father did not much buy in to psychology, which Remus had often thought was ironic, given how much of his childhood Lyall had spent in a state of depression. He was perfectly happy to deny the existence of conditions he himself lived with. He wasn’t depressed, he was ‘exhausted from looking for cures’.

“It’s not nonsense,” Hope insisted. “You didn’t see his face! I couldn’t send him back there like that! It’s—it’s not humane. He’s our son, Lyall.”

“I’m well aware.” A sound like pots banging on the stovetop muffled his next words, leaving only, “—mollycoddling the boy isn’t going to help,” to drift up the stairs.

“Parenting is not mollycoddling,” came her tense reply. “I’m not discussing it further, Lyall. He’s staying as long as he needs to.”

Remus stared at his old bedside table, the battered copy of Casino Royale left there from when he’d been reading it in the summer, a mug of water emblazoned with the fading words ‘Fun in the sun in Salcombe!’. The peeling paint on the walls, the curtains Hope had made herself, and repaired over and over. On the wall, dozens of photos, the Marauders grinning broadly at him, waving.

He rolled over, pulled the covers up higher. Closed his eyes again.

Tuesdays were, in James’ opinion, the worst day of the week. It was always his most relentless day of classes: double Arithmancy, double Divination, plus the kick in the brain that was Ancient Runes. They never had Quidditch practice—Tuesday being Ravenclaw’s day to train, greedy bastards—and he usually reached dinner feeling like he’d been run over by a bus. If he had his way, Tuesdays would be banned.

He’d tried to explain Remus’ strange mood in the infirmary the evening before to a worried Sirius and Peter, and they’d all agreed that they needed to tackle the boy as soon as possible before he let these ideas whirl away from him. He always looked so together, Moony, so calm and steady; not many people realised that he kept so much pushed just below the surface. Sometimes he needed some loud teenage boys to tackle him, get him to talk. James was always up for that job.

But there was no sign of him in their shared classes that morning, nor at the lunch table. “He probably just needs a bit longer in the hospital wing,” Peter had guessed, choosing not to get too worried and instead focus on his sausage sandwich.

In Ancient Runes, Evans offered a similar theory. “He looked pretty rough yesterday,” she pointed out, voice low across the row. James shot a glare at Iris Fenwick, Lily’s desk mate and Peter’s ex, who could not have been more blatant about trying to listen in. “He probably needs more time to recover.”

“I ‘spose,” James agreed reluctantly. He paused, marvelling at the fact that they were sat there, talking—not arguing, talking, like normal human beings. “Thanks. I know I just need to calm down a bit.”

She shot him a grin. “That could be your personal motto, Potter.”

“Alright,” he huffed playfully. “I’ve got feelings, you know.”

“I heard Rafe Thicknesse asked you out,” Iris interrupted cheerfully, nudging Lily. James watched for a moment as Evans blushed prettily before he looked away, focusing his attention back on the board. “Is it true? He’s gorgeous!”

They were friends now, weren’t they, so it didn’t matter if James listened to Lily’s reply or not. As it happened, he chose not to, but that was only because he needed to concentrate on the translation block on the board at the front of the room. Sometimes study had to take precedence, surely.

By the time four o’clock rolled around, the last bell sounding, he had decided to go back to see Moony in the infirmary. It wasn’t just the things Remus had said that were rolling around in his brain, gathering momentum; it was the way he had looked, too, the way he had tried so hard to cover his own sadness, his raw feelings. James couldn’t bear the thought that his friend could feel that way for even a minute. Yes, he was close with Sirius, but he was close with all of them in different ways—he just wished he was better at explaining that. But, as he’d shown often in the past, when it came down to it, he fumbled his words, said the wrong thing. His mum always said he meant well if nothing else. He was working at getting the words to match the meaning. A work in progress.

The infirmary was quiet, the privacy screens tidied away and Remus’ bed empty, sheets folded neatly, no sign at all that anyone had been there. “Oh, I sent him out this morning, Potter,” Madam Pomfrey explained when he appeared in her office doorway. “Just before breakfast.”

A growing sense of unease had settled in his chest as he walked back to Gryffindor Tower. It was a huge castle, that was true, but there were only so many places someone could hide for very long before they were discovered. Someone should’ve seen Remus by now.

He found himself outside McGonagall’s office – unknowingly standing, fist raised and body tense, just as his missing friend had done hours earlier. She looked at him with something close to pity on her face, an expression he was unused to seeing from his head of house.

And then he was back in the dorm, leaning heavily against the closed door as Sirius and Peter watched, frowning. “What’s up?” Peter asked. “Runes wasn’t that bad, was it?”

James blinked, blinked again, staring at his friend before he finally found his voice again. “He left,” he said at last.

Sirius froze. “Who left?”

“Moony.” James pulled off his glasses, letting the world blur around him. It was easier than seeing the looks on his friends’ faces. “He left. He’s gone home.”

Outside, rain started to fall.

Chapter Text

22 days. 528 hours. 66 meals. Countless lessons. And still no Remus.

The routine had not changed. Every morning, Sirius woke up and looked over at the empty bed to check if Remus was there. At breakfast, he’d have most of his attention on the doors of the Great Hall. Lessons were spent half-listening, half-waiting, like a coiled spring. Lunch and dinner, a repeat of breakfast, watching the entrance for any movement seeming more important than eating his fill. It wasn’t like he had much of an appetite anyway.

He watched, and waited, and nothing changed.

It had taken James a few days, back when Moony had first left, to say much more than a few terse words to him. Sirius knew that James felt guilty, thought that he’d somehow let his friend down without even realising it. Add that to the understandable belief that this was all Sirius’ fault, and you had the recipe for the worst couple of days of their friendship.

It was only when Sirius—sick to death of himself and his thoughts and his ability to fuck up everything he touched—had lost his calm over the smallest thing that anything changed.

James had watched as Sirius messed up a simple reparo on a cracked picture frame of Remus’—trying to make his friend’s space in the dorm more homely, as if that alone would bring him back to them. Somehow, he failed a spell he’d been able to do since first year, and the sight of that crack in the wooden frame—taunting him, laughing at him—was all it took to tip him over the edge. He’d thrown his wand across the room, whirled round and punched the wall in frustration, letting out a broken, sobbed, “fuck”, the only word that seemed to fit this feeling that everything was wrong, that he was wrong, and instead of fixing it he could only make things worse.

James had climbed off his bed, murmured a simple healing charm on his damaged knuckles, and pulled him in roughly for a hug.

He’d barely coped with three days of James not talking to him. No wonder he felt like a raw nerve, a jagged edge, after 22 days of no Moony.

Desperate to do something, James had sent a letter by owl post, telling Remus they missed him and asking how he was. They received no reply. He’d written more, and again, no replies. Sirius had written some, too, but couldn’t quite get up the courage to send them. Some Gryffindor he was. A stack of unsent letters sat, folded neatly, in his desk drawer. No one else knew they existed.

Life was carrying on around them all, as if nothing had changed. As if Sirius and James and Peter hadn’t had the heart ripped out of them. That’s what Moony was, after all. At least, that’s how Sirius felt. Moony was his heart and his conscience and his—his soul, and here he was, left behind, half a life just wandering from lesson to lesson to meal to bed, and no one else seemed to notice or seemed to care.

James had told him he was making it about himself. That was hard to deny, but he didn’t know how else to process this. It felt utterly, inextricably about him, about his mistakes and his temper and his thoughtlessness and his anger that had led him to making an error so big that it couldn’t be talked away. What else was it about? Remus hadn’t gone home because of anyone but him.

Peter had spent the first week saying, every day, “he’ll be back tomorrow”. That cheerful optimism, even in the face of every bit of evidence to the contrary, had been endearing at first. By day eight, it had been like wire wool on his last nerve. He’d had to apologise, later, shame-faced and quiet, for calling Pete “a fucking imbecile”.

Sirius felt pathetic. He wasn’t coping. And every day Moony was away, it only got worse.

Dear Moony,

I know you left because of me.  It feels really strange without you here. How are you? Prongs said you had a broken cheekbone and a few broken ribs from the last full. I hope they’re healed by now. I remember you saying broken ribs are a bit of a bitch.

This feels stupid. You probably won’t reply, will you? If I even send it at all. Because I know you won’t want to read anything I’ve written, and I know small talk via owl isn’t going to help.

You should be here. It should’ve been me who had to go. I suppose that’s the problem with not really having anywhere to go, isn’t it?

I’m sorry.

Padfoot

“—and leading his team onto the pitch is Gryffindor captain, James Potter! A fine chaser indeed, and we’ll see today if his leadership skills are as good as they’re saying. Swift, still on as Keeper—as quick as they come, that one—Potter, Choudry and Randall are the Chasers, and, crikey, you wouldn’t want to meet those two Beaters down a dark alley—Saini and Harrison—Saini must’ve been working out over the summer, look at those arms! You could mince a sparrow with those muscles—right, sorry Professor. Erm, yes, the Slytherin team have joined us…”

James tuned out the commentary—it never helped, to listen to the prattle, far better to concentrate on the task at hand—and swooped up higher to get a good view of the pitch. They had lucked out with the weather: sunny, but not too bright, and only a slight breeze. Given that the team had been practising in torrential rain and gale-force winds recently, this would be easy in comparison.

The Slytherin captain was arguing some point or other with Madam Hooch; James found it hard to believe that the bloke could already have something to complain about when the match hadn’t even started yet. Rolling his eyes, he eased his broom off round the edge of the pitch, and that was when he heard it. The singing.

Back in third year, Remus had been trying to explain the rules of rugby as he reminisced about games he’d been to with his mum’s family. Mid-way through explaining what a line-out was, he’d drifted into a story about the game they’d been to over the Easter break—“part of the Five Nations tournament, at Twickenham,” he’d said, as if that meant anything at all to any of them. Remus had laughed as he talked about the songs the crowd had sung together, thousands of voices raised happily together even in the face of their eventual defeat against the England team.

“It’s a hymn, really,” Remus had said, adding, at the look on Sirius’ face, “you know, a song from a Muggle church. Guide Me O Great Redeemer.”

“You go to a rugby match and sing songs to Jesus?” James had asked, baffled.

“It’s not really about religion,” Remus had replied. “It’s just a classic Welsh tune, and we do love a good sing. The best bit is…” and he barely paused before launching into, “bread of heaven, bread of heaven, feed me till I want no mooooooooore” with more gusto than they’d ever seen their friend express.

Well, James had always loved a new tradition, especially when it involved making plenty of noise, and they’d spent the rest of the evening changing the lyrics to better suit a Gryffindor anthem. By midnight, one of the fourth years came down to ask them to please, for the love of Merlin, stop singing, and so reluctantly, they had.

It took about two weeks to teach it to groups of their house-mates, and they’d been ready for the next Quidditch match, filled with patriotic tower pride. The song had been a staple of Gryffindor life ever since.

“Roar like lions

Roar like lions

Fly to victory, Gryffindoooooooor!

Flyyyyyy to victory, Gryffindor!”

The words rose up from the stands, roared in happy unison by the crowds waving their red and gold scarves, hand-made posters and banners. Not the most imaginative lyrics, James thought, with the wisdom of his now-sixteen years, but not bad for novices.

Of course, the singing brought on a mixture of feelings in him. Pride and exhilaration, knowing the match was about to begin, that it was another afternoon spent doing his favourite thing. But, of course, it also brought on the deep pang of missing Remus. His friend should’ve been there, amongst that crowd, singing his heart out and cheering them all on.

He shook his head. He didn’t have time to be melancholy now. Too much was at stake.

The whistle blew, and with it, everything else was shut out.

Three hours later, and the Gryffindors were still singing: this time, in the common room, a classic victory party only just getting started.

“I just, I couldn’t believe it,” Kasim was saying, shaking his head in disbelief. “Is it always like that?”

“What—scary and brilliant all at once?” James asked with a laugh. “I’m afraid so. Fucking ace, isn’t it?”

Kasim nodded dumbly, taking a swig from his butterbeer. “I could go and play it all again right now.”

“I couldn’t,” Ornella Randall, their fellow Chaser, groaned from the sofa. She’d taken a bludger to the arm at one point, and was sat in her girlfriend’s arms, a bandage and ice pack helping the healing process—as well as a large glass of firewhiskey. “Don’t make us do it, Potter.”

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” James promised. “For one, you’re too drunk.”

“Drunk!” Ornella gasped in mock indignation, turning to her girlfriend. “Ruby, did you hear that? Drunk? Me?”

“You don’t touch the stuff, do you,” Ruby smirked.

“Eh, get as drunk as you like,” James winked, and hauled himself out of the armchair. “Speaking of, I need another drink.”

It took a while to wend his way through the crowd to the drinks table—every other person wanted to congratulate him, or thank him, or talk him through their emotions as they’d watched him score the clinching goal that meant the snitch could be safely caught—but eventually he got there, and reached for a dark red liquid in an unlabelled bottle.

“Rolling the dice are we, Potter?”

He glanced up, finding Evans standing on the other side of the table. “I like the mystery of an unknown drink,” he replied. “Keeps things interesting.”

She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. “I see. So you’ll die of poisoning, then. We’ve been wondering how you’d go.”

He smirked, sloshing some of the drink into his glass and giving it a sniff. “Well, if it’s my time, it’s my time,” he replied. “Cheers.”

He took a large gulp, paused, then nodded. “If it’s poisoned, they’ve hidden it well.”

“What a relief,” she noted. “I don’t think Gryffindor is ready for anyone else to be Quidditch captain.”

He grinned, shrugging modestly. “They’d be fine.”

She glanced around the room, and he followed her gaze—Sirius was sitting, alone, at the open window, smoking and staring gloomily out into the night. “Still no word?” she asked. She didn’t need to explain what she was referring to.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m…” He trailed off, hesitated. “I’m starting to worry he might just…not come back.”

She sighed worriedly, a frown marring her lovely features. Not that he thought of her as lovely anymore, of course. “You think so? It’s really that bad?”

James took another swig of his drink. “It’s bad enough,” he confirmed. “And he’s always been a bit confrontation-averse.”

She was quiet a moment. “Sorry,” she sighed again. “I’ve pissed all over the victory mood, haven’t I?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s never far from my mind, trust me.”

She looked back over at Sirius. “I’ll go and talk to him,” she decided. “See if I can get him to crack a smile.”

James smiled himself, faintly, gratefully. “Good luck with that one.”

She started to head off, then paused, turning back to him. For a moment, he thought she looked embarrassed. “Well done, again,” she said. “For the game, I mean.”

“Oh,” he said, the profound person that he was. “Erm. Thanks, Evans.”

With a last, quick smile, she turned once more and headed off to the window, and his best friend. James only allowed himself to watch her for a moment or two more before he turned away again, and let himself be drawn back into a conversation about beater tactics.

Strange, though. Sometimes he really couldn’t figure her out.

Dear Moony,

Today in Transfiguration, Owain Ollerton made a joke about transfiguring water into wine (a Muggle religion reference, right? That fifth year MS essay on Jesus still haunts my waking nightmares) and I turned to my left expecting you to be there, smirking. It was strange that you weren’t.

I had a mentoring session with McG. We talked about how I need to control my anger and let my feelings out in a healthy way. Tricky after seventeen years of the opposite. They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. What do they say about an old Animagus?

At dinner yesterday Pete ate nine sausages. That’s a new record. I didn’t think anyone would beat James’ eight from fifth year. I’d say you’d have been proud but we both know you’d have just rolled your eyes and complained about him taking the best sausages from the platter.

It’s weird, writing all this. I still haven’t sent the last one. Probably won’t send this one either.

I’m sorry.

P

“Oh my sweet lord,” Marlene declared, pausing dramatically in the doorway to their dorm. Lily looked up from her Runes translation, eyebrows raised in expectation. “It’s you. It’s really you!”

Lily sighed. “Marl—”

“It’s Lily Bloody Evans!” Marlene dumped her bag on the floor and threw herself across the bottom of Lily’s bed, dark curls tumbling across her face. “That is your middle name, right?”

“It’s Barbara,” she replied evenly. “For my gran.”

“Well, either way,” Marlene beamed up at her. “Finally, Lily Bloody Barbara Evans! I have you, and I have you alone.”

“That sounds incredibly ominous,” she told her friend.

Marlene rolled on to her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “Every time I’ve seen you lately, it’s either been with all us girls, or with Sirius, your new best friend.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “You know I don’t like to share.”

Lily set her Runes work aside; she could see she wasn’t going to get back to it anytime soon. “You’re always with Dor,” she pointed out. “How’s a girl meant to feel?”

“So you go off with my ex?” Marlene teased fondly. “You’re just trying to get my attention, aren’t you?”

“You’re on to me,” Lily sighed. “I should’ve known you’d see through my ruse. You’re far too clever.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” Marlene agreed. She paused. “Seriously, though—no pun intended, ha—are you and Sirius…?” She wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully.

“Christ, no,” Lily laughed. “I’ve got more self-respect than that.” She cringed. “No offence.”

“None taken,” Marlene rolled her eyes with a laugh. “So you’re just friends then? I wondered if Ravishing Rafe the Ravenclaw Romancer had already been seen off…”

“Just friends,” Lily promised, sinking back against her pillows. “I’ve got to know him a bit better through this Potions thing, and…well, he needs all the friends he can get, I reckon.”

“True,” Marlene allowed with a nod. “Well, I can’t say I’m not a bit relieved. I think you two would be a dangerous coupling.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Too combustible?”

Marlene laughed, stretching out her legs lazily. “Yeah. You’d destroy each other within a week.” She pulled herself up and clambered up the bed, budging Lily over with her hip so they could lean against the headboard together. “I’m glad you’re giving Ravishing Rafe a proper chance.”

Lily sighed. “Do you think we could just call him Rafe from now on?”

“No,” Marlene shook her head sadly. “I don’t think we can.”

“Tosser.”

With a grin, Marlene scooted down a little so she could rest her head on Lily’s shoulder. “Ah, I’ve missed you, you horrible old thing.”

Lily smirked. “I’ve missed you too, you nasty piece of work.”

It was true that her attention was divided these days. Between schoolwork, prefect duties and friends, there wasn’t much space left for anything else. Yesterday, she’d managed a few laps of the lake with Rafe—she warmed at the memory of him pausing, tugging her closer, to press a soft, unassuming kiss to her lips—before being rushed off to patrol the castle. On returning to the common room, she’d found Sirius staring dully into the fire, sat on his own. It was surprising to her as much as to anyone else how she’d ended up actually caring about Black, given that their relationship prior to sixth year could only really be described as adversarial at best. But something about that look on his face, that expression of loneliness even when surrounded by people, hit her right in her silly, caring heart. She couldn’t leave him like that.

That had been fairly indicative of most days, now. Wake up, work, eat, work, see Rafe, work, patrol, fall into the common room and chat to Mary, or distract Sirius, or proofread essays with Dorcas. It was fine—she was happy, at least—it was just…exhausting.

Marlene’s sigh brought her back to the present. “Dinner’s about to start,” her friend said. “Think it’s fish and chips night.”

Lily held out her hand. “In that case—Marlene McKinnon, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Great Hall?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Marlene grasped her hand, and together they climbed off the bed and headed downstairs.

Dinner was already on the tables when they arrived, squeezing into a spot opposite Mary and Dorcas. Just along the table, Potter was wolfing down his food like he hadn’t eaten in a week, flanked by Sirius and Peter, who were taking a more sedate approach. “Bloody hell, Prongs,” Peter said nervously, “you’ll choke at this rate!”

“Quidditch,” he replied before shovelling a forkful of peas into his mouth, and that, apparently, was enough of an explanation. He caught Lily watching them and gave her a sheepish smile, which she returned, embarrassed, before looking away again.

Potter dragged the Quidditch team away about fifteen minutes later, and the rest of the meal went by with the usual level of companionable conversation. As the hall started to clear, Lily felt too tired and too full to go anywhere just yet, and watched as Marlene and Dorcas took themselves off to the library. She shot Mary an enquiring look.

“Don’t ask me,” Mary replied with a shake of her head. “Too much to unpack there.” She pulled herself up from the table. “I need to go to the Owlery. Fancy a walk?”

Lily made a face. “I ate too many chips. I think it’ll be a miracle if I make it back to the Tower at all.”

Mary grinned. “Good luck, my dear,” she said. “Hopefully see you back there!”

Most people had gone now: there were two Slytherins left on their table across the room, a solitary Hufflepuff who had been too distracted reading their Arithmancy textbook to finish eating…and Lily and Sirius. She shot him a smile. “Alright, Black?”

“Alright, Evans,” he replied, and tried to smile. It wasn’t very convincing. “Deserted by all your friends?”

“Abandoned,” she agreed, and slid a little way along the bench so she was opposite him. “And all because my eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

“Ah, you’re only human—” He broke off, head turning quickly to the door; she turned to look, too. A tall, brown-haired boy had wandered in; they both watched as he headed over to the lone Hufflepuff, sinking down on to the bench to join them.

Lily looked back at Sirius, who looked devastated. She frowned. “Still nothing?” she asked gently.

He tore his gaze away from the newcomer. “Nothing,” he confirmed. It was horrible, to hear the quietness of his voice, the emptiness. “I know it’s daft, to keep looking for him…”

She reached for his hand. “It’s not daft. He’s your friend. You’re allowed to miss him.”

Sirius let out a noise that could’ve been a laugh, under different circumstances. “He hates me now. And I don’t blame him.”

She paused, studying his face carefully. “Did you two…have some big argument, or something?” she asked. “Did you say something you regretted?”

He smiled, a smile with no happiness whatsoever. “I did,” he agreed. “But not to him.”

Her frown deepened. “Sirius—”

“I told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow.” His words tumbled out; she blinked, struggling to process what he had said. “I was—he was having a go at me, about my family, about my brother, and…I let myself get wound up, and…” He pulled his hand away from hers, raked it through his hair. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“The Whomping Willow?” She felt like she was just a step behind, panting to catch up even though she knew when she did, it would be devastating. “What does that have to do with Remus?”

Sirius’ face was so full of self-loathing that it almost hurt to look at him. “The Willow covers the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack,” he murmured. “…where Remus transforms each month.”

Oh. Oh. For several moments, she was lost for words. The jigsaw pieces were sliding into place. “So Severus went out there,” she guessed quietly, “and James…saved his life.”

If it were possible to get any paler, Sirius would’ve done so. “He had his hand on the trapdoor,” he replied dully. “If James had been even a minute or two later…Snape would’ve died.”

Seeing the whole situation in the cold light of the truth did not make it any easier to get her head around. She thought of Remus, her friend, knowing that now someone who hated him knew his secret. Knowing that he could have killed someone, could’ve killed his friend, too, without even knowing it. And all that…because of Sirius’ actions.

She studied his face, pausing to think carefully through what to say next. She thought, all things considered, that the silent treatment from Remus was a quite gentle punishment. But she also knew, because she knew him now, better than she’d ever thought she would, that Sirius was slowly, systematically destroying himself over what had happened. Telling him off now would not help the situation in the slightest.

“You’ve been through a lot,” she said at last, and he looked up at her, an irritated frown on his face. “I’m not saying that it’s an excuse,” she added quickly. “But…I think you know what you did was wrong.” She thought of Severus, of his face as he shouted ‘Mudblood’ at her, at his insistence that she should forgive him and that he hadn’t really done anything wrong. “There’s a lot to be said for admitting you’ve made a mistake.”

“Yeah, well.” Sirius dug his thumbnail into his hand; she reached over to gently, silently, stop him. “Now Moony’s gone, and I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”

“Maybe he will,” she offered, “maybe he won’t.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, thanks, Evans, I hadn’t thought of that…”

“I just mean,” she shook her head, “that you have no control over his decision. What you do have control over is how you behave, how you show him that you’re sorry.”

He grunted. “Don’t like not having control.”

“None of us do,” she pointed out. “Nonetheless—”

“There you are!” They both looked up; Rafe stood, hands in pockets and an easy smile on his face. “I looked for you in your common room but Mary said you’d be somewhere languishing over too many potatoes.” He paused, then looked at Sirius, giving him a collegial nod. “Black.”

“Thicknesse.” Sirius stood up, glancing back at Lily. “I’ll leave you two to it. Thanks, for…well. You know.”

“Any time,” she told him sincerely, and watched as he sloped off out the door. Rafe caught her eye again, raising an eyebrow. “He’s going through some things,” she explained.

“You’re a good friend, Lily Evans.” He offered her his hand. “Fancy a stroll round the castle?”

She smiled, and accepted his hand. “Yes,” she agreed. She needed an easier evening, now. “I rather think I do.”

M,

Merryton is quite possibly an insane person. There’s no other explanation. She’s set us an essay about thestrals and their historic use as a battle creature. Thestrals! They tried them in one bloody battle in 18-who-the-fuck-cares and it didn’t work. Does she know her own subject? How the fuck can anyone string out even three inches on thestrals? I’m bored just thinking about it. I’m starting to wonder if she’s setting all sorts of random shit now just to see if anyone complains.

Are you having to do schoolwork at home? You’d probably enjoy that, to be fair.

It’s not the same without you here. Evans was playing The Beatles in the common room the other day and Eleanor Rigby came on, and I remembered you saying how it was one of your favourites, and I said it was a weird one to have as a favourite, and you said I was a weird one to have as a favourite and then we both couldn’t stop giggling and Prongs threw his shoe at us. Thinking about it made me want to toss the record player on to the fire. I didn’t, though. That’s progress, isn’t it? McG and Euphemia must be terribly proud of the snail’s pace progress I’m making.

I’m so, so sorry.

Pads

Every Friday evening, like clockwork, Sirius reported to McGonagall’s office. Seven o’clock would roll around and he’d leave his friends behind in the Great Hall, Pete probably finishing his third helping of treacle sponge and custard, and trudge along the empty corridors to face another evening of boredom and redemption. The only positive in any of it was seeing Snivellus’ sullen, miserable face as he made the same journey down to Slughorn’s office.

He had always liked McGonagall. She was fearsome, to be sure, sharp as flint. But he knew there was fondness under that cool exterior. Even if he was an entirely infuriating student to have to deal with ninety-five percent of the time, she still treated him like a fundamentally decent person. Considering his home life, this was as good as a constant stream of hugs.

(That was a weird thought. Hugging Minnie? Surely she’d be all hard angles and disapproving sighs.)

Of all the teachers to be serving weekly detention with, he’d probably have picked her. He’d done a detention with Merryton the previous month after handing in his DADA essay late, and she’d just made him sit there while she stared icily at him for an hour. He was impressed that she was able to keep that up for so long, but it didn’t make the situation any less uncomfortable. Slughorn’s detentions were always an excuse for free child labour, scrubbing out cauldrons, preparing potions or restocking the store cupboard. Plus, in Sirius’ experience, you also had to listen to him ramble on with some story of a previous pupil who was now an illustrious who-gives-a-fuck. Time moved very slowly. And of course, Filch would’ve strung him up by his ankles if given the opportunity. So marking quizzes or organising student handouts for McGonagall was the best of a bad bunch, really.

Maybe it helped that he knew, ultimately, that he deserved these detentions. Deserved a lot more. It was a small penance for what he had done to his friend, what utter calamity he could have caused.

Her office door was ajar, and he paused at the threshold, knocking to announce his presence. His teacher was sat at her desk, reading from a piece of parchment, but looked up at the noise. “Ah, Mr Black,” she nodded towards the chair opposite her. “Sit down. I see from the report from your teachers that you have had a quiet week?”

He did as he was asked, pulling his quill and inkpot from his bag in readiness. “Trying to, y’know, keep myself under control,” he replied. “Like you said.”

She watched him for a moment; he felt self-conscious, like she could read every thought that passed through his head. “Good,” she said at last. “I’m pleased that you’re taking this seriously.”

He nodded, resisting the urge to make the obvious joke. “I am.”

She reached for a thick stack of parchment and passed it to him. “Second year quizzes. The answer key is on the top for you to mark against,” she said. “Once finished, please sort them in descending order of score.”

Sirius got stuck into the task—although he’d never admit it to anyone, not even James, he didn’t mind this sort of job. If nothing else, it was entertaining to see which pupils had clearly not revised for the test—and always satisfying to draw a big, red zero at the top of their page. As he worked, the only sound in the room was the gentle ticking of the clock above the fireplace, and the shuffling of parchment. For her part, McGonagall was reading through essays, a look of disdain on her face most of the time: evidently these were not quite up to scratch.

It was nearing the end of the hour when a gentle tapping made them both look up: an owl waited at the window. McGonagall rose from her chair to retrieve her letter, moving the essays aside to read it. Sirius hadn’t meant to give it much attention, but as he looked up to set another marked test paper on to the pile on her desk, he caught sight of a swirl of writing on the reverse of the letter, and a distinct signature: Hope Lupin.

His heart felt like it had leapt up into his throat. Even if it wasn’t from Remus himself, it was still Remus-adjacent, and more than he had seen or heard in what felt like forever. His mother was writing to McGonagall? And quite a long letter too, by the looks of it. He couldn’t make out what the writing on the back of the letter said—it was at just the wrong angle, the writing just a little too sloped and small to make out.

He couldn’t keep quiet. “That’s from Remus’ mum,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady considering how hard his heart was thumping in his chest.

His teacher looked up, sharply at first before the gaze softened slightly. “Yes,” she confirmed, and for a moment he thought that was all she was going to say on the matter. “She is sending me regular updates.”

“Is he—” Something in her eyes made him pause, reconsider his words. “Does she know when he’ll be back?”

McGonagall glanced down at the parchment in her hands. “Sirius, it is not appropriate for me to discuss the private contents of a letter about another student with you,” she told him, trying to sound stern. “I understand that he is your friend, and you want to know how he is, but—"

“He’s not here because of me,” Sirius interrupted. He couldn’t even be bothered to feel ashamed of the transparent sadness in his voice. “There’s no way this is just a medical thing.”

She pursed her lips. “No,” she agreed quietly, “it’s not.”

He paused, looking desperately at the letter again, before he forced himself to return to his task. “Sorry. It’s not my business,” he murmured.

The quiet settled over them for long enough that Sirius assumed the matter was closed. Eventually, though, she spoke up again. “When I know he is returning, I will tell you,” she said, and he looked up, managing a nod. “You’ve done your hour. Good night, Sirius.”

A glance at the clock told them that, actually, he hadn’t quite done the hour, but he wasn’t about to turn down the chance to get out even a few minutes early. Even if it was offered out of pity. “Good night, professor,” he replied, standing up and leaving the room as swiftly as could be considered polite.

Back at the dorm, he stopped before telling the others what had happened. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like it had an air of finality to it—like it was another nail in the coffin of their friendship. Clearly, if Mrs Lupin was writing letters, Remus wasn’t going to be turning up at breakfast tomorrow. Sirius felt fear, like a rock in his gut, that the longer he was away, the less likely he was to come back at all.

Could it be that their friendship was over, just like that?

He didn’t want to think about it. But the question kept rising to the surface, over and over.

M,

Did you know that Muggles use something called an X-ray to look at their bones? You probably do know that. We learned about Muggle medicine today and it’s really fucked up. Imagine having to point waves at your arms just so you could know if something is broken. Evans told me at dinner that the waves aren’t like the ones in the ocean, which makes more sense than what I was imagining. She started going on about particles and energy and I lasted about five minutes before I glazed over and had to eat another helping of trifle to wake my brain back up again.

Still. X-rays. I don’t know how Muggles get by. Has your mum had any X-rays?

That’s a weird question isn’t it. This is how starved for Moony-information I am. I’m asking pointless questions in a letter I won’t even send.

If you were here, I’d tell you how sorry I am. How much I wish I’d never opened my stupid mouth. I know it doesn’t help things, it won’t change anything, but I’d say it. Every day, if it helped.

I’m sorry.

P

As December dawned, and another Hogsmeade weekend rolled around, James felt in a decidedly un-festive mood. Even the addition of twinkly lights around the entrance hall couldn’t bring on the Christmas spirit. What was there to feel festive about? They still hadn’t heard from Moony—McGonagall had finally said, exasperated and tense, “when I know, I will tell you, Mr Potter, you don’t need to ask me every minute of every day” when he’d approached her again yesterday morning. The dorm felt empty without him, something which shouldn’t have made any sense, given it was still three quarters full. But it did. It hadn’t even been a month, and it felt like years.

He spent far too much time replaying his last conversation with Remus over and over in his head. He’d been so shell-shocked by what Moony had said, at the idea that he could even think he was less important to James than Sirius was, that he was sure he hadn’t said the right things. He’d tried—he always did—but obviously it hadn’t been enough, since their friend had vanished back to his home the very next morning.

He’d picked over the days prior to the moon, trying to work out where they’d gone wrong, what he might’ve done that made Remus think that he wasn’t worth something to him. The trouble was, Moony had always been so good at controlling his reactions to anything negative—a great skill, unless you happened to be his friend and in need of dissecting what was at stake. James couldn’t think of anything that might’ve tipped him over the edge.

Meanwhile, Sirius had been struggling. In a different way than he had been before the prank, but struggling nonetheless. He was quiet, sad, obviously drowning in guilt and other unnameable, complex feelings. It wasn’t easy being angry with Sirius when he was in that kind of a state, so it wasn’t any wonder that James had lasted not even three full days of the cold shoulder before caving and forgiving him. Besides, James thought that if Sirius had been hated by James as well as Remus, there could’ve been no telling what he’d do.

Pete, usually their easy-going, amiable middle ground, was finding the shift in group dynamics a challenge. He was a people-pleaser, and unfortunately, the people around him at the moment were very hard to please. James did what he could to be half-decent company for Peter, trying to make up for Sirius’ low moods and Remus’ gaping absence, but he knew it wasn’t enough.

All in all, they were a sorry group.

Still, they’d decided to go to Hogsmeade anyway, to go to the Broomsticks and, if not get plastered, then at least merry enough to wash away some of their troubles. James had not been keen to go and had taken some convincing, eventually giving in if only to stop Peter looking like someone had just killed his cat. And he told himself, very firmly, that it wasn’t that he wasn’t keen to go because he knew that Lily Evans and Rafe Thicknesse were going to be parading around. It had nothing to do with that. He just wasn’t feeling festive, that was all.

He was fine with those two. Happy for them, even. After all, hadn’t he bumped into them holding hands in the corridors plenty of times by now? He’d even stumbled across them snogging outside the prefect’s bathroom last week, and had felt infinitely proud of his calm, collected way of dealing with it. She was his friend. Good for her that she was having her tonsils tickled by an annoyingly, objectively handsome bloke. Good times all round.

At least the weather for this Hogsmeade weekend was an improvement on last time—the sky was a blanket of pale grey clouds, not dark enough to carry rain just yet, and it was cold in a bracing sort of way. Not exactly the stuff of epic poetry, but better than sleet. They’d bundled into the carriages, all of the Gryffindor sixth years together—apart from Lily, of course—and even Sirius seemed to have his mood lifted somewhat by the change of routine. Marlene and Dorcas had slipped off soon after they’d arrived, heads together as they’d laughed over some inside joke. That left Mary Macdonald in need of company and entertainment, and so she’d linked arms with Peter, given them all a cheery smile, and suggested they see who had the least chemistry out of all the couples in the pub.

It was a lot more fun than James had thought it would be.

Mary was fun, he reflected, watching her argue with Sirius over whether a Ravenclaw fourth year was even remotely interested in the boy she was sat with. Mary was bubbly, she was easy to talk to—she had a sense of humour, a quality that James prized highly. And, looking at her in the stream of winter sun from the nearby window, she was pretty. Today she’d done something to her brown hair to make it sort of wavy, and James noted now how it framed her face. Had she always been pretty? He’d not noticed.

She was smiling at Sirius over the rim of her glass, deep brown eyes sparkling with mischief. James watched her, her mannerisms, the way she laughed so readily, the contrast of her pale skin with that dark hair—it was all undeniably appealing. She glanced over at him and caught his stare. “What do you think? Love connection or doomed to fail?”

He blinked, and turned to look at the couple in question. He felt bewildered, distracted. “Erm…I think they’ve got what it takes,” he decided, not really knowing what he was looking for anyway. What did he know about love? All he had was a doomed, unrequited thing he was desperately trying to shake free from. “They seem happy.”

“I was happy, once,” Peter piped up wistfully. “With Iris.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “It was only a few weeks ago that you were saying you were well shot of her, mate,” he reminded him.

“Love can make you mad,” Peter replied. “I didn’t know what I had until it was gone.” He took a swig from his drink and affected a look of intense longing and devotion. Or, what was supposed to be those things—James thought he looked more like he was struggling with indigestion. “Iris and I. Now that was chemistry.”

“Two weeks,” Sirius pointed out. “Two weeks, you two were going out. I’ve had stomach flus that have lasted longer.”

“Now, there’s a couple with chemistry,” Mary jumped in, beaming with something like pride, and they all turned to follow her gaze to where Lily and Rafe had just arrived. They had settled at a cosy corner table, his arm draped easily around her shoulders.

Sirius shot James a wary look—his friend didn’t believe him when he said he was moving on—and James looked away, reaching for his drink. “What about you, then, Mac?” he asked, not entirely to get the focus away from Lily and the happy, soppy expression on her face. “You’ve got chemistry with the chair—where’s your date?”

Mary shot him a pleased grin. “Why thank you, Jamie,” she gave him a wink. “I’m waiting for someone worthy.”

“What’ve they got to do?” Sirius asked gamely. “Pull a sword out a stone?”

“Defeat a minotaur?” Peter suggested.

“Stay conscious all the way through double History of Magic?” was James’ input.

Mary laughed, sliding her empty glass to the middle of the table. “Why not all three?” she asked. “Low expectations are the enemy of success.”

She was flirting. Even James knew that, and he was notoriously slow when it came to this stuff. But Mary was flirty—it was just her personality, it didn’t mean anything—and besides, his gaze kept drifting, against his will, off into the corner.

They were kissing now. Excellent.

James stood up with a forced smile and a sigh more weary than he’d intended. “Right. Another drink?”

Moony,

Pete ate twelve sausages tonight. TWELVE. It was obscene.

I miss you. I’m sorry.

Pads

Everyone knew what it meant for a budding relationship to make it official in Hogsmeade. It was considered a commitment, like exchanging promise rings, and sent a clear message to all other interested parties: we are both taken.

The Hogsmeade date venue a couple chose also made a statement. Puddifoot’s was for third and fourth years, or older students wanting to prove that they could still be romantic before groping each other in the carriages back to school. The Hog’s Head was for casual couples—less about the ambience and more about the opportunities offered by the many dark corners. If you wanted to break up, you took your partner to the greasy spoon cafe on one of the side streets, where no one could be accused of finding even a hint of romance. If you wanted to be seen, you paraded hand in hand up and down the high street, perhaps pausing for a snog on a bench. And then, for all others, there was the Three Broomsticks. Low-key enough to not make anyone feel pressured, but nice enough to feel special with the right person. Plus, if things went awry, there was usually someone around to look after you.

Despite the potential pressure a Hogsmeade date should have brought, Lily found herself feeling remarkably relaxed. Maybe it was because they had forgone waiting for the day itself and had already spent time together in the castle. They’d done so many laps of the grounds by now that she was sure she could have made her way round it blind-folded if necessary. She already knew about his family, his pets, his favourite subject, his career aspirations. She also knew that he was a good kisser, so it wasn’t like she was anxiously waiting, wondering if he was going to make a move. He’d done that two weeks ago, something they’d both thoroughly enjoyed.

And so it was that she’d met Rafe in the entrance hall, only excited butterflies in her stomach and none of the gut-wrenching anxiety. Maybe a small amount of fear of messing up, somehow, but that was to be expected.

They’d managed to snag their own carriage by lingering behind the crowds, since neither of them minded getting to the village a while after everyone else. Lily had had a few dates before, including a memorable occasion having tea spilt all over her by an extremely nervous Luke Brand, poor chap, but they had never felt quite like this. She felt special, on the arm of this handsome, mature specimen. He was the epitome of politeness, helping her out of the carriage, holding doors open. He even tried to buy her a book, although she talked him down from that—it was too soon to be getting into relationship debt, she thought.

It was cold enough that she was glad when he suggested they head to the Broomsticks for lunch (she’d forgone her woollen hat, in order to maintain some semblance of sex appeal, and so her ears were starting to feel frozen) and they soon found a table in a quiet corner. She preferred being tucked away—not for nefarious reasons, of course, but to avoid too many people being nosy. Lily had always enjoyed some privacy.

She’d spotted Mary sitting with the Gryffindor boys when they’d arrived at the pub—her friend had shot her an encouraging grin before returning to her conversation. Now, while Rafe got them drinks, she let her gaze wander over to the group again. Mary and Potter were sat next to each other, chatting and laughing, and his arm was draped across the back of her chair. Huh. Were they…? Probably not. True, Mary had had a crush on him back in third year, but she’d stopped talking about it by the end of the year and so Lily had assumed she’d moved on.

She frowned, wondering why her thoughts had drifted in this direction. Mary and Potter would make a very attractive coupling. What difference did it make to her?

“Here you go…” Rafe slid back into his chair, passing her a butterbeer.

“Oh, thanks,” she tore her gaze away and gave him a smile. “I’m surprised it’s not busier in here.”

He took a swig of his drink. “A lot of the seventh years stayed back to study.” He winked. “They didn’t all have the incentive that I did.”

She smiled shyly. “Am I keeping you from an exciting essay?”

“You are,” he said, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to her lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she laughed.

“Rafe!” They both looked up; two seventh years—Ravenclaws too, who Lily recognised but didn’t know—stood in front of them. A witch with long dark hair continued speaking. “You decided to take a break from work too?”

Rafe gave them an easy smile. “All work and no play, et cetera,” he replied. He glanced down at his companion. “This is Lily.”

“Hi Lily,” the dark-haired witch smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

The blonde at her side hadn’t said a word yet; she was smiling, too, but in a very different way. Lily couldn’t decide if it was friendly or not.

“This is Ama,” Rafe gestured first to the dark-haired witch, “and Aoife.”

Lily didn’t often feel awkward with new people. She tried to swallow down this sensation. “Lovely to meet you too,” she directed at Ama with a small smile.

“Well, sorry for interrupting your date,” Ama said, shooting a look at her friend. Aoife had turned her gaze to Rafe. “We’ll leave you in peace.”

Rafe just gave a pleasant smile. “See you later.”

Lily watched Rafe watching them go, not sure what to say at first. Was she imagining that it had been awkward? She did tend to overthink things… “They seem nice,” she said, for want of anything better to say.

Rafe turned back to her, that same easy-going smile on his face. Nothing seemed to bother him. “They are,” he agreed. “We’ve got a good group in our year in Ravenclaw.”

“It helps, doesn’t it,” she said, glancing back towards the table of her friends. “We’ve only recently been getting on better and it makes life a lot easier.”

Rafe nodded knowingly. “Well, in fairness, you’ve got some strong characters in with you,” he smirked. “Potter and Black are a law unto themselves. I don’t blame you for not getting on with them.”

She bristled slightly, not sure why she felt so defensive. It wasn’t that long ago that she would’ve readily, heartily agreed with him. “That’s all for show. They’re nice blokes, really.”

He raised an eyebrow, but nodded, obviously seeing her reaction for what it was. “If you say so.”

“Anyway.” She took a sip of her drink, feeling foolish. “We don’t need to talk about all that lot.”

“We don’t,” he agreed, his hand on her shoulder gently guiding her in closer; she felt that warmth flush her cheeks again as he tipped her chin up for another kiss. “We don’t need to talk at all…”

Any defensiveness, or awkwardness, or strangeness, melted away in a matter of seconds.

Remus,

I thought I’d start differently today, then maybe I’ll actually send it.

David Garnet sat in your seat in Charms today and I wanted to punch him in the nose. I didn’t. I just glared at him until James told me to stop. He said it’s not Garnet’s fault that he’s not you. Maybe, but it’s not my fault that it’s not Garnet’s fault.

I am working on taking responsibility for things. Honest.

I don’t know if you’re reading the Prophet at home. There was another attack, in Durham. You can tell people are starting to dread the newspapers coming in the mornings, now. It feels a bit relentless, all the bad news.

Mulciber called Charlie Swift a m-b the other day, outside the Great Hall. Prongs and I both resisted the temptation to hex his testicles so far back up his body that they’d come out of his throat. As you can imagine, this took a lot of restraint. Dearborn and Evans were there and gave him a fuckload of detentions and took 50 points. It doesn’t feel like enough, though, does it? It never does. Evans said she didn’t know what enough would be, and that maybe whatever enough was would make us just like them, and so it wasn’t worth it. She’s more wise than I’ve given her credit for. Shame about her taste in music.

We all really miss you. I think I’m going mad without you here, Moons. I wish you’d come back.

I’m sorry.

Sirius

One long stroke, then another, and another, and another, and—“Done!” Mary beamed at him, sitting back to admire her handiwork. “What do you think?”

Sirius had been quite content ignoring his Muggle Studies textbook and staring into the middle distance when Mary had accosted him twenty minutes ago, apparently bored and looking for entertainment. “You’ll look like Bowie,” she’d promised, waving a bottle of black nail varnish at him in an almost threatening manner, and ultimately, he’d decided he didn’t care enough to protest.

He looked down at his hand, stretching out his fingers to study them carefully. “You’ve a steady hand, Mac,” he allowed. “Who knew it was possible to look even cooler than I already do…”

“You’re a wonder,” Mary agreed drily, reaching for his other hand. “Okay, hold still.”

She set to work again, and he slumped back against the sofa, head tilted up to the ceiling. Really, there were worse ways to spend an evening. Prongs was at Quidditch practice, Wormtail at chess club; Evans was off somewhere snogging her boyfriend, probably, and he had no idea where Meadowes or McKinnon were. It wasn’t fair to say Mary was all he had left, but, well, it was accurate.

“Black…” she started, voice light; he turned his head so he could see her face. Her expression was carefully neutral, still focused on the task in front of her.

“Yeah?”

She paused. “Does…does James still fancy Lily?”

Sirius paused, too. Now there was a loaded question. “I dunno,” he lied easily. “Why do you ask?”

Mary glanced up for only a moment before returning her attention to the nail of his middle finger. “Just wondering…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mac.”

She didn’t look up but rolled her eyes. “Black.”

“You can’t fool a fool,” he told her. “What, you interested in our Mr Potter?”

She pursed her lips, cheeks tinging just slightly pink in the firelight. “I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s…he’s been quite flirty, lately, and…I dunno.”

Sirius had noticed that too, but had possessed just enough scraping of common sense not to comment on it. It had taken a lot of his self-control. “Ask him out,” he suggested blithely. “See what happens.”

She stopped painting his nails then, looking up at him incredulously. “Are you joking?” she asked. “I can’t just bowl up to him and ask him out!”

“Why not?” he asked, quite fairly, he thought.

“Because—because it’s James!” A globule of black nail varnish dripped off the brush and on to her knee. She didn’t notice. “He’s my friend. It’ll make things so weird when he says no—”

“If he says no,” Sirius corrected, but paused. “I get it, though. You don’t want to ruin your friendship. Make him uncomfortable.”

A pause, a look shared between them—Mary, much too knowing for Sirius’ comfort. “Exactly,” she confirmed at last.

He sighed. “Look, I’m not going to just…betray his trust and tell you his feelings,” he said. “I’ve fucked up enough friendships lately as it is. But Evans is all coupled up…and, you know…if you don’t try, you don’t know.”

Mary shook her head, returning to painting his nails. The last few coats were a little more slapdash. “Forget I mentioned it,” she tried to laugh it off.

“Wish I could be more help, Mac,” he offered.

“What do you need help with?”

They looked up; James stood over them, muddy and sweaty in his Quidditch gear. Sirius glanced at Mary, who swung her head back down in a way that let her hair hang over her face—covering her blushes, not very subtly, he thought. “Mary’s after my help with Transfiguration,” Sirius replied. She kicked him in the shin. “But as you know, I don’t like to be too helpful for fear of diluting my own abilities.”

“Right,” James agreed with a smirk. “Of course.”

“Say,” Sirius said next, voice bright and with an edge of mischief that he hadn’t felt in a while. “James here is super at Transfiguration and actually likes helping people.”

“Black—” Mary started, a warning.

“I’d be happy to assist, Mare,” James cut in cheerfully. “You always help me with Muggle Studies.”

“Ol’ James, Jamie, Jimmy me lad,” Sirius patted his friend on the arm. “You’re one of a kind. So generous. Mac will gladly accept your offer.”

“Your nails are finished,” Mary pushed his hand away, finally looking up at James. “Honestly, it’s fine, I know your schedule is mad enough.”

“I’ll jump in the shower and be back in ten minutes,” James promised anyway; Sirius watched him with a fond smile. James loved to help. “Don’t go anywhere.”

They both watched him disappear up the boys’ staircase. “Why do I talk to you at all?” Mary wondered.

“You’re not the first person to ask themselves that question,” Sirius replied sagely. “And I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

“You’re a pain in the arse.”

“You’re welcome, Mac.”

Moony,

Didn’t send that last one. Apparently how I address you makes no difference. I’m a coward no matter how I write it.

Today has been a bit shit. It felt really difficult to get up and get going. I knew if I skived off, I’d just end up in more trouble than I already am, but it was rubbish. I barely listened all day. After last lesson, Mary took me off for a walk round the lake. She can tell when I’m a bit moody. You can always tell, too. I didn’t say much because I didn’t know what to say but I suppose it was okay just being outside and being quiet.

Quiet? Sirius Black? Surely to Circe, those words don’t go together, I hear you cry.

You should be here, making sarky comments and ripping the piss out of me and pulling me up out of my funny moods. And then you’d be here, and I could make sarky comments and tease you about your taste in jumpers and thank you for pulling me out of my funny moods.

I’m not sure I even know exactly what the wonderful thing we had was that I’ve fucked up. Maybe that’s the worst part of it.

Merlin, this one’s a bit sad-sack-y, isn’t it. Good thing I’m not sending it.

I miss you. I’m sorry.

Padfoot

For once, he was waiting for her rather than the other way around. Sirius had a mentoring session with McGonagall, but this was the only time that Lily could fit in a Potions project meeting—her timetable filling up with prefect duties, other schoolwork and…other commitments. Combine that with James’ Quidditch training schedule, and it left very few windows of opportunity.

James hadn’t actually spoken to her properly since Hogsmeade, when Lily and Thicknesse had stopped by their table on their way out to say hello. They’d been wrapped up in each other, smiling as if they couldn’t have stopped if they’d tried, Lily blushing as Thicknesse laid the compliments on…well, thick. James thought the bloke was a bit smarmy, but he wasn’t about to say as such. It was none of his business.

He had to guess that Thicknesse was the reason for Lily’s late arrival to the library. Maybe he should get a girlfriend, he thought, so he could turn up late wherever he liked with a ready-made excuse.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he should get a girlfriend. And to be honest, it was something that had come haring to the forefront of his mind lately. He suddenly felt very aware of his single status. Sirius had suggested that he find some girls to wander into broom cupboards with but James had pointed out how not very well that had worked out for Sirius, and his friend had nodded glumly before falling into an inexplicable silence for the next forty minutes.

Besides, James had never been the snog-them-and-scarper type. He wanted a connection, he wanted someone to talk and laugh and be with. True, snogging—and other broom cupboard pursuits—were a key element, too. But it couldn’t just be that.

It was just complicated. He’d only ever wanted all of that with one person. That one person was now a tenuous friend, and enjoying sinking into the strong arms of some brainy seventh year who Mary insisted on describing as “really, unreasonably good looking”. Plus James had moved on. Was moving on. An ongoing action that required regular reminders to keep on the right path.

Maybe he should make a list of suitable girlfriends. The list of girls who thought he was attractive, who he thought were attractive, and who didn’t find him uniquely irritating was a short one. It would require some pondering.

He had picked up his quill and was about to start the list when Lily dropped breathlessly into the seat next to him, looking a bit too dishevelled and flushed for his tastes. Not that she looked bad, of course—was that even possible?—but he didn’t like what was implied by the look. Again, not that it was any of his business. “Sorry,” she sighed, dumping her bag on the table and pulling out a sheaf of parchment. “Lost track of the time.”

“S’okay,” he replied, putting his quill back down. He was glad he hadn’t started writing his list. “Things are a bit mad at the moment, eh?”

“Just a bit,” she agreed. “I’m covering more prefect duties, with Remus being away—” She broke off, looking at him guiltily. “Not that I’m…I’m not complaining. Sorry.”

“No, I get it,” he nodded. “You can miss him as a friend whilst still being tired and irritated at covering his rota.”

“I’m not irritated,” she considered. “Don’t think I could be even if I wanted to be.” She leaned back in her chair, fiddling with the strap of her bag. “I wish he would write back.”

James ‘hmm’ed his agreement. “I think Sirius is losing his mind, watching for an owl every morning…”

She nodded, staring into space. “He was always such a good listener,” she said absently. “I’m sure he didn’t love being my sounding board for all problems as we wandered the castle, but…”

James thought of his friend, his kindness, his ability to strip down the extraneous details of a story and pick out the heart of it, to give thoughtful and helpful advice. All while keeping his own emotions, apparently more tumultuous than any of them had known, locked away in a cage of his own making. It was a hard thought to process.

But here, sitting in front of him, was another friend—maybe not as strong a friendship, by any stretch, but someone who missed Remus almost as much as James did. Someone who, James could tell (in spite of his lack of emotional literacy), needed someone to listen. And he really wanted to be that friend for her. “I can listen, you know,” he told her.

She hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to bore you, Potter…”

“I’m sure it’s not boring,” he replied. “Are you…okay?”

“I’m fine, really…it’s probably going to sound ridiculous,” she gave a sheepish smile. “Rafe wanted me to meet and hang out with his friends, we were chatting in the Ravenclaw common room.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Enemy territory, eh?” he joked. “Did you nick anything as a trophy?”

“No,” she replied patiently, “because I’m not a marauding pirate.”

“Missed opportunity.” He didn’t want to keep talking about this, but the message didn’t seem to have reached his mouth. “So they’re nice, are they? His mates?”

There was a flash of hesitation. “They are,” she agreed. A slight pause. “It’s…silly. I do feel a bit…of an outsider.”

He frowned. “How do you mean?”

She tried to shrug it off. “Just…they’re all purebloods, clever as anything,” she replied. “I know they’re only a year older, some a bit less, but they felt like a different generation. I spent the whole time worrying what they thought of me, that they might…not think I’m good enough.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “I’m a bit too insecure for my own good, I think.”

This was an interesting challenge: how to be a friend, to reassure her, without making it seem as if he condoned her dating that cheesy bore? “Them being purebloods doesn’t mean anything,” he pointed out. “Other than they might be related to each other. So unless you find incest intimidating…”

She shot him a look. “I dunno,” she sighed. “I know it’s silly. They were perfectly friendly. I need to relax a bit.”

“Also, not being funny, Evans, but you’re as clever as anything,” he added, warming to the theme. “You’re just brave as well, that’s why you’re in Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw.”

She looked doubtful. “But compared to—”

“Well, don’t compare yourself,” he interrupted cheerfully. “It’s pointless. What’s so special about them, anyway?”

She paused, glancing around them before she leaned a bit closer, dropping the volume of her voice. “The girls he hangs out with…do you know Aoife Walsh?”

James nodded slowly. “Yeah, the fit blonde,” he nodded. “I think she used to play on the Quidditch team.”

That descriptor didn’t seem to have helped. “Well, that ‘fit blonde’ is one of his closest friends,” Lily said. “And I don’t think she likes me. In fact, all the girls he’s mates with are just…gorgeous.”

James shifted uncomfortably. “Are you angling for a compliment here, Evans?” he asked. “Because I’ve not had good feedback from you about that in the past…”

“I’m not,” she assured him quickly, looking equally embarrassed. “I’m not saying I’m a troll or anything. Just…” She sighed again. “I hate this side of me. It’s so stupid, isn’t it? I always feel like an outsider, I have done my whole life – an outsider as a Muggle, an outsider as a witch...and this all just came roaring back to the surface when I was sat with his friends.”

James paused. “I suppose wizarding society hasn’t exactly been the most welcoming,” he agreed. “It’s no wonder you feel the way you do. But…” He decided to just say it. “You don’t need any stuck-up pureblood’s approval, Evans. You’re clever, you’re funny, you’re—you know, you have a nice face.” He hoped his cheeks weren’t as red as hers were turning. “You’re a bloody good witch and everyone knows it. They should be wanting your approval.”

Lily blinked, gazing at him wordlessly for at least a minute. He couldn’t read the look in her eyes and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Eventually, she found her voice. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Sorry, this is supposed to be a project meeting, not a Lily Evans pep talk…”

He shrugged with a smile, as if this were all perfectly normal and okay and he didn’t desperately want to brush his finger across that flushed cheek of hers. “No reason it can’t be both,” he replied. “Later on, you can give me a pep talk, if you like.”

She laughed, some of her awkwardness clearly easing away. “What do you need a pep talk for?” she asked. “I thought you were Merlin’s gift to wizardkind.”

“Still waters run deep, Evans,” he replied with, he hoped, the appropriate amount of mystery. “Even a bright young thing such as myself needs cheering on sometimes.”

“Okay,” she agreed, shaking her head with a smile. “Fair’s fair. I will give you one pep talk on the subject of your choosing.”

“You’re all heart,” he winked, reaching for the textbook in his bag. “Right. Work?”

“Work,” she echoed with a nod.

M,

I’m just. I’m so sorry.

P

He stared up at the castle, looming before them, a place he hadn't been sure he would ever want to return to. Even a day ago, he’d been set against it. What did he need an education for, anyway? It wasn’t like it would improve his job prospects.

But his father had sat him down, told him he would be going back for the full moon, and then staying on until the end of term in a few weeks. “You need to get back to your routine,” he’d said. His mother had stood at the kitchen counter, face unreadable but body tense. She didn’t say a word. “Staying here and brooding isn’t going to help you.”

The sun was sinking below the horizon. In a few hours, the moon would rise to take its place. Another night, without his senses.

“Ready, Re?” His mum smoothed down his jacket, as if creases mattered when he was about to turn into a slavering, vicious beast. They were saying goodbye at the gates; Madam Pomfrey had come down to greet them, and escort him to the Shack. He didn’t want his mother to see the place he transformed in every month—let her live a bit longer with the gentler images she had in her head.

He met her gaze, gave a brief nod. “Ready.”

Chapter Text

There should not have been anything particularly special about breakfast on a Wednesday morning. Sirius had dragged himself reluctantly out of bed, knowing that if he didn’t eat anything now he’d be chewing his own arm off by mid-morning, although it was tempting to just close his eyes and sleep for a while longer. A restful night of sleep was not something he took for granted anymore; more often than not, he woke regularly from disturbed and disturbing dreams. He was starting to forget what he looked like without dark shadows under his eyes.

James and Peter were bickering as they made their way down to the Great Hall—about what, Sirius did not care, choosing to tune them out in favour of thinking over his schedule for the day. He was paying such little attention, in fact, that he walked straight into the back of the pair when they stopped abruptly at the entrance to the hall.

“Oi,” he groused, “I bloody well almost fell arse over—”

But the words died in his throat as he saw what James and Peter had already spotted.

Remus. Moony. Their Moony, sat there at the Gryffindor table, eating a bacon sandwich as if he hadn’t just been missing in action for almost a month. He hadn’t seen them yet, too busy listening to whatever Evans was saying in the seat opposite his.

Sirius just stood there, staring at him for what was probably an awkward amount of time, drinking in the sight of him—from what he could tell, he looked basically the same as he always did. There was a new scar snaking down his neck (which reminded Sirius that it had just been the full—another reason to feel guilty), but otherwise he looked reasonably healthy. It was impossible to tell how he was feeling: he’d always been very good at masking his emotions, and Sirius had long ago learnt not to take his friend at face value. Just because he looked amiable enough, sitting there with Evans and Meadowes at his elbow, didn’t mean he was going to be happy to see Sirius.

“Pads,” James’ voice, although quiet, cut through his reverie; he turned his head to meet his gaze. “Okay?”

Sirius nodded. This wasn’t about if he was okay. He just prayed that he could hold things together long enough not to fuck anything up even more than it already was.

They made their way along the table, stopping behind Remus. Evans looked up, giving them a small, slightly nervous smile. “Morning, chaps.”

Remus stilled, then glanced over his shoulder—it could have almost looked casual. Almost. “Morning,” he added.

James gaped at him. “Morning?” he repeated, and there was a tense moment where even Remus looked unsure—before James threw himself at his friend, hauling him up out of his seat to hug him with an intensity not often seen in public. “Morning, he says! Morning!”

“Well,” Remus’ voice was muffled, “it is morning…”

“Morning,” James said again, squeezing Remus even tighter. “I ask you…”

“Okay, ow,” Remus said, managing to extricate himself from the vice-like grip. “I recently broke those ribs, remember?”

“Fuck, sorry mate,” James cringed, but the expression soon gave way to a beaming smile. “It’s so bloody great to see you, Moony! We missed the pants off you!”

Remus raised an eyebrow, glancing briefly at Peter, then Sirius, as if they were sharing a sardonic joke and not having an awkward reunion after his fleeing from the castle. ”The pants, eh?”

“You didn’t write back,” Peter blurted out. “Are you okay?”

There was a flash of something else on Remus’ carefully-arranged expression, something harder to parse, but it was gone before Sirius could really analyse it. “Sorry. Time got away from me,” he replied, in classic, non-replying Remus fashion. “I’m back now.”

A short silence where they all decided how to proceed. Sirius felt like he was losing his mind—was Moony really just going to sweep back in here, pretend that nothing had happened, and try to carry on as normal? It definitely fit his modus operandi, but surely even Remus couldn’t ignore this?

Evans was the one who broke the quiet. “You lot going to sit down? Or can I eat your share of the bacon?”

James looked over at her, forcing up a smile. “Nice try, Evans,” he replied, swinging his legs over the bench to sit next to Remus. “I know my rights.”

“Bacon is part of your rights, is it?” Dorcas asked mildly.

“An integral part, yes,” James agreed as Sirius and Peter manoeuvred themselves to find seats too. Sirius ended up opposite James; he focused intently on his breakfast so that he wouldn’t stare too blatantly at their newly-returned friend. “And I won’t have anyone stealing my portion.”

Dorcas and Lily exchanged a weary glance, eyebrows raised.

“So what have we been talking about?” James asked, who hated awkward silences more than most things in the world.

“I was just updating Remus on the latest news from the castle,” Lily replied, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Although you forgot one key piece of information,” Dorcas countered, pointing a butter knife at her friend. “Your whirlwind romance.”

“Oh…” Lily blushed, her gaze flicking from Dorcas to Remus to—inexplicably—James, before returning to her breakfast. “Well, ‘whirlwind romance’ is a bit of an intense way to phrase it…”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Got yourself a gentleman caller, have you?”

“Rafe Thicknesse,” Dorcas replied for her, gleefully. “One of seventh years’ most eligible bachelors.”

“Certainly the one with the least ability on a broomstick,” Sirius interjected, for James’ benefit. His friend shot him a grateful glance.

“Thicknesse?” Remus repeated, looking thoughtful. “I thought he was going out with—” He cut himself off and quickly shook his head. “Must be confusing him with someone else. That’s great, Lily.”

Lily looked as flustered as ever. “It’s not a big deal. It’s still early days,” she replied. “But…he is lovely.”

Sirius didn’t see the appeal in Thicknesse at all—nothing against the bloke, but he was as dull as dishwater, as far as he was concerned. Staid and ordinary. And maybe, conventionally handsome, but Sirius thought there were far fitter blokes attending this school. Not that he’d ever thought about that much.

His eyes drifted briefly to Remus, who was adding more ketchup to his bacon sandwich.

“And Iris and I got back together,” Peter piped up.

James frowned. “What? When?”

“Last week,” Peter looked hurt. “Remember? I told you all about our encounter in the second floor spare classroom…”

Sirius had a feeling he’d been there for that conversation, too, but didn’t remember any of the details. He could admit that he hadn’t been a particularly good friend lately.

“Oh, right,” James said, unconvincingly. “Of course.”

“That’s great, Pete,” Remus added, warmth in his voice. Merlin, he’d missed that voice. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Moons.” Peter smiled brightly, basking in the attention he hadn’t exactly been receiving for the past almost-month. “We’re one of those great romances, you know. Like Romeo and Juliet.”

Lily cleared her throat. “You do know what happens at the end of that play, right, Pete?”

Peter frowned. “They live happily ever after?”

Back in the summer after fourth year, Sirius had borrowed Remus’ copy of the Unabridged Shakespeare plays—mainly to irritate his mother, who declared such things as ‘Muggle filth’. He’d been surprised how much he’d enjoyed them. “Miscommunication leads to double suicide,” Sirius said. Remus looked over at him, almost seeming surprised. “Just try not to get banished from the kingdom and you’ll probably be fine.”

“Sound advice,” Dorcas agreed. “Probably could be applied to most situations.”

Sirius didn’t eat much the rest of the meal: he was too busy trying not to stare at Remus, trying to get his head around the fact that the thing he’d been waiting for now for so long had finally happened—he was back, he was there, in front of him, eating and talking and seeming like himself. Sirius was terrified that he might blink awake at any moment and find himself back in his bed, with Remus’ empty four-poster to his left.

At least they had lessons together all morning—plenty of time for him to watch him out of the corner of his eye, to make sure he really was here, that he was real and not a dream.

He could figure everything else out later.

It didn’t take long for James to confirm his suspicions that Remus was going to try to pretend that nothing had happened, that nothing had changed. Their friend was sweetly predictable that way. There he’d been, sat at breakfast like it was no big deal; throughout the day, he’d sat with them in lessons; at lunch, he’d made a joke about the Slytherin’s still-raw Quidditch loss; at dinner, he’d chatted amiably with Dorcas and Peter about their plans for the Christmas break. Anyone else would have thought that nothing was amiss, that there was no cause for concern. James knew better.

Sure enough, as they’d risen from the dinner table and James had plotted how he was going to corner Moony and explain his best friend status in no uncertain terms, Remus had asked Evans if she wanted to join him in the library. “Quite a bit of work to catch up on,” he’d said with a wry smile, the only allusion he’d really made since breakfast that he’d been away at all.

Evans had been only too happy to keep him company, and he stayed away from the Tower until curfew, at which point he explained to the Marauders—sat around the fire, basically waiting for his return—that he was exhausted from the recent full, bid them a cheerful good night, and disappeared up the stairs.

“It’s actually quite impressive,” Peter remarked, shaking his head. “To be that in control of your emotions. I’d have cracked by now.”

“Impressive,” James agreed morosely, “and infuriating. How are we supposed to make things right if he dances around the bloody thing?”

Sirius, seated to his left, heaved a sigh. “I could probably wind him up enough to get him to break?” he suggested—James thought he was probably only partly joking.

Remus spent the next few days managing to not initiate any meaningful conversation: everything was jovial, surface-level. The way that James talked to his aunties when underneath it all, he just wanted to go outside and muck around on his broom. In fact, it was nearly a week later before Moony brought up anything of significance, and even then, he hadn’t realised that it would be when it happened.

“What’s SWEN?” Remus asked, peering over James’ shoulder in the common room after lunch. They had a study period, in theory, although Sirius and Peter were using it to play chess, and James’ attention had been similarly elsewhere.

Now, he glanced up at his friend, then to the parchment in front of him where Remus’ attention was drawn. “Oh! It’s—well, I’m meeting with McGonagall after dinner, actually, about all this—it’s all just in the early stages.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed, squinting to try to decipher James’ scrawled, cramped handwriting. “But what is it?”

“Students Want Equality Now.” James set his quill down. “It’s the only acronym I could think of. I spent ages thinking of them, but most were unreadable or borderline offensive…”

Moony frowned slightly. “Students Want Equality Now?” he repeated.

“We do,” James nodded with a self-conscious grin. “Wizarding society has to stop acting like you don’t belong unless you fall under a very narrow and incest-riddled set of guidelines. ‘Pureblood’ my arse.” He paused, then added, “’Dark creature’, my arse, too.”

Remus went quiet, chewing on his lower lip. He couldn’t seem to look up from James’ parchment to look him in the eye. “Right,” he said eventually.

“Bad things happen if we all just sit back and let them happen,” James said, trying to understand his expression. “There has to be better systems in place, in school, at the Ministry. It all starts with educating the populace.”

Remus finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “You sound like you’ve swallowed a political science textbook.”

“I’ve been doing some reading,” James shrugged. “This stuff matters. It should matter to everyone, and I’m going to make it my mission to make it matter here, first.”

“So where does McGonagall come into this?” Remus asked next.

James still couldn’t quite read the look on his face. It was this skill that had always made Moony so adept at getting himself out of trouble: his reputation as the relatively well-behaved Marauder was based entirely on his poker face and apparently quiet disposition. James and Sirius and Peter all knew that it wasn’t that Remus was quiet, necessarily—he just wasn’t as loud as the others. And he had an uncanny knack for holding back, shielding things that he didn’t want to be seen. Fucking entertaining when it came to Remus’ dealings with professors, but fucking frustrating when it came to conversations with his friends.

“Well, I’ve put together a plan,” he gestured to the parchment again, “just as a starting point. I was talking to Mary, and to Evans another time, and it hit me just how much Muggleborns are thrown in at the deep end and expected to just…change themselves to fit our customs. It’s not exactly welcoming, is it?”

Remus nodded. “No, not really…”

“And I didn’t want to just do it, because then it would seem like a prank,” James continued. “I want McGonagall to see that I take this seriously.” He shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “So, start small. See what happens.”

Remus was, it seemed, lost for words for a few moments. Then, he blinked, and it was even harder to dissect his expression. “Well, that’s great, Prongs,” he said, standing up. “I’ve got to get a book back to the library. I’ll see you later…”

His friend was gone before James could even gather his wits, and he stared over at the portrait hole with a faint frown on his face. What was it going to take to get him to talk? At this rate, he’d stay clammed up and they’d all be back off home for the Christmas holidays, nothing fixed, nothing improved.

He needed a new plan of attack.

To say that Lily was tired didn’t feel like a strong enough statement. For whatever reason, those past few weeks felt a bit like an assault course—one obstacle after another, some more fun than others, and apparently no end in sight. At least it wasn’t just her: most of the student population, and a large majority of the teaching staff too, had a slightly frazzled, end-of-a-long-term aura of exhaustion.

She couldn’t really complain, though. Classes were going well; her friends were a source of joy and comfort and laughter and, yes, the occasional bouts of irritation; Remus was back; Rafe was as charming and personable as ever. As far as she could tell, she was the object of envy for most of the sixth and seventh year girls, and some of the fifth years, too. In the rankings of fit, kind, respectful blokes at Hogwarts, he was easily top five.

The respectful part was the most frustrating, to be honest. She didn’t want him to ravish her against the prefect bathroom wall (well, not yet, anyway), but a bit more than snogging and above-the-jumper action would be nice. His hand had slipped down to squeeze her arse in the corridor last week and she’d been far more delighted than she should’ve. Maybe it was because she was used to boys with far less subtlety or finesse. Luke Brand, her boyfriend for the first half of fifth year, had tried to get his hand in her bra within the first two weeks. A resilient fellow, Luke. And she had no problem with a good groping, provided she had given full and hearty consent beforehand, of course.

And she really wanted to give her consent to Rafe. Trouble was, he wouldn’t ask for it.

He held her hand. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, or her waist. He tipped her chin up and kissed her with such intensity that she felt herself press closer to him, heart thudding, aching for more. He wanted more, too. She knew that—in fairness, much harder for blokes to hide these things—and yet, nothing. Not a single breach of her clothing. Not a single opportunity seized upon to do more than frantic necking.

It was driving her mad.

Was a lack of fondling making her more tired? Maybe. She was too exhausted to think about the logic of it too much. She wanted to talk to Mary and Marlene about it, ask for their advice, but truthfully, she felt a bit embarrassed. Either there was something wrong with her and Rafe was too polite to say he wasn’t interested any more, or there was something wrong with her and she needed to cool her jets and be patient. Either way she was wrong, she was sure of it, and so she let it fester and curdle in her mind, and took plenty of long, hot showers after their dates.

Christ. She needed to sort herself out.

She decided to throw her energy into the most recent DADA essay, a monster of an assignment which required rather a lot of research. At least in the library it was quiet.

“You look dead on your feet.”

She glanced up from the shelf in front of her, spotting Remus’ small but warm smile. “If that’s how I look, imagine how I feel,” she replied, cheerfully enough. “I am starting to wonder if someone has attached heavy weights to my eyelids and I just haven’t noticed.”

He considered her thoughtfully. “Well, if they have, they’ve put a Disillusionment charm on them too, so you weren’t to know.”

“That’s a relief,” she smiled. “Are you after that book that Merryton mentioned? I’m terrified someone’s already nabbed it.”

“Terrified,” Remus repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, that’s the one I came looking for…is it not here?”

Lily returned her attention to the shelf, crouching to scan the lower levels. “I’m not sure, I haven’t seen—oh!” She straightened up and held the hefty tome in triumph. “One copy left. We can share it?”

“You sure?” he asked. “I’m not as terrified as you are.”

She swatted his arm gently with her free hand, leading the way back towards the main desk. “I’m sure.”

“Thanks, Lil.” She could hear his soft footsteps following close behind, a comforting sound—it was strange the things you could miss about a person. “You’re a star.”

“I am, aren’t I,” she agreed. After checking out the book with Madam Pince, who looked as if their very presence there was an affront, they headed out of the library and up the stairs. “How’s it going, getting back into the swing of things?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine,” he replied. She shot him a covert glance as they waited for the next staircase to align: his face was impassive. “Good to be back in the routine.”

She shifted the heavy book to her other arm, and without saying anything, he took it from her, tucking it under his own arm. Typical Remus. “Potter and the others were really worried about you,” she offered, noting the tension in his shoulders at her words. “He seemed to think you might’ve left because of…other reasons, not physical injuries…”

It could not have been clearer that he didn’t want to talk about this. He swallowed hard, gaze fixed ahead. “Don’t know where he got that idea from.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “I think it was the conversation you two had, the day after the full moon.”

Remus seemed to hold back a sigh, one that would’ve no doubt been deep and weary. “It was nothing—”

“Lily!” They had rounded a corner, and there was Rafe. He was leaning against the wall opposite Flitwick’s classroom, the door of which was just slightly ajar. His tie knot was loosened in a way that should not have been nearly so attractive, shirt sleeves rolled up, an easy smile on his face. Lord, he was far too good looking. It wasn’t fair. “What a pleasant surprise…”

She flushed with pleasure as he abandoned his post at the wall to sidle over for a kiss. It didn’t last at all long enough for her tastes, although she knew it was only polite, given that Remus was stood right there. “Hi,” she smiled breathlessly as he pulled back, giving her one of his trademark winks. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know me,” he cupped her jaw a moment, looking as if he was giving another kiss some serious consideration. “I like to lie in wait in the corridor for beautiful red-heads.”

To her left, Remus cleared his throat, a small, subtle sound.

“Oh!” She shot her friend an apologetic look. “Sorry! Rafe, this is my friend Remus, I’m not sure if you’ve ever met? Remus, this is Rafe.”

As the two blokes looked at each other, there was a moment where Lily could not for the life of her decipher the energy that suddenly surrounded them. The pause was the tiniest amount too long.

And then, just as suddenly, the mood shifted again. Rafe gave Remus a friendly nod. “No, I don’t think we have met,” he agreed. “I’ve heard you’re the only sensible Gryffindor male in existence.”

Remus looked almost unsure, even for just a fraction of a second, before he nodded too, managing a small smile. “I suppose these things are all relative,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Rafe returned his focus to Lily, his gaze burning with delicious intensity. “Fancy a stroll?”

Fucking hell, she really did. Even if it was going to end up as frustrating as all their previous strolls. But… “I have to get started on this essay,” she sighed with regret. “I’m drowning in work as it is. I’m sorry.” She closed the gap between them, placing her hand gently on his chest as she leaned up to press a kiss to his lips. “Another time?”

“Another time,” he agreed, the murmur of his words a distracting vibration against her skin. He pulled back. “Good luck with the essay. I know you’ll do brilliantly.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Night…”

“Night, Lily,” he winked, and shot Remus a brief look. “Take care, Lupin.”

As they carried on their journey back to the common room, they heard footsteps fade in the opposite direction. It was about two floors away before she realised that Rafe had known Remus’ last name. She glanced over at her friend again, who looked lost in thought. “You two haven’t met before, have you?” she asked.

His face, again, unreadable. Frustrating. “I don’t think so, except in passing, you know,” he shrugged. He paused. “He seems nice.”

She decided to let this weird feeling go. She didn’t need that on top of everything else. “He is,” she agreed fondly. “He’s lovely.” They walked further, the silence seeming companionable. “He hasn’t tried to…you know,” she blurted out as they rounded a corner, the Fat Lady’s portrait now in their sight line. She knew very well that her cheeks had flared tomato-red.

She could feel his eyes on her again, and she met his gaze, seeing one raised eyebrow. “And…you wish he would?” Remus asked.

She stopped, and he stopped too, both turning to face each other. “I know it’s not a massive problem, in the scheme of things,” she said. “Other people are dealing with much worse issues than not being…well. Y’know.”

She remembered, back on a routine patrol of the castle during the infancy of her relationship with Luke, that Remus had given her some unexpectedly bawdy advice. She hadn’t expected it from him at all, back then. Which was why it surprised her even further when he said, after a short pause, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. It’ll happen when it’s the right time.”

She blinked. “Oh,” she nodded. “Okay. You’re right.”

Remus offered her a small but encouraging smile. “Waiting adds to the exhilaration, anyway,” he said, before adding, with a self-deprecating roll of his eyes, “or so I’ve heard.”

Lily could tell that he was trying to be kind, that he was trying to do something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and she was grateful for it, even if she did feel as if she’d exposed herself as a horny idiot. “Who are you waiting on, then?” she asked, a teasing smile on her lips.

He glanced, seemingly out of instinct rather than choice, towards the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Ah, well, I’ve decided not to wait on that, anymore,” he replied, apparently unaware of the enigma of his words. Or aware, but unbothered. “Fresh start, and all that.”

She frowned, and reached out to brush her hand up his arm. “You know, I’m a very good listener.”

His eyes returned to hers. He smiled, just slightly. “I know you are.”

“Better out than in, they say,” she added.

“They do say that,” he agreed, pausing a moment. “I…not right now. But, maybe soon.” He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. “Thanks, Lil.”

She looped her arm through his, starting the final, short part of their journey. “Any time,” she assured him.

They clambered through the portrait hole and into the common room, where the Gryffindors were having a quiet evening. Most seemed to be studying, or just slumped in soft conversation, too tired for anything more rambunctious. Lily’s eyes were drawn to the fireplace, where James and Mary sat on the sofa together, a stack of parchment balanced on James’ leg which was the main focus of their attention. His arm was draped along the back of the sofa, and she had angled her body just slightly towards him—nothing that couldn’t be denied away, Lily thought, if it came to it, but enough to get her closer.

She blinked and looked away, spotting a few comfy chairs and a table nearby—and far enough away from the fire. “Let’s crack open that book, shall we?”

Remus tore his own gaze away from where Sirius and Peter were playing chess, and nodded, following her to the chosen spot. They soon got stuck into reading, taking careful notes and discussing which parts might be useful for their essays. Lily had always enjoyed studying with Remus: he was thoughtful, dedicated, generous with his intelligence—but he also knew how to lighten the atmosphere when it was needed, to make a heavy subject feel even a little bit lighter.

He had just finished copying down a quote that they thought would be relevant when Lily blurted it out. “Does he fancy her?”

Remus glanced up, then followed her gaze over to their friends on the sofa. “I’m not sure,” he replied, watching the pair for a moment before he looked back at Lily. “Why?”

Lily hoped, desperately hoped, that she wasn’t blushing. She couldn’t have explained why she wanted to know, not for all the galleons in Gringotts. It was James Potter, for Christ’s sake. She’d only recently begun to see him as even vaguely tolerable, as something more than just an arrogant arsehole. He was her friend now, somehow, against all odds. So why did she want to know? It was a bloody good question. “Just wondering,” she answered vaguely, and paused. “Mary used to fancy him, back in third year. Not sure if she still does, but…” She shrugged. “They just seem closer, that’s all.”

Remus was watching her with an unnerving knowingness. “She’s been helping him with this SWEN stuff.”

“SWEN?”

“Oh, you haven’t had the pitch yet?” Remus smiled slightly. “Students Want Equality Now. He’s had a meeting with McGonagall and everything. They’re organising an event for the end of term, something to do with oranges… I can’t remember the details. Anyway, it’s about helping Muggleborns feel more at home at Hogwarts – that it’s not all about you changing everything, abandoning your customs just to fit in with the magical world.”

She blinked in surprise, looking back over at James for a moment. “Bloody hell,” she said, with great profundity. “I didn’t know he was doing all this…” She paused, then frowned. “Wait, oranges?”

Remus shrugged again. “Ask James, or Mary. I can’t remember why but it was something to do with a Muggle custom around Christmastime.”

Lily didn’t know what to say. It felt strange, that Potter could keep surprising her, keep vaulting over her admittedly low expectations for him. And he hadn’t even told her about it, so it wasn’t like she could even imagine – not hope, of course not hope—that he was doing any of it to impress her. Was it possible that all along, all this time, James had been hiding a core of innate decency under his pranks and prattishness?

She couldn’t concentrate on work for the rest of the evening.

“Lupin. A moment of your time, please.”

Remus looked up, alarmed, from where he’d been packing up his bag. The rest of their Defence class were drifting off to dinner, chatting cheerfully. James had lingered, waiting for his friend, and now threw him an equally alarmed look. Given that she made it her mission not to talk to any of her students after lessons, Merryton wanting to speak to you was considered a cause for concern.

“Oh, um, okay,” he agreed, shooting James a look which might’ve said for the love of Merlin, save me or run, run while you can.

Merryton looked up from her desk and over at James. “Potter, your presence is not required,” she told him. “I’m sure your friend will find you at the dinner table shortly.”

“Right you are, professor,” James agreed; after one last, apologetic glance at Remus, he hurried out the door and closed it behind him.

Merryton gestured to a seat in the front row, the closest one to her desk. She studied his face, her own inscrutable, as he sat down. “You don’t need to be frightened,” she said dismissively, in a way that actually made her seem more frightening. “I haven’t had the chance to give you any feedback on your essays, Lupin, due to your…” She trailed off, and for a moment, seemed almost human for once. “Your absence.”

“Oh,” he said, dread sitting heavy in his stomach. “Okay.”

“Your work puts you at the top of the class, by quite a margin,” she said next, reaching for an essay—he recognised his own careful handwriting. “It has done since the first assignment. I’m not sure you appreciate your skill in this area, Lupin.”

This was not what he had expected. For a few seconds, all he could do was blink dimly at her. “Um—thank you?”

She looked up, one eyebrow arched in what he had to assume was judgement. “Your practical work, too, is excellent,” she carried on. “Not as showy as some of your peers, perhaps, but all the better for it.”

He guessed that was a reference to James and Sirius, who duelled as if they were under a spotlight. Bloody brilliant at it, of course, but always with a bit of flair.

“I say all this not to embarrass you,” she said, “but to direct your thinking, if needed, to the future. I understand you are also strong in Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy. Professor Slughorn says you are a decent potioneer.”

Remus shrugged sheepishly. “I get by.”

His humility seemed to irritate her—but then, most things did. “I realise that you all have career discussions in fifth year, but with your abilities, intelligence and analytical mind, I thought I should point out to you that a career as an Auror would be a highly logical move.”

He shifted in his seat. “It has…crossed my mind before,” he admitted, “but…they wouldn’t take me.”

She stared at him without emotion. “Because of your lycanthropy?”

His heart felt like it almost dropped through to the floor. “I—what?”

She gave a flick of her fingers, as if to wave his concerns away. “Let us not pretend that we both don’t know, Mr Lupin,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about my discussing it with anyone but you or Professor Dumbledore.”

He wasn’t quite sure if he felt reassured. “Okay…”

“I understand why you feel that it would be a barrier,” she continued. “But you would be a significant benefit to the Auror program.”

Remus frowned. “But they can’t just…hire a werewolf,” he said; she didn’t flinch at the word, like others might have. “I’ll be lucky if I can scrape a job in a shop, let alone inside the Ministry.”

She considered him for a moment. “Alastor Moody is the head of the department,” she said, a small, brief smile crossing her face. It was strange. He hadn’t realised she could smile. “I…have a personal connection to him. If you would like, I could arrange for the two of you to meet. Discuss your concerns, and, I would hope, sell your strengths.”

A personal connection? Again, he hadn’t realised that she had such things. To think of Merryton with a life, with friends or partners, was baffling. “You don’t have to do that—”

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” she interrupted. “After the Christmas break, perhaps?”

“Oh,” he nodded. She had made it sound like it was his choice, but it was starting to feel like less of a choice and more of a certainty. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Not at all,” she replied, and stood. Just like that, the conversation was evidently over. “I suggest you get down to dinner before Potter worries too much more.”

Remus stood too, shouldering his bag. This all seemed so surreal, still. “Right. Yes. Thanks, professor…”

She gave another dismissive flick of her hand, already turned away and focused on another task. He watched her for a second, then made a break for it, stepping out into the cool and quiet corridor.

“A personal connection?” James repeated thoughtfully, fifteen minutes later once Remus had told the others the whole story. “Do you think she’s shagging Moody?”

Peter looked dubious. “He’s got to be at least twenty years older than her.”

“Some women like an older man,” Lily chimed in with a grin. She gave Remus a nudge. “This is great, Rem. I’m glad she can see your talent.”

“We call all see his talent,” James said, just a touch defensive. “He’s Moony, everyone knows he’s bloody brilliant.”

Remus knew he was blushing; he reached for his drink to try to hide it. “Alright, settle down.”

“An Auror,” Sirius said, and they all looked over at him. He’d been quiet throughout the conversation—the way he had been throughout every conversation since Remus’ return. He thought that Sirius was probably trying to make himself as small as possible, to not frighten Remus away again. As if Remus couldn’t always see him, feel his presence, like a beacon. Sirius locked eyes with Remus. “You’d be amazing at it, mate.”

Remus held his gaze for a moment, aware of the others taking in this exchange. “Thanks.”

They finished dinner, the conversation thankfully moving on to other, less embarrassing topics. James looked over at him, hope shining on his open face, as they stood to leave. “Come for a walk round the lake, Moony?”

Remus knew that he was running out of reasonable excuses to duck out of the—probably gentle—confrontation that James wanted to have. Luckily, there was still a few old stand-bys. “Can’t,” he replied, sounding more apologetic than he felt. “Prefect duty.”

Lily sighed heavily. “If we find one more couple trying to sneak into the Transfiguration classrooms, I’m going to lose my patience entirely.”

“That’s the hot spot now, is it?” James smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Remus noted—and thought Lily did, too—how James’ gaze drifted further down the table, to where Mary was sat, deep in conversation with a couple of fifth year girls. “Enjoy your walk, Prongs,” he said, offering Lily his arm. “Shall we, Ms Evans?”

“We shall, Mr Lupin,” she replied, tearing her focus away to give him a smile.

He had a feeling it was going to be a long evening.

The note had said, in familiar, elegant cursive, to meet in Binns’ classroom at nine. There was no need to sign a name—Sirius knew exactly who had written it. He couldn’t imagine what his brother had to say to him, after over three months of ostensibly pretending not to notice his existence, but something deep inside him knew that he would go. Of course he would.

He made sure to tell James where he’d be, it having crossed his mind that the whole excursion could be a set-up, an opportunity to corner him and then let his bigger, braver Slytherin cronies have at him. James had taken some persuading not to come along too: they compromised on him watching the map, ready to leap into action if needed. Binns’ room was near to Gryffindor, anyway, so it wouldn’t take long to reach him if a rescue was needed.

That was how Sirius found himself, wand clutched tightly in his hand, making his way along the sixth floor corridor towards the History of Magic classroom. It was notoriously left unlocked—Sirius had himself had a few memorable encounters with Marlene in there last autumn, a memory which sometimes flashed into his mind during Binns’ tedious lectures and brightened his mood considerably.

Somehow, he didn’t think this evening’s meeting would be quite so cheering.

With a steadying breath, he pushed the classroom door open and let his gaze flicker until it landed on his baby brother. Regulus sat at the back of the classroom, hands folded neatly on the desk in front of him, his back straight—classic Black posture. Sirius wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his brother slouch: that would require him to loosen even the smallest bit of his tightly-wound control. He was more likely to see McGonagall dance a jig than see Regulus relaxed.

Sirius closed the door behind him, moving only to lean against a desk in the front row, hands in his pockets. They watched each other across the expanse of classroom, sharp grey eyes taking in every detail, filing away what might be useful, what might be fodder. Finally, when Sirius could feel slightly assured that Mulciber wasn’t about to leap out from behind a pillar, he spoke. “Long time no see, Reg,” he said, voice light, expression dark. “What a treat, to be summoned under cover of darkness by the new heir to the House of Black.”

Regulus flinched, just slightly, a movement that most wouldn’t see but Sirius caught easily enough. In Grimmauld Place, the Black brothers dealt in microscopic reactions: anything bigger meant drawing the merciless wrath of their mother, or the cold fury of their father. “It wasn’t a summons. It was a request.”

“Oh, I know,” Sirius agreed. He knew how the breeze of his voice rankled his brother; Sirius had always had more fun than Regulus probably could even dream of, even in shitty conversations like this one. “I decided I was curious enough to find out what you wanted to come along anyway.”

Regulus nodded, just once. “Alphard’s last will and testament has finally been found and verified.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “He died a year ago.”

“I know that.” Regulus let a flicker of annoyance cross his face before it returned to aristocratic blandness. “He left everything to you.”

He blinked once, twice. “What?”

His brother dropped his gaze. “You’re the only one in the will.” There was a pause. “Mother and father are furious.”

Sirius let out a flash of laughter, a noise which raised Regulus’ gaze again, disapproving and cold. “Of course they are, the money-grabbing vultures,” he replied. “They never liked Alphie, they only cared about getting their greedy hands on his cash.”

Regulus pursed his lips, clearly holding back his desired retort. “I am sure the Ministry will be in contact, in order to arrange transferring the money,” he said at last. “But I…I wanted you to find out from someone who actually knew him. Not some paper-pusher.”

Sirius raised an arch eyebrow. “How kind of you,” he smirked. “Should I assume that dearest Mummy and Daddy have no idea you’re telling me?”

His brother sighed a put-upon sigh. “I am not supposed to talk to you at all,” he admitted at last, and scowled. “Sirius, this is ridiculous. All you have to do is apologise, and you could-"

“Apologise?” Sirius interrupted, pushing off his leaning post at the desk. “For what, exactly?”

Regulus tensed, in the same way that Sirius used to at sudden movements, at the threat, however distant, of violence. Two boys, trained to expect pain. Sirius had had to fight off that instinct, knowing that it showed weakness, and never wanting to give his parents that kind of satisfaction. They could hurt him all they liked: he wouldn’t let them know he feared it. “You say things just to anger them, you consort with blood-traitors—”

“Oh, good, the old family lines,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “I rather think I’m the one owed an apology, actually. Or have you forgotten the beatings? The casual use of the Cruciatus curse?”

Regulus couldn’t meet his eyes then. “That would stop, if you…” But he couldn’t even finish his sentence. Sirius knew as well as he did that, whatever it was, it wouldn’t be true.

“The day after the start of summer, our father drank too much wine at dinner, do you remember?” Sirius sounded quite casual; Regulus’ body remained tense and still. He obviously remembered. “You went off to your room, and he proceeded to beat me round the torso with the poker because, and I quote, I needed ‘reminding of my place’.” Sirius was aware his hands were shaking just slightly, the familiar adrenaline of fear pulsing through him. “I had to use the library to look up healing spells for broken ribs.”

Regulus forced himself to look up. “Sirius—”

“No,” he decided, holding his brother’s gaze for one more moment before he made his way back towards the door. “If you can’t see what they are, that they will inevitably turn on you one day when you inevitably fail to live up to their rotten expectations, well, then that’s your funeral, isn’t it.” His hand on the doorknob, he glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Thanks for telling me about the will. I’ll make sure to spend it on as much Muggle shit as I can.”

Outside in the corridor, the door closed behind him, he allowed himself to catch his breath. He looked down at his hands, willing them to calm, to still, somehow. And then—

“Fucking hell, Pads.” James’ pale face appeared as he tugged the invisibility cloak down, standing mere inches away from him. Close enough to the door to have heard it all.

Sirius tried to glare at him. “I thought we agreed you were staying in the dorm.”

“You agreed,” James replied. “I wasn’t going to just take a chance, was I?” He glanced over Sirius’ shoulder at the classroom door, then grabbed his arm, guiding him down the corridor and back towards the tower. “Your dad…”

“Yep,” Sirius replied shortly. At least walking side by side, he didn’t have to see the pity in his friend’s eyes. “Charming bloke.”

They rounded a corner, and James stopped, drawing Sirius to a stop too. “I’m sorry,” he said, face earnest and angry and loving, all at once. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You don’t,” he added, at the expression on Sirius’ face. “Merlin, it shouldn’t be too much to expect your own fucking parents not to damn near kill you.”

Sirius was about to reply, to shrug it all off, but James hauled him into a hug. He’d obviously learned from Euphemia, because he’d always been very good at hugs. Not that Sirius was about to tell him that. “It’s fine, Prongs, really…”

“No it’s not,” James replied firmly. “But you’re well rid of those monsters. You’ve got me, you’ve got my mum and dad. You’ve got Pete, and Remus—”

“Well,” Sirius pulled back, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I might not have Remus.”

James fixed him with an unimpressed stare. “You do. It just needs work.”

“Right.” Sirius sighed, and they started walking again. “Thanks, I suppose. For ignoring my wishes and eavesdropping on a private conversation.”

“You’re welcome,” James replied with a grin. “And thanks, for not throttling your brother and getting yourself chucked out of school.”

“He’s not worth the energy,” Sirius dismissed. “None of them are.”

“They’re not,” he agreed, slinging his arm round Sirius’ shoulders. “And, hey, you’re rich again—that’s a bonus.”

“I won’t let wealth change me,” Sirius decided. “I want to keep my humble lifestyle.”

“The one you’ve had for only three months or so.”

“That’s the one, yes.”

They reached the common room, and Sirius noticed how Remus glanced up from his spot by the fire, taking in the sight of James with his arm round Sirius. Something like sadness, maybe, or even loneliness, flashed across his face before it was gone again, and the boy returned to his reading with a shake of his head.

Sirius turned to James. “He thinks you prefer me,” he said, knowing that, despite the change of subject, James would understand. “He thinks you’d choose me over him. That’s why he’s pulled back so much.”

James’ smile faded, and he nodded. “How can we fix that bloke’s self-worth?” he wondered, trying to sound joking but really just sounding glum.

Sirius sighed. “Wish I knew.”

James looked over at Remus again, a steely look of determination crossing his face. “Well, I’ll start by interrupting his studying to fawn over him,” he decided. “You coming?”

Sirius followed James’ gaze, wishing it were that simple. But he knew all too well that his presence would only flatten Remus, make him less receptive to anything James had to say. “I’m going to head up,” he said instead. “It’s been a knackering evening.”

“Alright,” James agreed, and patted him on the back. “Sleep well, mate.”

“Cheers…” Sirius watched for a moment as James ambled over to the sofa by the fire, slouching down into the space next to Remus, who was trying to ignore him and failing miserably. Then, shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned and made his way up to the silence of the dorm.

Phase One of SWEN’s mission was to find other students, so that the plural in the group’s name wasn’t a total lie. That part was easier than James had expected, forgetting as he often did the sway he held over swathes of the Hogwarts population. Most pupils—Slytherin aside—found him to be fit, funny—cool, even. If James Potter was interested in equal rights and standing up for Muggleborns, well, that meant a lot of other people were too.

Phase Two got underway the following week. With McGonagall’s permission, he and a few of his new society members had charmed the Great Hall to cycle through a playlist of Muggle artists every lunchtime. A poster on the doors informed interested parties what was playing, magically updating itself as each song changed. It surprised James how few students were familiar with Muggle music—evidently, they didn’t go to many Gryffindor parties. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da had been a particular hit one Wednesday lunchtime (apart from one table, whose faces had remained stony and unimpressed).

Now, with Mary and Charlie Swift’s assistance, Phase Three was being prepped. Mary had told him all about a Muggle tradition a few weeks ago. “It’s called a Christingle,” she had said, smiling fondly at whatever memory that played across her mind. “We used to make one every Christmas in primary school. You have an orange, which represents the earth, and a ribbon, which…” She had trailed off, frowning for a moment. “I think God’s love? And four cocktail sticks, and sweets on them, for…the fruit of the world, or something.” She had laughed. “Maybe I should’ve listened more instead of trying to eat the sweets.”

“Sweets are pretty distracting,” James had reminded her with a grin.

“And there’s a candle that goes in the top, for the light of the world,” she had added. “I remember in Year 5—that’s nine to ten year olds—Joshua Lane wasn’t paying attention and accidentally set fire to Mrs Kayson’s coat.”

Ever predictable, the promise of fire was the deciding factor. The house elves in the kitchens were tasked with procuring the food-related items, while James set himself the job of gathering enough red ribbon, cocktail sticks and candles. They were going to commandeer the Great Hall on the last full day of term, make Christingles, sing Muggle carols. Everyone was invited, although James was under no allusions that not everyone would come. Avery had already spat at him about ‘encouraging the Mudbloods’, something James worked hard to ignore.

Mary had been invaluable, all told. She had a way about her that made any tedious task seem more fun, more engaging. She loved that he wanted to make Hogwarts a safer, more inclusive place for Muggleborns, and was enthusiastic in her support.

They were strolling back from a progress report with the house elves, Mary positively fizzing with energy. “This is going to be great, Jamie,” she said brightly. “I haven’t had the chance to do any of this fun Christmassy stuff for ages.”

“I hope it lives up to your expectations,” he grinned. “And that more people than just you, me and Charlie turn up.”

“Oh, Lil will come,” she replied decisively. “That’s at least four.”

“Something to work with, then.”

They wandered round a corner, just along from Flitwick’s classroom—in fact, someone was emerging from the room itself. James’ smile dropped.

“Rafe!” Mary called out cheerfully; the seventh year turned, pausing only a moment before determinedly shutting the classroom door behind him. “I thought I only ever saw you with Lily on your arm.”

“She lets me out on my own every now and then,” Rafe winked, then gave James a brief nod. “You two been smooching under the stars?”

Mary flushed deeply as she let out a nervous laugh. “No! We’re not—we’re not together.”

“Ah, my mistake,” Rafe smiled smoothly. “Apologies.”

James wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. Thicknesse was acting like he hadn’t been lingering weirdly around a classroom out of hours, and Mary was acting like she couldn’t even look at James anymore. Yes, he’d strongly suspected she fancied him, but that suspicion was beginning to look more certain. “Well,” he said at last. “No harm done. We’d better get back before curfew, eh, Mac?”

“Right,” Mary nodded, still flushed a vibrant pink. “See you round, Rafe.”

“Take care, you two,” Rafe replied cheerfully, and didn’t move, just watched them walk away.

Strange.

“Lily’s found a good one there,” Mary remarked as they climbed the last staircase to the tower. “A lovely bloke.”

James wasn’t sure he was in any position to comment on Lily Evans’ boyfriend, for a variety of reasons. “Think he’ll come along to the Christmas event?” he asked, pretending to care. “That could get our numbers up to five.”

Mary laughed, bumping him playfully with her shoulder as they walked. “Stop worrying so much. People will come.”

“They’d better,” he replied, “or you and I will be taking a sack of oranges home each.”

Back in the common room, they joined Lily and Remus in some squashy chairs by the windows. “We just bumped into your beau,” Mary announced as she sat down. “Down by Flitwick’s room. Looking as dreamy as ever.”

Lily laughed, but James caught a glimpse of something cross Moony’s face, almost a frown. “You never fail to impress me with the number of different adjectives you come up with to describe him, Mare,” Lily teased.

“I like to use my broad vocabulary,” she teased back.

“Remus,” James piped up. The girls both looked at him, perhaps picking up on the tone in his voice, a tone he wasn’t even sure about. “I’m going to head up…you coming?”

His friend hesitated—probably deciding whether this was another tactic to corner him about forgiveness—but it seemed that tiredness won out. “Yeah, I will,” he agreed, heaving himself to his feet. “Night, ladies.”

“Night, Rem,” Lily smiled, adding, almost reluctantly, “Night, Potter.”

“Sweet dreams,” Mary said with a wink.

They made their way over to the stairs, starting the climb up to the dormitory. James felt something churning over and over in his mind, wondering if he should even ask it at all, but—“Moony,” he sighed, and stopped; Remus stopped too, turning to face him. “Do you…what do you think of Thicknesse?”

Remus glanced quickly back down the stairs, but they were half way up now, nowhere near anyone who could overhear. He had the face of someone who wished they were anywhere but there. “I don’t know him, really,” was his non-reply.

“You sure?” James frowned. “It looked like you had a reaction of some kind when Mary said we saw him…”

A few seconds passed, before Remus shrugged, adopting a small, tired smile. “Must be imagining things, mate,” he said, and started to carry on the journey up the stairs.

James watched him go, his frown not easing, until finally, he shook his head and moved to join him.

Maybe he really was imagining things.

Chapter Text

The library was supposed to be a sanctuary. A safe place—a quiet place, away from the drama and nonsense of the common room, away from the distractions of her extremely fit boyfriend, or her lovely but noisy friends. And yet, despite that precious, unwritten social contract that everyone else knew to abide by, the peace had been shattered. Her safe haven, gone.

Potter—a boy who she’d seen in the library maybe once in all years prior to their sixth year at Hogwarts—seemed to have taken a liking to working in there. Nothing wrong with that in theory: they were, after all, tentative friends now. She’d worked hard to accept that the boy she’d once called “an arrogant, irredeemable twat” was now a friend. Besides, their social circles had become entwined in such a way that would make it an awkward tangle to try to separate again.

That was part of the issue. Because, at the other end of the study area that Lily liked to frequent, Potter was sat with Mary.

Lily adored Mary. They’d become fast friends in their dorm in first year, a shared bond of being outsiders to this new and exciting magical world bringing them closer together. Mary was kind; she cared deeply about her friends; she had a positive attitude that Lily wished she could reliably emulate. Mary was like the sister she wished she had.

But she couldn’t stop looking over. Watching, as they laughed together. Watching, as Potter leaned over to point out something in a book. Watching, and wondering why she felt so compelled to do so.

It must have been her protective instincts, she decided. Potter was a wally of the highest order—yes, it turned out he had his lovely moments, but he was also prone to bouts of idiocy, particularly where girls were concerned. She didn’t want to see Mary—wonderful, pretty, trusting Mary—get used up and discarded like any one of the string of girlfriends he’d had over the last few years. She deserved better.

Lily forced her attention back down to the essay in front of her. She’d written about three sentences in the past thirty minutes—about the length of time Potter and Mary had been sitting there.

Ugh. She was better than this. Wasn’t she?

The sound of a chair scraping back lifted her gaze and she found Mary flopping down next to her. Potter seemed to have wandered off somewhere. “How’s the essay going?” Mary asked, leaning over to take a look—she cringed. “Well, slow and steady wins the race, eh?”

“That’s my motto,” Lily agreed. She paused. “What are you two working on?”

Mary glanced back towards the table where hers and Potter’s things were still scattered. “He’s helping me with Transfig, and I’m helping him with Muggle Studies,” she replied. “Like a cultural exchange.”

Lily chuckled, although she didn’t feel like laughing. “Fair enough.” She paused, suddenly a bit tense, heart thudding. “You seem to work well together.”

Her friend smiled slightly, fondly, and shrugged. “I’m very easy to work with,” she pointed out.

“Of course,” Lily agreed, pushing up a smile of her own. “It’s just…”

Mary raised her eyebrows; suddenly, it felt like she was really looking at her, taking in her expression. Lily wasn’t sure why that felt almost invasive. “Just…what?”

“Oh, um, nothing.” Lily swallowed. “It just seems like… are you two…?”

Mary paused, staring back at her, and Lily worked overtime to keep her face neutral. The answer had no impact on her, after all.

“No,” Mary said at last, and Lily thought she sensed something there, a decision finally made. “No, we’re just friends.”

“Oh,” Lily exhaled, ashamed of this reaction in her and deeply, deeply relieved that it was only an internal one. “Sorry, I just—thought you two were…flirting a lot.”

Mary smiled; as always, it lit up her face, it warmed Lily to the core—but she wasn’t sure she’d seen her eyes look quite that sad before. “You know me, Lil, I flirt with everyone,” she replied. “And he’s just…friendly.”

Lily wasn’t sure what to say to that, how to respond in a way that might ease that look in her eyes. Before she could think of anything, Mary stood up again and gave her wand a flick: her things from the distant table flew over. “I’m bored of essay writing,” she said, voice brighter than her face. “If James asks, tell him I’m all sorted with the Transfiguration and thanks for the help.”

“Oh…okay,” Lily agreed, glancing back towards the table. “See you at dinner?”

“’Course,” Mary smiled, touching her hand briefly to Lily’s shoulder before she turned and headed off. “See you…”

Lily watched her go, wondering what exactly had just happened. Had she read far too much into things? She didn’t think she had, but judging from Mary’s response…

Maybe she was projecting. She did feel a bit guilty about how much time she was spending with Rafe at the expense of her friends: there were only so many hours in a day and something had to give. If Mary had a boyfriend too, at least Lily would feel reassured that she wasn’t just ditching her friend and leaving her completely alone.

And when she thought about it, Mary and Potter were a bit of a ludicrous pairing. They were obviously good enough friends—they got on very well, and always had, much to Lily’s annoyance when her own experiences with Potter had been rather more combative—but, on reflection, they wouldn’t have meshed well as a couple. Mary had more front than Brighton at times, but that’s all it was, a front. Behind that, she was actually quite sensitive, and Lily didn’t think that Potter quite had the skills to handle someone like that. He needed someone a bit more robust, someone who could give as good as they got.

Not that it really mattered, one way or the other.

A few minutes later, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Potter return to his table and pause, taking in the sight in front of him. She hastily returned to her essay before he could see her watching him, feeling ridiculous. She really needed to find her motivation to write, because at this rate, she wouldn’t be finished until New Year.

“Alright Evans?”

She looked up again, finding Potter now in front of her, his bag over his shoulder. She gave him a small smile. “Alright, Potter…” she replied. She wasn’t sure why she felt an odd tug of nerves in her gut. “Mary said to tell you thanks for the help, she thinks she’s all set now.”

“Ah, okay,” Potter nodded, looking a bit awkward. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. “Well, I can only handle the library in short bursts anyway. Have to go and do something loud and boisterous for a bit, get my blood pumping again.”

She laughed. “Of course. Enjoy.”

“I will,” he winked, and turned to leave. “Good luck with your essay, Evans.”

She realised she didn’t murmur “thanks” until he was already well out of earshot.

Sirius wasn’t sure which version of his relationship with Remus was harder to cope with: the brittle, raw anger and total shutdown that had come straight after the ‘incident’, the hurt-but-pretending-not-to-be that had characterised the time just before he’d left for a month, or this current iteration.

It was almost like Remus didn’t know him at all. He treated Sirius as if he were a daft cousin, or some Frankie First Year—always polite, made conversation where needed, made eye-contact and everything…but that was it. He was obviously determined not to acknowledge anything that had happened, determined to avoid the confrontation that they clearly needed to have. It was classic Moony. When they’d first worked out he was a werewolf, he’d tried to dismiss it entirely and change the subject for several days straight until they finally cornered him and got him to open up. But that had been based in fear—an understandable, deep-set fear that they wouldn’t accept him as he was, that they would abandon him, that they would tell everyone the truth and have him hounded out of the school.

Was this all based in fear, as well? But fear of what?

Sirius knew what he was scared of. He was scared of never having his friend back properly, never getting to mend that bridge. He was scared of making things worse, of driving such a wedge between them that James and Pete would end up having to choose sides. He was scared of ending up on his own, and all because he couldn’t control his temper. Control himself.

And how did you make up for something like that? He’d tried to imagine how he would have felt in Remus’ shoes, tried to imagine how it would feel if James were to betray him in such a way.

It would break him. He knew that. But then, that was him, wasn’t it, all over? He was always on such shaky ground that it wouldn’t take much to send it all clattering down.

His mentoring sessions with McGonagall were excruciating, but, annoyingly, useful. When she’d said in the first session, fixing him with her steady, knowing gaze, that they were going to talk about his anger, he’d wanted to run. He’d never wanted to leave somewhere quite as much before—except his family home, of course, but that was in a league of its own.

But he also knew this was part of the problem. Not confronting how he felt, so that it could fester, sink deeper, infect every part of him and then come crashing out in exactly the wrong way.

So he’d drawn in a steadying breath, thought of the bravery and courage of Godric Gryffindor, and talked about his feelings.

Fucking hell. It was agony.

McGonagall, to her credit, never made him feel stupid, or ridiculous, or overwrought. He didn’t love sharing this sort of stuff with her but he knew that it was the right thing to do.

They talked about his family only in a roundabout fashion, never really delving too far into any details. Sirius didn’t want to relive it and McGonagall didn’t push him. They talked about his pressure points, his triggers, and ways to redirect some of that energy more productively.

Well, he was trying. It was a slow process.

But he had to wonder, what was the point of all this, if Remus never let him back in again? If that was the way his life was going to be, then he might as well be angry, he might as well hex Snape six ways from Sunday, he might as well lash out at random.

One day at a time, his head of house reminded him. Sometimes, one hour at a time. Take it as it comes.

That was the approach he tried his best to take when the owl post arrived on an overcast Thursday morning. The Marauders were sat in their usual spot, powering through a stack of toast as if they were worried they might not be fed again. The sight of a neat, ivory envelope, all sharp corners and with familiar deep green ink, made Sirius stop, strawberry jam-laden toast half way to his mouth.

Discarding his breakfast, he picked the envelope up from where it had dropped on his plate and turned it over. Sure enough, the familiar crest stared back at him from the wax seal, a violent, deep red.

He paused. Looked up.

As he expected, he found a pair of grey eyes watching him from the Slytherin table. Regulus looked anxious—unusual, given his usual preference for showing as little emotion as possible. They stared at each other for a moment, unblinking.

The sharp edge of the paper tore through the pad of his thumb as he turned his attention to opening it, a tiny bloom of blood almost like the token needed to gain entry. Or, just another opportunity for his family to hurt him. One or the other.

“What’ve you got?” James had finally noticed what was going on; although Sirius didn’t look up at him, he could hear the razor edge of concern in his voice.

Sirius read the letter carefully—it was short and to the point, so it didn’t take long. He lifted his chin, meeting James’ gaze across the table. “They’ve invited me home for Christmas.”

James frowned, taking the letter from his hands to read it for himself. “What? To Grimmauld Place? Are they mental?”

Sirius’ eyes flicked briefly over to his brother, who still watched, a goblet of pumpkin juice clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were white. “Of course they’re mental, Prongs. We knew that.”

Peter leaned across the table to try to see the letter too. “Eh? I thought they disowned you?”

Sirius smiled, humourless and strained. “Well, Pete, I would guess that it suddenly doesn’t matter now that they’ve found out that my Uncle Alphard left all his money and property to me and not to them.” He ran his finger absently over the thin cut on his thumb. “You know, the old ‘Merry Christmas son, come back to the fold so we can gouge you out of your rightful inheritance’ gambit.”

Remus had remained quiet until this point; when he spoke, Sirius immediately looked over at him, pathetically keen to hear his voice in any way he could. “They can’t seriously think that will work,” he was frowning. “After…you running away, and…”

“And all that,” Peter interjected, trying to save Remus.

“By ‘all that’, I assume you mean the beatings and use of Unforgivables,” Sirius picked up his toast again, although his appetite was long gone. Around him, his friends stilled, and he looked up, taking in the expressions on their faces: James, who had known a bit about what had happened, looked both angry and sad all at once; Peter and Remus had perhaps guessed some of the details, but the confirmation of the ugly truth paled them both. Peter chewed fiercely on his bottom lip, the way he did when he wanted desperately to say the right thing but had no idea what it was. Remus, meanwhile, was staring at Sirius in a way that seemed to be only just held together. Most might not have seen the tell-tale signs, but his close friends always could see them—the flicker of tension at his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the way his breath came in slightly shorter bursts. Sirius didn’t want to delve too deeply into what it meant that Remus had that reaction—didn’t want to get his hopes up too high—especially when he himself was only just about keeping things under control. He swallowed. “Look. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re not—you’re not thinking of going, are you?” James asked cautiously.

Sirius could only laugh: again, utterly without humour, and he didn’t know it, but the sound only made his friends more worried. “Fuck no. I’m not an idiot,” he replied. “Well, not that much of an idiot.”

“Sirius—” James started.

“Honestly, Prongs,” he cut him off quickly. “I’m going to throw that letter on the fire where it belongs, and all the gold in Gringotts couldn’t pay me to cross the threshold of that shithole ever again.” He paused, and stood up; three pairs of eyes followed his move (and a fourth, still, from across the room). “I’ll see you in Transfiguration.”

And it was a good thing he walked away, the letter compacted into a ball in his fist, because he only just made it to the second floor bathroom before he promptly threw up his entire breakfast.

The last Hogsmeade weekend of the term fell, with happy coincidence, on Dorcas’ birthday. Lily, Marlene and Mary all put a lot of effort into gathering her friends in the Three Broomsticks, commandeering a series of tables in a cluster by the windows so that, in Marlene’s words, Dorcas could “sit in the middle, get drunk and be fawned over appropriately by all and sundry”. Given that Dorcas was very well-liked across the houses, and a member of at least three extra-curricular clubs, the turn-out was significant.

Remus had always enjoyed Dorcas’ company. She was quieter than her close friends—something she and Remus had in common—but had a wicked sense of humour, was fiercely loyal, and, of course, had a competitive streak a mile long. She was the perfect person to sit with at Quidditch matches, in his opinion.

So it was no sacrifice to follow the group down to the village and pile into the pub, and with as many people as there were, it was easy to avoid being cornered by James, or left alone with Sirius. He’d felt even more vulnerable around him since that letter had arrived, and the truth of his mistreatment by his parents had come out: Remus hadn’t liked how, on hearing that news, he’d felt so angry, so devastated on Sirius’ behalf. He hadn’t liked how he had wanted to reach out, to take his hand or sling an arm round his shoulders. He hadn’t liked watching Sirius leave the Great Hall, pale and clearly shaken, feeling an urgent need to follow him. And he hadn’t liked how his gaze had been drawn to Sirius, over and over again, throughout the day, checking to see if he was alright.

Caring about Sirius in this way was not productive. It didn’t help him set and maintain the boundaries he desperately needed. He would care about him again, he would sympathise and empathise and be pulled back in, and that would only give him the opportunity to treat Remus as a pawn again. He wasn’t going to invite that back in.

So he’d stepped even further back. He didn’t go anywhere near the table where James and Sirius had parked themselves. It wasn’t worth it. Remus was not what anyone would normally class as a social butterfly, but that day, he mingled, moving table to table, having inconsequential chat after inconsequential chat. That was how he found himself, mid-afternoon, on the edge of the group, a bit buzzed and a lot weary.

“You know,” a voice spoke up, and he turned quickly to his right, noticing Owain Ollerton there. Whoever Owain had been talking to earlier had wandered off, evidently. “I was starting to wonder if you were avoiding me.”

He’d always liked Owain. The Ravenclaw was entertaining in a way that Remus didn’t always find other members of that house to be. They’d been paired up in Charms back in second year and found an easy-going sort of friendship that could be picked up and put to the side whenever needed.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be?” he asked cheerfully.

“Oh, you know,” Owain grinned, “intimidated by my good looks and charm?”

“Ah, right,” Remus nodded with a smile. “That must have been it.”

“I’ve been watching you,” Owain added knowingly. “Doing the rounds. Most unlike you, Mr Lupin.”

“Well,” Remus shrugged, taking a sip of his drink, “I thought I’d try something different.”

Owain shifted his chair just a little, so it was closer to Remus’. His leg brushed against his and he looked up, finding Owain’s gaze very easily. “We miss you in Runes club.”

Remus had to laugh at that. He’d only gone to a few sessions, back in third year; the lunar cycle had soon put paid to that. He hadn’t wanted to give a whole new group of (very clever) people the chance to read into his repeated absences. “I’m sure you’ve all survived without my insight,” he replied. “Dor’s always been miles better at Runes than me anyway.”

Owain smiled fondly, glancing around to catch a sight of the birthday girl: she was sat on Lily’s lap, telling Rafe and Marlene a very intense-looking story. “She should’ve been a Ravenclaw.”

“Go and say that to her now,” Remus smirked, “I’m in the mood for some entertainment.”

Owain looked back at him with a laugh. “You’re a cruel one, aren’t you.”

“That’s me,” he agreed lightly. “I’m a monster.”

There was a pause as they both took a drink, and Owain shifted again, his arm coming to rest along the back of Remus’ chair. “So, tell me,” he said. “Are you and Black…?”

Remus blinked, surprised. “What? No!” He frowned. “Why…?”

“Well, he’s staring daggers over at me right now,” Owain offered with a slight smirk, “so I was just checking I wasn’t intruding on someone’s territory.”

Remus resisted the temptation—the very great temptation—to turn round and look. Even if it was true—which, not that he didn’t trust Owain, but he doubted very much—what difference did it make? He wasn’t in the business of caring about Sirius’ reactions anymore. “I’m not anyone else’s territory,” he replied. “I don’t know what his problem is.”

Well, he probably did know, but he didn’t want to examine that thought too deeply.

“That’s great news,” Owain smiled, brushing his hand briefly through his short blonde hair. “Say, fancy a bit of fresh air?”

It shouldn’t have been a difficult question. And Merlin only knew that Remus didn’t need any more complications in his life. But he was a bit drunk, and he was lonely—surrounded by people, utterly alone—and Ollerton was undeniably good looking. It was an ego boost, to say the least.

“Yeah,” he said, and put his glass down. “I do, actually.”

“I guess I misread things.” James pulled his gaze away from where Mary was wrapped up in George McMillan’s arms and took a long swig of his drink. He found, on reflection, that he didn’t mind that much—it was just a surprise, that was all. He’d spent Wednesday afternoon in the library with her, thinking about asking her to Hogsmeade; by Thursday lunchtime, it was the talk of the Gryffindor table that George had asked Mary to go with him and that she’d happily accepted. Evidently the two of them had found some chemistry, judging by how much time they’d spent snogging each other’s faces off that afternoon.

James looked over at Sirius, his friend notably distracted. “Did I? Misread things?” he pressed. “I don’t want to sound big-headed, but…she was very flirty, Pads.”

“Hmm?” Sirius glanced his way, then over at Mary, pausing before he gave a bored shrug. “Eh, maybe she decided you’re not worth the hassle.”

“Well,” James rolled his eyes, slumping back in his chair, “thanks for your support, mate.”

“Any time,” Sirius patted him absently on the arm. Once again, his attention was elsewhere. “I think we should go and rescue Moony.”

James frowned at what was, to him, an abrupt change of subject, following his friend’s gaze over to where Remus sat, a few tables away. “He doesn’t look like he needs rescuing,” he offered. “Ollerton’s friendly enough.”

Sirius frowned. “They hardly know each other.”

“Weren’t they paired up a lot in Charms?” James recalled. “And Ollerton’s in the Runes club, too.”

“We should go over there,” Sirius said, in a way that made James think he hadn’t listened to a word James had said.

“Mate, we don’t—” He stopped, and they both watched as Remus and Ollerton stood up; they moved, close together, towards the door, and James could just see Remus’ hand clasped in Ollerton’s. “Well,” he said, as the tavern door swung shut behind them, “I definitely don’t think he needs rescuing.”

He drained his glass, then looked back over at Sirius: the boy was still staring at the door, an expression that looked like it covered a gamut of emotions on his face. “Didn’t you know that Moony…” James trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

Sirius snapped his gaze back to him. “I…guessed,” he replied cagily. “Did you know?”

“Same,” he shrugged. “I haven’t pressed him on it, I figure he’ll talk to us when he’s ready.”

Sirius looked back over to the door again. “Ollerton’s a prick,” he muttered. “He deserves better than that smug wanker.”

James raised his eyebrows. “That’s a lot of vitriol for someone you said was ‘actually quite funny’ last week in Charms, Pads.”

He could tell his friend was just barely holding his temper back—to be honest, it was impressive that he’d lasted this long. And very telling, that this was what set him off. “He barely talks to me anymore,” Sirius said, voice low, angry and sad and frustrated all at once. “But he’ll go off with him at the drop of a hat…”

James sighed. “Maybe you shouldn’t sit back and wait for him to talk to you anymore,” he suggested. “He’s clearly going to avoid it if he can.”

Sirius stood, chair scraping back with a clatter. “Need some air,” he mumbled, and before James could stop him, he’d stalked out of the pub.

“Fuck’s sake,” James said, wisely, to himself.

He couldn’t care about it for too long, though, caught as he was by the sight of Thicknesse pulling on his coat a few tables away. James watched—probably with about as much subtlety as Sirius had watched Remus and Ollerton—as Rafe bent to brush his hand across Lily’s cheek, to press a lingering kiss to her lips. Lily flushed prettily, her own hand moving up to tangle briefly in his hair. Then, with a wave and something, probably well wishes, to Dorcas, Rafe headed out.

James waited for approximately thirty seconds before sidling over to their table. “Lost your fella?” he asked, slouching into the empty chair next to Lily.

Lily looked round, and seemed almost surprised to see him. She had to have known he was there—he’d certainly been aware of her presence—but, in fairness, he’d spent most of the afternoon sitting with Sirius and Pete, lurking on the edge of the group and focusing on getting a good buzz on. “Oh, hi,” she said. “He’s got an essay that needs finishing. Seventh year pains…”

“Ah, shame,” James nodded, sounding as if he really thought that was true. He glanced over at Dorcas. “Enjoying your special day, birthday girl? How’s it feel to be old?”

Dorcas sighed. “Time marches on, inexorably,” she brandished her glass of firewhiskey as if it were a weapon. “Closer, closer, to the sweet embrace of death.”

Lily smirked. “She gets a bit melancholy after the sixth drink,” she told James, sotto voce. “Don’t mind her.”

James grinned. “Fair enough,” he nodded, and raised his own glass to Dorcas. “To our inevitable doom, Meadowes.”

“Cheers,” Dorcas knocked back the rest of her drink. “Y’know, I’m glad to have some kind of legacy from this, my seventeenth birthday…”

“Oh yeah?” Lily asked fondly. “And what’s that, Dor?”

“All the hook-ups,” she replied with a pleased smile. “Mary and George, Trudie and Luke, Beth and Sara, Remus and Owain—”

“Remus and Owain?” Lily interrupted with some excitement. “Really?”

Both girls turned to look at James, expectant. “So it would seem,” he confirmed with a raise of his eyebrows. “They snuck off a while ago. Ollerton’s probably somewhere out there defiling my dear Moony as we speak.”

Dorcas cackled with delight. “Good! Merlin, that boy deserves a bit of light relief.” She paused, and narrowed her eyes at James. “What about you?”

“Ollerton’s not really my type,” he replied easily, making sure to not let his gaze drift over in Lily’s direction.

“Ha, ha,” Dorcas rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Potter. You’re tall, you’re sporty, you’re clever, you’re handsome if you like that sort of thing—”

“Thanks, Meadowes.”

“So let’s get you a girl!” Dorcas cast her critical eye around the pub. “Any preferences? Blonde, brunette, red-head—”

“Blonde,” he interrupted, probably a bit too quickly. “Tall, blonde. Someone who can cope with Sirius.”

“Of course, a package deal,” Dorcas smirked. “Lambeth Shaw is blonde…ish. She’s lovely.”

“A bit delicate,” James pointed out. “I think I would terrify her even just by going near her.”

Lily shifted in her seat, drawing both their attention for a moment, although he couldn’t quite work out the look on her face.

“Also,” he added thoughtfully, “Lam was Moony’s first kiss. You don’t do that to a mate, do you.”

Dorcas raised her eyebrows. “Wasn’t Marlene your first kiss?” she asked. “But Black still leapt into her pants at the first opportunity.”

“Eh,” James shrugged, “I didn’t mind that.” Truthfully, he’d been so busy being hung up on Evans that Sirius could’ve married McKinnon and he wouldn’t have cared. “But that’s me, isn’t it? I’m very generous.”

Choosing to ignore that statement, Dorcas carried on. “Patricia Parkinson is objectively gorgeous.”

“And a Slytherin,” James scowled. “Have some respect, Meadowes.”

“Fine, fine—ooh!” Her eyes lit up as she spotted someone across the room. “Cadence Dearborn.”

He followed Dorcas’ gaze to the girl in question, sat across the tavern with a group of her friends. She certainly fit the bill: she had a sheet of sleek blonde hair, long legs which were currently crossed elegantly and allowing her skirt to slip a little way up her thighs, and a lovely, warm face. Cadence was often a topic of discussion for blokes in their year. She was also—“The head boy’s sister,” he questioned, eyebrow raised dubiously. “He already hates me enough as it is for all the pranks we’ve pulled…”

“And who could blame him for that,” Lily murmured, with a small smile. She too was looking over at Cadence, and he wondered what was going through her mind. “She’s very clever—”

James frowned. “And what, because of that she wouldn’t be interested?” he asked, feeling more needled than he expected to. “I am passably intelligent myself, you know.”

Lily, for whatever reason, blushed. “No, I know, that’s—that’s not what I meant.”

“She is clever,” Dorcas agreed, “but she’s a laugh, too. And she definitely fancies you, Potter. I’ve heard her talking to Lambeth about it.”

“Really?” He tore his gaze away, giving a half-hearted shrug. “Well, I’ll think about it.”

“Just trying to help smooth the way for love,” Dorcas winked. “I’m here to help.”

He thought, on reflection, that he probably did need help, but maybe not with this. “You’re all heart, Meadowes.”

Lily stood up, an action which seemed abrupt and also seemed to surprise her as much as it did her companions. “Another drink?”

Storming out of the Three Broomsticks had been a bit of a rash choice, Sirius could admit later. It wasn’t like he wanted to come across Remus snogging Ollerton—which he didn’t, anyway; the pair had obviously found somewhere a bit more subtle than down one of the side streets, Sirius’ usual necking location choice in Hogsmeade. It was bitterly cold, Moony was nowhere to be seen, and he could hardly go back into the pub after his reaction before—Prongs would insist on picking it all apart, which was just about the last thing he wanted to do. So, with a heavy sigh, he trudged back up to the school.

The common room was full of first and second years: hardly his first choice of company at the best of times, and these were not the best of times. His mood felt sharper than it had in a while, a dark cloud lingering over him. And it just made him angry, because why was it that something so relatively innocuous could push him back to the depths so easily? When they’d headed down to Hogsmeade that morning, he’d felt relatively cheerful. Why wouldn’t he? He was going to spend the day with his best mates, have a few drinks, top up on Honeydukes chocolate.

Which he’d forgotten to do, so he couldn’t even stuff his face with sweets to take the edge off.

He was sat on his bed, flipping through a Quidditch magazine with unnecessary levels of aggression, when the others returned. Apparently Remus had found his way back to his friends, because he trailed behind James and Pete, his face flushed from the cold air and looking happier than he had in a while.

“There you are!” James sighed, flopping down on to the end of Sirius’ bed. “I wondered where you’d stropped off to.”

“I didn’t strop anywhere,” Sirius replied, his tone very much not matching his words. “Just got bored, that’s all.”

James gave him a look which told him he could not have believed him any less if he tried. “Mmhmm.”

“How was the rest of the afternoon?” he asked, determined to get the focus off himself. He looked over at Remus. “Everyone…have fun?”

Peter tossed his scarf into the corner of the room, his gloves following soon after. “Iris and I went for a lovely walk,” he said cheerily, “and guess who we bumped in to?”

Remus sighed. “Pete—”

“That’s right!” Peter beamed. “Our little Moonykins and Owain Ollerton!” He moved to give Remus a congratulatory punch on the arm. “Looking very cosy, might I add.”

James grinned. “He’s like a proud father, isn’t he?”

“I feel like one,” Peter confirmed, slinging his arm round Remus’ shoulders. Remus rolled his eyes. “Moony, you’re a handsome chap and so is he. You know what this means?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. Sirius tried not to clench his fists in his lap. “What?”

“It means you’re finally starting to see your own worth!” Peter gave him a squeeze. “Imagine if we’d found you snogging, I dunno…Thomas Rosier or someone.”

James wrinkled his nose. “Merlin, Wormtail, no one needed that mental image.”

“And I don’t think he’s that way inclined,” Remus added.

“Whether he is or not,” Pete waved a hand dismissively, “he’s obviously an ugly sod with an ugly personality to match. But you’re snogging someone attractive—”

“Bloody hell,” Remus sighed, “I didn’t expect this reaction, to be honest…”

“—and he’s a decent person, isn’t he,” Peter finished proudly. “Get what you deserve, Moony.”

“Although the way he has made his point leaves a lot to be desired,” James chimed in, “I couldn’t agree more.” His gaze flickered briefly over to Sirius. “Good for you, mate.”

Remus shrugged Pete’s arm off his shoulders. “Alright, well, thanks, I suppose,” he replied. Sirius could tell that he was feeling uncomfortable—he wasn’t the only one. “But let’s not get carried away.”

“Sorry, Moons,” Pete grinned. “I just love love, you know?”

Sirius slid off his bed. “Got some things to do,” he said, grabbing his cloak and slipping on his shoes. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

He didn’t give anyone a chance to reply before he headed down the stairs, pausing only briefly in the common room to catch Mary’s eye. She sat with Lily, trying to ply Dorcas with water, presumably to avoid the dangerous but entertaining prospect of Meadowes being off her face at dinner. Mary smiled at Sirius, although the smile slipped just slightly at the look on his face. “Alright, Black?”

“Yeah,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Fancy some fresh air?”

Mary and Lily shared a look—something passed between them, although he wasn’t sure what—before she nodded and stood up. “Sounds good to me.”

They made their way out of the tower and through the quiet corridors, not saying a word. Mary seemed to understand that he didn’t know what to say just yet—couldn’t quite find the words—and they’d always managed silence pretty well.

In fact, no one said a thing until they reached the greenhouses, finding the spot where you couldn’t be seen from the school or from Hagrid’s hut. Sirius sat unceremoniously on the cold ground, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket; Mary stood, watching him for a moment, before she sat down too. “What’s up, Black?”

He lit the cigarette, took a long drag and watched as the smoke drifted away. It was a few moments before he felt like he could speak. “What happened with you and James?”

She looked up, surprised, from where she was lighting a cigarette of her own. “What?”

“You and Prongs,” he pressed on. “You two were flirting like mad. He was going to ask you to Hogsmeade. Then suddenly you’re snogging McMillan, of all people.”

There was a moment of hesitation, the lit cigarette dangling preciously between her thumb and index finger. “We’re better off just friends,” she said at last.

Sirius glanced over, irritated and not sure why. “You were desperate to ask him out not two weeks ago,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, and took a pull of her cigarette. “Things change.” She exhaled heavily. “Is he…he’s okay?”

“He’s fine,” Sirius replied, because it was the truth. “He was a bit confused, but I’m not sure he’s all that bothered.”

Mary smiled, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Good.”

He stared down at his hand, at the slight tremor there, a hangover from the anger and self-hatred and strain of the day. He wanted it to stop. “Mac.”

He could sense her gaze moving to him. “Black?”

“Want to find a broom cupboard somewhere?” he asked.

A pause: her voice, quiet, confused. “…excuse me?”

The cold was helping him feel numb. He tapped his cigarette, watching the ash float down to the ground. “You, me. Fuck each other to oblivion in a broom cupboard.” He glanced up. “I won’t tell McMillan.”

Mary frowned. “You don’t want to have sex with me,” she told him.

He tilted his head. “I’ll be the judge of that, Mac.”

“Sirius.” First names—this must be bad. “Come on. You know you don’t.”

He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “It’s a good palate cleanser, Mac. An orgasm to wipe the slate clean.” He reached out to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

Her frown only deepened; she moved her hand, and he assumed she would bat his away—but she took his hand in hers. “What do you need to wipe away, Sirius?” she asked softly. The concern in her voice was painful. “What’s happened?”

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Nothing happened—”

“Something did,” she interrupted. “So why don’t we talk about it, instead of using sex as a coping strategy and fucking up our friendship?”

He pulled his hand from hers. The words tumbled out of him, filter long gone behind defensiveness, that anger that had never gone away. “Christ, Mac, it was just a suggestion. One I thought you wouldn’t mind, you know—James, and McMillan, you obviously don’t mind flitting between blokes…”

Silence. He cast a glance at her; she was staring at him, face sombre and pale. Regret had already started to seep in, along with a healthy dose of shame at the look in her eyes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” she murmured at last.

He dropped his cigarette, grinding it under his heel. “Sorry,” he muttered, and was surprised to hear the heavy emotion in his own voice. He sounded like he might cry. What the hell was happening to him? “Sorry, Mac. I didn’t mean it.”

As he stared down at the grass, blinking fiercely, she shifted inexplicably closer to him, her arm looping through his, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. “Apology accepted.”

“I just,” he said, and laughed, the sound broken and sad. “I just can’t feel like this anymore.”

“I know.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he pointed out. “I know it’s not. I’m sorry…”

Another silence fell. His eyes stung. All he could think about was Ollerton, leading Remus out of the pub. The way Moony couldn’t even look at him when they got back to the dorm room.

“Dinner?” Mary suggested quietly, a few minutes later. “It’s sausage and mash.”

He shook his head just barely. “I…can’t,” he said, and hoped she wouldn’t ask why.

She didn’t. “Okay,” she agreed softly. He knew he didn’t deserve the kindness in her voice. “We can just stay here.”

It was dark by the time they stood up and headed inside, the Great Hall empty of students. Sirius knew it was the least he could do to sneak Mary into the kitchens, even if he didn’t have much of an appetite himself. They carried a selection of sandwiches and cakes back up to the tower, pausing in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait. “I am sorry,” Sirius told her plainly.

She just gave him a small, warm smile. “I know you are.” She took his hand. “C’mon. Chess.”

What with the stress and drama of Hogsmeade, and Sirius’ strange, sad mood since then, James was very glad for Monday to roll around. It was their last Quidditch practice of the term, and a couple of hours out on his broom, weaving and diving and perfecting plays was just what he needed. Out there, he could leave the awkwardness of their dorm behind and unite with his team behind a singular purpose. There really wasn’t anything flying couldn’t sort out.

Exhausted and content, he headed inside, once more set on a bath to soothe his aching muscles. That had the added bonus of keeping him away from the dorm for a bit longer, too—and as much as he loved his friends, any kind of a break from whatever that was all about was a blessing.

The door to the prefects’ bathroom was just slightly ajar—unusual, he thought idly as he stepped inside, already shucking off his Quidditch jersey. He made it almost to the edge of the tub before several things happened at once.

His tired brain finally connected up his thoughts with what he was seeing, which was Lily Evans, gloriously naked and—mercifully? tragically?—covered in bubbles on the far side of the tub.

He dropped his boots with a thud which echoed triumphantly around the room (and dropped his jaw, too) and said, quite profoundly, “Merlin’s sacred sock drawer, Evans—"

And Lily shrieked at the top of her lungs.

“Jesus Christ, Potter!” She was frantically trying to pull bubbles around her, to cover her—oh, fuck, her tits were right there. Luckily, his body seemed to remember decorum and decency as his gaze snapped up to the vaulted ceiling even when his brain would much rather he’d kept his eyes where they were. “How did you—”

“The door,” he interrupted, an edge of hysteria in his voice. “It was—the door was open, I swear on—on my mother’s life, Evans—”

“Fucking hell,” there was a splashing sound: intriguing, but he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling. “I—I didn’t think to check—there’s been some issues with it not closing properly lately…”

“I’m not a pervert,” he promised quickly, although he didn’t like that that was probably what a pervert would say. “Bloody fuck, I—I just finished Quidditch, I just—a bath, you know—”

“Alright,” she gave the heaviest sigh he’d ever heard from her, and he’d heard a lot of her heavy sighs. “Relax, Potter.” There was a pause. “I was about to get out anyway.”

“Oh,” he said to the ceiling, “um, okay.”

“Could you…turn around?” she prompted; he spun to face the wall and intently admire a painting of a mermaid. A few minutes later, her voice sounded again, closer this time. “Okay. It’s all yours.”

He turned back around with some trepidation. “Right. Cheers, Evans.”

She levelled him with her gaze for a moment. “I hope we have both learned some valuable lessons here?”

He blinked; it was all he could do not to look down at her blouse, at the dampness of her skin still evident from where she’d rushed to get dry and dressed. “Um…?”

Another sigh. “Well, for me, I have learned to always check the door is fully closed before stripping off and having a bath,” she said, more patiently than he’d expected. “And I would hope that you have learned to knock and announce your presence loudly if you find the bathroom door even slightly open.”

“Right you are,” he agreed with a nervous laugh. “Very wise.”

She paused, then shook her head, heading off and out the door—and, quite pointedly, he thought, shut the thing behind her with a firm click.

It took maybe fifteen minutes for his mind to fully reset itself, and for the shame to descend. Merlin, he really hoped she didn’t think he’d done that on purpose—they were finally at a stage where they were friends, by and large, and if she suspected he was using it as an opportunity to ogle her in the altogether, he’d be out of her graces before he’d be able to blink.

It was this reminder of their friendship, and the fact that he was determinedly moving on from her, that stopped him from succumbing to the urge to have a furious wank, right there where she’d been soaking—naked, his brain reminded him—just minutes before.

That was self-control. He hoped it would last.

An hour later, as he made his way through the common room, he gave Sirius and Pete—engrossed in a game of chess by the fire—a wave, which they returned distractedly. Relieved to not see Lily anywhere, he made a beeline for the dorm stairs.

Remus was sat on his bed, scribbling something on a piece of parchment; he looked up and watched as James dumped his dirty Quidditch kit in a heap on the floor, kicked the dorm door shut and moved to sit at the foot of Moony’s bed.

“I saw Lily in the bath,” he said, deciding that preamble would be a waste of time.

Remus’ eyes widened comically and he sat forward. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Apparently there’s been an issue with the prefect bathroom door, it doesn’t always shut properly and it hadn’t done, and I wandered in there all innocent and muddy from practice to find her in the bath.” The words rushed out of him—it was almost a relief. He sighed and lowered his voice a little, furtively. “Moony, I almost saw her tits.”

Remus could only blink for a few seconds before he found any words. “Wow…”

“Yeah,” James agreed.

“I mean…blimey,” Remus shook his head.

“Yeah,” he said again, and paused. The quiet of the dorm room struck him, and he thought about what he had caught sight of downstairs—Sirius and Pete hadn’t looked very far into their game. He lifted his gaze to look his friend in the eye. “This is an embarrassing secret, Moony. You know why I’m telling you?”

Remus raised an eyebrow, and a shoulder in a shrug. “Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

James watched, fondly, as the flash of realisation crossed Moony’s face—that he’d wandered unwittingly into a Serious Conversation, one he’d been avoiding since his return, and now there was no easy way out of it. “Prongs—” he started.

“You know how there’s a scale of, I dunno, affection?” James carried on; best to cut the chap off before he got a head of steam going. “With, let’s say, Rosier and Mulciber and those utter cretins at one end, and my mum and dad at the other?”

Remus eyed him warily. “James, I don’t need you to—”

“On this scale,” he barrelled on cheerfully, “there’s mum and dad, obviously, and then just below them is a three-way tie.” He held up three fingers to tick them off. “You, Sirius, Pete. All the same level, as it happens, because best friend isn’t just one tiny pedestal, it’s a…” he paused thoughtfully. “Yes! It’s a platform. With space for several people.”

Remus had that uncomfortable, squirmy look about him that told James that he was trying desperately not to get emotional. “Seriously, James, you don’t need to…tend to my wounded ego or anything.”

James fixed him with a stern look. “Piss off, Moony. You can’t tell me who my best friends are. I’m the one who makes that decision.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “I’m sorry. After…what happened, I just wanted things to be okay again, but…that shouldn’t have come at the expense of your feelings.”

Remus dropped his gaze. “S’alright.”

“It’s not,” James insisted quietly. “Sirius fucked up. He knows it. Pete knows it. I know it. And if you think I haven’t been angry and sad and…and fucked off about what he did to you, then I’m sorry, because I should’ve made it clearer.”

A silence fell, although it wasn’t awkward. James had a feeling that Remus was using the opportunity to gather himself.

“It felt like we’d lost a limb without you here, Moony,” he added eventually. “If you think you aren’t important, that you don’t matter to us, then I’m sorry but you’re fucking mad.”

A smile, finally, cracking just slightly through on his pale face. “Alright,” he said, voice thick with feelings unnamed. “Christ. You’ve made your point. I believe you.”

“Good,” James nodded. “But I’ll keep reminding you at regular intervals, just in case.”

“Kind of you,” Remus replied dryly.

“And you might want to put the stopper in that inkwell,” he suggested.

Remus frowned in brief confusion before the truth of what was about to happen dawned on him. “Wait—”

“Incoming!” James beamed before launching himself at his friend, half hug, half tackle that ended up with them both falling off the bed, Remus kicking him in the shins and James declaring all out war as he attempted to sit on his friend’s chest.

All in all, it hadn’t been a bad evening, really.

Remus didn’t have a lot of experience in sneaking around Hogwarts and snogging furiously—or at least, he hadn’t, before this week. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to: he’d had his fair share of crushes, a few kisses here and there. But lycanthropy tended to put a dampener on romance. He could hardly say, terribly sorry, can we snog in a few days, only I’ve got to turn into a slavering monster and then recover from having my whole body torn and reformed by force? That sort of thing would cool passion in a flash, he was fairly certain.

He wasn’t sure why he felt less concerned about that when it came to Owain. It probably helped that the bloke hadn’t made any overtures towards him in public, just as happy as Remus was to neck in cupboards or secret passageways when they had a spare moment. It wasn’t serious, and so it wouldn’t matter when Remus inevitably had to duck out and go back to his monasterial lifestyle.

His mates seemed to be letting him be, a relief after Peter’s embarrassing speech in the dorm room on Saturday. James was busy sorting out the SWEN Christingle event, which was happening on Thursday, the last evening of term; Peter was busy gazing lovingly into Iris Fenwick’s eyes; Sirius was busy…avoiding him, basically. He was spending a lot of time with Mary, something which made Remus’ skin prickle at first, but it seemed entirely platonic. They disappeared for hours at a time and came back smelling of cigarettes. If that was how Sirius wanted to spend his time, well, Remus wasn’t going to stop him.

Wednesday evening saw him crammed into a broom cupboard just along from the Charms corridor, his fingers buried in Owain’s silky blonde hair, lips swollen and breath short. “It’s, um,” he murmured as they pulled back for air; in the darkness of the cupboard, he could make out the grin on Owain’s face. “It’s nearly curfew…”

“Bugger,” Owain smirked, his hands sneaking once again under Remus’ shirt. Just the slightest graze made him shiver. “I was hoping I could get you to make that noise again.”

Remus laughed, glad that it was too dark to see his cheeks blush a deep pink. “Next time,” he promised, closing the gap between them for another quick kiss.

“After Christmas, probably,” Owain mumbled against his lips. “Not sure I can wait that long, Lupin…”

“Well,” Remus said, and pulled him back until he was pressed against the cold stone wall, Ollerton’s body flush against his own, “I suppose five more minutes wouldn’t hurt…”

Fifteen minutes later, they parted ways out in the torchlit corridor, Owain giving him a wink before he headed off to Ravenclaw tower. Remus stayed there for a few moments, just letting his heart rate settle once more, and then he too turned and set off.

Just round the corner, he bumped into—literally, walked right into—Rafe Thicknesse. “Oh! Shit, sorry…”

Rafe glanced over his shoulder at the door to Flitwick’s classroom; Remus followed his gaze with a slight frown. “No harm done, Lupin,” he replied, fixing a charming smile on his face. “We should be hurrying anyway, right? Nearly curfew.”

“Right,” Remus agreed cautiously.

“Don’t want detention right at the end of term,” Rafe winked. It was much less charming than Owain’s wink just minutes before. “See you round, Lupin.”

“Right,” Remus said again, and they stared at each other for just a moment before both setting off in opposite directions.

Back in the dorm, he approached Sirius—something he hadn’t done in a while. “Have you got the map?”

Sirius looked up at him in surprise. “Yeah,” he confirmed, leaning over to his bedside table and fishing the parchment in question out of a drawer. “…you alright?”

“Fine,” he replied, and murmured the password that set the map unfolding, ink blooming before their eyes. He was aware of Sirius watching him curiously, and Peter, too, from his position on his own bed. He kept his eyes on the map, though, searching intently until— “Shit…”

“What?” Sirius leaned forward, his shoulder brushing Remus’ as he got close enough to look. “What’s up?”

Remus hesitated, then pointed to the Charms corridor.

“Rafe Thicknesse,” Sirius read with a slight frown. “In Flitwick’s room with…Aoife Walsh?” He glanced up at Remus. “Well, they’re mates, aren’t they?”

Remus sat on the end of the bed with a heavy sigh. “They were going out, on and off, all last year,” he replied. “And…well, back in September…I caught them going at it in the second-floor spare classroom.”

Peter wandered over. “But he’s with Evans now.”

Remus rubbed a weary hand over his face. “I’ve seen him a few times, hanging around the Charms corridor when he’s not with Lily. I don’t know if he’s messing her around, or…trying to get Aoife jealous, or—”

“That wanker.” Remus looked up, and cringed at the sight of James—who had clearly heard every word—standing in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush in hand and a look of disgust on his face. “I knew there was something dodgy going on with him! Why didn’t you say something sooner, Moony?”

“I didn’t know if I was right,” he pointed out, “and I didn’t want to upset Lily, if I was wrong…”

“She deserves to know,” Peter piped up with a worried frown. “It’s not fair to her if he’s just, I dunno, using her to get his ex back.”

“Who’s going to want to have that conversation?” Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow. “Maybe we should just tell Marlene, or Mary, let them handle it.”

“That’s not fair, though,” Remus shook his head. “And more humiliating for Lily—even more people knowing before she does.”

“I’ll tell her.” They all glanced again at James, knowing that tone of voice well. He’d already decided. “You’re right, someone should.”

“But Moony’s the one who—” Sirius started.

“Moony’s got enough to think about,” James interrupted. “And you’re right, it’s not going to be an easy conversation. I’ll handle it.”

Remus couldn’t help but think this was a bad idea—a really, truly bad idea—but he knew a losing fight when he saw one. If James wanted to be the one to open that can of flobberworms, so be it. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” James nodded, making his way back towards the bathroom. “Leave it with me, mate.”

The Great Hall, while not full, had more people in than Lily had expected. It seemed as if every Muggleborn in the castle was there, keen to relive their primary school days, and had brought along friends to the occasion. Most of the staff had come, too, milling around cheerfully. Lily even saw Dumbledore discussing sweet placement with James at one point. All in all, the event was a success.

It hadn’t been guaranteed. Lily knew, along with a few select others, that some unnamed students had tried to sabotage the event. Some charming person had painted ‘GO HOME, MUDBLOODS’ on the floor of the entrance hall just last night; it had been an unpleasant sight for the pupils coming down to breakfast. Filch, Flitwick and McGonagall had made quick work of getting rid of it, and James had loudly proclaimed over his bacon and eggs that this sort of thing was exactly why they needed events like the Christingle in the first place. He was a noisy sod, she had thought idly, but he wasn’t wrong.

In fact, organising the event, running meetings for SWEN, sorting out playlists of Muggle music for the hall—all these things had shown Potter in quite a different light. Once Lily could get over the embarrassment of the Bathroom Incident and could look him in the eyes again, she realised that she was looking at him in a whole new way. He wasn’t just an arsehole who wouldn’t leave her alone; he wasn’t just a sort-of-friend-by-circumstance anymore. Did she… like him?

Platonically, of course. Why would she be remotely interested in Potter in that way? She had a dreamy, caring boyfriend, thank you very much.

Rafe hadn’t made it to the Christingle event. He’d stopped by the table at dinner, dropping a kiss to her lips. “Last minute edits to make to my essay due in the morning,” he’d explained. Just on the edge of her field of vision, she could see the Marauders all watching, looking uncomfortable. She chose to ignore them. “Have fun, though.”

She didn’t mind. It was fun wandering round with Mary, helping where needed. And how could she be glum when the torches on the walls were extinguished, leaving only the gentle glow of dozens and dozens of candles, lighting up the faces of her fellow students? She defied anyone to feel anything but warm and happy at that.

She volunteered to help with the clean-up operation, feeling a bit guilty that she hadn’t helped with any of the preparations. Not that she’d been asked, of course, but still—she wanted to be useful. With magic at their fingertips, the group (overseen by McGonagall) had the hall cleared in about ten minutes.

“A fine event, truly, Mr Potter,” McGonagall gave James a rare, fond smile. Not rare for Lily, of course, but rare for Potter—he was probably more used to exasperation or anger from his head of house. “Well done.”

“Couldn’t have done it without the whole gang,” James replied modestly, waving at his fellow SWEN members who were already heading out of the hall. Lily wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to linger. “Thanks for letting us do it at all.”

McGonagall nodded. “Go, get some rest, you two,” she told them. “You’ve done quite enough in here for tonight.”

As they turned to go, James glanced over at her, almost as if he hadn’t realised she was still there. Lily fell into step beside him. “She’s right,” she said at last, as they started up the first staircase. “You did a brilliant job. It was such a lovely gesture for Muggleborns, to be able to share this tradition with everyone else.”

James nodded awkwardly. “Well, it’s the least I can do,” he shrugged. “And it’s just the beginning.”

She smiled. “I’m sure it is,” she agreed. “I’ve learned not to underestimate you.”

At the next landing, he stopped, and turned to her. She couldn’t work out the look on his face—why would he look so uncertain? “Listen, Evans…I need to tell you something.”

She stopped too, frowning slightly. “Okay?”

He sighed. “I think—Rafe, um, well—he’s been hanging around the Charms corridor a lot, with Aoife Walsh, and—”

“What?” she interrupted, the word tripping off her tongue before she could even gather her thoughts. “What are you saying?”

“It’s just—he’s obviously cheating on you, Evans, shagging around behind your back and then acting the smooth prick when he’s with you,” he said, all in a rush. He looked a bit pained at the words. “I just knew he was acting dodgy, there’s something so off about him, the smarmy git, and then Remus said—”

“Stop,” she bit out, her voice sharp. His eyes widened just a little. “Christ, Potter, I thought we were past all this!”

“What?” he frowned. “No, it’s not—”

“I thought we were friends now,” she said, her whole body tense. She felt sick and wasn’t sure why. “But you’re just a jealous, arrogant twat, aren’t you? I knew you were being weird with Rafe, but I didn’t think you’d stoop to this bollocks—”

“Seriously, Lily.” His switch to her first name only served to twist the knife. “It’s not about that, I swear—”

“No,” she interrupted again. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

James reached for her: she took a jagged step back. “I’m telling the truth, Lily.”

“Don’t touch me, Potter.” She stared at him with disgust. “And don’t talk to me again.”

She was two floors away before she started to cry.

Chapter Text

17^th December 1976

When they first got off the train, the steam that billowed across Platform 9 and ¾ gave the whole scene an eerie, disjointed feel. Sirius could just about make out the few people in front of him—his friends, leading the way—and the vibrant red of the carriages to his right. Already, students were being reunited with their families, hugging, smiling, expressing excitement at the holiday to come. Maybe it was for the best that the steam obscured so much of what was around him: it would only have made him feel more depressed to see so many loving, caring parents with their loved, cared for children.

One thing he did spot, through the haze, was his brother. How had he forgotten that this would happen? That he would be faced with his family again, even if it was within a crowd of people? Regulus stood, rigid of posture, face empty of emotion, being patted on the shoulder like an acquaintance by their mother. His eyes found Sirius’, somehow, unlikely though it should have been: for a moment, it felt like Sirius couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

It wasn’t just the sight of his sibling, although that could often be enough. It was that hand—those pointed, glossy nails (no colour, that would be gauche), the fingers curled in the same way they curled round a wand, that directed so much hatred and (worse?) indifference towards him.

A hand shouldn’t have that much power.

Only a moment, though, and then he was aware of James guiding him on, of the voices around them again, and his gaze skated away, his breath found its place in his lungs again, the rigidity of his back eased just enough.

These things passed. They always did.

The further down the platform they got, the more the steam cleared, and Pete soon spotted his mum. “See you in the New Year!” he beamed at them, before disappearing into the crowd. Remus and James stuck close by each other, Sirius a few steps behind, and found a spot to wait in near the platform entrance. It wasn’t unlike his parents to be late, James had reassured Sirius on the train; usually they had to leave the house four or five times before they actually had everything they needed and could properly set off.

“You’ll write,” James told rather than asked Remus, fixing him with a stern look. For his part, Remus didn’t look too chastised. “And maybe we can all meet up for a day, between Christmas and New Year's?”

“Maybe,” Remus agreed mildly. Sirius could tell that he was only saying it, that he had no intention of meeting up with them. Maybe if it had only been James. But now that James came with a permanent shadow in the shape of Sirius Black…it just wasn’t going to happen.

“And don’t open your present until Christmas Day,” James added. He was looking around them, acting as if he didn’t care, but clearly looking for someone specific. If Sirius had to guess, he would guess Evans. Not that that was so unusual, of course, but Prongs had been even more anxious to see her since the showdown the night before.

James had come back to the dorm, pale-faced and grim, and it had taken all of thirty seconds before the whole sorry story came pouring out. At one point, Sirius and Remus had shared a look, a mutual wince as James had repeated what he had said. “Well, the phrasing could have been a lot better, couldn’t it,” Remus had said, quite kindly, all things considered. “I’m not sure you needed to go in slagging him off quite so much…”

“I didn’t mean to—I just—it sort of just came out,” James had sighed, covering his face with his hands. “And now she hates me, and she doesn’t even believe it’s true.”

Judging by Lily’s icy demeanour at breakfast that morning, and the way she had linked arms with Mary and guided her firmly to the other end of the train, far away from the Marauders, Sirius thought this seemed like an apt summary. James, ever the optimist, seemed to have decided that maybe he could catch Evans at King’s Cross and grovel his way back into her good graces. Well, dare to dream, Sirius thought. Even if it was about as likely as Remus suddenly deciding to forgive him.

As if willed into existence, a blur of red hair emerged from the steam—and that blur became a person, a person who was walking with Rafe Thicknesse’s arm draped around her. Lily didn’t even look over at them, just kept her gaze ahead as they walked past.

“Bugger,” James said, practically a whisper.

“Give her some time to cool off,” Remus advised. “And I’ll talk to her next term, about…Rafe, and everything.” He shook his head. “I should’ve handled it myself.”

“Probably would’ve gone better,” Sirius said quietly.

“Couldn’t have gone much worse,” was James’ sad reply.

“There you are!” Hope Lupin appeared, an anxious smile on her pale face. Remus stepped forward immediately, drawing her in for a long hug. Sirius knew Remus had a strong bond with his mother—she was quiet, like him, and gentle in a way that Sirius didn’t think Lyall Lupin was or could ever be. He hadn’t had many interactions with Remus’ father, but each one had seemed to peel back another layer of the Remus mystery, shed new light on the enigma that was their friend. The man wasn’t a monster—he was hardly comparable to Orion Black—but there was a coldness there, a distance that made Sirius distrust the man on sight. How could anyone want to be distant with Remus? It didn’t make any sense.

“Sorry we’re late—your dad can’t find a parking space, so he’s just circling the block trying not to get a ticket…” his mum was saying. Remus released her and her smile strengthened as she patted him gently on the cheek. Then, her gaze found James and Sirius behind her son, and Sirius knew he wasn’t being paranoid when he saw her smile falter at the sight of him. “Boys—good to see you.”

“You too, Mrs Lupin,” James replied. Sirius was glad for it: he couldn’t have found the words if he’d tried. “Bye, Moony. Miss you already!”

“Yeah, alright,” Remus grinned as James gave him a quick, tight hug. Over his shoulder, Remus’ gaze found Sirius’. Sirius just stared back, more lost than ever. “Keep out of trouble.”

“We’ll try our best,” James said, a wink taking the sincerity out of his words.

“Bye, Remus,” Sirius added, hands shoved firmly in his pockets.

Remus nodded, an awkward movement, and let his gaze drift away as soon as he could. “Bye.”

They stood there, watching Remus and his mother walk away, her arm securely linked through his, her chin tilted up to murmur something to her son; as they rounded the corner and vanished from view, Sirius could see his friend’s face, the tired, worn expression that he seemed to bring out in Remus these days. At least the boy had a few weeks off from all that. He’d think that distance might make the heart grow fonder, but that hadn’t exactly worked when Moony had disappeared for a month.

James slung his arm round his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. “Christmas, Pads,” he said, and Sirius could hear the effort behind the cheer in his voice. “It’s going to be really fucking jolly, you’ll see.”

Sirius glanced at his friend, once more certain that he just wouldn’t survive without this person in his life, without James Fleamont Potter to buoy him when everything else felt like it was dragging him down, ever deeper. “Will there be goodwill to all men?”

“There will,” James nodded. “Women, too. Everyone can have some goodwill.”

“Generous of you,” Sirius said with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Ah! We’re here, we’re here!” Euphemia and Fleamont Potter emerged, both with beaming smiles. “And you’re here! It’s Christmas!”

“Yes, it is, mum,” James agreed, grinning as she pulled the pair of them into a fierce hug. “Is this the level of excitement we can expect from you for the whole break?”

“She’s been at fever pitch since the first of December,” Fleamont told him fondly. “It can only get worse from here, boys.”

“Come along, come along, let’s get moving.” Euphemia chose to ignore her husband entirely. “Sirius, you’re looking thin. Are you eating enough?”

James shared a look with Sirius over the top of his mother’s head as they started walking. It was a look which said, welcome to the club.

And in spite of it all, in spite of Remus’ distant expression and Regulus’ blank face and his mother’s cold, careless cruelty, he couldn’t help but smile.

24^th December 1976

He found his father in the conservatory. Fleamont loved it in there, even if it was a mercurial space—far too cold in the winter and far too hot in the summer. But temperature wasn’t a concern for his dad, and besides, he would argue, where else could you get such a view?

Although pretty much every window in the Potter house offered a postcard-worthy view, it was true that the outlook from the conservatory was quite special. The tall picture windows gazed out across the lawn, flanked by apple trees on one side and colourful flowerbeds on the other. The grass sloped gently away from the house, down to where the boundaries of the property met the undulating Badgworthy Water, the river where James had learnt to swim. From the wicker sofa by the window, you could see the gentle thread of the water meandering under an ancient stone bridge which connected the tiny hamlet of Malmsmead to the rest of civilisation. It was an easy place to pass the time.

The ground outside now was damp, the sky a heavy grey, but the view held Fleamont’s attention nonetheless. “I think he finds it calming, dear,” his mother had tried to explain it to James before—a concept that he had struggled to understand. Why sit and look and be calm when you could be up and out there and moving in a refrain as constant as the river itself?

It was true: he had always been this exhausting.

(Sirius, when he had first visited James’ home back in the summer after first year, had not known what to make of the quiet and the space. Growing up in London had him used to a constant low level of background noise, and having to travel—something the Blacks rarely deigned to do—to get to any kind of greenery. “Don’t you get…bored?” he’d asked that summer, and was surprised when James had replied, cheerily, “Mum says boredom is for boring people.” And that was the end of that conversation.

He knew that Sirius was still getting used to his new living quarters; after all, it had only been two weeks living here in the summer after he had become, in his own words, a “teenage runaway”. Being back in Malmsmead now, instead of shut up in that funeral parlour of a house with his toxic family, required some adjustment.

And not just the environment, either. The night they’d returned, Sirius had asked James, voice low and worried, “doesn’t your mum get…angry, when you talk to her like that?” He’d watched, pale and silent, as James and Euphemia had argued with great fervour about the length of his hair, how he’d already made a mess of his room, the way he left the milk on the countertop instead of putting it back in the fridge. James had raised his eyebrows at the question, surprised, although the surprise went away the more he thought about it. Sirius didn’t know what it was like to not be afraid of a parent. James knew, with his entire being, that his parents would sooner step in front of a bus than do anything to hurt their son, whether with their hands, their wands or their words. It made his heart ache, a bit, to realise that this was just another thing his friend didn’t understand, another way in which his life had been so curtailed up to this point.)

James had barely crossed the threshold of the conservatory, slippered feet silent on the tiled floor, when Fleamont looked round. Once more, James realised just how lucky he was—not everyone had fathers whose faces lit up just at the sight of them. “Jamie,” he patted the space on the sofa next to him, “join me, the starlings are on particularly good form this morning.”

James sank into the cushions next to him, and followed his gaze. “Mum’ll be pleased they’re using the bird feeder.”

“She will,” Fleamont agreed. “She spent most of the autumn chasing the ruddy squirrels away from it.”

James grinned. “Shame I missed that.”

His dad laughed. “Well, my boy, the holidays are young. I’m sure those blighters will return before long, and she’ll be out there again.” Fleamont reached for the cup of tea that cooled on the windowsill, and took a sip. “She misses you when you’re not here. It’s good for her to have a project, even if it is terrorising the local squirrel population.”

James shot his father a small, slightly guilty smile. That was the trouble with being an only child: no one else to direct energy or attention to. “Are you saying you don’t miss me when I’m gone, dad?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes that his father soon matched. “Charming.”

“You don’t usually give us much chance to miss you, given the regular updates on your misdemeanours from Minerva.” Fleamont shook his head fondly. “Poor woman. Although there have been far fewer dispatches this year so far…” Another sip of tea. “Turning over a new leaf?”

James stretched out, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Trying to,” he admitted. “It’s not nearly as interesting, but I’ve got a lot more free time.”

“Time spent studying, of course.” His father raised a teasing eyebrow.

“Of course,” James grinned. “As long as I’ve got time after Quidditch, and SWEN…”

“Oh, crikey, is that a new extra-curricular?” his dad asked. “Don’t tell me they’ve made a club for duelling Slytherins.”

“If only,” James sighed wistfully. “No, I set up a…society, I suppose.”

James knew, no matter how sheepish or foolish he might feel, that his parents would always listen intently and understand the heart of whatever he was trying to say. Sure enough, Fleamont gave him his full concentration as James explained SWEN, his hopes and aims, what they had done so far. “It’s not much,” he finished, feeling oddly self-conscious. All he ever wanted to do was live up to his parents’ expectations, to their incredible legacy. “But it’s a start.”

There was a pause, then his father reached out and gripped his hand. “James, you could just blink and make your mother and I proud,” he said. He had the same look in his eyes as he did when Euphemia teased him, or when he gathered his wife and son up into his arms. A look that bled warmth and happiness and love. “But this…this is wonderful.”

James swallowed hard; he was not getting emotional. “Thanks, dad.”

“This Christingle thing sounds jolly good fun,” Fleamont added. “I know how you enjoy anything with fire.”

That made him laugh. “I do,” he agreed. “It went well. Although…”

A raised eyebrow over the lip of his teacup. “Although…?”

James shifted slightly in his seat. “It ended poorly. I…didn’t handle something very well.” He stared out the window, watching as another wave of starlings soared and dipped on the currents of the breeze above the garden. “I was trying to tell a friend of mine that her boyfriend is behaving—well, strangely, to say the least. He’s probably messing her around, and she doesn’t see it.”

“Ah, a tricky conversation,” Fleamont nodded. “She didn’t take it well?”

James sighed. “She thought I was just trying to break them up. That I’m…jealous, or something.”

“Are you?” his dad wondered, almost idly.

That was the question. To most people—even to Sirius—he would say, definitely not, he’d moved on, he was over all that. Merlin, he’d almost dated Mary, after all, or he certainly would have, if things had gone that way. But there was something about his father’s tone, the gentleness there, the safety of being there, in his own home, miles away from Lily Evans and her soft smiles and kind heart and the drama and judgement of school. “A bit,” he admitted, quietly.

Fleamont didn’t say anything, just patted his hand.

“That wasn’t what I was trying to do, though,” he carried on after a moment. “I just didn’t want to see her get hurt. She deserves better than being treated like that. She deserves so much better.” He frowned at the floor. “He’s got her and doesn’t even realise how…how amazing she is. It’s like having the best racing broom but choosing to walk the Quidditch pitch instead.”

Fleamont smiled, just slightly. “Women don’t love being compared to brooms, son,” he reminded him. “But I see your point.”

“Right,” James agreed with a cringe. “A bit like they don’t like you having a go at their boyfriends before you’ve explained the situation in full?”

“Yes, a bit like that,” his dad nodded. “Well, even if you went about it the wrong way, you tried your best. It came from a caring place.”

“Probably shouldn’t have called him a smarmy git,” James murmured, with the benefit of hindsight. He could be so wise in the clear light of day. Shame it didn’t seem to translate to the key moments, stood in front of the girl he was—no, used to be—in love with.

“No, probably not,” his dad agreed. “But you’re a clever lad, Jamie. Learn the lesson, pick yourself up, move on.” He set his cup, now empty, back on the windowsill. “Maybe in the new year, she’ll have had some time to cool off a bit, and you can apologise.”

“I hope so,” James said.

“James Potter,” his mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “you’d better not have your feet on the furniture in there, or as Merlin is my witness, you’ll be cleaning the place yourself!”

James quickly pulled his feet off the coffee table, shooting his dad a guilty grin. Fleamont just smiled back. “You’re like me, son,” he said fondly. “Drawn to the fiery ones.”

“I heard that!” echoed down the hallway.

His dad, smile broadened. “Nothing wrong with her hearing, that one.”

26^th December 1976

Boxing Day, in the Lupin household, was always more exhausting than Christmas Day itself. His father’s side of the family, such as they were—Lyall being one of two children himself, and his father long since passed away—did not have interactions with them if they could avoid it. Lyall’s sister, Catriona, had been sympathetic to Remus’ lycanthropy until she had children of her own, and then, cut off contact entirely, too frightened that her nephew might attack one of her brood. Remus’ paternal grandmother, a small, hunched woman who loved deeply and intensely, had been too ill for too long to leave the house anymore. The last time he’d seen her, she had looked at him through milky eyes, patted his cheek fondly, and asked who he was.

All this meant that they would spend the 25^th December just the three of them, opening small but well meant presents around the tree and eating Hope’s home-made mince pies, before Lyall would Floo off to visit his mother. To be honest, Remus had always felt more comfortable in his mother’s company anyway, so it was never a chore to wave him off.

After the peace of Christmas Day, the Howell side of the family would descend, bringing noise and chaos and joy along with them.

Uncle Meirion brought a leg of lamb to roast: he was a man who took great pride in his roast dinners and refused assistance for even peeling the carrots. Aunty Faith thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to catch up with her sister whilst calling out teasing insults to her husband in the kitchen. His cousins Bethan and Angharad, no longer the sort of age where they pestered him relentlessly, largely entertained themselves, or drew him in to one of their wide selection of board games. It was over a round of Scrabble that the subject of jobs came up.

Bethan had just finished crowing over putting down the word ‘auspicious’. “Like how they’ll describe my turn in the school play this year,” she said smugly.

“Our Bethy wants to be the next Julie Andrews,” Faith spoke up from her place on the worn sofa.

Remus and Ang exchanged a smile, almost hidden behind the glasses of lemonade that fizzed and popped in their hands. “And the first step is to play Startled Villager Number Two in the Llantrisant High spring production,” Ang said, meticulously laying down tiles on the board herself.

“Piss off, Ang,” Bethan rolled her eyes. “And we agreed you can’t use Welsh words. It’s not fair on old English boy over here.”

“I have a name,” Remus reminded her.

Ang huffed and picked her tiles back up. “Fine, fine.”

“What are you going to be when you grow up, Ang?” Hope asked with a fond smile.

“You mean if she grows up,” Bethan muttered.

Ang chose to ignore her sister. “I dunno—I’ve thought about being a nurse, like mam.” She finished her go and nodded to Remus. “Your go. What about you, Rem?”

Remus pretended not to notice the look his parents shared at this question, or the flash of worry on his mother’s face. “Not sure, really,” he replied, pondering his tile rack. He paused, unsure why he felt nervous to say what he said next. “A teacher at school…thinks I’d make a good, um, detective. She’s said she could arrange a meeting with someone high up in London.”

“Wow,” Ang breathed. “Now that is bloody cool.”

Lyall—who tended to spend these visits reading quietly in the corner, not afraid to look remotely anti-social—looked up from his book. “A detective?” he asked. Another glance shared with Hope. “Who’s the contact?”

Remus was starting to regret mentioning any of it at all. “Alastor Moody.”

“That’s even a cool name,” Bethan noted.

Lyall looked like he would very much like to pull the subject apart further, but held himself back. After all, how much could you really say before accidentally breaking the Statute of Secrecy in fifteen different ways? “Well,” was all he said, and watched his son for a moment longer before returning to his book. “Interesting.”

Bethan and Ang shared a look: Remus knew they thought his dad was ‘weird’. And that was when they didn’t know the half of it.

“You’re all so young, anyway,” Hope spoke up. There was the slightest edge to her voice that most would not detect, the barest hint of something dark, worried, behind the performative smile. “No need to make these sorts of decisions yet.”

They were rescued from wherever that conversation would drift next—and with his cousins, who could say where that would be—by Meirion bellowing from the kitchen. “Dinner’s on!”

The rest of the day went by in the usual manner: eating, chatting, exchanging presents (a new journal from his aunt and uncle, as well as a tub of home-made Welsh cakes, his favourite). When Faith started to doze off in front of the fire, Meirion declared it time to leave, “or we’ll never get your mother out of that chair.”

The Lupins stood in the dark cool of the front garden, waving as the car weaved its way up the lane and into the night. Hope waved long past the point that anyone could see her; Remus felt, as he often did, the sad tug of worry for his mother, usually so cut off from everyone and everything out there in the middle of nowhere, with her taciturn husband and werewolf son. But she dropped her hand, and turned to Remus with a smile he could see even in the darkness. “Those cousins of yours are getting gobbier by the day,” she said fondly.

“Must be the Howell genetics,” he teased, both of them knowing that the Howell genes offered nothing but quiet love and stability.

Lyall said nothing, just turned back to the house and led the way inside. They shared the task of locking up for the night and tidying away the detritus of the day—wrapping paper, loose Scrabble tiles, an old photo album that Hope had pulled out late afternoon. It was as his wife made a pot of tea, as she always did before bed, that he spoke up. “A professor at your school thinks you should be an Auror?”

Remus paused, swallowed. Put down the tea towel in his hands. “Yes. Professor Merryton. She’s the Defence teacher.”

“She must not know about—” He broke off, glancing at his wife. “I hope you found a way to politely turn her down.”

“She knows.” Remus didn’t know why he felt so utterly exhausted, so utterly infuriated, after what had been a largely contented day. Why did his own father bring out this side of him? “She doesn’t care. She said I’m top of the class by a long way and would make a great addition to—”

Lyall scoffed. “How can she be encouraging you, filling your head with impossibilities like that?” he asked. “I didn’t think teachers could be so unfair.”

Well, his dad was obviously thinking back to his own education with rose-tinted glasses, but Remus wasn’t about to point that out. “Maybe it’s not impossible,” he said quietly. “Maybe I’ll meet with Moody and—”

“Remus,” Lyall sighed; Hope turned, pressed a mug into her husband’s hands. “One daft defence teacher can’t change the reality of your situation. You’d do better to just put those thoughts aside and concentrate on your studies.”

Hope passed Remus a mug next, catching her son’s gaze for a moment. He wished he could unpick the look in her eyes. He wished that either of them could speak up against the man leaning against the counter next to them. “Right,” he murmured. “Sorry…”

“Time for bed, I think,” Hope said, closing the gap between them to press a kiss to her son’s cheek. “You look tired, my lovely.”

Remus didn’t reply; there didn’t seem to be much point. Instead, he nodded, and followed his parents up the stairs, watching the lip of his mug with intense focus to make sure nothing spilled out.

Couldn’t let anything spill out, after all, could he?

With his bedroom door tightly closed, he set his mug down on the desk and pulled his wand out from the top drawer, casting a silencio that instantly vanished the mumble of his parents’ voices across the hallway. He sat down and found his gaze drawn out the window, as if magnetised, to the waxing moon that hung, bright, haunting, in the blackened sky. Less than two weeks until the next full, but still ruling his life like it always did. An oppressive force.

He blinked and shook his head, reaching for his drink again, and spotted a paper bag he’d shoved to one side on returning home a week ago. Of course, James’ present—he’d be horrified if he knew that Remus hadn’t opened it on the 25^th. The boy was a stickler for the rules when it suited him.

Setting his tea to one side, he picked up the bag and pulled the present out…and found another hidden beneath it. This one was wrapped simply, a little haphazardly, in brown paper, tied with what Remus recognised as the string used in the Owlery to attach letters and parcels. A label read, ‘Happy Christmas, Moony’ in distinctive handwriting.

Sirius had got him a gift. Had slipped it in with James’, to try to hide the fact.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Hands trembling just slightly, he carefully peeled open the wrapping. Why was he nervous? At least no one was there to watch him open the bloody thing. Inside, wrapped in more string, was a stack of what looked like letters and, underneath, a large bar of Honeyduke’s finest. Each of the pieces of parchment started with various forms of address—“Dear Moony”, “M”, “Dear Remus”, “Moons” and more, a seemingly endless pile of missives all in Sirius’ aristocratic cursive. The dates, scrawled in the top corner of each letter, spread across November and into December. The time he had been at home. The time he had wondered if he would ever show his face at Hogwarts again.

Somehow, these letters felt like a show of intimacy beyond anything Remus could have expected from Sirius. The boy didn’t let people in easily, and certainly not to the darker shadows of his emotions: as he had shown this year alone, he was much more comfortable letting anger or resentment flood to the surface.

Remus hesitated, staring down at the parchment. He didn’t owe Sirius anything. He didn’t need to let him back in again in this way.

It was confusing, then, that he still felt compelled to do so.

With a deep breath, as one prepares for imminent pain or the sting of bad news, he picked the first letter off the pile, and started to read.

29^th December 1976

Petunia Evans was engaged. This was just about all anyone could talk about over the Christmas Eve-Christmas Day-Boxing Day period (onslaught, really) of extended family gatherings. Her sister had driven up from her flat in Vauxhall on the 24^th, bringing along with her one of the most miserable looking blokes Lily had ever seen in her life, and flashing about a ring as if it were one of the crown jewels.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her sister. It was just that Petunia made it quite difficult to have positive feelings around her at all.

Add to all that the distressing way the term had ended, and it was a recipe for an unhappy holiday. Lily had managed to stop crying by the time she reached the tower, and bundled herself to bed before anyone could notice her red eyes and ask any follow-up questions. The next morning, even just the sight of Potter at the breakfast table had sent fury pulsing through her—but equally, she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he had bothered her with his bullshit. Or of knowing just how humiliated she was, thinking he had turned a corner, that he was a friend now and not just exactly the same person he’d always been.

Between the spectre of James Potter, and the very real presence of Petunia, she wondered how she was going to make it through the break at all. By the 27^th, Lily had had quite enough of the passive aggression and outright ignoring that came from her sister’s corner of their family home, and quite enough of being left with her own thoughts, and reached out to her friends asking—no, begging—to meet up.

The way that their friendship group was spaced out meant that they didn’t often see each other in the holidays. Marlene lived in Liverpool, so not exactly round the corner, but that wasn’t the only issue. She was pureblood through and through—the only train she’d ever been on was the Hogwarts Express, and her friends knew vividly and without a doubt that if she got on any other train on the British Rail network, they would likely never see her again. Southampton-based Dorcas, also pureblood but with much more common sense and a healthy dose of Muggle knowhow, would’ve gladly met up with any one of them. Unfortunately, her parents kept her busy during every break from school: this Christmas was being spent in Poland with her maternal grandparents.

Mary, on the other hand, was always happy to meet. She split her holidays between Dundee, with her dad, and Swindon, with her mum. This break was a Swindon one—“where hope goes to die,” Mary had sighed on the train, before adding loyally, “not that Dundee is much better”—and so she and Lily had arranged to meet somewhere broadly in the middle: Oxford.

Cokeworth wasn’t exactly a travel hub, so she got a lift from her dad to the nearest train station. “Give us three rings from a phone box before you get the train back and I’ll be there to pick you up,” Anthony Evans promised.

“Dad,” Lily shot him a look, “you don’t have to, I can get a bus.”

“And deny myself more quality time with my favourite youngest daughter?” His green eyes twinkled. “Absolutely not.”

Her train didn’t leave for another twenty minutes so Lily found a small café on the platform in which to wait. It was surprisingly full; she guessed most people were headed into the bigger cities to do some sales shopping. She bought herself a cup of tea and sat down to wait at a table in the window, wishing that she’d thought to bring a book with her. She’d been so keen to just get out of the house that it hadn’t even crossed her mind.

After a few minutes, she became aware of someone watching her: glancing out the corner of her eye, she saw a striking girl—rich mahogany skin and intricately-braided black hair; the sort of cheekbones that only models and Sirius Black were in possession of—glancing over at her. Trying not to feel unnerved, Lilly took a sip of her tea and tried to focus on the view, such as it was, out the window onto the platform. But her gaze was drawn back again, and that was when she noticed a familiar blue and bronze scarf around the girl’s neck. Ravenclaw. Suddenly, things slotted into place and the girl, apparently having the same brainwave, pushed up from her chair and wandered over. “Lily? I thought it was you!” she smiled. “Ama Okaeme—Rafe’s friend?”

“Hi, Ama,” Lily smiled back, relieved that she had introduced herself again. She remembered meeting her a few times and thinking she was friendly if not intimidatingly beautiful. “Small world.”

“The smallest,” Ama grinned, looking back at her table where a handsome boy was watching her fondly. “My boyfriend is taking me out for the day.”

“Lovely,” Lily nodded politely. “I’m meeting up with a friend.”

“The holidays go so quickly don’t they?” Ama sighed. “It feels like we’ll blink and then have to be back at King’s Cross.”

Lily didn’t mind that prospect at all: she much preferred being at school than being trapped in a house with a sister who couldn’t stand the sight of her. “Yeah…” She paused. “You seeing friends over the break?”

“Not really, everyone’s so spread out,” Ama replied. “Rafe’s the closest, not that he’s even home.”

Lily blinked. “…he’s not in London?”

Rafe’s family, he had told her, had some sprawling town house in Chelsea. “I expect I’ll spend most of the time hiding in my bedroom, studying and avoiding my parents’ boring friends,” he’d told her at King’s Cross. “Think of me, won’t you?”

“London?” Ama looked at her with something uncomfortably close to pity. “Oh, no, Rafe’s parents are away at some tedious law enforcement conference in Belgium so he went to spend the break at Aoife’s in Belfast.”

He’s obviously cheating on you, Evans. Potter’s words flooded her mind, and she felt as tense now as she had when he’d actually said them. “Are they…” She paused, unsure how to finish that sentence. If she even wanted to know. “They’re exes, right?”

Ama raised an eyebrow. “Merlin, yeah. On and off more than a bloody tap,” she said. “That’s why he told me you were helping him out—getting Aoife’s attention again. Worked a treat, too. Good of you to play along, not many girls would’ve done that.”

It suddenly felt much, much warmer in the café than it had even minutes before. She stood up, grabbing her bag. “That’s my train,” she said, relieved that it was true—god bless British Rail, for once being on time to whisk her out of this hell. “Sorry, better run. I’ll see you at school.”

“Oh,” Ama said, and smiled, stepping back so that Lily could round the table. “Yeah, see you!”

An hour later, Lily told Mary the whole sorry tale, hands clutched round a mug of hot chocolate on the Oxford high street. “What a bitch,” Mary scowled. “Didn’t she notice you looked blind-sided?”

Lily shrugged helplessly. “I think she genuinely thought I’d been in on the whole thing,” she said. “Mare, I feel like such a twat…”

“You shouldn’t feel like a twat!” Mary insisted loudly. She ignored the fact that she’d drawn the disapproving attention of a nearby family. “He should be begging for your forgiveness—he knew exactly what he was doing, the scum!”

Lily took a glug of her drink, not that the rich chocolateyness did anything to make her feel better. Christ, it was all so mortifying. How many of the seventh years had seen her all over him, dewy-eyed and smitten, and thought she was a prize idiot? “And Potter…” Another source of embarrassment and regret.

Mary frowned—Lily hadn’t shared that part of the story. “What about him?”

“He told me this was going on and I didn’t believe him,” Lily sighed heavily, covering her face with her hands. Maybe she could just sink down into the floor and disappear completely. That had to be preferable to this. “I—I called him a jealous, arrogant twat.”

Mary was quiet for so long that Lily was forced to emerge from her makeshift wall. She met her friend’s gaze and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Mary could always be relied upon to have an opinion, after all.

“I mean…he probably was jealous,” Mary said at last. “But it sounds like he was trying to help you.”

“I know,” she groaned. “And I acted like a right royal berk.”

Mary paused, watching her a moment. “I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”

Lily frowned. “That’s—I suppose so, but—” She hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice was much quieter. “Mare…did you step back from Potter…because of me?”

Mary lifted her mug to her lips, using the sip as a chance to put off answering, probably. She certainly took her time. “I did,” she admitted, at last.

Her frown deepened. “You didn’t need to do that,” she pointed out. “You know I want you to be happy.”

“I know you do,” Mary agreed with a small smile. “And I love you for it.” She shook her head. “Anyway, that whole…situation is a bloody mess, and not one I want to wade into.”

Lily paused. Swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Mary shot her a kind but dubious look. “Lil,” she reached over to give her hand a squeeze. “I think you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” she asked, not caring about being purposely obtuse. It felt safer, somehow.

“You do,” Mary confirmed patiently. “Like how you talked about Rafe being a cheating fuckface for about two minutes before you started worrying over the fact that you were harsh to James when he tried to tell you…”

She turned her gaze to her drink again, prodding the few remaining, unmelted marshmallows there with her teaspoon. “It’s not what you’re implying, Mare.”

“Alright,” Mary agreed, after a short silence. “If you say so.”

It wasn’t often that Lily found herself without an answer.

31^st December 1976

“So let me get this straight.” Sirius turned the collar of his coat up in a bid to protect himself from the cold wind that whipped through the trees. It was a clear night, the stars watching over them as they huddled halfway down the garden, between some of the apple trees where James thought his mum probably wouldn’t be able to see Sirius smoking. (On this, he was wrong, because one should never underestimate a mother’s intuition for poor choices happening in the vicinity. But he didn’t know he was wrong.) “Your parents invite all these people, every year, to the middle of fucking nowhere—”

“Or, the border of Somerset and Devon,” James interjected proudly.

“Right, the middle of fucking nowhere,” Sirius continued. “And these people actually…come?”

James shrugged, waving another plume of smoke away. Sirius knew he didn’t approve of his smoking habit, but he was too good a friend to leave him out here on his own. “What can I say, they’re popular.”

Sirius cast a glance back towards the house: every window was lit, music drifted out through the open back door and someone, somewhere, was laughing raucously. “And you have to sit through it every year?”

James shrugged again. “I usually do a quick circuit and then disappear to my room,” he replied. “Last year I managed to sneak a bottle of Ogden’s up with me and got merrily drunk all by myself.”

Sirius snorted. “What a lovely story, Prongs.”

“I thought so.” James shifted slightly, transferring his weight from one bum cheek to the other, presumably in an effort to stave off the bitter cold that lingered in the earth beneath them. “We could go and do the rounds, if you like.”

“Who’s all here?” Sirius asked, not that he was all that interested in ‘doing the rounds’. Why talk to boring old people (the Potters not included in that assessment, of course) when you could lark about outside with your best mate instead?

“Oh, the Prewetts—remember Gid and Fab? Their parents,” James started. “Um, the Dearborns usually come. McGonagall is probably in there somewhere—”

“Whoa, hold on a second,” Sirius held up a hand. “Minnie is here and you didn’t lead with that information?”

James grinned. “I thought you’d probably spent enough quality time with her in the past few months.”

“True,” Sirius allowed with a slight shudder. “Sometimes I forget she’s mates with your mum.”

“Sometimes I do, too,” James sighed, a look of wistfulness passing over his face. “Simpler times.”

“Did you say the Dearborns too?” At James’ nod, Sirius smirked. “Think they brought Cadence?”

A small sound—a throat being cleared, delicately—made them both turn around quickly. Christ, Sirius thought. Speak it and it was willed into being.

“Alright, lads?” Cadence Dearborn stood, silhouetted against the festive backdrop of the house, the light giving her sweep of golden hair an almost angelic looking aura. Even in a form-fitting wool coat, thick tights and boots, she looked…entrancing. Sirius shot James a quick grin. “Did I hear you mention my name, Black?”

“I was just reminding Jamie here of your charms,” Sirius replied easily; James’ elbow quickly found his ribs. “Not that he needed much reminding, of course.”

“Of course,” she smiled with a roll of her eyes. “I’m glad you all are here, my parents dragged me along ‘cause Car’s out and they didn’t want to leave me on my own.”

“Don’t worry,” Sirius leaned over and patted the ground next to James, even though there was a perfectly serviceable patch of grass next to himself. “We’ll look after you, won’t we, James?”

James gave her a small smile of his own as she sat down, stretching her long legs out in front of her (presumably, Sirius thought, to avoid flashing her knickers at them). “It’s not exactly scintillating stuff out here,” James told her. “We were just discussing whether it’s worth going in and showing our faces if it means we could nick some booze.”

Cadence laughed. “Ah, well, you’ll be glad I’m here then,” she said, opening her handbag and pulling out a large bottle with a triumphant grin. “I swiped this as I made my way through the dining room, just in case.”

“Sweet innocent little Cady Dearborn,” Sirius shook his head, smiling as he dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it under his heel. “You are full of surprises.”

She shot him a look. “Less of this ‘little’—I’m only seven months younger than you, Black.” She carefully unscrewed the bottle. “And I had a growth spurt last summer, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, we noticed,” Sirius assured her with a wink.

“Ignore him,” James offered with a smile; Sirius was pleased to see he seemed to be warming up a bit more. “He can’t help himself.”

“It’s true,” Sirius agreed. “Plus I think the cold has seeped into my nervous system.”

Cadence took a swig from the bottle—both boys watched as she wiped a droplet from her lips—and passed it to James. “You are wizards, you know,” she reminded them. “Why haven’t you done a warming charm?”

A pause, and then a laugh, from both of them. “Merlin, I didn’t even think of that, did you?” James asked, quickly fishing his wand out of his jeans pocket. “How long have we been sat out here freezing our balls off?!”

“Long enough for it to be embarrassing that it didn’t occur to us,” Sirius replied, making a grab for the bottle. “Cadence, it’s a good thing you turned up, or Potter and I would have frozen to death out here.”

“A tragic tale,” James sighed. “We’d never have got to see what 1977 had to offer.”

“You’d have been missed,” Cadence grinned, although Sirius couldn’t fail to notice that her remark was directed entirely at his friend.

“So, we have booze, we have magic bringing us back to an acceptable temperature,” Sirius said, passing the bottle back to Cadence. “What do you two want to do next?”

James and Cadence shared a smile. It was going to be a long slog till midnight, Sirius decided.

The gentle knock at his door wouldn’t have been enough to draw his attention, but luckily, he’d heard his mother make her way up the creaking stairs just moments before and had known she would be headed in his direction. Remus had been sequestered in his room for most of the day—not out of any desire to avoid his parents (or his mother, anyway), but feeling a need for quiet and solitude. True, you didn’t get much more solitude than up there on the crest of a hill, surrounded by trees and miles from the next nearest house, but he’d felt a strong urge to withdraw even further, and so, he had.

“Re?” Hope opened the door, peering round with a look of worry she was trying to disguise. “You alright in here, my love?”

He reached for his bookmark and shifted against the headboard, gifting his mum a small but genuine smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She hesitated in the doorway, and he could hear the distant sounds of his mum’s favourite Derek and the Dominos LP crackling downstairs. Like a fool, I fell in love with you… “Dinner will be ready in an hour or so,” she said. “Sorry it’s so late.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” he promised her. She’d been working most of the day; he certainly didn’t resent her taking a bit of time to sit and relax before making them all dinner. “Can I do anything?”

“No, no, it’s all sorted.” she waved a hand. Glancing round, her gaze landed on a postcard—one that had arrived that morning, in fact—propped up on his desk. “A postcard from—is that Aberystwyth?”

He followed her gaze. “Yeah,” he replied, not sure why he felt nervous, all of a sudden. “A…friend of mine lives there. Owain.”

“Ah, now there’s a nice Welsh name,” she smiled. “I’ve not heard you mention him before, is he new?”

“No, he’s always been around…we’ve just—got to know each other a bit better lately.”

His mum paused, looking over at him; he was surprised, slightly, at the canny look in her eyes. She was quiet, yes, unassuming—but she picked up on a heck of a lot more than anyone gave her credit for. “Oh?” she smiled, moving to sit on the end of his bed.

He felt himself blushing. “It’s not…a big thing.”

She reached for his hand. “If it makes you happy, my love, then it makes me happy.”

He smiled slightly, gratefully, but glanced back towards the door. “I don’t think dad will like it,” he admitted, voice quiet.

Hope’s smile faded slightly. “Maybe not,” she agreed. She sounded apologetic—as if it were her fault. “I won’t say anything, if you don’t want me to.”

“Thanks,” he murmured.

She watched him; she seemed to see every part of him, even the parts he couldn’t quite see himself. “You seem happier than you did in November,” she said.

“I think I am,” he nodded, looking down at her hand on his. “It’s not…back to normal, yet. I don’t know if it will be. But…James and I talked, and…Owain is good company…”

“Those friends of yours love you very much,” she told him softly. A slight pause. “Every one of them.”

He swallowed, looking up to meet her gaze. He wasn’t sure what to say. What he could say, without emptying his heart out entirely, right there in the middle of his bedroom at eight o’clock on New Year’s Eve. He wanted to show her the letters, each one that he’d drank in like a man dying of thirst, lines of which lingered constantly at the back of his mind, like a whispered chorus.

I’m not sure I even know exactly what the wonderful thing we had was that I’ve fucked up.

What did that mean, he wanted to ask? It was dangerous, though. The flicker of hope, a tiny flame so easily fanned into a wildfire, or extinguished with just a breath of wind. Everything, or nothing.

He didn’t say any of this. Didn’t dig the letters out from where they sat in his bedside table, didn’t point out every line that made his heart hurt. He just nodded.

Hope stood up, pausing to dot a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll call when dinner’s up,” she said.

She’d already gone, closing the door behind her, before Remus thought to reply.

In a move that could only be attributed to a higher power—the answering of fervent prayers—Petunia and her new fiancé Vernon decided to go back to London for New Year’s Eve, and departed the Evans house late afternoon. Lily tried very hard not to show her immense relief at this change of plans: she had thought she would have to hide herself away in her bedroom all night in a bid to save her own sanity. At least now she could sit on the sofa and be boring, instead of being boring behind a closed door.

She’d never had such a productive holiday break. After seeing Mary, she’d decided that her time would be much better spent ploughing through reading, getting started on some essays—basically, anything that meant she wasn’t thinking about Rafe and the blossoming sense of utter humiliation, or thinking about Potter and everything that Mary had said (and not said) about him. Denial and repression might not have been the most healthy approaches to dealing with her problems, it was true, but sometimes you had to do whatever you could to get through the long days. And maybe, she hoped, if she just ignored it all for as long as possible, it might all just go away on its own.

She really felt she was owed such a miracle.

By late afternoon, her dad had knocked on the door and announced she was not to do any more work. “It’s the end of another year, Lil,” he’d told her sternly, “and you will not see it in covered in ink stains.”

And so—after thoroughly washing her hands, to remove the aforementioned ink—she made her way downstairs and settled in the living room with her parents. Her mum had been quite quiet for much of the holidays; Lily had put it down to Petunia and Vernon’s presence. The man didn’t exactly leave other people much room for talking. But, even with them gone, she seemed not quite herself. Meanwhile, her dad was making more of himself, as if to fill the void left behind by his wife. Before dinner, the pair played several rounds of Boggle, followed by a hotly contested game of Scrabble. After dinner, Anthony found Connect 4—Lily’s favourite when she was younger—and they passed a lot of time playing, chatting, laughing, as music danced gently in the background.

At one point, a dusty bottle of champagne was brought out—“we have to have something to celebrate the new year with, after all,” her dad had said—and a period of intense negotiation began. She was almost seventeen, practically of age in the wizarding world and not far off in the Muggle world, either, but her parents had quite firm views on underage drinking. Her mum seemed to be of the opinion that one sip of alcohol before she was legally old enough to drink it and Lily would become a wanton woman, going out and getting pregnant and taking drugs at every opportunity. Lily didn’t have the heart to break it to her that she’d already had more than a sip of booze (Gryffindor parties being what they were) and none of those things had happened yet.

Finally, it was agreed that she could have some of the champagne as long as it was mixed with orange juice. “A lovely Buck’s fizz!” Anthony beamed. “Very refreshing and unlikely to lead you down a path to sin. Everyone wins.”

Unfortunately, it did mean she had to go out to get some orange juice—all the bigger shops were closed by that point, but there was a corner shop a few roads over that was open come hell or high water, so she wrapped up warm in the thickest coat and scarf she could find, and headed out.

The streets were quiet, the pavement wet beneath her feet from the earlier squall of rain. It was quite nice, actually, to get out for a bit, to get some fresh air—she loved her parents, loved them dearly, but she still benefitted from a break every now and then, even if it was just a fifteen minute round trip.

As she walked back, carton of orange juice tucked under her arm, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She was a brave girl—she was a Gryffindor, after all—but something about the sound, the cold night air, set her nerves on edge just a little.

And then a familiar figure stepped into the pool of yellow light from the lamppost in front of her, standing rigidly, hands in pockets, face drawn.

“Lily,” Severus said; she stopped abruptly, not keen to get any closer. “I was hoping I’d see you.”

She glanced around, looking for an escape route. There was none. “Funny, I was hoping not to see you.”

He looked pale, a frown on his heavy brow. There was a time, not even all that long ago, when she would’ve cared how he was, would’ve wanted to know if he was being treated well over the break, if he was faring okay at home. It was funny, how things could change. No, not funny. Sad.

“All this stuff with Lupin—I don’t think you understand,” he started, his voice sounding pained, and painfully earnest.

“Of course I understand,” she interrupted him. “I may be a Mudblood but I’m not stupid. I understand it all very well, Snape, and I don’t need your input.”

He had flinched at her word choices, although she wondered whether it was her use of his last name rather than the slur he’d thrown at her last summer. “I know you’re not stupid—I just, you need to be careful—”

“I thought I was perfectly clear.” She straightened her shoulders, drew in a steadying breath. “We’re not friends anymore. Maybe we never really were. You chose your path and I chose mine.” She moved forwards, giving him a wide berth as she passed him by. “Goodbye, Snape.”

“But, Lily…”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence, just kept walking, and maybe he was starting to understand the situation because he made no move to follow her. It was tempting to turn round and look back, to see the expression on his face, to see if maybe it had finally sunk in, but she knew that would only give him encouragement where there should be none, and so she tucked her chin into her coat, tightened her grip on the orange juice, and marched on towards home.

Later, as it neared midnight and her mother sat dozing in the armchair by the fire, Lily volunteered to make the drinks. It was as good a way as any to make sure there was enough alcohol in her drink—something she felt she needed—and her dad was happy to let her do it, engrossed as he was in watching the BBC prepare for the New Year on their tiny television set.

It was as she was pouring out the champagne that she spotted it. A letter, tucked away on the countertop. The words ‘Mrs Rose Edith Evans’ and ‘haematology clinic appointment’ seemed to leap from the page, and she didn’t mean to snoop, but it was right there, and she held the letter in surprisingly steady hands, taking in every word as if it were in another language, and yet she understood it all, understood it all too well.

“Lil!” her dad’s voice filtered in from the living room. “The countdown’s about to start! Ready for 1977?”

She stared down at the letter, and didn’t think she was ready at all.

Chapter Text

after

She was sat alone, in a carriage at the opposite end of the train from her usual spot, when Mary found her. For whatever reason, reasons she didn’t care to analyse, she had made sure to arrive at King’s Cross as early as possible on the 6^th January, avoiding the crowd on the platform and giving her the opportunity to slip, unseen, into her own carriage. At one point, she’d seen Marlene and Dorcas out of the window, chatting merrily; her instinct had been to duck out of sight. When the train started moving, steam billowing and obscuring her view, she felt as if she’d been given a stay of execution. She didn’t imagine she’d be alone for too long, but at least for now, she had time to herself. Time to gather her thoughts.

They were moving through the Lake District, gliding past fells and water that looked like sheets of mirrored glass, the distant crest of hills dusted with snow, and Mary sat quietly in the seat across from her. “There you are.”

Lily tore her gaze away from the view. “Here I am.”

Mary studied her face for a moment, clearly trying to work out what she was dealing with. “You missed the prefect meeting,” she said next. “Lupin came looking for you afterwards.”

“Oh,” Lily nodded, glancing reflexively at the door. “Right. I forgot.”

Mary frowned. “Are you avoiding Rafe?” she asked. “He came looking for you, too…”

Lily could have laughed. Might have, if she’d had the energy. She’d forgotten all about that, about that delightful humiliation that awaited her. It also gave her a convenient excuse. “I am,” she replied, and it sounded true. “I’m not sure I want to have that conversation on the train where there’s no escape.”

Mary didn’t look entirely convinced, but nodded anyway. “I don’t blame you for that, love,” she sighed sympathetically. “I didn’t say anything, by the way, but I was pretty frosty with him. Couldn’t help myself.”

Her heart ached. This was Mary—Mary, who’d given up the chance to date the boy she fancied to spare Lily’s feelings; Mary, who took on a grudge and nursed it, let it grow, on behalf of any of her friends. Woe betide anyone who fucked over one of Mary’s nearest and dearest: she may have looked sweet and innocent, but looks could very much be deceiving. “Thanks, Mare.”

“And I haven’t said anything to Marl or Dor,” Mary added. “But I can, if you want me to…save you having to tell them.”

She pushed through a smile—a small one, but a smile nonetheless. “Thanks. I’d prefer not to have to go through it all again if I don’t have to.”

“Of course.” Mary glanced out the window, then looked, almost cautiously, back at Lily. “Are you staying in here for the duration?”

Lily swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Yeah, think I will.”

“Want some company?”

Another smile, another lie to spread. “No, it’s okay—thanks Mare. Just getting some reading done.”

There was a moment where Mary looked so worried, as if the sight of her friend there was enough to squash down any happiness. But it was gone in an instant, passed over in favour of a small smile of her own, and a lean in to grasp Lily for a brief hug. “Okay. Love you, Lils.”

Lily didn’t want to cry. She hadn’t, this whole time. Now would be a terrible time to start. “Love you too, Mare.”

She spent most of the rest of the journey alone, watching as the pale grey sky faded into inky darkness, the train drawing them all closer, closer, back to school. They were maybe thirty minutes from Hogsmeade, the lamps in each carriage and along the corridor flickering, when Rafe appeared in the doorway. “I was starting to worry,” he smiled, and slid into the seat next to her. “Thought that maybe you’d decided to leave school and join the circus, or something.”

She turned to him, taking in that warm smile, those eyes that only a month ago set her tingling. She wondered how she could have missed it all—that edge of pretence, the falsehoods behind his smile. Taken in by a handsome face. Just happy to be liked. “I’m sorry,” she replied, surprised by how solid her voice sounded. “I assumed you’d had your use out of me.”

He blinked, shifting uneasily next to her. “What do you—”

“I saw Ama in the holidays,” she said. Even the memory of it was painful. Demeaning. “She said I’m such a good sport for helping you make Aoife jealous, and that it was working brilliantly.”

She could see the moment it all clicked into place for him—he was Ravenclaw, after all, he wasn’t daft—and the moment he made a decision on how to proceed. “Look, Lily…if you misunderstood things, I’m sorry,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “I thought you understood what we had.”

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed—actually, laughed, like some unhinged lunatic girl that she desperately didn’t want to be. “Oh, Rafe,” she shook her head. “I didn’t realise what an utter shit you are. Thank you for making it so clear.”

He looked like he was foundering, his plan already derailed. “Lily—”

She turned back to the window. “Good luck with Aoife,” she addressed her words to the non-existent view, shrouded in night. “You two deserve each other.”

She wasn’t aware of him leaving the carriage—didn’t much care to track his movements, anymore. All she could do, for now, was draw in steadying breath after steadying breath.

Really, this was the least of her problems.

before

The grainy picture on the television showed Big Ben, the characteristic bongs chiming out across London to signal the new year. A fresh start. She sat there, staring at it, at the sweep of the camera showing revellers by the Thames, the crisp vowels of the presenter reminding the viewers about what was to come in 1977. On the edge of her field of vision, she could see her dad, holding her mum close, murmuring something that brought a smile to Rose Evans’ face, pressing a kiss to her cheekbone, her temple.

She loved how much her parents loved each other. It had always given her hope, faith in her own future, an ideal to work towards—maybe too high a standard, if her friends’ parents were anything to go by. But she could believe. Some days, that was all anyone had, wasn’t it?

Haematology. The girl who was obsessed with reading the dictionary, with calling out new and exciting words to her parents over the breakfast table, knew the root word—haima, Greek for blood. It had always fascinated Lily, that so much of the English language was pieced together, like a messy jigsaw, from fragments of so many other languages.  “You’re a wordsmith, my girl,” her dad had told her proudly. “Always looking for meaning.”

So, she knew. She knew the meaning, here, of that letter that was placed so innocently between the toaster and the kettle, set to one side as if it didn’t have the power to decimate, to devastate. It meant her mother was unwell, it meant there was something wrong with her blood—the insanity of that, blood, surely something as reliable and steady as oxygen—how could there be something wrong with anyone’s blood? It didn’t sound real; it didn’t sound like something someone’s mother would be struck down by.

She had to drain her glass, then, bubbles in the champagne tickling down her throat, an altogether too light sensation compared to the heavy dullness that had settled in her stomach.

“Well, I know it makes us sound ancient, but I think we’re to bed,” her father said; his words drew her gaze, and she blinked, feeling as if she couldn’t quite focus on him, on her mother tucked under his arm. “You staying up a bit, Lil?”

She nodded, because she wasn’t sure she could move yet, even if she’d wanted to. “I’ll lock up and all that,” she murmured.

“Happy new year, sweet,” her mother said, a fond but tired smile on her lips. Lily stared back at her, wanted to say—to scream—that she knew what was happening. “Don’t stay up too late, now.”

She tried her best to smile; murmured her own good night; listened, over the faint sounds of the telly, to the slow, steady creaking of the stairs, the sound of muffled footsteps as her parents moved around their room.

Eventually, it was quiet: the programming had ended for the night, nothing but the test card and the faint buzz of the television set itself, the clock on the mantlepiece tick, tick, ticking its way into the encroaching day.

It was a long time before she felt she could move.

after

The start of the new term falling, as it did, on a Thursday was an odd choice, but one the students were all grateful for. It meant that they had one day of classes to ease themselves back in, before having a weekend to recover and prepare for work to kick start in earnest on Monday.

Mary had evidently given Marlene and Dorcas the full story of Rafe the Rotter (as he was now referred to, if referred to at all), and when they found her in the Great Hall that first night, they surrounded her like a human safety bubble. None of them wanted to see her upset—although Dorcas said she wouldn’t have minded seeing some anger, and if Lily had any, she was more than happy to help her channel it. They let her skate round the subject all weekend and into the following week, didn’t think anything of her long silences, her staying in the dorm as much as possible. Mary shot her a sympathetic look when, after breakfast on Tuesday, Potter almost walked right into her. She’d successfully avoided him so far this term, knowing she should apologise but dreading it more than she could express, and the way he dropped his gaze and muttered a quick, nervous apology before scampering away told her that he was probably dreading it just as much. She was happy to avoid it for a while longer, frankly.

She hadn’t told anyone about…everything else. It rather seemed as if putting it into words would make it corporeal, fully technicolour. Her friends would want to talk about it, would want to sympathise and hug her and reassure her. It was not something she thought she could cope with at the moment.

By the time the end of the first full week rolled around, she’d managed to get away with not talking to anyone other than her dorm mates, and occasionally the people she sat next to in lessons. Iris Fenwick had sweetly asked how her Christmas was, and had she seen her boyfriend over the break; Lily had replied, perhaps a little tersely, that she didn’t have a boyfriend. That had brought that conversation to an abrupt end.

Friday, though, brought about her first prefect duty. She never usually minded spending time with Remus—loved it, in fact. But the boy was intuitive to the point of being almost a mind reader, and she knew it would be a struggle to get through the few hours together without him digging out a painful truth she would have preferred to stay buried.

That was why she met him, outside the portrait hole, with a trepidatious smile. “Evening…”

“Evening,” he echoed, and they set off, falling into step easily enough. “It feels like I’ve hardly spoken to you since the start of term.”

That was by design, she thought but didn’t say. “Yeah, it’s been mad, hasn’t it?”

“And only going to get madder,” he agreed. “How’d you get on with that essay for Merryton over the hols? I think mine lost its way about half-way through and never found it again.”

She snorted. “Knowing your Defence essays, I doubt that,” she replied. “I battled through mine. Hopefully she won’t tear it to shreds.”

“I’m sure she won’t.”

They shared a brief, knowing grin.

“Good Christmas?” he asked, as they rounded a corner.

“Yeah, fine,” she shrugged; at least, walking side by side, he couldn’t see her face in full. “The usual. You?”

He was quiet a moment, enough to draw her attention – she looked over at him, seeing a distraction there, an ache unlabelled. Maybe she was in luck…maybe he had his own shit to sift through and wouldn’t notice hers. “Yeah, it was…” He paused. “A mixture, I suppose.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

They reached the staircase, waiting as it moved slowly towards them. “Sirius…wrote me letters, while I was at home, you know…before Christmas,” he said. It sounded like each word was a struggle. “Never actually sent them. But he gave them to me for Christmas.”

She looked away—it almost felt intrusive, to look at him in that moment. “Interesting present.”

“Yeah,” Remus agreed quietly. “Well, that’s Sirius, isn’t it?”

“True,” she nodded. The staircase aligned, and they stepped on, heading down to the next floor. “What did the letters say?”

Silence. She wondered, for a moment, if she had overstepped. Then: “That he’s sorry. For…what happened.”

Lily led the way down the corridor, past flickering torches and yet more empty classrooms. “Had he not said that to you before?”

Remus glanced her way. “I didn’t really give him the chance,” he admitted.

She nodded, understanding all too well. “How do you feel?” she asked next. “Do you think you can forgive him?”

Another silence, this one somehow heavier than the last. “I don’t know,” he murmured at last. “I want to. I should…”

“There’s no ‘should’ about it,” she pointed out. “You have to do what is right for you.”

“It’s not just me, though, is it,” he said, and that seemed to set off a spark in him: he looked back over at her again. “I know James tried to talk to you, before Christmas—”

“Remus,” she sighed, “it’s—”

“No, I know he…didn’t handle it well,” he shook his head ruefully, “but he was telling the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you about it myself—I should have done, I was the one who started getting suspicious, not James, but…I didn’t want to upset you, and—”

“I know,” she interrupted; he stopped walking, and so, she did too. “I know it was the truth.”

Remus frowned. “But…you called him—”

“Yes, well, I didn’t know then,” she allowed, staring resolutely out the window behind him. “But I ran into one of his friends in the holidays.” She bit her lip. “Dumped him on the train.”

He sighed, moving to stand next to her rather than across from her, his arm looping round her shoulders. “Lily, I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine,” she said; he cast her a dubious look. “Not…fine, but, you know. I’ll get over it.” She attempted a smile. “Worse things happen at sea.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that’s a healthy outlook,” he gave her a squeeze. A pause, and she could sense what was coming. “You should maybe talk to James,” he said next. “I know he was a wally about it—when isn’t he, honestly—but his heart was in the right place. He feels awful.”

She nodded dully. “I will,” she replied, and it was mostly true. It wasn’t like she could avoid him forever. “I know I owe him an apology.”

“He doesn’t care about that,” Remus dismissed with a wave of his free hand. “He’s thick-skinned. You’ve called him worse before.” He hesitated; the pause forced her gaze up, trying to understand the look on his face. “I think he’s more bothered because…you guys were becoming actual friends.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. It felt as if all too much had been bared, here, a truth that could not be re-covered. “I’ll talk to him,” she promised, and she sounded as if she meant it. “Soon.”

before

By lunchtime on the 1^st of January, after only a few hours of broken, restless sleep, all pretences had fallen away. Her parents asked her to sit at the dining table, her dad gripping on to her mum’s hand as they told her that Rose was unwell, had been unwell for some time, and the doctor suspected it was cancer. Lily didn’t have the heart to tell them she already knew, or at least knew some of it, that maybe they should be more careful with their correspondence if they had wanted to be the ones to break it to her. Instead, she nodded, amazed that she didn’t cry, not even when the C word was dropped into the discussion like a ten-tonne weight.

“Does Petunia know?” she asked, knotting her hands on the table in front of her. It felt important, somehow, to keep as still as she could.

Anthony and Rose exchanged a look. “Yes. She…she was visiting when mum had a bit of a turn,” her dad replied. “She was there for the initial doctor visits.”

The sting of this—ridiculous, so ridiculous, to care that her older sister knew before she did—was, for a moment, more than she could bear. But she swallowed against it. “Right.”

Rose looked intolerably sad. “We weren’t trying to keep it from you, sweet,” she told her. “But you were away at school, and we didn’t want to put it in a letter, and then…we just didn’t want to ruin your Christmas.”

It seemed almost laughable, now, to think of them desperately protecting the so-called sanctity of a religious festival that none of them truly believed in (at least, not beyond putting up a tree and getting merrily drunk by the time the Queen’s speech came on the wireless); trying to protect her feelings as if she wasn’t nearly seventeen years old, as if life hadn’t already thrown plenty of pain and suffering in her path like boulders. (That’s a touch melodramatic, Lily, she told herself at that thought, and pressed it down along with the other errant thoughts and feelings.)

“I don’t care about Christmas,” she said instead. “I care about you.”

“I know you do,” Rose reached over for her hand. “I’m going to be okay, Lil. You don’t need to worry.”

Lily couldn’t help but turn a disbelieving glance to her father—a ‘are you hearing this nonsense?’ glance, an appeal for some sense in amongst the wave of unbearable optimism—but he simply gazed back at her, face revealing nothing. Either he was as hopeful as his wife, or he was incapable of voicing any doubts. “She’s got a clinic appointment, the day before you go back,” he said. “You can come with us, if you’d like.”

There weren’t many things she would less like to do, but it felt too distant, too precarious a position not to go. If she went, she would at least be armed with facts—surely better than staying at home and letting her brain fill in the gaps. “I will. Thanks,” she said, as if he had offered her a cup of tea or a particularly nice slice of cake. “Is there…”

Anthony shook his head before she could even finish her sentence. “Nothing any of us can do but wait and see what the doctor says,” he replied. “And I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do for school in the meantime.”

Nothing seemed less important. She nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed, and stood up, knowing that if she sat there much longer, she wouldn’t be able to hold herself together. “An essay, actually.”

“We’ll shout when it’s time for tea and biscuits,” Rose said with the faintest of smiles. It was all terribly English. “Don’t work too hard now, sweet.”

Lily closed her bedroom door behind her, let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She stayed there, leaning against the door, for at least twenty minutes before she felt like she could move again.

after

January progressed, the landscape from every window a stretch of seemingly endless white, the sky always grey, heavy with the promise of yet more snow. Lily felt like she was going through the motions: lessons, meals, studying, rest, repeat. Her appetite had waned and sleep was a struggle. Her friends now looked at her with increasing concern, as if she was falling apart before their eyes—surely a gross exaggeration.

One evening, not long after they’d returned from dinner, Marlene plonked herself at the end of Lily’s bed, a determined expression on her face. “This isn’t just about Rafe, is it?”

Lily looked up from her textbook—in fairness, the words had started to blur together, so it didn’t hurt her to stop reading for a bit—and offered a tired smile. “What do you mean?”

Marlene sighed, leaning against the post at the end of the bed. “You’re not yourself,” she replied. “You’ve been so quiet. You look…exhausted, all the time.”

“Wow,” Lily murmured, and raised an eyebrow. “Thanks.”

“Obviously you’re still gorgeous, that goes without saying,” Marlene rolled her eyes. “But my point remains. Clearly something is wrong, and I can’t imagine this is all just about that prick and how he treated you.”

Marlene was incredibly perceptive: Lily was long past caring about Rafe. Even seeing him draped around Aoife Walsh at the dinner table the night before hadn’t really bothered her. At least he’d had the decency to look a bit abashed when she glanced over at them.

No. Rafe was a blip. But the things that really bothered her—churning away, ever present, just under the surface she struggled to maintain—were not things she wanted to talk about. She loved her friends, loved them dearly, but the way she felt at the moment, she’d sooner leap out the dorm window than put a voice to the deep, dark ache inside her.

“It’s not about Rafe,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s not really anything, Marl. Just…stress, I think.” Yes, that seemed a reasonable excuse. “I know exams are a while away, but the pressure is definitely cranking up.”

Marlene accepted this with a sympathetic nod. “I know. But it’s not worth losing sleep over, Lil. You’ve got to take care of yourself or you’ll go mad.”

Lily nodded, managing a small smile that was entirely for her friend’s benefit. “You’re right. I’ll try to pull myself together,” she promised.

“Good.” Marlene leaned forward and dotted a quick kiss to her forehead, like she was a small child. “Here’s something to look forward to, anyway—your birthday’s in ten days, and Mare is planning the party to end all parties.”

Lily couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, god…”

“What that girl can do with balloons…” Marlene shook her head in wonder. “She’s a decorating queen.” She shifted to climb off the bed, then paused. “Actually, Mare won’t say this because she doesn’t want to upset you, but—if you could just talk to Potter again, that would make the party miles easier. We need those fools on side to help sneak in all the alcohol.”

It was getting to the point where she couldn’t put it off any longer anyway—not least because their Potions project, fast approaching the practical stage, would suffer if she did. “You’re right,” she agreed, and glanced at her watch. “I’ll go and find him now.”

“Black said earlier he’s in the library,” Marlene told her, wandering over to her own bed with a grin. “He was disgusted by the very thought.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Of course he was.”

True enough, Potter wasn’t in the common room—his merry band of friends were engrossed in some reading by the fireplace, looking almost lost without him—and so she set off through the castle towards the library. His work ethic definitely seemed to have improved this year, despite Sirius’ disapproval; on reflection, there were many things about Potter that had changed for the better. Or maybe she just knew him a bit better than she had done before.

Yanking down the sleeves of her thick woolly jumper in a bid to battle the chill in the air, she arrived at the library and made her way through the stacks towards what she considered ‘her’ study area. As predicted, Potter was there, his table covered in books and parchment, his head bent over one particularly ancient looking tome, hand reflexively lodged in his dark, messy hair. She paused, drawing in a breath as she took in the sight of him, then dropped herself into the chair opposite his. “Hi.”

He looked up quickly, blinking in surprise at the sight of her. “Evans! Hi…”

She glanced at the book in front of him. “Hard at work?”

“Aren’t I always?” he joked, a little half-heartedly.

She gave him a small smile. “Look, Potter…I want to apologise,” she said, just about managing to meet his intense gaze. “For how I reacted, just before the holidays…”

He cringed at the memory. “No, I’m sorry, I handled it all wrong-"

“You were right, though,” she said, and he frowned. “You were right, and I was—I was horrible to you…”

He looked pained, as if the sight of her like this was too much to cope with. “Okay, well, apology accepted,” he told her, soft, sincere. “And I hope you accept my apology for my utterly unhelpful way of talking to you about it.”

She nodded. “Apology accepted,” she echoed.

“Did you…?” he asked haltingly.

She knew what he was trying to avoid saying. “Yeah.” She tried for a smile. “Told him he and Aoife Walsh deserve each other.”

“Good for you,” he nodded. “You deserve better than that.”

She swallowed, unsure how to respond to such a statement. “Thanks…”

He smiled. “So…we don’t have to avoid each other anymore,” he said, and she laughed—he always did have a way of cutting through to the heart of the matter. “That’ll make life easier.”

“Much easier,” she agreed. She paused. “Listen, James—”

“Bloody hell, I should’ve let you go for that book, it was in the back end of beyond,” a voice cut through, and they both looked up to see Cadence Dearborn, clutching a textbook and looking peeved. When she saw James had company, though, that expression melted away to a smile instead. “Lily! Hi—sorry, am I interrupting?”

James gave her a grin. “You’re fine,” he replied, taking the book from her; she fell into the seat next to him, straightening a piece of parchment that Lily could now see belonged to her. They were here…together. “We were just catching up.”

“Isn’t sixth year a bastard?” Cadence asked Lily. “I feel like I barely recover from one essay and then another four spring up in its place.” She shot James a smile, fond and sweet. “Good thing I’ve got this one around to keep me focused.”

James laughed. “No one’s ever accused me of helping them focus before,” he said, and draped his arm around her so casually that it made no sense, no sense whatsoever, that it could almost take Lily’s breath away. “But thanks.”

Lily wondered how long this had been going on. How it was that she could have missed it. Well, maybe that was what came of avoiding someone like the plague. They went and found themselves a beautiful girlfriend in the meantime. “I’ll let you get back to focusing,” she said, even managing a smile as she stood up. “See you…”

“Bye, Evans,” James said, Cadence echoing his words.

Lily walked away, only pausing at a discreet distance to look back, as if she was checking that it was real and not a vivid and off-putting hallucination. There at the table, James had leaned in closer now, was murmuring something close to her lips that made Cadence smile, prettily, and close the distance entirely to kiss him.

She turned away—no way in hell did she want to be caught watching them—and felt her cheeks burning, even in the draughty castle corridors, as she made her way back to Gryffindor tower.

before

They stood, the three of them, on the pavement, the biting cold of the air around them like a slap in the face compared with the stuffy warmth of the hospital. Steady feet had carried them out of the consultation room, down the long and winding corridors, out through the waiting room which was one of the saddest places Lily had ever set foot in, out, out, until the ground changed from lino to tarmac, and suddenly, they came to a halt. No one had said anything, no signal to stop, but they all had, as if by some cosmic agreement. Each breath from her mother’s mouth was like a tufting cloud, sinking into the space around her, and it became all Lily could look at. Another breath. Another. Another.

Finally, her father found his voice. “We should…” He trailed off, and looked at his wife. Lily wondered what he saw there, if he could only see the pictures the doctor had shown them, the charts and tables with numbers far too high, if he could only see the look on Rose’s face when the man had explained, in a quiet but sure tone, that this thing inside her had been building and growing and binding inside her for far longer than they had hoped.

Palliative, was the word he had used.

Latin, she’d thought distantly.

She hoped that wasn’t what her father saw. She hoped he, at least, could still see his wife there, under the clawing, naked sadness, the bitter, intense fear.

“The car,” Rose said, sounding more steady than Lily expected. She even managed—attempted, anyway—a smile. “It’s too cold to stand around here moping.”

She fell into step beside her mother, Anthony taking the other side as they walked back to the car park. Rose’s arm looped gently through Lily’s, her gloved hand curling, gripping on to her daughter’s coat as if it might be the only thing keeping her up. Lily kept her gaze trained firmly on the pavement. She knew if she looked up, even looked at her mother’s hand on her arm, that she would falter. Fall.

“Back to school tomorrow,” Rose said, the car now in sight. School? Hogwarts felt further away than ever. “I bet you haven’t even packed yet, sweet.”

How could Lily express that she didn’t want to go back? That she was scared—no, terrified—to step out of her mum’s orbit and find herself untethered forever? That she might say goodbye to her, tomorrow at King’s Cross, and have it be the last time she saw her, spoke to her, hugged her?

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to find the words.

She just nodded, and painted on a smile that they all knew was false. “I’ll pack when we get home.”

Rose patted her arm gently. “You’re a good girl, Lily Evans.”

after

6.48pm

Lily didn’t expect, on stumbling into the common room, to find party preparations in full swing. Mary stood in the centre of the room, directing streamers and balloons with her wand; Marlene was reckoning with the furniture, presumably to make space for a dance floor; Dorcas looked far too interested in testing each of the different varieties of alcohol available on a table near the stairs.

These things weren’t so surprising. Sirius Black, tapping his chin thoughtfully and saying, “no, to the left, Mac—do you want this to look like amateurish shite?”—that was much more surprising.

“Bloody hell,” Lily said, more to announce her presence than anything else. “It looks like a party has thrown up in here.”

“Lil!” Mary glanced round with a scolding frown. “Get up to the dorm, we don’t want to ruin the magic of the night for you!”

“And on your birthday, too,” Sirius added, shaking his head with mock solemnity.

“Technically, my birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” Lily offered. “But I take your point.” She paused, glancing over at Marlene. “I can help, you know—”

“No, you can’t,” Dorcas called over, unscrewing the lid on a bottle containing a bright blue, highly viscous looking liquid and giving it an experimental sniff. “That’s not in keeping with the birthday ways.”

“Yeah, Evans—piss off,” Sirius said, wandering over to sling his arm around her shoulders. “Besides, Pete and Remus are coming soon with the rest of the booze, and James and Cadence will be back from the kitchens any time now. We’re all set for many hands making light work.”

Lily tried not to visibly react at the mention of Cadence—of James and Cadence, already a pair—and just nodded. “Fine. Okay. I’ll go upstairs,” she agreed, sliding out of Sirius’ embrace and making for the staircase. “You’ll fetch me when I’m allowed out?”

“Of course we will,” Marlene rolled her eyes. “Now go, make yourself even more beautiful, and leave us alone!”

She paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching her friends for a moment longer, then turned and started to climb. As luck would have it, she knew where Marlene kept an emergency bottle of firewhiskey in the dorm. That would help take the edge off, get her through the night’s proceedings.

8.35pm

“You know what?” Sirius said, turning to Mary. She was slumped on the sofa next to him, enjoying the music and, presumably, the buzz that came with the shots of some dubious green liquid they’d all done about ten minutes ago. “We throw a good party, Mac.”

She raised an arched eyebrow at him. “First of all,” she said, jabbing a finger into his arm, “I threw this party. You just helped with streamer placement. And second of all…it’s only been going about an hour.”

“Ah, but, we can tell it’s already a success,” he grinned. Now that James was fairly preoccupied—he liked Cadence, liked her a lot, but there was only so much he could take of watching two people swap saliva and glow at each other—Mary was proving to be an excellent occupier of his time and affection. After the holidays, he’d made sure to apologise to her again for how he’d acted before Christmas; she was effusive in her forgiveness, as he had sort of expected. She was easy company: neither of them expected anything more than friendship from the other, and there was something very calming about that.

“And how can we tell, Mr Black?” she asked.

“Well, look.” He pointed first over to the makeshift dance floor, full of writhing, cavorting bodies. “Already dancing like mad.” He pointed, next, to Marlene and Dorcas, engaged in a heated battle of a convoluted card game that only they understood. “Those two are edging closer and closer every minute.” His finger moved in the direction of the drinks table. “And the birthday girl is finally letting loose!”

Mary followed his gaze, tilting her head a little. “I ‘spose she is,” she agreed haltingly. They both watched as Lily laughed uproariously at something the bloke next to her had said, pouring herself a generous glass of firewhiskey.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t she be?”

Mary paused, taking a sip of her own drink. “She’s been…off, lately,” she replied. “Since Christmas. I saw her over the holidays and she seemed okay—I mean, she was upset and embarrassed about the whole Rafe situation, but otherwise she was fine. But now…”

Sirius scowled at the mention of Rafe. Once Remus had confirmed to them that Lily had dumped Rafe, the Marauders had put into place a few low-level pranks on the seventh year, just to make sure he was put in his place. Never enough for it to ever be pinned to them—the sort of pranks that were so dastardly and yet so benign, like Remus’ plot to charm his plates and bowls so all his meals, for a whole week, tasted just ever so slightly burnt. James’ efforts were slightly more direct—a firm favourite being charming all the reflective surfaces in the school to howl and beg for mercy whenever Rafe looked in them. That had made for a highly entertaining lunchtime when the preening twat had checked his hair was still tidy in the back of his soup spoon. Happy memories. Sirius had favoured the classics: a stinging hex in a busy corridor, that sort of thing. They had all their bases covered.

Lily hadn’t mentioned any of the pranks – he wasn’t sure if she was even aware they’d been doing them. They certainly weren’t doing it for her praise (or at least, three quarters of the Marauders weren’t—you never could tell with James, even with Cadence on the scene) but even some kind of acknowledgement would’ve been nice.

Maybe that should’ve been his clue that things with Lily were, as Mary put it, ‘off’. She loved to scold them.

“She told Marl it’s work stress,” Mary continued with a sigh. “But I don’t think that’s the full story.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll see if I can get her to open up tonight. Maybe having a few drinks will help.”

“Maybe,” Mary smiled faintly.

He followed her gaze, now, to the dance floor again, where James and Cadence were swaying together, moving far too slowly for the tempo of the music. He watched them, too, for a moment before looking over at Mary—watching her, watching them. “Could’ve been you, y’know,” he said lightly.

She tore her gaze away and shot him a Look, one that had a very unsubtle subtext of fuck off. “No, it couldn’t.”

“Yes it could,” he argued; he did so enjoy an argument. “He was about to ask you out, and then you went off with McMillan.”

“I wouldn’t have said yes, if he’d asked,” she told him. “So I saved us both the embarrassment, didn’t I?”

Sirius let out an exaggerated exhale. “And why not?”

She was quiet a moment, then glanced back over towards the drinks table. “Because I love Lily more than I fancy James.”

Now, that was interesting. “Are you saying that Evans—”

“She hasn’t said as much,” Mary was quick to interrupt. “But…I could tell she was finding it hard, when he and I were close. I kept catching her watching us. I think she cares a lot more than she is willing to admit to herself.”

He frowned. “Christ, what a mess.”

She laughed, softly. “You’re telling me,” she agreed. “I didn’t want to wade into all of that.”

“Well, Mac,” he slung his arm round her, “for that, I do not blame you.” He gave her a quick squeeze, then stood up, offering her his hand. “C’mon. You and I are too fit to be sat here like a pair of lemons. Let’s dance.”

She couldn’t help a bright smile—those dazzling beams were basically her default setting, as far as he could tell. “I thought you’d never ask.”

10.17pm

Outside the window, the snow had turned to rain, battering against the glass. Nearly all of the occupants of the common room were completely oblivious to this fact, being better engaged in drinking, dancing, laughing and general merriment.

Remus had done his fair share of merry-making so far that evening—not always a guarantee, with him. He usually enjoyed parties up to a point: the point wasn’t fixed, and when he hit it, he hit it and was ready to go to bed, no matter what others said. But until that time, he could be as daft and loud and even wild as the best of them.

He hadn’t yet reached the point (or, as James liked to call it, The Bed-Time Apex) but had chosen to give himself a breather, slumped in the window seat, enjoying the coolness of the glass through the thin material of his t-shirt. From that vantage point, he could take in the varying stages of his friends’ drunkenness.

Pete was dancing—if indeed it could be called that—with Charlotte Swift, both red-faced and laughing at some unheard joke. Wormtail had informed his friends, gravely, in the manner in which one might tell someone they were about to die, that he and Iris had once more broken up. “Bloody hell, Pete,” Sirius had said, “you two have broken up and made up more times than I’ve had hot dinners.” Pete hadn’t seemed to mind, and didn’t even mind when James had remarked, a few minutes later, that he expected the pair to be back together within a month.

James and Sirius were leading a group in a spirited game of Strip Exploding Snap—Cadence had, quite wisely, Remus thought, immediately added several layers to her outfit before they started playing. No wonder the hat had sorted her into Ravenclaw. They’d all been playing for about twenty minutes, and James was shirtless and sockless, while Sirius had his t-shirt still on, but no jeans. Remus tried not to let his gaze linger over that way for too long.

The birthday girl herself seemed to be stationed at the drinks table, and was currently concocting what looked to be an absolutely lethal cocktail for people to try. Mary stood nearby, sipping butterbeer and watching on with a kind of nervous energy that Remus didn’t quite understand. Clearly something more was going on there.

“Lupin!” Dorcas swung into view, and into the space next to him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and she clutched on to her glass of indeterminate liquor with surprising strength. “Where’s that boyfriend of yours?”

Remus fought back the instinct to roll his eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he replied. They hadn’t had that conversation yet—that would require them to actually be more to each other in public. So far, they nodded politely in each other’s direction in the Great Hall, or across a classroom, and then pressed wildly up against each other as soon as they were in private. Remus didn’t mind too much; he had never been one for public scrutiny. He hoped Owain didn’t mind, either. “But he is coming along in a bit. He had prefect duty first.”

“Ah, tis the noblest thing of all, to fulfil one’s duty,” Dorcas nodded wisely.

“I suppose so,” Remus agreed with a chuckle. “Not tempted to join in the Strip Exploding Snap match?”

She wrinkled her nose with disdain. “Merlin, no. These people are going to have to work a lot harder than that if they want to see me in my drawers.”

“I’ll let everyone know,” he smirked, “see if they can up their game.”

“Too kind of you,” she grinned back. She cast her gaze around. “You seen Marl anywhere?”

“Not in a while,” he replied, looking around, too. “Last I saw her she was arm wrestling Kasim for some reason.”

“They were arguing over who got to choose the next record,” she said, as if it were the obvious answer. “Poor Kas. He didn’t realise how freakishly strong she is.”

“You learn these lessons the hard way,” he nodded.

She stood up. “Well, my search continues,” she said, patting him lazily on the shoulder. “Wish me luck, young Lupin.”

“Good luck, young Meadowes,” he offered with a smile.

Barely a minute passed after she wandered into the crowd when another voice brought his attention from the rain outside. “Drink?”

He glanced round to see Sirius there, making it look as if it were perfectly normal to stand around in a t-shirt, boxers and socks, holding two glasses of something disturbingly purple. “It’s Evans’ creation,” Sirius added, handing over one of the glasses. “Seemed rude not to try it.”

“Hmm,” Remus gave it a sniff. “Well, in the name of not upsetting Lily…” He took a quick swig, wincing as the alcohol burned down his throat. “Christ on a bike, that’s awful.”

Sirius was pulling a similar face. “She doesn’t have a future in bartending, that’s for certain.” He paused, glanced down at his glass. “Enjoying the party?”

Remus watched him a moment. “Yeah. It’s fun,” he replied. “You?”

He shrugged. “Oh, you know me,” he said. “Any opportunity to get my kit off…”

Remus laughed, and for some reason, took another sip of the disgusting drink. “Oh, um,” he started, and was wondering why he’d decided now was a good time to say this—probably something to do with the alcohol. “Thanks for the Christmas present, by the way.”

Sirius looked up in surprise. The bloke had probably thought, since Remus hadn’t mentioned it in any way by now—over a month after he’d opened it—that Remus was just going to sweep it under the rug. Not an unfair assessment, all told—he’d certainly considered it. At first, he just didn’t know how to address the letters, afraid that even the slightest conversation about them would unleash all the whirling, confusing emotions he felt over them. Then, as time went on, it became more strange to not have said anything. And after all, denial was something that Remus excelled at. “Oh,” Sirius said. “Um—you’re welcome.”

There was a long silence, a heavy silence; Remus stared down at his shoes for so long that his vision seemed to swirl and blur slightly. Finally, blinking, he looked up, taking in his friend’s pale, worried face. “Pete ate twelve sausages, eh?”

The worry melted into a rush of laughter. “He did—it was terrifying,” Sirius replied, shaking his head. “The boy is bottomless.”

Remus gave him a small smile, falling quiet again for a moment. “I…thank you,” he said, softer this time. “That was…I’m not sure I would’ve been that brave, to share something like that.”

Sirius shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Yeah, well,” he murmured. “Seemed like the least I could do.”

He met Remus’ gaze, and they stared at each other for a few seconds—maybe it would’ve been longer, maybe something else might’ve happened next, because Remus’ stomach was fluttering, twisting, his heart thudding—maybe, maybe, maybe, but they wouldn’t find out, because that was when Owain appeared.

“I’m here, at last,” the boy grinned, raking his fingers through his blonde hair. He was too busy taking in the scene around him to notice Remus and Sirius hurriedly look away from each other. “Fucking hell, you Gryffindors go in hard, eh?”

“We do,” Remus confirmed, standing up from his spot at the window. “How was patrol?”

Owain shrugged. “Oh, fine,” he turned back to Remus with a smile, and a glint in his eye. “Now, I think I recall you promising me a tour of your dorm…?”

Remus blushed—and hoped desperately that in the dim light of the party, no one noticed—and shot a quick, almost nervous glance at Sirius before he took Owain’s hand. “So I did,” he said. He looked back at Sirius, handing back the glass that he had brought him. “See you in a bit, Pads.”

“See you, Black,” Owain gave Sirius a wink, which was all the impetus Remus needed to quickly pull him away, through the crowd and towards the dormitory stairs. And as tempted as he was to look back, he didn’t.

11.56pm

“You have to go?” James asked, not minding that he sounded a bit whiney—he could blame that on the alcohol.

Cadence gave him a fond smile from her position, draped across his lap. Her fingers traced gentle circles at the nape of his neck, and as she leaned closer, he could smell the distinctive zesty scent of her perfume. “Sorry,” she murmured, before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “But I promised Lam and Luce that I would be up bright and early with them tomorrow to finish our Arithmancy essays, and I am a horror without at least eight hours sleep.”

He let his thumb skate delicately across the strip of bare skin that had appeared between her jeans and strappy black top. They hadn’t done much more than kiss since getting together, maybe a bit of fumbling above the clothes (they were only human)—but he had to admit, he’d rather hoped that the buzz of the party might carry him over to the next stage. Or, under, might be the more accurate way to put it. Still, he knew when he was beat, and in fairness, he was perfectly capable of clearing his system by himself. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever be a horror,” he told her, and it was true—she was just so nice. Not in a bad way, or a boring way: she was fun, she had a bit of a wild side, as New Year’s Eve had shown. But she also cared, intensely, for her friends and her family, and he could see that she was starting to share that care, that affection, with him now too. “But I see your point.”

She snuck in another kiss, one that lingered this time, and her fingers raked softly through his hair in a way that gave him very particular feelings. Finally, before he could do something embarrassing like groan into her lips, she pulled back and gracefully shifted off his lap. “I had fun, though,” she smiled down at him. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“I had fun, too,” he replied, standing up as well. “Here, I’ll walk you to your tower.”

“Ever the gentleman,” she shot him a grin, lacing her fingers through his as they headed for the portrait hole.

After a few more long, lingering kisses goodnight outside the Ravenclaw tower entrance, James turned and headed back through the silent corridors. Prefect duties were long over by now, and a glance at the map had told him that Filch was preoccupied down in the dungeons, so he knew he could amble back and take his time.

He didn’t expect to find Lily, sat on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the Fat Lady’s portrait, on his return. “Evans?” he frowned slightly; she tilted her head up in an arced movement that suggested exactly how much she’d had to drink that night. “You alright?”

“Who, me?” she asked, and laughed. Her shock of red hair had come undone from the complicated ‘do she’d worn most of the evening, and the curls hung across her face as she looked down, presumably to locate her glass which sat, half-empty, on the floor next to her. “I’m fine!”

He paused, glancing at the portrait—the Fat Lady raised her eyebrows in an expression of, don’t ask me—before he lowered himself to the ground opposite her. “How come you’re sat out here?” he asked next.

She pushed her hair back with a hint of aggravation, as if the hair had a mind of its own and was out to annoy her. “Wanted some fresh air,” she said. “Was going to go for a walk.”

He looked down the corridor. “You didn’t get very far.”

“No, well,” she sighed, and rolled her eyes. “Thought I’d just sit down instead. Much less energy required.”

He watched her, taking in the smudge of her mascara, the dark shadows under her eyes that no amount of makeup could conceal, the slump of her shoulders. Her nails, normally painted evenly and in an ever-changing array of colours, were chipped and flaking a dark, dangerous shade of red.

Looking at her like this, he couldn’t help but think he wasn’t really looking at her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quiet even in the quiet of the corridor.

She didn’t answer right away—and when she did, it wasn’t an answer, but a question of her own. “How long have you and Cadence been dating?”

He blinked, surprised at this line of questioning. “Well—we sort of got together over the holidays,” he replied.

Lily looked up at him then, almost squinting at him, as if she was looking into the sun. “She’s lovely, isn’t she,” she said, picking up her glass again. “I mean, I don’t really know her well. But she seems lovely.”

James didn’t know why he felt so uncomfortable, so unsure. He never usually felt quite so off-balance around Lily—at least, not like this. “She is,” he agreed.

“Good for you guys,” she added, raising her glass in toast. “What an attractive couple.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Um…thanks?” he chuckled awkwardly, and clambered to his feet, holding out his hand to her. “C’mon. I reckon you should go to bed.”

“Pfff,” she rolled her eyes, but accepted his hand nonetheless; she managed to stand up with more grace than James had been expecting. “The night is young, Potter—don’t be such a square.”

From the way she was swaying, slightly, it seemed the sensible thing to do to wrap his arm gently around her, guiding her towards the portrait hole. He muttered the password and then helped Lily into the common room. “Not trying to be a square,” he replied.

“Quadrilateral Potter,” she muttered, leaning into him. “That’s…what I’m gonna call you.”

“Okay,” he agreed, catching Mary’s eye from across the room. She was out of her seat and over to them in seconds. “Look! It’s Mary!”

“Mare,” Lily sighed, a tired, sad smile on her face. “Did you know that Potter’s a square?” She reached up to clumsily cover James’ ears, not very effectively since he heard her add, at a hiss, “a square with a girlfriend!”

“That’s good to know,” Mary smiled patiently, peeling Lily off of James and shooting him an apologetic look. “How about a lovely glass of water?”

“Mmm,” James offered brightly, “water!”

“Ugh,” Lily shot him a glare. “You’re both squares!”

“C’mon, you,” Mary linked arms with Lily and started guiding her towards the stairs. “The fun is really happening up in the dorm…”

James watched them go—he could hear Lily saying, “is it really?” in that sweet, guileless way that she only had when drunk—and couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away, even when they were long out of sight.

“Weird party,” Sirius said, appearing at his side.

James nodded. “Very weird,” he agreed.

Chapter Text

“Right. The dried aconite is in…” James peered into the bubbling cauldron, more nervous than he cared to admit. They had today’s double Potions lesson to get the first of their project potions started, and he was in a group with Lily—the undisputed brewing genius—and Sirius, who, if he ever tried even a little bit, could wipe the floor with most of the other pupils in the room. James was not like his father when it came to anything cauldron-related: he didn’t have the patience, for one thing. Why stand around adjusting temperatures and stirring anti-clockwise when he could be outside flying, or turning one thing into another, or practising his wandless hexes? There were so many things he was better at than Potions, and maybe it was a character flaw, but he didn’t enjoy doing things he wasn’t as good at.

But still, he wasn’t a disaster—he wasn’t Moony, Merlin bless the bloke, a walking catastrophe when it came to the subject—and he just had to maintain his composure and get through this project without fucking anything up. Not in the name of his own grade (he knew he could probably scrape an EE with minimal effort), but to make sure that Lily Evans didn’t skin him alive, or toss him into the Great Lake to be eaten by the giant squid.

She was pretty intense when it came to Potions.

He watched her now, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she referred to one of the many books scattered around the table. She always tied her hair back in Potions lessons—not that he paid attention to that stuff anymore—and there was something a bit…well…charming about how her brow would furrow, the look of concentration on her face, the way her posture was like that of a coiled spring, ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice. That kind of passion was distracting.

Lily was someone who had always been something of a mystery to him. What he knew of her, he’d always liked intensely—her kindness, her cleverness, her sharp wit and gentle humour. And what he didn’t know of her—the quiet edge to her, that sense that something was held back, from him at least—was just as intriguing. It had never only been about how she looked (although, that helped, given that she looked incredible, even when she wasn’t trying), in all his years of fancying her something rotten. It was…well, it was everything.

And that mystery seemed to have increased, since the start of the new term. He’d been relieved and embarrassingly grateful when she had sought him out to apologise last month—not that he thought she had any reason at all to apologise, frankly. He knew he’d handled the whole Rafe situation in a way that would have made his mother clip him round the ear. But at least the fences were mended, he didn’t have to avoid her anymore: they could be friends, again. He was a bit surprised at how glad he was of that fact, to be honest.

But even with that friendship back on track, his actions forgiven, she was definitely different. The night of her birthday party, he’d laid in bed, unable to shut his eyes, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell was happening. It had felt like he had missed something, some huge and obvious clue. Lily wasn’t exactly a shy and retiring type, but she wasn’t the sort to get completely plastered at a party like she had that evening. He’d seen the concern in Mary’s eyes, too. He wasn’t the only one panicking, at least.

That had been two weeks ago, and not much had changed. She was quiet in lessons, quiet in the common room. She looked like she hadn’t slept properly in ages (still beautiful, of course, and he was sure that was something a friend like him could acknowledge).

But this whole friendship…it was too fragile. He could sense that if he stepped onto that ice, asked what was wrong, it would crack and break beneath the weight of it all. She wouldn’t tell him. She’d only shut him out again. He wasn’t about to invite that back into his life.

He forced himself to look away, refocusing for a moment on Cadence, across the room with her project group. She was focused, too, carefully adding ingredients to the cauldron in front of her. She’d pulled back some of her hair so that her face was clear (and, he reminded himself, what a lovely face it was), and she absently held her full lower lip between her teeth. Okay. That was charming, too.

She looked up, caught his gaze, and gifted him with one of her smiles. It warmed him to his toes—and filled him with thick, hot guilt, like glue gumming up his insides. What kind of piece of shit boyfriend spent ages internally soliloquising about another girl—a girl he had been more or less in love with (past tense, he told himself firmly) for at least three years now—when he had a beautiful, sweet girlfriend like Cadence, just waiting to smile at him, whose eyes lit up whenever she saw him?

“If you could stop making eyes at your girlfriend, Prongs,” Sirius brought his attention back to his own group: his friend, sleeves rolled up and irritation clear on his face, was trying to dice a particularly slimy-looking ingredient; next to him, Lily looked slightly more anxious than she had even a minute or so ago. She couldn’t seem to meet his eye. “You need to add the toad eyes next.”

“Sorry,” he said, reaching across the workstation for the chopping board. “I’m on it.”

He kept his focus down—much safer that way—while Sirius and Lily conferred over the cauldron. He wasn’t really paying attention, until he heard his best friend say, “You doing anything for Valentine’s, Evans?”

Lily made a scornful noise, tapping a pot of powder just once, very delicately, so a small amount floated down into the potion. “Well, Mary’s going into Hogsmeade with George,” she replied. “Marl and Dorcas are going… ‘as friends’, apparently.” James glanced up, noting the knowing look that Lily and Sirius shared at that. “And I’d sooner have my eyeballs pecked out by an angry hippogriff than wander round on my own with all that lovey-dovey nonsense. So I’ll be staying in my dorm. Reading.”

Sirius tipped his finally-diced ingredients into the cauldron, pausing to note the colour shift gently from a dark, inky blue to a softer teal. He and Lily nodded, apparently satisfied. “Want to go to Hogsmeade with me, then?” Sirius asked.

James’ head snapped up at that. He looked quickly between the two of them, trying to understand what on earth was going on. And trying to understand why Lily didn’t look disgusted, or just plain angry, like she had the one time he’d tried to ask her himself. He swallowed down a visceral shudder at that particular memory.

Lily titled her head thoughtfully. “Yeah, okay,” she agreed. “Go on then.”

Sirius smiled pleasantly. “Excellent. Meet you in the common room at ten?”

“You’re going to see each other fifteen more times before then, Pads,” James said, because he had to say something. Maybe his voice would help them both see the utter insanity unfolding around them.

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “It’s good date etiquette, though, isn’t it,” he replied, and sent Lily a wink. “Helps her manage her expectations.”

Lily laughed. “You’re too thoughtful.” She glanced at the bench around them, apparently looking for something in particular. “I’m going to grab some nettles from the store cupboard, we’ll need those for the next stage.”

As she vanished towards the back of the classroom, James turned back to his friend with an incredulous look on his face. “What was that?!”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “What was what?”

“You know what!” James worked to lower his voice. “What, you’re dating Evans now?”

“It’s just Hogsmeade together,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’ll be with Cady, Pete’ll be with Iris since he decided again that he can’t live without her, Moony will be with Ollerton—” (his voice took on a more acidic tone, just for that one name) “—so it’s either this or sit around on my own thinking dark thoughts.” He fixed James with a meaningful stare. “Is that what you want, Prongs? Me and my dark thoughts?”

James scowled, returning his attention to his task. “You’re a bloody pest sometimes, you know that?”

“I do, in fact, know that,” Sirius assured him. “Although I can’t see any reason why this should matter to you, mate.”

There was a pause—a telling pause that made James feel, once more, incredibly guilty. “It doesn’t,” he said at last, muttering the words to the chopping board. “I was just asking.”

He didn’t need to see Sirius’ face to know his expression in that moment. “If you say so…”

The rest of their Potions session went by at a snail’s pace, with James showing unusual focus and effort (even Slughorn stopped to remark upon it—just for a moment, before going back to praising Lily’s every move) in order to avoid having too much time to sit and stew. Sirius was right. It shouldn’t matter to him, not in the slightest. So why did he feel a bit winded by it?

Unfortunately, by dinner, the whole castle seemed to know that Sirius Black had asked Lily Evans to go to Hogsmeade with him. James could see why this was valuable gossip: Sirius had never asked anyone to Hogsmeade, preferring a more laid-back approach with girls. And Lily, until this year, had a fairly adversarial relationship with Sirius—as far as she was concerned, he was just like James: arrogant, entitled, a show-off. So to have such a significant change of opinion was news-worthy. All around them in the dinner hall, James could see people looking over at them, muttering to each other with excited eyes. It was bloody irritating, frankly.

“Our Pads,” Pete sighed, patting Sirius on the back, “dating. I’m so proud.”

Only Sirius laughed: James was fighting to keep the scowl from his face, and Remus was staring resolutely down at his dinner. “It had to happen sometime, Pete my old chum. Even a wild beast can be tamed.”

“I’m not sure that’s always true,” Pete said. “Imagine trying to tame a lion! You’d get your face ripped off.”

“Well, as long as Evans doesn’t rip my face off, we’ll be fine,” Sirius smirked in James’ direction.

“This is great, though,” Pete carried on, as enthused as ever and not picking up on the mood around him. “This is the first time all four of us have had dates for Valentine’s Day in Hogsmeade. And not just dates, too! James and I have our long-term girlfriends—”

“Does it count as long-term if you’ve broken up and got back together fifty-six times over the course of your relationship?” Sirius wondered.

Pete chose to ignore him. “—and Moony’s got a boyfriend, too.” He paused then, frowning a bit, and looked over at Remus. “Right?”

Remus glanced up from his chicken stew. “We haven’t really talked about that stuff yet.”

“Well, for my money, if you’ve been getting steamy in broom cupboards for more than three weeks, then you’re pretty much together,” Pete told him.

“Thanks,” Remus murmured dryly, returning to his food. “I’ll be sure to let Owain know.”

James put his fork down, suddenly more keen than ever to get to Quidditch practise. Now seemed like a really good time to hurtle through the air at high speeds and lob Quaffles at someone. “Right, well, I’d better go and get set up…”

Sirius watched him stand up. “Have fun,” he said. “Don’t worry, Evans and I said we’d go down to the dungeons and check on the potion again later.”

Pete wiggled his eyebrows. “Oooooh,” he cooed, “sexy romantic times in the dimly-lit dungeons, am I right Pads?”

James clenched his jaw. “Grand. Thanks. See you lot later…”

He made his way out of the Great Hall, pausing in the doorway when he heard his name. Cadence had left her dinner behind to sidle over to him; she reached up to brush her thumb across his jaw, and he felt the tension in his shoulders already starting to fade.

“Just wanted to say have a good practice,” she smiled, and stood on her tiptoes to close the distance between them for a quick, soft kiss. “Score lots of goals for me.”

He couldn’t help but smile back. She truly was—as Lily had drunkenly put it, at her birthday a few weeks ago—lovely. “Thanks,” he replied, and glanced round briefly to check no one was in eavesdropping distance. “You know, wouldn’t it be a coincidence if you were around the prefect’s bathroom at nine-ish…”

She laughed softly, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, that would be a coincidence,” she agreed. “Maybe I’ll see you there…”

He gave her a wink, sneaking in one last kiss before he turned and headed out, down to the Quidditch pitch. Maybe this day could be saved, after all.

“Lillian Barbara Evans!” Lily glanced up wearily from her mash, which she wasn’t eating so much as prodding, to see Marlene swinging herself unceremoniously into the space across the table. “Picture the scene: I am leaving Care of Magical Creatures, having thoroughly impressed Kettleburn with my knowledge and skill as always, and all anyone can talk about is that Sirius asked you to Hogsmeade.”

Lily used her fork to dribble some of the gravy from her stew onto the top of the pile of mashed potatoes, watching as it found several paths down to the plate. She’d had a few mouthfuls when she sat down, but now—as it had been all term so far—her appetite was gone again. “My name’s just Lily,” she said. “Not Lillian.”

Marlene narrowed her eyes. “I think you’re latching on to the wrong bit of what I said, sweetheart,” she replied, serving herself a healthy portion of stew. “Is it true?”

Lily set down her fork and met her friend’s gaze. “It’s true.”

Marlene nabbed a bread roll from a nearby platter, dunking it into her stew. “But you said, and I quote, ‘you have more self-respect’ than to date Sirius Black.”

Lily shook her head. “Your memory, Marl,” she marvelled. “You are amazing.”

“That’s true,” Marlene agreed. “But again, not the point.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “It’s not a big issue, okay? He didn’t ask me on a date. And even if he had—it’s not like anyone else asked me out, is it?”

Marlene frowned, some of her humour gone. “Lil, you don’t have to have a date with anyone. It doesn’t matter.”

“I know it doesn’t,” she said; it was true, after all—she didn’t exactly have the headspace at the moment to have a boyfriend. Her mind was cluttered enough as it was, and maybe she was also feeling a bit nervous, given her recent history in that area… “Honestly, don’t worry about it, Marl.”

“It’s just a bit…out of character,” Marlene offered, seeming almost nervous. “All of this. And you say don’t worry, as if it’s that easy to just…ignore whatever this all is.”

Lily tried her best to meet her eyes. “What all what is?” she asked, voice light.

Her friend held her gaze for a long moment. “I wish you’d talk to us,” she said, quietly and with a heft of sadness that Lily didn’t expect.

Lily swallowed, forcing up a smile that they both knew wasn’t genuine. “I’m fine, Marl,” she promised, standing up. “Stop fussing. I need to go and check on our Potions project. I’ll see you upstairs in a bit…”

She didn’t wait for a reply—didn’t want to give her friend the chance to say anything else kind. She had felt on edge pretty much since the start of term: a month and a half or so of desperately trying to keep her emotions in check, trying to stop her thoughts from spiralling away from her. It was far too easy to wonder how her mum was, if every communication from her would be the last one, if she was slipping away and Lily didn’t even know it. As she walked, she clutched the letter that was safely tucked away in her robe pocket. It had arrived this morning. She hadn’t even opened it yet—too scared of what she would find.

She made her way through the dimly-lit dungeon corridors, trying to draw strength from her solitude. At least she knew where she was when it came to Potions: there was logic there, patterns and predictability. She could be in control, and that was something she needed so desperately, something she felt was constantly slipping through her fingers.

She paused in the doorway to the classroom, taking in the scene before her. Snape and Avery were standing around her cauldron, peering inside—Avery was pulling something out of his pocket. She cleared her throat and they both looked up quickly. “Did you lose your own cauldron, boys?” she asked, ice in her voice. “I’m not sure you should be anywhere near mine.”

Avery scowled at her, his hand going back into his pocket. “Don’t think too highly of yourself, mudblood,” he spat.

She merely raised her eyebrows. “How original.” She glanced over at Snape, who was glowering ineffectively at the floor.  “Anything else I can help you with?”

Avery drew his wand, turning fully to face her. “You jumped-up little—”

“Look who it is!” Sirius’ voice drew the attention of all three of them: he was leaning in the doorway with a deliberate nonchalance, although his wand was drawn, too, and aimed steadily at Avery. “My favourite prefect and two utter bellends.”

“I won’t tell Remus you said that,” Lily offered, more cheerfully than she felt.

“Fuck off, Black,” Avery hissed. “Nobody asked your opinion.”

“True,” Sirius agreed, moving forward until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Lily. “Few people actually do. I offer it freely anyway.” He smiled in a way that at a glance, might have seemed pleasant—but his eyes were cold, his stare unforgiving. “You two finished in here? Only we’ve got a Potions project to check on, and I’m sure Slughorn—who is in his office next door, by the way—might be interested to know what’s going on in his classroom.”

It was Snape who moved first; he reached out, his hand on Avery’s arm, forcing him to lower his wand. When he spoke, his voice was brittle. “We’re finished.”

“Great,” Sirius sighed, draping his arm around Lily’s shoulders. “Have a lovely evening now, you two.”

Avery looked extremely reluctant to leave without having fired off even one curse—and Lily had a feeling that Sirius might have been a bit disappointed about that, too—but Snape didn’t give him the chance, all but marching him out of the room. Lily shouldn’t have been surprised—her former friend had always had a knack for self-preservation.

She turned to look at Sirius. “I could’ve handled it, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied; his gaze was much warmer now that it was just her on the receiving end. “But I thought if you two started cursing and hexing each other, something might hit our cauldron and then we’d have to start from scratch.”

Lily smirked. “Oh, Black,” she said, “what a gentleman.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” he winked, and let go of her to wander forward, peering into the cauldron. “Doesn’t look like they’ve pissed in it or anything…”

“Pissed in it?” Lily repeated, moving to join him. “I mean—what do you—logistically speaking, how would that even work?”

Sirius adopted a thoughtful expression. “You get the right angle and ideal velocity if you climb up on to the desk,” he replied. “That’s just a guess, of course.”

She shot him her best judgemental glare, tempered though it was with a smile. “You are a despicable person, Sirius Black.”

“And yet you still agreed to go to Hogsmeade with me,” he grinned. “So what does that say about you?”

“Maybe I’m despicable too,” she said, reaching for the long-handled spoon next to the cauldron. She didn’t look up at him, just focused on the necessary clockwise stirs, and a sprinkling of dried lavender. After a few minutes, she spoke again. “Thanks…for inviting me. And don’t worry, I know it’s as friends.”

He shot her a smirk. “What gave it away?” he wondered. “Was it our complete lack of sexual interest in each other?”

She laughed. “Alright, Black, I think complete is a bit harsh,” she told him. “But, well…yeah.”

“No point in sitting around feeling glum. We’ve got as much right as anyone to enjoy ourselves,” he shrugged. “It also had the added bonus of making Prongs almost shit himself.”

She pursed her lips, holding back her initial reaction. “I really doubt he cares all that much,” she replied, reaching for the jar of pickled frogs. “I think you put too much stock in him once asking me out, for a joke.”

He didn’t reply straight away, and she glanced up, catching the expression on his face—one of clear disbelief. Christ, she really didn’t want to be getting into this now. Or ever, frankly. She shrugged off her outer robe, passing it to Sirius. “Sling that over the stool, would you? I need to quickly shred these and add them to the potion.”

Remarkably, he didn’t comment on her change of subject; it was a bit worrying, how well he seemed to understand her sometimes. “Certainement, mon cher,” he replied in a flawless French accent, eyebrow raised. “What can I do, other than stand here and look devastatingly handsome?”

“It needs three stirs, one every minute,” she directed him, focused now on her task. “I assume you can do that and look devastatingly handsome at the same time.”

“You got it, boss,” he agreed, turning to drape her robe over the stool as directed—then stoop to pick something up off the floor. “Oh, hang on, what’s this…” She looked up sharply. “A letter?”

She glanced between the unopened envelope and Sirius’ openly curious face. “From home,” she explained, aware that it was a poor—and unnecessary—explanation. “I’m saving it for later.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking down to study the envelope. “Someone’s got neat handwriting,” he said.

She felt a lump in her throat. “My dad’s.” That was part of the reason she was avoiding reading it. The last few letters had been from her mum—as soon as she’d seen her father’s handwriting on the envelope this morning, she’d frozen in bleak, unrelenting fear. It had been burning a hole in her pocket all day, a constant, taunting reminder of what she desperately wanted to avoid…

Sirius went to put the letter back in her robe pocket. “Nice to get letters,” he offered, his tone light. “I’m trying to imagine my father writing to me…”

She looked up awkwardly, pausing in her task for a moment before returning to the shredding—it was cathartic, in a way. “You’re staying with Potter’s family, right?” she asked. “Do they write to you?”

He had a small but fond smile on his face when she looked up next to tip the thin strips of frog skin into the potion. “They do,” he confirmed. “Euphemia is prolific.”

Lily busied herself tidying up their table, not that it was in much of a mess to begin with. “That’s sweet.”

“The sweetest,” Sirius agreed, with just the hint of truth hiding behind his sarcasm. “Right. That’s been three stirs.”

She nodded. “I can finish up here,” she said, “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

He levelled a stare at her. “I like your company, Evans,” he pointed out. “I am also not leaving you alone in this Merlin-forsaken place with wannabe Death Eaters like Avery on the prowl.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can handle myself, Black.”

“I know you can,” he agreed. “But you don’t have to.”

She sighed, but smiled, just slightly, just enough to make him return that smile, that familiar twinkle in his eyes again. “Fine, fine. Stick around. We’re nearly finished, anyway.”

“Goodo,” Sirius leaned comfortably against the table. “And we can start putting together a list of what we will and won’t do tomorrow. I’m afraid I won’t do any kissing on the lips, Evans. That’s a hard no.”

She laughed softly. “Afraid you’ll fall in love with me?”

He grinned. “Afraid to hook you in,” he replied smoothly. “I’m like a drug—once you’ve had a hit, you won’t be able to stay away. It’s for your own good.”

“Such generosity,” she said, and turned back to the potion.

James wandered back into the dormitory just after curfew, looking rather more cheerful than he had at dinner. Remus hadn’t failed to notice his friend’s mood over the news that Sirius had asked Lily to Hogsmeade—in fairness, he didn’t hide these things well—and had wondered, idly, as he battled through his Ancient Runes translation block, whether that mood might carry over to the rest of the evening.

Apparently not. James was whistling as he strolled in, chucking his dirty Quidditch gear into a heap at the end of his bed. “Moony,” he greeted him with a broad smile. “How’s the translation going? Does it lead to secret treasure?”

“Unfortunately not,” Remus replied, setting his work aside to watch James, now hopping about removing his socks. “Practice go well, did it?”

“Hmm? Yeah, mainly,” James replied, pulling back on the elastic of one of his socks and watching it go ping across the room, landing on Pete’s empty bed. “We’re on good form for the Hufflepuff match, I think.”

“Good,” Remus nodded. “Glad it lifted your mood.”

James turned around at that, eyebrows raised in surprise. “My mood?”

“Well,” Remus started, wondering if James had truly thought he was being subtle at dinner earlier, “you were a bit…shall we say…grumpy, before practice.”

“Grumpy?” James repeated, clutching his hands to his chest in dramatic offence. “I was fine, mate!”

“You were scowling into your stew,” Remus pointed out mildly. “Presumably because Pads asked Lily out.”

There was a pause: Remus could almost see the wheels turning in his friend’s head. God love him, he was a shockingly bad liar. “Asked her out and she said yes,” he said eventually.

Well, that was closer to the truth of things than Remus had expected. “Right,” he agreed. “But Prongs—they’re friends, aren’t they.”

James flung his other sock over his shoulder and moved to slump onto the end of his bed. “Yeah, they are.”

“And you know how much Sirius enjoys winding you up.”

A heavy sigh. “He really does.”

“So don’t rise to the bait,” Remus advised. “You’ve got a date with Cadence to worry about, anyway.”

At this, James grinned. “That’s nothing to worry about, Moony,” he replied. “Considering we just spent a highly enjoyable hour in the prefect’s bathroom—”

“Bloody hell, I don’t want the details,” Remus assured him quickly.

“—soap in all the right places, my friend,” he propped himself up on his elbow. “You should go in there with Ollerton sometime. Much better lit than a broom cupboard.”

“Not sure that’s entirely in my favour,” Remus frowned.

“Shut up, you’re a beautiful man,” James waved his free hand dismissively. “Plus—the oils, Moony! Make each other all slippery and—”

“Okay,” Remus interrupted. “I think that’s enough.”

James just beamed at him. “You are happy, aren’t you, mate?” he asked. “Pete didn’t put you off earlier talking about…boyfriends and all that?”

“I am happy,” Remus promised him, and it was mainly true. Owain was funny, he was kind, he was clever—he was fit. They had chemistry, that was for sure (the very pleasant hour they’d spent in an empty classroom on the third floor after dinner was proof of that). There was absolutely nothing wrong with him. Nothing at all.

His gaze flicked, almost against his will, towards Sirius’ bed.

“’Cause he meant well,” James continued. “If you’re not bothered about the labels yet, then don’t worry about it. No rush, is there?”

Remus nodded. “No. You’re right.”

James hesitated—a flash of uncertainty on his face, an unnatural thing to find there—before he sat up, crossing his long legs. “You seemed a bit grumpy at dinner, too.”

Remus had always been self-aware—you couldn’t not be, with his life. He knew very well that he’d sat down at dinner, hearing everyone around him talking about Lily Evans and Sirius Black, the new ‘hot couple’ of Hogwarts, and felt a horrible, roiling sensation in the pit of his stomach. Jealousy. It was clearly jealousy. It might as well have been neatly labelled and filed, as obvious as it was. And then he was angry with himself, because why was he jealous? He knew that Lily and Sirius weren’t going to actually end up dating—he couldn’t think of two people less compatible. They were friends, yes, but anything more? It was a laughable idea.

And he was happy with Owain. It wasn’t like he had any claim to Sirius—they were friends, for fuck’s sake, and only recently even friends at all.

Maybe that had been part of the reason why he sought out Owain after dinner. He was a delightful distraction from the mess that was the inside of Remus’ head.

“Well,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say, and better to waffle than to sit there in a guilty silence, “you know, it was a long day, I was…tired.”

James raised a dubious eyebrow. “Tired.”

“Surely you’ve heard of it,” Remus replied blithely. “Fatigued, exhausted, worn out.”

James clambered off his bed, wandering closer—initially, Remus wondered if he was about to be leapt on again (it had been happening with increasing enthusiasm since they’d cleared the air before Christmas), but instead he moved to Remus’ bedside table, breaking off a chunk of chocolate from the bar there. “You know, Moony,” he said, his voice soft, thoughtful, as he focused on wrapping the bar back up in its foil and paper casing, “at some point, you’re going to have to be honest about your feelings. Even if it’s just with yourself.”

Remus resisted the temptation to mention pot, kettle: just kept his face neutral. “What feelings?”

James glanced up at him then, and gave him a sympathetic smile, reaching out to pinch his cheek like he was a four-year-old. “You two,” he muttered with a shake of his head, moving back to his own bed. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Remus decided he wasn’t going to dig into the details of what he meant by that. Or, at least, not get confirmation—he had his suspicions, of course. It wasn’t like James was all that subtle. “Help yourself to my chocolate, by the way,” he said instead.

James shot him a grin as he grabbed a textbook from the foot of his bed, sitting back to start reading. “Thanks, I will.”

“Christ,” she muttered, and Sirius nodded his head in fervent agreement. “All the hearts…”

They stood on the high street in Hogsmeade, staring in mutual horror into the window of Madam Puddifoot’s. It had been Sirius’ idea to wander past—it was usually good for a laugh, and he hoped they’d be able to spot Pete and Iris gazing dopily into each other’s eyes, maybe get his attention, try to put him off a bit. Unfortunately (although not so for Pete, of course), they couldn’t see him at all. Just various couples they either didn’t know or didn’t care about, and more decorative hearts than Sirius thought were even in existence.

Sirius shuddered, draping his arm around her shoulders to guide her away. “Let’s not assault our senses any longer, Evans,” he said. “Fancy lunch in the ‘Sticks?”

“Yeah, good idea,” she agreed. They set off down the busy street, winding their way through loved-up pairings. When she spoke next, there was an interesting sort of forced casualness to her voice that drew his attention. “Lots of nerves in your dorm this morning?”

“Not that I could tell,” Sirius shrugged. “Pete’s not scared of being dumped anymore because I think he’s realised they’ll probably just get back together two weeks later. James is confidence personified. And Remus…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “A man of mystery.”

“He is,” Lily nodded. They reached the pub, and he held open the door for her. “I’m glad Potter’s found Cadence. They’re a lovely couple.”

He was almost impressed with her level of self-denial. But she didn’t give him time to dignify that nonsense with an answer, as she was already disappearing inside. Sirius followed her in, letting her take the lead—the woman had a natural talent for spotting empty tables in busy pubs. She quickly located and secured a small table tucked away at the back, smiling up at Sirius with pride. “I remain unbeaten,” she said with a lift of her chin.

“Incredible work as always, Evans,” he grinned. “Butterbeer?”

She nodded and he slipped into the crowd, fighting his way through to the end of the bar where he quickly caught Rosmerta’s attention. While she poured their drinks, he looked around idly—it was usually entertaining to see who was hooking up with who on the Hogsmeade Valentine visit. It wasn’t a day for casual things (unless you liked to set yourself for self-sabotage), so most couples were the kind of sickening, glazed-eyed pairs that he usually liked to avoid. Every now and then, though, you spotted a pairing that clearly hadn’t yet had the balls to break up with each other. Those were always worth watching.

A space in the crowd cleared as someone moved towards the bar, and he suddenly had a clear view through to a table near the window. Remus and Owain sat together, sharing a plate of chips. Sirius couldn’t help but watch them closely: if you didn’t know they were involved, you could probably overlook the clues that were there—they certainly weren’t overt about it. But Owain’s arm was draped across the back of Remus’ chair, and Remus’ hand, under the table, seemed to be toying with the denim of the Ravenclaw’s jeans. Their bodies were turned towards each other, and apparently were finding it hard to look elsewhere.

“Here you go, my love.” Rosmerta’s voice broke through his reverie; Sirius turned away from the couple, nodding his thanks and grabbing the two tankards. At least he hadn’t been caught staring. One less thing to be mortified about.

Back at the table, Lily seemed to be looking out for someone. “Oh, no one,” she said, when Sirius questioned her as he sat down. “Just seeing who’s around…”

He raised his eyebrows, but accepted this blatant lie with a nod. “Well, cheers,” he clinked his glass with hers. “To your good health.”

Her smile faltered just slightly; she covered it with a nod of her own, and a quick sip of her drink. “Cheers,” she echoed.

“Want to play ‘guess who’s never had a date before’?” he asked, gesturing to the crowd around them. “Or bet on who’ll be the first to sneak off together to the loos?”

“Not particularly,” she replied. “God, do you often find entertainment in other people’s love lives?”

“It’s a very reliable source of hilarity,” he smirked. “I’m only human, Evans.”

“Hmm.” She took a small sip of her drink, surveying the room once more. “What did you think of Merryton’s latest essay?”

“Oh, come on,” he sighed. “Surely we’ve got things to talk about other than a ruddy essay.”

“I’m sure we do,” she replied. “I was just asking.”

“No talk about schoolwork,” he told her. “That’s second on my list, after no kissing.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “And no talking about other couples.”

“Interesting you should want that topic off the table,” he remarked. “Which couple are you avoiding, I wonder?”

“We’ll never know, will we,” she smiled tightly, “because it’s against the rules.”

“Alright,” he agreed with a nod. “No couples.”

There was a pause as they both sipped their drinks.

“So,” he said.

“So,” she said, with an almost nervous smile.

“I was hoping you might tell me what’s been bothering you this term,” he told her, as breezily as if they were talking about the weather. “You know, not eating much, distracted all the time, constantly looked exhausted.”

“Well, thanks,” she huffed, lifting her glass for a long sip.

“Obviously you’re still gorgeous,” he rolled his eyes. “But you’re not yourself. Anyone with half a brain can see it.”

She shifted in her seat, discomfort clear in every muscle, every carefully-guarded expression. “You lot all need to stop worrying so much.”

“Mac tells me that worrying is what friends do,” he said. “Are you saying you’re perfectly fine? That nothing’s been wrong? Because the Evans I know doesn’t get absolutely trollied and act like a different person, even at her own birthday party.”

Green eyes flickered up for a moment; lips pursed. “You’re a born exaggerator, Black…”

“True, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m right.” He leaned forward. “Come on, Evans. It might help to talk about it, maybe with someone who’s not one of your best friends, but still a good enough friend to know you pretty well, who could listen and sympathise and beat the shit out of anyone who’s upset you because this good-enough friend happens to be quite strong, and, as it turns out, breath-takingly handsome—”

“My mum’s dying.”

He stopped, glass frozen halfway to his mouth, and stared back at her. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead focused intently on peeling apart the frayed card layers of one of the beer mats on the table. Words failed him for an agonising few moments. “Evans,” he breathed, and set his glass down. “Lily. Christ. I’m—”

“Don’t,” she said quickly. Her face was pale, her shoulders stiff. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

He swallowed against the lump in his throat, but nodded. “When did you…?”

“Found a clinic letter on New Year’s Eve,” she replied. Given how she’d blurted out the initial secret, every word now was careful, considered, as if she’d measured the emotion appropriate for the speech, never too much to tip her over into anything real or raw. “Parents told me on New Year’s Day.” She looked up, briefly, a wry, sad smile on her lips. “They said they didn’t want to ruin my Christmas.”

He took all this in, trying to process it—then something occurred to him. “That letter, yesterday,” he said. “Was it news from your dad?”

She blinked furiously down into her glass of Butterbeer. “I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s still in my pocket.”

He frowned. “Don’t you want to—”

“No,” she said, the word falling, heavy, from her mouth. “No, I don’t want to know. If I don’t read it, then I don’t know.”

He paused, then stood up; she watched, briefly confused, before her face slipped into an unsettling neutral again as he moved his chair round so they were side by side. Once sat back down, he looped his arm easily around her.

“Black,” she sighed; he could tell how close she was to the edge. He’d lived there himself for months after he ran away from home. He knew how easy it was to fall. What a very long way down it was. “You don’t need to—”

“This is shit, Evans,” he interrupted, uncharacteristically quiet. “It’s utter shit. There’s no way round that fact.” He paused; she drew in a shuddering breath. “But pretending it’s not happening doesn’t make it less real. Keeping it all to yourself doesn’t change anything—it just means you’re battling through this fucking awful thing, all on your own.”

She tilted her head to catch his gaze, studying his face for a moment. “I don’t think I can do it,” she murmured.

“You don’t really have a choice,” he told her, as blunt as ever. “What you do have a choice over is letting the people that care about you—who love you—be there for you.”

Her eyes were shining with tears now, tears she was desperately fighting to keep held back. “You’ve spent too much time with Mary,” she told him. “That sounds like something she would say.”

“Mac has a lot of wisdom to offer,” he agreed with a small smile. “I know it’s not the same, it’s not remotely the same thing, but—you basically gave me the same advice, back when I was acting like I was the only person to have ever been angry or sad before.”

She nodded. “Well, if it’s my advice, I should definitely follow it,” she tried to joke, but couldn’t seem to force a smile to accompany it.

“Have you got the letter with you?” he asked; she nodded again, chewing on her lower lip. “Come on, then. I’m right here with you.”

It seemed to take a lot of strength for her to even draw the letter from her pocket; her hands were trembling. He tightened his hold around her, rubbing mindless circles on her arm. It went against everything he believed in, but he stayed quiet—he knew that she didn’t need him babbling on in her ear, not right now.

He looked away to give her some semblance of privacy. The letter wasn’t long, and she was folding it back up, letting out a jolting sigh, only a few minutes later. “She went into hospital, for a few days,” she said, quickly, discreetly, wiping at her eyes. “They had to give her something for the pain. She’s back at home now.”

He nodded. “Home’s probably the best place for her to be, right?” he asked. “More comfortable…”

She stared down at the folded paper in her hands. “What if she dies,” she murmured, “and I’m hundreds of miles away?” She closed her eyes for a moment; a tear spilled down her cheek, and instinctively, he reached to brush it away. “I’m so fucking scared I won’t even get to say goodbye.”

“Does McGonagall know?” She shook her head. “Speak to her, speak to your dad. There’ll be a way they can set something up so if it’s really urgent, they can let the school know quickly.” He frowned. “The more people know, the more people can help. Minnie bloody well worships the ground you walk on, Evans. She’d do anything for her favourite student.”

A more genuine smile this time, however teary. “Don’t be jealous, Black.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I know that what Minnie and I share is a pure love.” He gave her another gentle squeeze. “Promise me you’ll tell the girls.”

She winced. “They’ll all have been having lovely, romantic days—I don’t want to ruin that with—”

“Evans, they are desperate to help you,” he pointed out firmly. “Mac has spent the last month and a half talking to me about how worried she is, how she wishes you would let them in. Valentine’s Day hardly matters next to all this.”

She sighed, tired, weighed down. “Fine,” she agreed. “I’ll tell them later.”

“Good,” he nodded, and gave her another smile. “Right, what’s going to help now? Talking? Crying? Distractions? Chips?”

She wiped her cheeks again, sitting up a little straighter. “Distractions and chips,” she replied. “Black—thanks.”

He winked. “This is what friends are for, sweetheart.”

James knew that Valentine’s Day was a Serious Thing for girls. It had been almost all any of the female population of Hogwarts had been able to talk about for the past month, as far as he could tell, and he was well aware that some girls had reached true fever pitch in their anticipation of the event. When he’d pointed out to an extremely excitable Charlotte Swift that the Hogsmeade visit fell on the twelfth of February and not the fourteenth, she’d fixed him with such a look of disdain and disappointment that he’d quickly apologised and wandered off.

Luckily, Cadence seemed to have her expectations at a much more manageable level. She’d told him she was looking forward to it, but hadn’t been banging on about it every time they hung out. And—mercifully—she had been clear that she did not want to go anywhere near Madam Puddifoot’s. “I went last year with Tim Hawkins,” she had said, shuddering at the memory. “Never again.”

Easy to please, then—much more James’ speed. He still laid on the romance, of course, he wasn’t a complete idiot: he presented her with flowers he’d picked (or, as Remus had framed it, “stolen”) from the greenhouses; he showered her with compliments for the carriage ride down to the village; he bought her—against her protests that she could pay for herself—the most ridiculous, heart-shaped box of chocolates he could find in Honeydukes.

She was easy to fawn over, really. He often found himself distracted by the little things she did, like how she would tuck her glossy golden hair behind her ear, a nervous habit that came out less as they got to know each other better. Or how she bit her lip when she concentrated, a little furrow appearing between her brows that was cuter than it should’ve been. Her voice, when she was enthused about a subject—so vibrant, pulling him in closer. There wasn’t anything about her that he didn’t like.

And it felt good, to have a girlfriend, to finally let go of—well—of that whole Lily situation (as he liked to call it in his head, or, as Sirius liked to call it, the Evans catastrophe) and move on with his life. He had Cadence at his side, Lily as his friend. It was good. It was great.

Which was why it was frustrating—angering, infuriating—to find his gaze drawn as it was, away from his beautiful, engaging girlfriend, across the pub to where he had an annoyingly good view of his best friend. He hadn’t noticed them at first, but once he did, he found himself looking back more than was probably healthy, and trying not to analyse their actions.

Lily was facing away from him, Sirius sat opposite her initially; the next time James glanced over (trying his very best to still listen to Cadence’s story about her first pet cat), he had moved to her side and had his arm around her. It was all he could do not to march over there and demand to know what was going on.

“…and we looked everywhere—I was getting so distraught, and Car was getting pissy because he always used to hate it when I cried, so…”

He nodded vaguely along with Cadence’s words, his eyes drawn again by—was he touching her face?! His fists tightened instinctively in his lap.

“…and—James? Are you okay?”

He looked round quickly, guilt like an anchor around his neck. “Sorry, sorry, I—I’m fine.”

Cadence frowned, glancing over her shoulder to see where he’d been looking—luckily, her view to Sirius’ table was blocked by a group of fifth years. She shuffled her chair closer to his, rested her hand on his leg. “You sure?” she asked gently; her blue eyes gazed at him with such tenderness, such care. It only made him feel worse. “We can go, if you want to…”

He gave her a small but genuine smile. “I’m sure,” he promised, covering her hand with his. “You were telling me about your cat.”

She laughed, a laugh like shimmering diamonds, a laugh that warmed him. “Honestly, even I was getting fed up of that story,” she said. She paused. “That was fun, last night, in the prefects’ bathroom…”

He couldn’t help a smirk. “It was, wasn’t it?”

She leaned in a bit closer, her lips skating past his ear. “I was wondering, if you’re not feeling great…maybe we should go and…warm up,” she murmured, mischief in her eyes.

He started nodding before he’d even fully processed the words. “You’re right,” he said, pushing the chair back. “Maybe we should go.”

“Oh, alright then,” she smiled, standing up too. He pulled her closer for a quick kiss, and apparently gave her a new vantage point. “Hey, is that Sirius? With Lily?”

He followed her gaze—Sirius still had his arm wrapped around her, the bastard—and nodded. “Yep,” he replied shortly, reaching for her hand. “Let’s leave them to it and see about that warming up, shall we?”

“If you insist,” she winked, and led the way out of the pub.

“Did he behave himself?” Marlene demanded as Lily entered the dormitory, still trying to recover from the shift in temperatures. Outside, it’d been almost arctic; thanks to Dorcas’ skill at heating charms, their dorm was practically a tropical paradise. “Did he touch you anywhere he shouldn’t have? Do I need to break any of his fingers?”

Lily sighed, pulling off her hat, gloves and scarf in quick succession and making a neat woolly pile at the end of her bed. “He was a perfect gentleman,” she assured her friends, rather uncomfortable with their combined attentions—Dorcas was watching from a reclined position on her bed, while Mary had made herself comfortable against the pillows on Lily’s bed, for some reason. “No breakages necessary. We’re just friends, you know.”

“I’m glad you went and had some company,” Mary frowned. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you sitting up here on your own.”

“I am capable of being alone, you know,” Lily said, now removing her coat. “A few hours up here reading would’ve been no hardship.” She paused, that familiar anxiety bubbling in her gut—remembering her promise to Sirius. It just seemed awful, to bring everyone’s moods down so abruptly. “How was your date, Mare?”

“Oh, it was sweet.” Mary’s face lit up with a smile. “George is so lovely, we spent most of the time chatting—”

“When they weren’t frantically snogging,” Dorcas interjected with a grin. “For example, outside the loos in the ‘Sticks, or on the street outside Scrivenshaft’s, or—”

“Yes, alright, Lily gets the picture,” Mary rolled her eyes. “We chatted, and yes, we used our tongues for other things, too.”

Lily chuckled, glancing over at Marlene. “And you had a good day?”

Marlene gave her a coy smile—and Lily was sure that Dorcas was probably looking similarly—and gave a simple nod. “I did.”

“Good.” Lily paused again, fidgeting with her jumper sleeve. “I’m glad.”

“And you had fun with Sirius, then?” Mary asked. “I told him he had to be nice to you.”

Lily shot her an exasperated look. “I don’t need to be looked after, you know.”

“I know,” Mary replied, sending a not-so-subtle look over at Dorcas. “I just wanted to make sure you had fun.”

Lily sighed. There really was no avoiding it any longer. She knew if she kept it all a secret now, Sirius wouldn’t let it lie—it wasn’t in his nature to do so. He could be extremely dedicated to something when he wanted to be, and Lily was under no illusions that this would be something he would put his full attention to: bothering her until she finally spoke to her friends.

She sat at the foot of her bed, looking from Mary, to Dorcas, to Marlene. They were her best friends. They would only want to help make things better. And saying the words out loud didn’t change anything: the horrible fact was that her mum was dying, no matter who she told. There was no hiding from that.

Her dad’s letter had shaken her—hell, had shaken her even before she’d opened it. For her mum to have been unwell enough to need time in hospital…it all felt so real now, no longer something she could squash down and ignore and hope it went away on its own. No longer something she could pretend just wasn’t happening. And keeping it all in like this was wearing away at her, turning her into someone she was not: secretive, closed-off, untrusting. The truth of it was, she was terrified. Of the grief, the weight of it enough to drag her down, to drown her. Of the feeling of emptiness that she was sure would come when her mother died—like losing a limb, like having her heart ripped out of her chest but expected to just carry on living.

She was terrified of crumbling under it all, and not being able to put herself back together again.

She hated being scared. Fear was so unproductive—it sat uneasily inside her. She prided herself on being strong, brave, resilient. And yet it had taken only one sentence, from an unknown doctor in a plain white examination room, to wipe that all away.

Enough.

She drew in a deep breath, swallowed down her fear, and started to speak. “I need to tell you guys something…”

Remus felt quite sure that if his father could have seen him now, he would be far from impressed. The upstanding Lupin boy, prefect, hard-working—standing outside the Hog’s Head tavern, swallowing down a rush of nerves as he stared up at the sign hanging precariously from one rusted chain. And that was even without knowing what his son had spent his day doing so far. Lyall had never said anything one way or the other, but Remus suspected that if he knew that Remus had been on a date with a boy—that he’d snogged that boy against the wall of the narrow alleyway behind the pub, amongst the empty barrels and crates of bottles, that this boy had stuck his hands down his trousers and made him shiver and groan to the point that he’d had to clamp a hand over his own mouth—he would be unimpressed, at best. Disgusted, at worst.

Bad enough he was so different already. Why indulge that, too?

But, standing outside the grottiest pub in Hogsmeade, about to meet with a famous Auror and his Defence teacher—something Lyall had explicitly told him not to do—well, maybe he didn’t mind upsetting his father as much as he’d thought he would.

Merryton had called him over to her desk at the end of his Defence lesson on Thursday, barely glancing his way before she had said, “Moody will meet with you on Saturday. I take it you are familiar with the Hog’s Head?”

“Oh, um,” he had replied, because something about her seemed to vanish his entire sense of vocabulary and syntax. More than halfway through the year with her and she was still as terrifying as ever. “Yes, I know it.”

“Meet us there at three,” she’d said next, a command rather than a request. And that had been that.

Owain had been understanding, even though Remus’ explanation for why he needed to abandon him to return to the castle on his own could have only been generously described as vague. He’d just smiled, pressed Remus up against the cold brick wall for another quick, blinding kiss, and said, “thanks for a fun day, Rem.”

Remus swallowed hard at the memory. Probably best not to let his mind wander in that direction again—not when he was supposed to be presenting a serious, grown-up front.

The only thing worse than being nervous would be being late—especially knowing that Merryton was in there too—and so he pushed those nerves aside and pushed open the heavy oak door.

Inside, the pub was so dimly lit that it might as well have been evening. The floor was its usual state of oddly sticky, and there was a smell in the air that he couldn’t quite identify. A few of the regulars he’d seen before slumped on the stools at the bar, muttering to each other over large glasses of ale. Only a few of the tables were occupied, and he soon spotted Merryton, her ice-blonde hair looking completely out of place amongst the dark, dingy surroundings. She was sat at the table by the fire, next to a man who, as Remus got closer, looked more and more grizzled. He did his best not to stare—knowing how that felt—at the raft of scars that littered his face and hands, the clear spell damage left behind by years in a dangerous job.

“Ah, there you are,” Merryton said, glancing at her watch with just a flicker of displeasure. “I was wondering if you had forgotten, Lupin.”

He gulped—actually gulped—and opened his mouth to reply, but Moody got there first.

“The lad’s thirty seconds late, Serena. I think we can forgive him that, don’t you?”

Christ. Remus just stared, wondering what on earth Merryton would say to that (Serena, her name was Serena—how bizarre that he had never considered until this very moment that she even had a first name).

His gaping only intensified when Merryton just laughed and rolled her eyes. Like a normal person might do. “Yes, alright,” she agreed, and looked up at Remus again; a flash of irritation, although amused, crossed her face and she waved at the empty chair across the table from them. “Sit, then.”

“Alastor Moody,” the Auror introduced himself gruffly, reaching out to shake Remus’ hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr Lupin.”

“Remus,” he replied, because it seemed like the polite thing to do. “You can…call me Remus.”

Moody inclined his head in a brief nod. “Serena here tells me you’re working beyond the N.E.W.T. level with Defence. Never seen a student like it, she says.”

Remus glanced quickly at Merryton, shock apparently clear on his face, because the two adults both laughed. “Fuck’s sake, woman, do you not compliment your students when they’re any good?” Moody asked. “Or do you just carry on being frightening and imagine they’ll divine the information some other way?”

“When I want your opinion on my teaching methods,” Merryton replied, the chill in her voice undercut by the warmth of her gaze in Moody’s direction, “I will ask for it.”

Moody took a swig of his drink—some unknown, amber liquid, no ice—and returned his focus to Remus. “We need skilled Aurors,” he said, “and we need people who have the brain and bravery to go with it. I’m sure you won’t have failed to notice exactly how much this world is going to shit at the moment. Voldemort’s only gaining more power.”

Remus nodded, his hands knotting in his lap. “I—I want to be able to do something,” he said, and it didn’t feel enough. “Not just sit back and watch. Wait for something to happen to me, or…someone I care about.” His thoughts flashed to Lily, and Mary, both Muggleborn, both already having had so much hatred, such vitriol directed at them, and only just seventeen. “I want to help.”

Moody shared a brief, knowing look with Merryton, one Remus couldn’t quite decode. “There could be problems, however,” he continued, and lowered his voice subtly. “This isn’t public knowledge yet, but new legislation is about to brought to the Wizengamot for a vote. Legislation that would make it impossible for lycanthropes to work for the Ministry.” Moody’s face twisted in a mask of pure anger. “To work for anyone, really.”

Remus did his best to keep his face calm, empty of emotion. He’d always known it would be harder for him, after school—hell, it’d been hard for him to even get into school in the first place. Finding a job that was well-paid, that reflected his abilities and skills, was not something he could take for granted.

Hearing that it might become a lot harder, very soon, was like a blow to the gut.

“Do you think it would get the votes?” Merryton asked, in the same shrewd, dispassionate voice as she used in the classroom. Something about it now made him want to stand up, grab the glass from the table, throw it across the room—to make it clear that this was his life she was discussing in such a cold, clinical way.

Of course, he didn’t do that. Just kept his hands knotted in his lap.

“It’s not clear,” Moody replied. “There’s certainly enough to get it through to the second round of voting. Then it’s whether Minchum will back it…” He turned back to Remus. “There may still be ways you can… ‘do something’. Just not through the official channels.”

Remus couldn’t begin to understand what that meant. “Like what?” he asked, because dissolving into a mess about his empty, pathetic future was not currently an option.

Moody leaned forward, a different kind of twinkle in his dark eyes. “Have you heard,” he asked, “of the Order of the Phoenix?”

The common room was unusually quiet, given that on a Hogsmeade weekend it was usually full of disgruntled first and second years. Maybe they’d taken their irritation elsewhere, because Sirius had his pick of seats, eventually choosing his favourite armchair by the fire. Evans had headed up to her dorm a while ago, and Sirius hoped against hope that she was finally telling her friends what was going on with her. And not just for altruistic reasons – being the only one who knew about something that big was not something he would enjoy. He was terrible at keeping secrets. Just ask Moony.

And he could empathise, of course he could – he wasn’t a monster. But it had crossed his mind, as he sat across from Lily in the pub, that he wasn’t sure quite how he would react if he received news of his own mother’s impending death. He didn’t think he’d be devastated, as Lily clearly was; there would be some sadness, probably, that frustrating familial connection still there even if it was buried deep under layers of anger and years of bitterness. But the sadness would be tempered with a whole host of other emotions, probably: fury, at her dying before he could show her exactly how big a mistake she had made in not loving him as a mother should; and, likely, a dark seam of happiness, to think of her in pain, pain like she had caused him. And, yes, he knew that probably made him a bad person.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t likely to get that kind of news any time soon. Knowing Walburga Black, she would outlive them all out of pure spite.

He’d been brooding by the fire, thinking about his mother and hating that he was, for about an hour when James came into the common room. For a moment, his friend hadn’t seen him, and so he could watch him unobserved: he had his hands rammed into his pockets; his hair was damp, for some reason, and as messy as ever; he looked, at first, to be quite relaxed—probably something to do with the hint of red and purple at his collar, the classy git—but that look stiffened almost imperceptibly when he finally caught sight of Sirius sitting by the fire. That wasn’t a reaction that Sirius was used to, and he was already frowning as James made his way over.

“Alright, mate?” he asked as James stopped behind the armchair opposite, his hands resting on the back as if he needed the support. “Nice hickey. Have fun with Cadence, did we?”

The look James gave him was a fascinating one—a churning mixture of frustration, distraction and irritation. It wasn’t as if they had never pissed each other off before, but this felt new, and Sirius couldn’t put his finger on why. “Yeah, good thanks,” James replied shortly.

“Yeah?” Sirius asked idly. “You might want to tell your face, then, mate.”

James glanced away, his mental process clear on his face. Sirius knew him better than he knew himself—his friend was debating on whether to say something or not. Fascinating. “You had a good day, then?” he asked eventually, each word grinding out of his mouth painfully.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Er—yeah, I did,” he confirmed. “Good company, a few drinks—what’s not to enjoy?”

Prongs’ eyes narrowed, his arms tense. “Look,” he bit out. “I saw you two.”

For a moment, Sirius was tempted to laugh—he did have some sense of self-preservation, though, and instead chose to smirk. Although, judging by the twitch in James’ jaw, maybe that hadn’t helped either. “Okay?”

“Don’t fuck around, Pads,” James frowned. “You were all over her!”

His smirk faded and his irritation grew. “What the bloody hell are you on about?” he asked, sitting forwards now, his casual slouch long gone. “We’re friends—we sat and had a few drinks and then came back!”

Evidently, this situation wasn’t quite perilous enough, because Remus chose that moment to return to the common room, wandering over to them just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation. “Everything alright, mate?” he asked James cautiously.

James turned to Remus, his face set in stony fury. “Pads was just explaining how having his arms round Evans and lovingly caressing her face makes them just friends.”

Remus looked over at Sirius, his face almost impassive. On any other occasion, Sirius might’ve paused to analyse the flash in his eyes of something like jealousy, would’ve wanted to dig into where that emotion came from. But he didn’t have time for that. “Give me some fucking credit, James,” he said sharply, standing up now too. “She was upset, I was comforting her—you know, like friends do!”

“Right,” James replied, voice weighed down with sarcasm. “The classic Black comfort—isn’t that what you’ve been doing with girls in broom cupboards all year?”

Sirius did his best to swallow down his anger at that comment. “It’s not the same thing at all, you daft bastard,” he replied fiercely. “Why do you care so much anyway, Prongs? Surely Evans is free to do whatever she likes with whomever she likes?”

James stepped closer, but not in a way that could be misconstrued as friendly. “You know why,” he muttered; Remus moved forward too, quickly, putting his hand on James’ arm—he shook it off without looking round. “You’re my best mate and you know why, but you did it anyway—”

“James,” Remus cut in, a quiet warning.

“No, let him say what he wants to say,” Sirius glared. “Apparently being his best mate doesn’t give me the benefit of the doubt at all. He’d rather believe what his jealous brain wants to think, rather than what I have told him—the truth.” He brushed past James, taking a few steps before he paused, looking back. “You need to get a fucking grip, Prongs. You can’t be getting your neck sucked by one bird and then get angry when another one is anywhere near a bloke.”

James blew out a heavy breath, raking his hand through his mess of hair. “You’re saying that nothing—”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Even if I was attracted to her—which, by the way, I am not—you’re my best friend,” he replied, quietly, coldly. “Maybe I’m not as big an asshole as you apparently think I am, eh Prongs?”

He saw the flicker of regret, of embarrassment, in his friend’s eyes, but he didn’t stay to hear anymore. This day had gone on long enough, and if he didn’t take himself out of this situation soon, he was going to punch something. Or someone.

For the first time in months, he drew the curtains around his bed, and didn’t make a move to open them, not even when he heard voices and footsteps around him a while later.

What a fucking day.

Chapter Text

“Padfoot.”

Silence. The curtains were still drawn around the bed, but James knew with unerring certainty that his friend was awake. Remus and Peter had already headed down for breakfast—Remus had lots of strong opinions on cold toast and how it could ruin his day—so the dorm was quiet. An hour ago, he’d been able to hear Sirius’ soft almost-snores through the red and gold hangings; that noise had tapered off now. He was awake, and, knowing him, waiting for James to go so he could move around unbothered.

Well, that didn’t fit with James’ plans.

“Okay, well, I’m coming in,” he said, and unceremoniously opened the curtain in front of him, clambering onto his friend’s bed.

“What the—that’s my leg, you cretin!”

“Apologies,” James offered, parking himself, legs crossed, at the end of the bed. With the curtain still slightly open, streams of daylight spilled across the covers and illuminated his friend’s grumpy, pale face. “But it was either you coming out or me coming in, and you didn’t seem to be moving in the near future.”

Sirius hauled himself up into a sitting position, slumped against the headboard and pushed the hair from his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked, voice cool. “Come to accuse me of snogging Cadence now?”

James winced. “About that,” he said, with a heavy sigh. “I’m really sorry. You were right, it was completely uncalled for—you know I trust you—I was just…” He trailed off, feeling stupid. Or rather, no more stupid than he had done all night since Sirius had stormed out of the common room. James had sat by the fire for a while, staring gloomily into the flames, not noticing the crowd thinning out around him until he was left alone. He’d slept fitfully, as he often did after he fell out with, well, anyone. And his restlessness was exacerbated by the hard truth of the matter: he was wrong. Sirius was right. He’d acted like an absolute twat. “I’m sorry, Pads.”

Sirius squinted at him, looking torn. It probably would’ve been easy to drag this all out, to punish him for it, to make him beg forgiveness. But that wasn’t really Sirius’ way, at least not with the Marauders, and not when it was something so…real. James knew his feelings about Lily Evans were about as real—and as complicated—as these things came. “It’s fine,” Sirius said at last. “Don’t worry about it.”

James felt himself almost deflate with relief. “I know it’s not fine,” he assured him. “But—thanks, mate. I…I don’t know what came over me.”

Sirius sighed. “You seem a bit confused, Prongs,” he said bluntly. “I thought you liked Cadence.”

“I do,” James replied quickly, and it was true. He really liked her—he liked her smile, he liked her eyes, he liked the way she was so sweet with everyone, from the most inconsequential first years up to her most obnoxious peers. “I do, honestly. It was just…harder than I thought it’d be, seeing you and Evans on a date.”

At that, Sirius rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a date.”

James twisted his mouth in what was supposed to be a smile, but came out more as a grimace. “It’s fine. You don’t have to sugar-coat it for me, Pads.”

“I’m not,” he replied, his words a blunt rebuke. “I’d say I fancy you about as much as I fancy Evans.”

“Hey,” James frowned, “what’s wrong with me?”

“Christ,” Sirius breathed, eyes raised to the heavens. “We’re friends, Evans and I.” He paused, before adding, “I’m not going to tell you what we talked about, because…well, it’s her business. But trust me when I say that she needs all the friends she can get at the moment.”

James’ frown changed from something teasing to something more etched with worry. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Sirius shot him a look. “You’ll have to ask her,” he said. “But—look, you can’t trail Cadence around and still pine after Evans. It’s not fair on either of them.”

“I know.” James swallowed. “I’m not pining.” At Sirius’ look, he continued, “I’m not. I care about her, that’s all. Like friends do.” He glanced at his watch. “If you’re not hiding from me in here anymore, shall we go down to breakfast? I know how you get without your morning bacon.”

“Alright, just…give me a few minutes.” Sirius rolled off his bed in a way that, had James done it, would’ve looked entirely graceless, and ambled into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Did, um…Moony talk about his date yesterday?”

James leaned against the wall by the bathroom door, fighting off a yawn. “No,” he replied. “Not yet anyway.” He paused, before adding, “Pete didn’t either, in case you were wondering.”

There was a short silence—or rather, a lack of Sirius talking, as James could still hear the tap running. “Fuck off, Prongs.”

“Alright,” James agreed gamely. “Just saying.”

The tap turned off with its customary creak and groan (no amount of magic could seem to fix the damage wrought in fourth year when James had bet Sirius he couldn’t “pull a Muggle Jesus” and change the tap water into wine—the easiest five galleons he’d ever made, incidentally) and Sirius emerged, moving to change with his usual nonchalance. Neither Sirius nor James cared remotely about stripping off and parading around the dorm in the all-together, an ease with themselves that Pete and Remus did not seem to possess. James didn’t understand it—there wasn’t anything wrong with either of them, they were perfectly decent looking lads, even if he wasn’t that way inclined himself—but then, he had always been blessed with confidence oozing from every pore. It was difficult, sometimes, to remember that not everyone felt the same way.

“You know,” James said, watching as Sirius hopped about, trying to secure his other sock, “your interest in Moony’s dating life has become a bit…”

Sirius glanced over, his gaze sharp. “Become a bit what?”

James paused, searching for the right word. “A bit…much.”

Sirius let out a loud, unhappy burst of laughter. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you—”

“This isn’t about me,” he interrupted quickly. The last thing he needed was to reopen that particular topic of conversation. “This is about you and Moony.”

Sirius moved to the door, and James followed close behind as they made their way down the stairs and through the common room. “We’re friends,” Sirius said at last, bluntly, when they were safely alone in the corridor again. “That’s all.”

“Mate,” James sighed. It was getting exhausting, the level of self-denial on display from his two friends. “Really? You care just as much about Pete and Iris as you seem to about Remus and Ollerton?”

Sirius seemed to flinch at even the mention of the Ravenclaw’s name. “It’s different.”

“How is it different?” James pressed.

“Because – because Moony’s got…other stuff to deal with,” Sirius argued. “I’m just looking out for him.”

“Well, sure,” James agreed mildly. “And I care about that stuff too, but you don’t see me staring daggers at the Ravenclaw table and trying to find out what they got up to on their dates.”

Sirius shot him a scathing look. “You’re about to make judgements about staring where you shouldn’t, are you?”

James rolled his eyes. “Maybe it gives me a unique understanding of what you’re going through.”

They’d reached the Great Hall, and paused in the doorway; Sirius’ gaze drifted, almost against his will, over to where Remus and Peter were sat devouring their breakfast. “I don’t know what to say about it,” he said at last, his voice much too quiet, much too deflated. He glanced back at James. “Okay?”

“Alright,” James said, patting his friend on the back. “But, when you do know what to say…you know where I am.”

“I do,” Sirius agreed, “because we have a magical map that allows me to track your movements.”

“I meant more figuratively, but, you’re not wrong,” James gave him a shove into the hall. “Come on—bacon awaits.”

A quiet castle was surely a good thing—she’d never thought differently before. But somehow, as Lily walked along with Remus on another loop of the winding corridors, an hour into their prefect duty, there was something that unsettled her. Was it really all that different to how things normally were? She wasn’t sure.

It was possible that everything going on in her life at the moment was putting her on edge. She felt like she was constantly watching out for an owl, or for McGonagall to come sweeping in and deliver terrible news. Her mother’s death was inevitable, and waiting for the axe to fall had become a slow and silent torture.

Telling the girls had helped, somewhat, but there was only so much they could do or say. At least she didn’t feel like she had to keep it all bottled up all the time anymore, didn’t feel like she had to let the emotions, the fear, scratch away at her insides until there was nothing left of her to give. She knew that Sirius hadn’t told anyone else, mainly because Remus, James and Peter were still treating her the same as they always did—although, come to think of it, James had been acting a bit strange lately. Hot and cold. But she knew he was busy (weren’t they all?) and, not wanting to look into it too deeply, decided that must be the reason why.

No wonder she felt like something was about to leap out from behind a pillar as they patrolled the castle. No wonder she was becoming something of a basket case.

“Down to the dungeons next?” she suggested as they reached the stairs; she hated going down there, but there was strength in numbers, at least. “Although it seems as if everyone is staying firmly in their common rooms tonight.”

“It is quiet, isn’t it,” Remus agreed, starting down the stairs. “A bit unsettling.”

“Yes!” she nodded quickly, feeling rather validated. “I was just thinking that—like there’s something we’re missing.”

He looked around them as they walked. “I don’t know what we could have missed though, Lil,” he offered. “All the classrooms we’ve checked have been empty, the usual ‘hot spots’ too…”

“I know,” she sighed; they crossed the entrance hall and made their way down the steps to the dungeons. She tried not to let a shiver overtake her as the light dimmed. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Sure enough, the dungeons were empty, too—a bit dull, really, considering they could usually rely on some Slytherin or other doing something they shouldn’t be in one of the Potions classrooms. They redirected themselves back up the stairs, their feet on the flagstones the only sound.

“So,” Lily spoke up again, as they climbed up the stairs between the fourth and fifth floors, the silence starting to wear her down, “how’re things with you and Owain?”

Remus glanced over at her. “They’re…good,” he replied; he shoved his hands in his pockets with a shrug. “We had fun in Hogsmeade. We have fun, generally.”

“And that’s not what you want?” she asked curiously.

“No, I…” He sighed with a rueful smile. “I’m not sure what I want, really.”

“He’s not trying to rush you, is he?” she checked. “I’ll hex his balls off if he is.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he assured her. “You know Owain—he couldn’t be nicer. He’s thoughtful, he’s funny, he’s…” His cheeks coloured slightly. “He’s fit.”

Lily grinned. “Yes he is,” she agreed. “Well, I wouldn’t overthink things, if I were you. Just let it happen and see how you feel.”

“Good advice,” he nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know how it is to overthink things—” she started, but came to a stop: they’d reached the seventh floor, and now was the time they ran into another human being. Charlotte Swift, the Gryffindor keeper, was leaning against the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. She stared at the wall opposite in a manner which told Lily she hadn’t heard the two prefects approaching.

Remus and Lily shared a confused frown. “You okay, Charlie?” Remus said; she glanced round, seemingly startled from her thoughts. “You should be back in the tower…”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, and glanced at her watch—a battered-looking Muggle product. “Shit. Sorry—I lost track of time.”

Lily didn’t feel like now was the time to be docking points. The whole interaction was leaving her feeling as if she’d missed something, something significant. “It’s okay,” she assured the girl. “We’ll walk back with you—we’ve finished our patrols anyway.”

“Thanks,” Charlotte smiled distractedly, looking over at the wall opposite one more time before falling into step with her housemates. “Didn’t realise it’s past curfew.”

A long way past curfew. Lily shrugged it off. “Well, you were nearly back, anyway,” she smiled, and Remus matched it. “Two more corners and you’d have been at the portrait hole.”

Charlotte was quiet for a few moments. “Good patrol?”

“Boring,” Remus replied. “You’re the only one we’ve seen all night.”

“Not even a single couple getting frisky in a broom cupboard,” Lily added, trying to sound more light-hearted than she felt. “Disappointing.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Charlotte offered quietly as they stopped in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait. She mumbled the password and led the way through to the common room, pausing at the foot of the stairs. “Thanks again, for not taking points or anything,” she said, briefly meeting Remus’ gaze. “Won’t happen again.”

“No problem,” Remus replied. “Night, Charlie.”

“Night,” Charlotte echoed, before hurrying up the stairs.

Lily glanced over at Remus, glad to see he looked as baffled as she did. “Well,” she shrugged. “If only all patrols were as uneventful, eh?”

“Right,” he agreed, but she was certain that he felt as she did—as if there was more to all of that than met the eye.

“And that was when I realised,” Pete was saying, face full of mirth, “that she’d meant bowtruckle, not grindylow!”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, nodding gamely. “Oh, ha, yeah—”

“Bless her,” Pete shook his head. “She’s bloody cute, Iris is.”

Sirius probably should’ve been paying attention earlier in the conversation—actually, the word ‘conversation’ was a bit generous for what he’d just sat through. ‘Monologue’ was more fitting. Pete had started talking, and Sirius had tried, he really had, to listen intently, but it had been about three minutes before his mind had started to wander. In a way, it was endearing, to see his usually low-confidence friend so buoyed, so cheerful. In another way, it was tedious and irritating. Sirius was trying not to let that side of things win out, but Merlin’s beard it was challenging.

However, James had headed off to quidditch, and Remus had muttered something about—well, whatever, he’d buggered off too, and so it was either sit here by the fire, listening to Peter ramble on about his girlfriend whilst trying to get him to focus on the game of chess in front of them, or sit around the dorm on his own.

Technically, there was a third option of doing his Charms essay, but why do it now when he could leave it until the morning it was due in like he always did? He could pull an O-graded essay out of his arse in thirty minutes flat. An extremely helpful talent.

As if sent by some divine being—or, you know, wandering down from her dorm looking bored—Mary ambled over to them. “Evening, lads,” she smiled, and caught Sirius’ eye. “Bit of fresh air, Black?”

He probably shouldn’t have leapt out of his chair with quite so much enthusiasm, but, well, that ship had sailed. “Great idea, Mac.”

“Cigarettes are bad for you, you know,” Pete advised gravely from his armchair.

“Lucky, because I’ve always enjoyed things that are bad for me,” Sirius winked. “See you in a bit, Wormy.”

He followed Mary out of the common room and they trekked down to their usual spot by the greenhouses in a companionable silence. It wasn’t until they each had a cigarette lit, slumped on the cold ground, that Mary spoke up. “So,” she said, and shot him a small smile, “I hear you convinced Lily to talk to us.”

Sirius took a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils in a thick plume. “I did,” he agreed. “Glad to hear she actually did.”

Mary shook her head. “I knew something was up,” she sighed. “I just—didn’t expect this.”

“I had to basically drag it out of her.” He watched idly as ash floated to the ground. “Think she’s been in denial.”

“I think I’d probably be the same,” Mary mused softly, sadly. “Well, anyway—thank you for pushing her on this.”

He gave her a crooked half-smile. “About time I started giving some good back into the universe, isn’t it?”

She delivered a sharp nudge to his ribs with her elbow. “Don’t start with this again.”

“How was the big date with McMillan?” he asked, deciding it was best to move away from areas of self-pity. No one wanted to see that. “Did he wine, dine and sixty-nine you?”

“Sirius Black!” She swatted him on the arm, a move which hurt more than he’d expected. She was stronger than she looked. “Not everything is about sex, you know.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” he smirked. “My mistake.”

“We had a lovely time, thank you,” she tapped her cigarette before taking another pull. “He was a perfect gentleman.” After a pause, she added, “when I wanted him to be.”

Sirius laughed. “I suppose you can’t ask for better than that, can you…”

“No, I suppose not,” she grinned.

“I’m glad it’s going well, Mac,” he told her, more sincerity in his voice now. “You deserve it.”

“Thanks.” Her cheeks blushed a pretty pink, visible even in the dim light of the moon. “How’s your romantic life looking? Got your sights set on anyone?”

Sirius looked away. “No one new.”

“Ah.” He glanced back at her at the tone in her voice, audible even in that one, short word. “So you’re still torn up about Remus.”

He frowned, aggravated. “Why does everyone think that?” he asked defensively. “First James, now you—”

“Well,” she interrupted kindly, “it could be because you’re often looking at him, or looking for him, and since Ollerton came on the scene—”

Sirius couldn’t stop the eye roll just at the mention of the Ravenclaw.

“My point exactly! You hate the bloke now,” Mary pointed out. “But before he and Remus started seeing each other, you liked him just fine.”

“That’s got nothing to do with anything,” he grumbled, grinding the remains of his cigarette into the grass. “I’ve just gone off the prick, that’s all.”

“Sirius Black,” she said, her voice much softer than when she’d said the same thing only minutes ago. “Who exactly are you trying to fool here? Is it me, or is it yourself?”

He climbed up off the ground, brushing his trousers off. “Best get back inside,” he said, offering her his hand. “It’s nearly curfew.”

She sighed, but accepted his hand, letting him pull her up off the ground too. “You are infuriating.”

“You’re not the first person to make that observation,” he allowed. “And I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

They made their way through the dark grounds and back up to the castle; up the steps, Sirius let Mary lead the way, frowning when she came to an abrupt halt just inside the castle doors. “Hey, what’s with—”

Then he saw why. Regulus Black was waiting at the top of the stairs that led down into the dungeons. He held himself with that same, familiar, aristocratic grace, even when all he was doing was leaning against a stone wall. His arms weren’t crossed, nor were his hands in his pockets—because Blacks didn’t slouch, did they, or look like they were “waiting for a bus”—and yet he looked relaxed, regal as ever. Probably the benefit of knowing that no one could really touch him; the gilded protection that came from now being the sole heir to the House of Black.

Regulus’ gaze found his brother’s, and he stepped forward, his face unreadable. “Sirius.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, aware that Mary was watching on with a mixture of concern and fascination. “Reg,” he replied—he thoroughly enjoyed the slightest twitch of eyebrow that came from his use of the hated nickname. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Regulus let his eyes move briefly to Mary, his expression guarded: he was far too cautious a person to ever react the way his housemates would to someone they deemed unworthy. In fact, his face didn’t change at all; he just let his gaze sweep briefly over the girl before returning his attention to his brother. “I was hoping to have a word,” he said, adding, “in private.”

Sirius let out a low chuckle. “Well, I’m not letting Mac just wander off on her own at this time of night,” he replied. “There are some people who would want to use her blood status as an excuse to hurt her, you know—can you believe it?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps she would permit waiting for you in the empty classroom on the next floor.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t love being spoken about as if she isn’t here,” Mary interjected coldly, turning her attention to Sirius. “I’ll go and wait up there if you want, though, Black.”

He paused. It would give him untold satisfaction to tell his brother to take his wishes for “a word” and shove them where the sun didn’t shine—truly, an entirely appealing idea. But he also knew how unusual it was for Regulus to want to talk to him, which meant it was probably important. He pushed down his ‘fuck it, let the world burn’ instincts, and nodded. “Thanks, love.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “We won’t be long.”

Mary nodded before shooting Regulus what she probably thought was an intimidating look—bless her, she wasn’t as scary as she hoped—and heading off up the stairs. It was only once they heard the sound of a classroom door quietly clicking shut that Regulus spoke up.

“Mother and father are intending to visit,” he said, his voice tight, controlled. “They wish to speak with you.”

“I’ll bet they do,” Sirius agreed darkly. “And I really do hate to disappoint them, but I think I’m busy.”

“I didn’t say when they were coming.”

“And yet I still know I’ll be busy.” Sirius laughed, a sound with so little actual humour. “Seriously, Reg, did you think I was going to say yes? That I even want to see those abhorrent arseholes ever again?”

Regulus flinched, just barely. “They’re our parents—”

“They’re your parents,” Sirius interrupted. “I’ve been disinherited and disowned, in case you hadn’t heard.”

“They just want to talk—”

“I’d sooner be eaten alive by an angry hippogriff than talk to—”

“For fuck’s sake!” Regulus’ calm veneer shattered for just a moment; he breathed to steady himself. “Sirius. Things are changing in our world, you must realise that—the pureblood way of life is the only—”

“And your time’s up,” Sirius decided, his voice cold. “I have a lovely lady waiting for me, so, if you’ll excuse me…”

He was across the entrance hall, up a few steps when Regulus’ voice made him pause. “Be careful, Sirius.” He didn’t turn around—didn’t want to give his brother the satisfaction. “Be careful who you align yourself with. This—this SWEN business—” Sirius shook his head, starting to move again. “Just…be careful.”

“A delight to talk with you as ever, dear brother,” Sirius called back, pretending that Regulus’ words hadn’t left him feeling distinctly unsettled. “We must do this again sometime.”

He heard the sound of footsteps fading away, his brother slinking back to his dungeon common room, and managed a much more cheery smile than he felt when he retrieved Mary from the empty classroom on the first floor.

“Everything okay?” she asked anxiously.

“Absolutely,” he replied, and could almost believe it himself.

“Mr Lupin. A moment, please.”

Remus tried not to grimace, slinging his bag over his shoulder and moving towards the front of the Defence classroom. Ever since the strangest meeting he’d ever attended at the Hog’s Head on Valentine’s Day, Merryton had largely treated him as she always did, as she did every student: as if he was a mere inconvenience. To be held back at the end of the lesson, over a week after he’d seen a new side to her—Serena, her name is Serena, his mind insisted on blaring unhelpfully—was rather disconcerting.

“Professor?” he adopted his most polite, neutral expression.

Merryton glanced towards the door, where the last lingering student was finally leaving the classroom, then nodded to a nearby chair. He sat down, reluctantly. “I was wondering if you’d had the chance to digest what we discussed on the twelfth.”

Another terrifying thing about her—there was no concept of small talk with Professor Merryton. Straight to the heart of things, no pissing around or gently leading someone into a subject. “Um, well—yes, a bit.”

She raised an arched eyebrow. “I know for a fact that you can be more eloquent than this, Mr Lupin.”

“Right.” He swallowed. “I’m—I’m not averse to the idea, or anything, just—being still at school—how much can I really do?”

She allowed him a nod. “True, that does present its difficulties,” she said. “But there are things one can do even within the walls of Hogwarts, before one is ready to graduate and join the Order proper.”

He raised his eyebrows with a mixture of alarm and concern. “What could I do around here that won’t get me in front of Dumbledore?” he asked, adding, quickly, “erm, Professor Dumbledore.”

She raised her eyebrows in return, a much more mocking glint in her eye. “Mr Lupin, it is Albus Dumbledore who asked Moody to suggest the Order to you in the first place,” she told him. “Your headmaster is more than just a headmaster, you know.”

Well. That stumped him. “Oh,” he said profoundly.

“Perhaps you should discuss it with like-minded friends, people you trust,” she suggested, her voice light, almost airy, as if they were discussing what cake to have with tea. “I’m sure you are aware that the other side are recruiting in the castle, too.”

“I…guessed as much,” he nodded. There was no shortage of Slytherins—and, he thought glumly, probably other houses too—who agreed with the anti-Muggleborn sentiment that was spiking around them.

“Lord Voldemort has no qualms about preying on underage wizards and witches,” she said, ignoring his wince at the name. “Teachers are, sadly, not the ideal people to try to investigate who the students are who have been drawn in.”

Ah. “So you want students on your side,” he said, “to tell you who’s gone dark.”

“They say it is helpful to know exactly what one is facing, in battle,” she remarked. “And I’m inclined to agree; aren’t you?”

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to help – as if he had ever been okay with sitting in the middle ground, letting injustices pile up around him, pile up on him. But there was something about all this that felt so calculated, like they’d known exactly who to target: the werewolf, the disenchanted half-breed—the one who was already as good as an outcast from society.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, standing up. He’d never left Merryton without being dismissed before; it was an uncomfortable feeling. “I should get to dinner.”

“Very well,” she agreed, her words clipped. He tried to resist the wave of anxiety that came from so clearly disappointing a teacher. “I will see you at your next lesson, Mr Lupin.”

He didn’t say anything else, just made his way out of the room, purposefully steadying his stride even though his instinct was to rush. In the hallway, leaning against the wall across from the classroom door, was Owain: Remus felt a surge of affection, just at the sight of him. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

Owain raised an eyebrow and offered him a grin. “And leave you at the mercy of that ice queen?” he asked as Remus sidled closer; his hands found Remus’ hips, drawing him closer still. “I could never.”

“You’re too kind,” Remus smiled, sliding his hand up his arm. “I survived to tell the tale, as you can see.”

“Hmm,” Owain leaned in, shooting a quick glance each way along the corridor before pressing his lips against Remus’, a brief but thrilling kiss that didn’t last as long as he wanted. “Did it make you want to celebrate life?”

Remus bit his lip, distracted a moment by the progress of Owain’s fingers along the nape of his neck. “Absolutely,” he agreed, a bit breathlessly. “But maybe, after dinner?”

Owain laughed, a warm, rich sound, and snuck in one last kiss. “Merlin forbid anything get in the way of Lupin and his sausage and mash.”

“You know me so well.”

“That I do.” Pulling apart reluctantly, they started in the direction of the Great Hall; their hands brushed, but neither went that last inch and actually held on to the other. That felt like a big step—one they hadn’t discussed. “So, I was thinking,” Owain said as they reached the entrance hall. “How about a change of scenery? As much as I enjoy our broom cupboard on the fourth floor…”

Remus stopped just before they would be in sight of those in the hall, giving Owain a smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“The come and go room,” Owain replied, and laughed fondly at the bewildered look on Remus’ face. “On the seventh floor, opposite that mad tapestry.”

“Oh! There’s a room there?” Remus frowned in confusion, then paused. “Actually, now you mention it…I swore I found a room up there last year when I needed some peace and quiet—never could find it again afterwards.”

“Yes, well, it kind of gives you just what you need at that time,” Owain told him. “So, it’ll be able to work out just what we need…”

Remus did his best not to blush, or look too nervous. “Great,” he nodded. “It sounds perfect.”

“Meet you up there in an hour?” Owain asked, and, at Remus’ nod, he leaned in for a quick kiss. “Bon appetite, then.”

Remus watched him walk away, off to his friends at the Ravenclaw table, and gave himself a minute or two before he made his way into the Great Hall too. The sound of chattering competed with the clang of cutlery as the student body dug into the piles of food: platters of sausages, vast bowls of mash, heaped plates of green beans and huge tureens filled to the brim with gravy. The smell was incredible as Remus made his way down the Gryffindor table towards his friends—bangers and mash day was truly his favourite. Something about it always reminded him of his mum; Hope took great pride in her roasted onion gravy. It sometimes seemed like the house elves had divined this information, because the scent of the rich gravy was like being transported back to Herefordshire in a flash.

“There you are!” James waved his sausage-laden fork in greeting. “Merryton really likes to talk to you after lessons, doesn’t she?”

“He’s a right teacher’s pet,” Pete grinned.

“What can I say,” Remus offered drily, swinging himself into the space next to Sirius. “I’m a delightful conversationalist.”

“Don’t need to tell us that, Moony,” James said. “Hey, can you help out with SWEN stuff tonight? I’ve got a committee going, just need to get a few more things ready for Friday.”

James had been slogging away in preparation for the second SWEN event for the past week. At a past meeting, a Muggleborn had been reminiscing about all the music and literature he was missing out on when he was at Hogwarts, and together the group had come up with the plan for a ‘swap shop’—a chance for people to bring along their Muggle pop culture stuff, records and books and posters, whatever they didn’t have use for anymore, to trade with others. James had also brought a load of items back from Hogsmeade, and had ordered things in via owl post. Just setting the whole thing up was going to take a while, Remus suspected.

“I would,” Remus replied, focusing on his meal and not the boy sitting silently next to him, “but I’ve…got plans.”

“Ooooh,” Peter cooed, wiggling his eyebrows. “You and Ollerton can’t keep your hands off each other, can you?”

“Honestly,” James shook his head teasingly. “Some people just can’t keep it in their pants.”

Remus could feel his cheeks heating, and shot a glare across the table. “Shut up.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to battle on without you, then, Moony,” James sighed. “While you go off in search of carnal pleasures—”

“Prongs—”

“—pleasures of the flesh—”

“James—”

“—like the truly selfish person that you are,” he finished with a dramatic flourish of his fork. His expression broke into a smile. “I’m joking, Moons—you deserve a bit of fun.”

Remus sighed heavily. “Why am I friends with you?”

“Glutton for punishment?”

“Lingering self-hatred?” was Pete’s suggestion.

Sirius stood up. “I’ll see you back in the common room,” he said, largely directed at the pair opposite, and strode off out the hall before anyone could say anything at all.

James watched him go, then glanced back at Remus. “Well, there goes another SWEN helper.”

Remus managed a faint smile. “Sorry, mate.”

They wiled away the rest of dinner determinedly chatting about other things: quidditch, their Potions projects, the SWEN event. Remus said goodbye to his friends a few minutes after he saw Owain leave the hall, starting to make the long trek up to the seventh floor. By now, he felt like he needed a pleasant distraction.

Owain was standing by the tapestry, staring at the wall opposite with a frown on his face when Remus arrived. “Alright?” Remus asked carefully. “Has the wall done something to upset you, or…?”

Owain let out a huff of frustration. “I can’t get in,” he told him. “You have to walk past three times, thinking about what you need, and the door should appear. But…” He gestured to the blank wall. “Nothing.”

“Huh.” Remus moved forward, patting the wall as if that might make a difference. “That’s odd. It’s never happened before?”

“Not once,” Owain confirmed. “Maybe someone’s already in there.”

Remus shrugged. “Or the room’s having a holiday.”

Owain allowed him a smile. “I suppose anything is possible in a bloody magic castle,” he allowed. “Sorry—I was just…really looking forward to showing you the room.”

Remus moved closer, reaching out to tilt his chin just so, just at the angle that he could dot a soft kiss to his lips. “Another time, then,” he said. “For now…the prefect’s bathroom?”

Owain’s smile broadened. “Wet, soapy Remus Lupin?” he asked. “I’m in.”

The sky was dark by the time quidditch practice came to an end, and although there had been a warmth to the day, as soon as the sun set, the chill was unmistakeable. Thank Merlin for warming charms—James had had enough of feeling like his hands were frozen to his broom.

He honestly didn’t mind Kasim approaching him once they’d showered and changed, wanting to have a deeply earnest talk about areas for improvement and game strategy—he couldn’t think of a time in his life when he had ever not wanted to talk about quidditch, to be honest—but it had been a long week, and he was exhausted. Thursday was always a bit of a bludger to the stomach anyway, with a relentless parade of difficult classes before the long practice session outside, and all that following a week of other quidditch practices, SWEN planning sessions and mountains of homework, not to mention finding time to see his friends and his girlfriend, left him feeling like he was on his knees.

But he couldn’t say no to Kasim. The boy was far too nice—it’d be like kicking a baby or your grandma or something. So they sat in the locker room, picking over the finer points of his technique, for at least an hour before the fourth year said, “shit, I’m supposed to be meeting Robert in the library,” and made a mad dash for the castle.

James followed at a more sedate pace—largely due to the fatigue that hung over him like a raincloud—and trudged steadily back up to Gryffindor Tower. He was beginning to curse not asking the hat to sort him into Hufflepuff (lucky sods, no stairs to climb) when he rounded the corner by the tower and came to a stop. Just ahead of him, Charlie Swift was stood outside the portrait hole, still in her quidditch gear, looking utterly lost in thought. She had headed up straight after practice, citing the shocking water pressure in the locker room showers—James could understand that concern. So then why was she still out here…?

“Alright, Charlie?” he asked as he got closer.

His voice seemed to flick a switch in her, and she glanced round quickly, trying for a smile. “Oh! Yeah, fine,” she replied. “Sorry, in my own world…”

“Happens to the best of us,” he offered with a smile of his own. When she didn’t move again, he paused then muttered the password to the Fat Lady (who grumbled, “finally!”) and gestured for Swift to go through first. “After you.”

Charlie blinked. “Thanks, James,” she met his gaze for a moment—he didn’t like the look in her eyes, like something was bothering her, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask before she climbed through the portrait hole and vanished up the girls’ staircase.

Across the common room, Remus and Lily sat together, heads bent over a book. It took him a moment to decide to go over there—longer than it should have, really, but he felt Sirius’ words echoing round his head, the worst kind of conscience that told him he needed to be better than all this, to not let old, muddled feelings get in the way of what he had with Cadence. But surely this was okay: Lily was his friend, after all, and so was Remus. It was nothing more than friendship that drew him to their table.

“Evening, folks,” he spoke up, and their heads lifted in unison. “Working hard?”

Lily smiled. “We are—I know that’s a foreign concept to you, Potter.”

James laughed, clutching his chest. “You wound me, Evans.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “We’re going over the reading for Merryton,” he said; there was something in his gaze that James did not want to analyse. “You’re welcome to join us…?”

In his mind, he could see the evening unfolding—sharing a book with her, making her laugh and her returning the favour, letting himself be drawn in by the way the firelight made her hair glow like rays of the sun. Heading up to bed, thinking about her.

This wasn’t healthy.

“No, you carry on,” he said with a smile. “Just came to say hello—there’s a quidditch magazine with my name on it waiting upstairs.”

“Such intellectual pursuits,” Lily teased.

He couldn’t resist giving her a quick wink. “Enjoy your reading, you two,” he added, before turning and making his way up to the dorm. It felt strange, walking away from an invitation like that—even if it hadn’t come from Lily herself, it felt like she would’ve been happy enough for him to stay. He redirected his thoughts to Cadence, to the way she’d smiled up at him after dinner that evening, how soft her hair had felt as he’d brushed it behind her ear, the silk of her skin as he’d cupped her cheek to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

He didn’t want to be this person. He was better than this. And if that meant a bit of distance between himself and Lily Evans, well…so be it.

Remus woke with a start, eyes flying open in the dark of the dorm as if he’d been snatched from his dreams. He lay there for a few minutes, wondering what had woken him—the room was silent save for the gentle wheeze of Peter’s snores. It was only when he’d reached for his watch to check the time (nearly three in the morning) that he noticed the blue wand light easing out from around the bathroom door.

As he climbed out of bed and padded quietly over, he felt awash with a strong sense of déjà vu—a feeling which only intensified when he opened the door and found Sirius crouched over by the far wall, knees drawn up to his chest, pale and looking so much younger than his years. He stood there a moment—his friend didn’t look up—remembering the last time this had happened. Before… everything. Back when they still talked openly, back when they could look each other in the eye.

He shook off that memory and moved forward; the movement seemed to awaken Sirius, who looked up, the blue light catching the tear tracks on his cheeks that hadn’t yet dried. “Moony,” he murmured. His voice sounded desolate, barren. Pained. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he didn’t want him to know that. “Are you…okay?”

Sirius tried to smile. It was not convincing. “Think so.”

“What are you…did something happen?” Remus asked.

There was a pause, as if that question was impossible to answer. “Still dream about it,” he replied quietly. “Caught me tonight.”

Remus hesitated a moment before he sat down next to his friend. “Dream about what?” he asked, with some trepidation. It didn’t feel like the answer could be anything pleasant.

Sirius stared at the tiled wall opposite. “My mother,” he mumbled. “My father. The room—it’s like I’m back there.”

That sentence hurt more than it should and he knew exactly why. “I’m sorry…”

There was a lingering silence as Sirius dropped his gaze to the floor. Eventually, when Remus was beginning to wonder if he should just go, leave him in peace, he finally spoke again: his voice was rough, scraped its way out of his throat with raw emotion. “And sitting outside the hospital wing. Waiting for you to let me come in.”

Remus frowned, shifted awkwardly. “Pads…”

“Not trying to guilt you.” Sirius wiped blindly at his cheeks. “Just…these things all flow one after the other. Takes the wind out of me.”

He wasn’t sure what to say - what could he say, at this point? The complications were so vast, a complex web of emotions stretching between them. Sirius’ letters, like an unspoken binding, keeping them together but apart all at the same time.

“I’m okay,” Sirius added at a mumble. “Don’t worry about me.”

Remus shot him a look. “I do anyway.”

Sirius looked up; for a long moment, they just stared at each other in the dim, cool light of his wand. “Yeah?”

Remus swallowed. “‘Course. You’re my friend.”

“Right.” Sirius pushed his hair from his face, looked away again. “You’re my friend too.”

“I know things are still…” Remus trailed off, unsure what the right adjective would be to describe this strange state they’d found themselves in. “But I am here for you. If you need me.”

There was a flicker of something like pain on Sirius’ face, but it was gone again in a moment, like the snuffing out of a candle. “Thanks, Moony.”

Just like the last time he’d sat there on the bathroom floor with Sirius in the middle of a cold and dark night, he felt helpless, all over again; but in many ways, it held a different quality than before. Before, he’d been desperate to help his friend, wishing above all other things that he could do something—anything—to ease the pain that so clearly overwhelmed him.

This time, he felt helpless in himself, helpless against the slew of emotions that washed over him, like the relentless waves of the ocean, every time he looked at Sirius. Helpless in the face of his own anger, his frustration; helpless in the face of that other feeling, the one that burned in his chest, that roiled in his gut, the feeling he didn’t want to name. Couldn’t name, because it was Sirius, and that anger surely couldn’t sit alongside anything as simple as love, or desire; couldn’t name, because he sort of had a boyfriend, even if the label wasn’t there—someone who smiled just at the sight of him, who warmed him from the inside out.

Helpless, because no matter what Sirius did, nothing seemed to change how Remus felt deep down, under the hurt and the pride and the fury that had slowed to a simmer but still remained, in some small way, and probably always would.

It was embarrassing, wasn’t it? To be so far gone?

Sirius seemed to sense something in his thought process, because there was a look in his eyes, now, so much clearer than they had been up till this point. "Are you okay?" he murmured, his gaze fixed on Remus'.

Remus wished he knew the answer to that question. He hadn't been okay for a while, really. Not since the October full, and maybe not even really before that, either. But he swallowed against the lump that seemed to have formed in his throat. "I'm okay," he said, voice hoarse.

Sirius drew in a shaky breath, something that sounded so vulnerable, so unlike the persona he donned every day for the sake of everyone else. "You don't hate me, do you?" he asked, quiet, not seeming to care about the bare need in his voice.

Remus shook his head quickly, desperately, almost. "No," he mumbled. "I...I could never hate you. Even when I wanted to."

Sirius reached out, almost blindly, and let those long, graceful fingers skitter along Remus' jaw; it felt like even that, that simple touch, snatched the air from Remus' lungs. It was touch with intent: cautious yet dangerous. And all the while, he stared at him with those blinding grey eyes, framed with long, dark lashes; eyes that held his attention all too easily. For a moment, his gaze dropped to Remus' lips, and subconsciously Remus tugged his lower lip between his teeth, feeling a stuttering in his heart. They both shifted, just a little, at the same time, a shoulder angled so the other could edge closer, and closer, until—

The bathroom door swung open and James stumbled in, glasses askew and eyes bleary with sleep. "Oh," he said, clearly not awake enough to truly take in what was going on in front of him. "Sorry—woke up, needed a slash..."

Remus swallowed, hard, and stood up like he'd been hauled to his feet. "You go ahead," he murmured, moving quickly away from Sirius—away from what had nearly happened—back towards the dorm. "Night..."

Back in his bed, he closed the drapes, blocking out any remnants of blue light from the bathroom. He lay there and listened as a short burst of low murmuring took place, followed by quiet footsteps, the creaking of a mattress. A few minutes later, the toilet was flushed, and footsteps—less careful this time—stumbled back through the dorm before everything was finally, mercifully, silent.

It took him over an hour to fall back to sleep.

The Great Hall was full—fuller than it had been at the Christingle event, even, and for that, Sirius felt immeasurably proud. He knew that James had worried that they weren’t ‘out there’ enough yet. But, judging from the turnout that evening, it seemed as if they were finally reaching more students, the ones who maybe weren’t naturally inclined to be on SWEN’s side, and wasn’t that the whole point? Finally, some success. Worth the hard work. Well—James’ hard work. Sirius had been more of a ‘moral support’ member of the committee.

A banner (hand-painted, to James’ great smugness—he wouldn’t stop going on about it) across the hall doors declared ‘Welcome to the Hogwarts Swap Shop!’ The tables had been laid out in a different formation than usual, and were covered in Muggle books, records, posters and other paraphernalia. Some pupils had brought their own items to swap, and it was heartening to see the discussions going on over the appeal of this band versus that, of this Brontë book versus that Fleming novel. McGonagall and Flitwick were engaged in a lively debate about a record in front of them—it looked like The Beatles, but Sirius couldn’t be too sure.

Slated to go for about an hour (James hadn’t been sure that enough people would come to make it worth taking longer than that, and had erred on the side of caution, despite Sirius calling him “history’s greatest coward” in an attempt to rile him up), they were now closing in on their third hour and most students showed no sign of losing interest. Sirius had wandered around, shown his face—he knew it was helpful for someone as, well, cool as him to be seen at this sort of event. Mainly, though, he’d watched his best friend at work. James had kept busy, milling around, checking everyone was okay, opening up threads of conversation with those who looked a bit daunted or unsure. It was his natural habitat, in a way—like his mother and father, ever the gracious hosts, plying their friends with wine and convincing them to donate money to one cause or another. The Potters could talk the talk and walk the walk. It was one of the many things that Sirius loved about that family.

Sticking to the outskirts of the gathering had other benefits, too: he could watch Remus and Owain, currently across the hall browsing novels and making each other laugh. Remus had done what was so typically him and avoided Sirius since their whatever-it-was in the bathroom the night before. Sirius had gone to bed feeling frustrated, unsettled, and had woken up in much the same way. Seeing Remus avoid his gaze and hurry away at the first opportunity didn’t improve his mood.

He’d have to talk to him eventually. He’d have to face up to the fact that they’d almost… He had to glance away, seeing Ollerton surreptitiously pat Remus’ arse; he didn’t know if he could stand around much longer, watching that and feeling the way he did. Like he could implode, somehow, from the feelings that burned inside him.

He would stick around, though. No one could say he wasn’t loyal to a fault.

“I’ve got to shift this Beach Boys record,” Mary sighed as they strolled along the side of one of the tables. Her friend clutched the vinyl to her chest, scouring the piles in front of her with a solemn expression. “I can’t listen to it anymore, I’ll lose my mind.”

“Alright, calm down,” Lily suggested with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you liked that album?”

“I do,” Mary replied, pausing to rifle through a stack of LPs. “I just have had enough and it’s time to move on.”

Lily nodded, letting her gaze idle around the hall. It was no surprise to her that the event was a roaring success—after all, James usually managed to get what he wanted. All the better when it was something that had such benefits for the people around him. She’d wanted to help with the planning for the swap shop, but something in James’ behaviour lately—not a coolness, by any stretch, but a distance that left her feeling completely confused—made her sense that she wasn’t wanted.

Her gaze found Cadence, quite by accident, and the other girl gave her a bright smile and a wave. “I think I’ll go and say hi,” Lily told Mary, nodding in the direction of James’ girlfriend. Mary shot her a dubious look. “Just for a minute.”

“Becoming her best bud won’t change the fact that you have strange feelings for her boyfriend,” Mary told her lightly.

“Ha, ha,” Lily gave her a glare in return. “Good luck with finding a record you like.”

“Thanks!”

Mary’s winning smile followed Lily as she made her way round two of the tables and over to Cadence’s side. Lily felt aware that Mary was probably still watching her—she didn’t want to seem like she was trying too hard, because she wasn’t—it wasn’t like she was desperate to impress the girl. She just felt like she could be more friendly to the Ravenclaw: Cadence was dating one of Lily’s friends, after all.

“Hi, Lily,” Cadence smiled. “Isn’t this amazing?”

“It’s great,” Lily agreed, looking around them. “You guys did a brilliant job.”

“Ah, I hardly did anything,” Cadence replied with a modest shrug. “Unless talking James down from a freak-out counts as work.”

“I think it does,” Lily smirked. “Find anything you like?”

Cadence held up a battered-looking book. “This one looks great—moors, ghosts—”

“Ooh, Wuthering Heights!” Lily noted. “You’ll love it—it’s one of my favourites.”

“Well, then,” Cadence beamed, “maybe you can be my guide to Muggle literature—I’m sure there’s more I’m missing out on.”

See? This was all perfectly normal—perfectly friendly. “I’ll make you a list,” Lily promised.

James loved being busy. Sitting idle was not in his nature, unless he’d had too many drinks or items of a medicinal bent. He’d been moving around the Great Hall all evening, chatting, encouraging, helping anyone who looked like they needed convincing into a decision.

Yep, he loved being busy. Having said that, he was starting to feel that it would be nice to have a sit down. Maybe a cup of tea.

Around nine o’clock, Sirius wandered over to him, and angled his head meaningfully towards the dais that usually housed the teachers’ table. “What do you suppose they are talking about?”

He looked round, and he wasn’t proud of the anxious physical reaction borne in him at the sight of Cadence and Lily standing together, chatting. There was really no reason for him to be worried, was there? “They’re friends,” he shrugged, as casually as he could. “Sort of. They’re friendly, at least.”

“A touching sight, then,” Sirius noted airily. “The new love bonding with the old love.”

James scowled. “Fuck off, Padfoot,” he said. “And Lily wasn’t my old love.”

“Oh, good, we’re still practising our denial, are we?” Sirius gave him a nudge, before turning to walk away. “One galleon says you can’t resist going over there to check they aren’t talking about you.”

“Fuck off,” James muttered again. He waited a minute before resigning himself to a lost galleon, and heading over to the pair. They didn’t stop talking as soon as he appeared, which he had to take as a good sign. “Alright, ladies?”

Lily gave him a small, controlled smile—he wasn’t sure what to make of it—whilst Cadence’s was more open, more beaming. “This is so great, James,” Cadence said, reaching out to brush her thumb gently across his cheek. “I told you it would all go well, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he admitted, and shot a sheepish look at Lily. “I may have been concerned that no one would want to come.”

“Nice to know you have some humility in there somewhere,” Lily teased. “Honestly, Potter, it’s a hit. Everyone I’ve talked to has said so.”

“Now I just have to start thinking about what we can do next,” he said.

“Don’t start fretting about the next one before this one has even finished,” Cadence advised fondly. “You’ll drive yourself mad.”

“Madder, I think you mean,” he gave her a wink.

“You said it, not me,” she grinned.

Something caught his eye, and later, he wouldn’t be able to put his finger on exactly what it was about Charlotte Swift, just across the room—Charlie, usually so warm and bright and lively—that made him frown. But he watched, a confused clutch in his chest, as she stared blankly ahead of her, and raised her wand, and—

He didn’t hear the incantation; the noise around him was too great. He looked up, instinctively, and thought for a moment, is that rain? It glittered as it fell, hauntingly beautiful for the split second before he realised.

Instinct, again, forced his legs into action, and he spun back to face Lily and Cadence, not hesitating before he shoved them down to the ground, covered them with his own body, made the mistake of looking back up—

—and then everything went black.

Chapter Text

The sky was falling in.

That was Remus’ first thought, as he looked up at the glistening sight above him. They were like stars, almost. Glittering. Mesmerising.

His second thought was, not the sky. The ceiling?

And then, not the ceiling. The world.

Sirius thought, later—much, much later—that he would never be able to forget what he had seen. That the images, the sounds, would be forever branded into his brain, shapes and movement even when he closed his eyes. Standing there, on the side-lines, watching Remus’ open, thoughtful face tilted upwards; the flash of realisation, abrupt, awakening; Ollerton grabbing at his hand, pulling him down; Remus’ eyes finding his, just for a moment, across the crowded hall, before—

Pain. Nothing new, not really, not to the boy whose own mother delighted in drawing out every possible agony from his lips, in search of a change he had no ability to make. He could no more make himself the pureblood darling that she wanted than he could stop whatever it was raining down on him now, each droplet a fresh blade.

Death by a thousand cuts, he thought, before thoughts broke away entirely.

Lily didn’t have much time to think. One moment she was watching James and Cadence banter and touch each other and smile sweetly, and the next, he had pulled her down. Pulled them both down, his broad body a shield. When had he become big enough, strong enough, to do this? She realised, even as this thought slipped through her mind, that now was not the time to consider the many ways in which James Potter had changed. Because something was wrong, and it lodged in the pit of her stomach, unassailable, immutable. He had looked at her, if only for a fleeting second, before the ground rose to meet them—a moment where the fear in his eyes had done something odd to her, like the twist of a knife, and she didn’t have time to analyse why that was, or what it meant, because then there was screaming, a sound that ripped through her, and the shield was no longer a shield but a dead weight, and then—

That was when she realised that the screaming she could hear, was her.

Charlotte Swift blinked. She saw her wand in her hand—held aloft, an instrument, a weapon—and she saw, beyond her, chaos. Screaming and shouting and bleeding and fear, pure fear that swept through the room like a virus. 

She frowned.

And then, the tug of magic, her wand whipped from her hand: it spun through the air and into the outstretched grip of Professor McGonagall, who stared back at her with an expression Charlotte had never seen before and couldn’t parse. Disarmed, by her head of house? 

She didn’t understand.

She looked down, saw her own hands now shaking, a trembling almost violent. At the tilt of her head, gravity led something wet, sticky, down her cheek. A finger, to investigate, came back crimson, and she looked up at McGonagall again, a question in her eyes—one of a thousand, maybe, because why was she bleeding, and how did she get here, and what had happened to them all?

And then, her knees buckled, her vision swam, and all the questions faded to nothing.

“Lily!” The word wrenched her eyes open, and she realised she could move, now - she didn’t have to stay there, curled up, arms raised over her head in desperate protection. She blinked once, twice, trying to make sense of what was in front of her. “Lily!” That voice again. She turned, and was met with Cadence’s bright blue eyes, staring back at her in such naked terror that it didn’t quite seem real. “Are you…? Are you bleeding?”

Lily looked down at herself, seeing blood there, but somehow she knew, without checking further, that it wasn’t her own. Her body ached, a little, from being forced to the ground, but she didn’t feel like she had any cuts, any open wounds. But then...whose blood was it? “No, I’m not,” she replied shakily. They both looked, in horrified unison, to where James lay slumped to one side.

His face—usually so animated, lit up with mischief or delight or furrowed in utmost concentration—was painfully still, his glasses askew, the glass cracked on one side. Deep red oozed from what must have been dozens of cuts to his brow, his cheeks, his scalp. 

He was lying face-down, arm strewn out towards Lily as if reaching for her. His arms, too, and his back were littered with gashes that seeped endlessly through the tears in his shirt. His shirt, once white. Now, blossoming with red.

She paused, then lurched to the side, emptying the contents of her stomach almost violently. 

Hands on her back, then; Cadence pulled Lily’s hair back from her face, rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades until there was nothing left to expel, no energy left inside her. “Sorry,” she mumbled, closing her eyes a moment.

“It’s okay,” Cadence whispered, her voice sounding fragile, hollow, almost. “We—we need to try to stop the bleeding...if you - if you don’t think you can—”

“No,” she said, straightening, turning back to James, to the unending well of red. “No, I can help. I want to help.”

She wasn’t going to sit at the side, throwing up and wanting to cry. She wasn’t going to be useless.

She had to do something.

Remus lurched up, cracking his head against the underside of the Ravenclaw table, but didn’t give the dizzying ache a chance to embed itself—he didn’t have that kind of time. Owain lay just to his side, half under the safety of the table, half uncovered, his eyes open wide but unseeing, it seemed, as he stared blankly upwards. “Owain?” Remus said, his voice frantic as he knelt at his side. “Owain...can you hear me?”

Owain blinked, taking a moment to find the source of the noise that had interrupted his daze; finally, his eyes tracked over to Remus, and for a second, Remus wished that they hadn’t. He looked terrified.

“You’re—you’re bleeding,” Remus carried on, pointless and obvious words all he had left. He tugged off his jumper, bundling it up to press against the worst of the cuts, a long, deep gash that arced down Owain’s left arm—the hiss of pain that Owain gave at the pressure made Remus wince. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I—I have to do something to stop the bleeding, until...until Madam Pomfrey…”

Owain seemed to be getting paler. He kept his gaze firmly on Remus, though, as if that alone could keep him going. Remus paused to scan Owain’s body: his chest and arms were scattered with lines of oozing red, but the injuries came to an abrupt stop just above his hips. That was something, at least. 

“I’ll stay right here with you,” Remus said, turning his attention back to Owain’s face. The look in his eyes made his gut twist, and he leaned forward, blinking back tears as he pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay. Someone will be along in a minute.”

But the carnage around them—the cries, the screams, the dozens and dozens of people in as bad a state as Owain, if not worse—made Remus wonder if he was just lying to Owain, now. He had no idea if anyone was coming, if everyone was too injured to be able to help.

No. He swallowed down his panic, and renewed the pressure of his jumper against Owain’s arm. Someone would come. And it would be fine. 

“Just hold on,” he murmured. He didn’t want to look up and around, again. He just held Owain’s gaze, and tried to ignore the dampness of the blood that was now soaking through his jumper, the same shade of red. “It’s okay…”

It had to be.

The arrival of Madam Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore, and a host of other teachers was like a balm to Lily’s soul. She had always been in awe of their headmaster: he was always so calm, so placid in the face of any stress or suffering. From her position, kneeling next to James, trying to stifle the flow of blood, she watched as he made a quick, assessing sweep of the room, directing his staff with simple gestures and few words. The cries, the panic, seemed to die down a little just by his presence, like a human calming draught in action. 

And then, suddenly, he was kneeling across from Lily and Cadence, blue eyes serious as he surveyed James’ prone form. “You are doing a wonderful job,” he told them both, looking at them briefly before catching Madam Pomfrey’s eye. “Poppy—St Mungo’s, I think.”

“What?” Lily breathed; it felt like her heart was in her throat. She had known it wasn’t good—he was unconscious, and losing so much blood that the floor had become slippery beneath them. But...St Mungo’s just seemed like such a serious move. “Is he—I mean, Professor, is he—is he going to—”

Dumbledore drew his hands above James’ back a moment, wandless magic that stemmed the bleeding for a second or two, a brief, hopeful time before it started again. He frowned. “Ms Evans, Mr Potter’s injuries are more serious than we can hope to deal with in the infirmary,” he replied; another wave of his hand, and James was slowly lifted into the air, floating almost peacefully. “Please fetch Professor McGonagall, we will need her to accompany him.”

Lily stood on trembling legs, casting a quick glance at Cadence—whose face had paled to an almost ghost-like hue at their headmaster’s words—before she moved across the room, through her injured and terrified peers, adrenaline the only thing keeping her moving.

She feared that if she stopped, even for a second, she might not be able to move again.

“Mr Lupin.” He looked up, distracted, to find Slughorn frowning at him. The Great Hall was almost empty, now; the injured triaged and sent to the infirmary, or their dorms. Caradoc Dearborn, the head boy, had led some of the prefects in helping Professors Flitwick and Slughorn clearing up the detritus left behind. After Owain had been whisked off to the hospital wing, Remus had felt the need to be helpful, in whatever way he could. If that meant tidying, magicking away trails of blood from the floor, then so be it. “Are you injured, dear boy?”

Remus blinked in brief confusion at his teacher, before looking down: his hands were stained red, his shirt too. “Oh,” he murmured, and shook his head. “No. It’s...not my blood.”

“Ah.” Slughorn looked uncomfortable. “Well. Good.” He looked around. “I think we are finished in here, if you’d like to rest, or visit friends—”

Remus swallowed against the lump in his throat at the thought. It felt like only seconds ago that he’d watched Dumbledore and McGonagall guide a floating, unconscious James out of the hall and away to the nearest Floo; that he’d watched Sirius, and Owain, hurried out to where Pomfrey could apply proper bandages, potions that could stop the bleeding. Three people who mattered so much to him—broken, in a matter of moments. 

Was it selfish, to want to put off seeing that again? He needed to reset his mind, wipe clean the images of blood, and fear. “Do you need extra patrols, sir?” he asked instead, not caring about the look of surprise on Slughorn’s face. “I want to help where I can…”

“Oh, right,” Slughorn nodded. “Well, if you’re sure—very good of you, very good indeed. Twenty points, I think, for—you know, stepping up bravely and so on.” He gestured for another of the prefects, who wandered wearily over. “Trant, you’re to patrol with Lupin. Make sure everyone is back in their houses.”

“Yes, sir,” Trant nodded, casting Remus an appraising glance before he nodded to the door. 

No one was out of their houses. Trant muttered under his breath about the pointlessness of the exercise, that no one was stupid enough to be roaming around when a good portion of the school had just been sliced to ribbons.

Pointless, maybe. But a good distraction, for now.

It was still dark outside when Sirius opened his eyes: that had to be a good sign. Unless a full day had passed, but that seemed unlikely—his body still held so much soreness, such a raw edge to it that he didn’t think he could have had that much time to heal.

A few moments passed before he realised he wasn’t in his dorm. It hurt—fuck, it hurt—to sit up, but he did anyway, his eyes scanning the room quickly, and his shoulders sagged with something like relief to realise he was in the hospital wing. Somewhere safe.

He’d never seen the room so packed: all the usual beds were full, plus others had been conjured, squeezed into spaces and corners in a way that probably made the wing very difficult to navigate. Every patient seemed to be parcelled up in bandaging, white gauze which blood still oozed through, relentless in its pursuit. Most were unconscious, and Sirius thought that was probably a blessing, because being awake was agony.

A panicked thought seized him, then, and he scanned the room once more, desperately looking for familiar faces. The only one he recognised, though, was Ollerton, in the bed next to his. Passed out cold, his arms and chest barely visible through the layers of bandages.

So that had to mean that Remus, and James, and Pete, and Lily, and Mary…that they were okay. It had to mean that, Sirius decided, because he didn’t want to contemplate what else it could mean, and just as he had come to this conclusion, the doors of the wing swung open and Lily hurried inside.

The relief he felt was overwhelming, for a moment, and he had to swallow down the urge to get emotional just at the sight of her. Maybe the pain didn’t help there—he wasn’t normally so touchy-feely. “Evans,” he greeted her, finding his voice hoarse, shaken. He didn’t like it. It sounded...weak. “You’re okay?”

She flung herself at him, not immediately noticing his flinching at the fresh wave of pain this brought. “Jesus Christ, Sirius,” she murmured, half a sob, half a laugh, “am I okay? Are you okay?”

“Well, you know…hurts like a bastard,” he replied, at which she pulled back, wincing in apology. “But I’m here aren’t I? Still standing.” He paused, then amended, “or, sitting.”

She dragged a chair closer to the bed, sitting down and grasping his hand in hers. “I was helping out with some of the smaller injuries, in the hall,” she explained. “Otherwise I’d have been here sooner.”

He nodded absently, looking round the room again. “Everyone else is okay, too? Moony and Prongs and everyone?”

At that, she hesitated, a hint of anxiety twitching across her face; it was a minute movement, and so it was a bit of a miracle that he caught it at all, given the way his focus was currently torn into pieces. Still, catch it he did, and he felt his whole body tense. “Remus is fine,” she replied, caution evident in her tone. “Owain managed to yank him down and under a table. Mary had some smaller cuts; Pomfrey sent her to rest back in our dorm.” She sighed. “James…”

Sirius squeezed her hand, perhaps a little harder than he should have. “Evans, if you’re trying to scare me, you’re succeeding admirably.” There was nothing he could do about the violent edge to his voice—it was all he could do not to panic completely. 

Lily shook her head. “He pulled me and Cadence down,” she told him quietly. “Pretty much used himself as a shield to protect us, which meant…” She let out a shaky sigh. “They transferred him to St Mungo’s almost straight away. He was losing a lot of blood, and—and Pomfrey didn’t think she’d have enough replenishing potion, not with everyone else injured, too…”

For a moment, all Sirius could do was stare at her. This had to be a joke. James—James Potter, for fuck’s sake—didn’t get injured. A bash with a bludger, maybe, or a scraping from the Willow, but not enough to need… He swallowed down against that thought, a chill settling over him that he didn’t think any number of warming charms would be able to banish. “Fuck…”

“Yeah,” she agreed, voice soft, scared. “Cadence wanted to go with them, but…she got herself in a bit of a panic, and…Pomfrey sent her back to her dorm with a calming draught.” She seemed to take a moment to school her expression into something much harder to read. “McGonagall sent a Patronus to his parents, they were meeting them at the hospital.”

It still didn’t make sense. Surely James would pop out from behind a screen any minute now, laughing his arse off at the worried look on Sirius’ face. But then, being the hero—saving the two damsels in distress—that was very much the sort of thing that Prongs would do, the noble git, and that would have left him entirely at the mercy of… “Does anyone know what happened yet?” he asked, then. “All I remember is—the pain.”

Lily glanced around them, lowering her voice. No one was awake to listen, or so it seemed, but she was exercising caution nonetheless. “Charlie Swift cast the spell,” she replied. “Something complex. It—basically, it transformed the enchanted ceiling to glass, and then shattered it.” She bit her lip. “Not just normal glass, either, because…well, it was very dark magic, and that leaves a trace, apparently.”

He stared back at her, disbelief writ large across his face. “Charlie Swift?” he asked. “Performing dark magic? But—why? That makes no sense at all.”

Lily shrugged helplessly. “She fainted after she was disarmed. She was in here, for a bit, then…” She drew in a breath. “Dumbledore thought it was because the event was about promoting understanding and awareness of Muggles and Muggleborns.”

Sirius laughed, not that it was remotely funny. “But isn’t she—”

“Muggleborn? Yes,” Lily sighed. “None of it adds up.”

He tried to think back to that evening, to being in the Great Hall. Had he seen Charlie there? He didn’t remember—the bald truth of it was that he’d mainly been watching Remus. Sirius being caught up watching Remus was the reason why he’d been so ill-prepared for dark magic-laced glass to cascade down from the ceiling, why he hadn’t been ready to find shelter. Charlie could have walked right past him, for all he would’ve been likely to notice her.

He didn’t know her well, but he knew enough to know that Charlie Swift wasn’t a secret Death Eater. For starters, she was in Gryffindor—hardly a dark arts breeding ground. Okay, he knew it wasn’t always as simple as that, but it was usually a pretty decent indication, as far as he was concerned. Then there was the fact that the fifth year was about as friendly and gentle as they came, and hardly the self-hating type. He’d seen her in tears over reports in the paper of another attack on Muggles only a month ago. If he had to predict the last person who would try to cut to ribbons every Muggleborn in the castle and anyone who supported them, that prediction would’ve been Charlie. Well, and James. And Lily. Actually, it was a good sized group of people who he would never expect it from—that was a reassuring thought—but Charlie was definitely among them.

“I should probably go,” Lily sighed, when he hadn’t said anything for probably several minutes. Now that he looked at her closely, he could see the exhaustion weighing heavily on her face. This evening had been a long one, and he knew she was already finding sleep a struggle with everything going on with her mum. “It’s nearly curfew. Remus is doing an extra patrol, but—he said he’ll be by in the morning.”

Sirius nodded, although he had a feeling that Remus might not be desperate to see him. He’d be impossible to avoid, though, given he was sleeping in the bed next to Ollerton. “You’ll find me,” he asked, too tired himself, too mired in discomfort, to care about the plain need and worry laid bare in his voice, “if you hear anything? About James?”

“Of course,” she promised, standing up and giving his hand one more squeeze before she let go. “Get some rest, Black. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He tried for a smile; landed somewhere closer to a grimace. “Night, Evans.”

He watched her leave, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving behind a room that was full but might as well have been empty for how silent it was. Sirius had never liked staying the night in the hospital wing—there was something unsettling, something lonely about the place.

As he settled back against the pillows, he wondered if he would be able to sleep when James was out there, in Merlin knew what condition—his best friend, his brother, and he had no idea how he was. That worry settled over him, a threadbare blanket that offered no comfort, turbulent thoughts inside his head until finally, thankfully, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

When James opened his eyes each morning, he was used to the world being a blur. Detail and nuance had no place in his life until his glasses could be rammed onto his face. Sometimes, he would lay there a while longer, letting the smudged dorm continue around him, because a place he couldn’t see could have no demands of him, no pressures or requests. These times didn’t last long: he’d always been curious, keen to see everything and everyone exactly as they were.

Now, he opened his eyes, blinking blearily, and the blur was no surprise. What did seem odd was the colours, the shapes—no Gryffindor red or gold, no sharp angles of bed posts. Everything seemed to be one of many shades of greyish-green, the world’s least interesting spectrum. Closer to him—although still far enough away to possess no distinguishing features—was what must have been a person, a person wearing dark colours. It was only when the soft scent of bergamot crept into his senses, fighting past what was otherwise a sterile sort of smell, that he realised who it must be.

A shuffle of movement, then, as the dark-clothed figure moved closer, closer, and then his glasses were placed gently on his face and he could see. His mother gazed down at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears and an attempt at a smile on her face.

“Mum,” he croaked, and frowned. “You alright?”

She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that he had always and would always associate with home, with safety. “James Fleamont Potter,” she sighed, brushing his hair from his forehead. “I am fine. You are the one who was rushed to hospital.”

Ah. The clinical surroundings made more sense, now. He wasn’t in pain, which had to be a good sign—or a sign of lots of strong potions at work. “Is dad here too?”

Euphemia nodded. “He went to get us a cup of tea,” she replied. “He’ll be back in a minute.” She moved—away from him, for just a moment, and even though he was nearly seventeen, he felt bereft, untethered—but only for a second, as she pulled the chair closer so she could sit down and grip his hand between both of hers. He knew she suffered with her back; it probably hadn’t been terribly comfortable, holding vigil at his bedside for…however long it had been. “Do you remember what happened, darling?”

He paused to consider her question, looking down at his free hand as if that might spur his memory into action. Funnily enough, it did: a long, jagged slash of red stretched from his thumb across his hand, and he could almost exactly remember the moment that had happened. He frowned. “There was…an attack. At the SWEN thing,” he said. “It was—it was raining glass.”

Euphemia pursed her lips, taking a moment to, presumably, keep her emotions in check. “A dark spell,” she confirmed. “Transfigured and shattered the enchanted ceiling. And you—” She raised her eyes to the ceiling a second, imploring some deity or other. “—you acted the hero, of course, to protect your girlfriend and your friend.”

That, he remembered, too. The brief flash when his eyes found Lily’s—the momentary guilt that she had been the one he sought, and not Cadence—the fear, pure, cold fear, that he saw in her eyes, that he knew was reflected in his own—the instinct, driven beyond reason, beyond sense, to make sure that neither of them were hurt. His body, covering theirs, panic pulsing through him as he looked up, up at the ceiling, for reasons he couldn’t even name now.

“I wasn’t acting the hero,” he said, eventually, his words sounding fragile even to his own ears. “I just—it was instinct, mum.”

“I know, dear,” she sighed, stroking his hand absentmindedly. “I do wish you had some instinct towards self-preservation in there, too, but I suppose I did raise you this way.”

He gave her a small, weary smile. “Exactly,” he agreed. “No one to blame but yourself.”

“Ah!” They both turned to see Fleamont standing in the doorway, two cups of tea hovering in the air in front of him and the most delighted, relieved smile on his face that James had ever seen. “Look who’s awake! The hero of Hogwarts!”

James rolled his eyes—surprised to find that action hurt, at the moment. “No heroics,” he replied. “Just…being a decent person.”

“I’m sure your mother has already told you off for being a decent person,” Fleamont noted, floating one of the cups over to his wife, and the other onto the small side table nearby. Thus unburdened, he moved over to the bed to press a kiss into James’ hair. It made him feel six years old, again, in a wonderful and strange sort of way. “You’re to stop it at once.”

“Yes, dad,” James couldn’t hold back his grin, this time, even if the movement stretched and wore at whatever cuts littered his face.

“Good.” Fleamont reached for his drink and moved a chair next to Euphemia, pausing to dot a kiss to her cheekbone; she smiled, softly, sadly, never looking away from her son. “How are you feeling? Sore, I expect?”

“A bit, but not a lot,” James replied. “I suppose I’ve been drugged up to the eyeballs, have I?”

“You lost what we in the Potions business call ‘rather a lot of blood’,” his father told him, as lightly as he could. “And the wounds are tricky to heal, given the dark magic basis of the spell.”

“Charlie,” James blurted then, and tried to sit up, for reasons passing understanding. As if he could help her, somehow, even prone and apparently bleeding excessively. “She wouldn’t—”

“James,” Euphemia frowned. “Settle back, darling. Professor Dumbledore is dealing with the young woman now—”

“She’s not a blood purist,” he insisted, more shakily than he would’ve liked. “She’s a Keeper! She’s a Muggleborn, for fuck’s sake!”

“Language,” his mother tutted instinctively.

“She’d—she’d been acting strangely, lately,” he added, trying to piece it together in his head. Thinking was far more strenuous an action than it usually was. Connecting his thoughts felt like wading through quicksand. “Not herself. Maybe—maybe she was forced into it, or…”

“James,” Fleamont spoke up, gentle, but firm. “We have to trust Albus Dumbledore to be fair in his assessment of what has happened. All you have to worry about is resting, and getting better.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Euphemia insisted sharply, and a tear finally spilled, unchecked, down her pale cheek. The sight was an awful one—he had never seen his mother cry, before. He never, ever wanted to see it again. That distress, that pain—he couldn’t bear to see it there on her face. It made his chest ache. “You don’t realise how close you came to—” She stopped, and shook her head. James stared at her, wanting to cry too, suddenly; to cry, and be held, and to drift into a sleep where none of this was a reality. “You will take care of yourself. End of discussion.”

Fleamont wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. “No discussions,” he agreed, looking back to his son. “Right, Jamie?”

“Right,” James nodded, swallowing against the strain in his throat. “Sorry, mum.”

She tried not to smile, she really did, but she was always hopeless when confronted with her son and her husband; the smile was teary, but it was a smile nonetheless, and James felt some of that ache in his chest dissipate, just a little. “Do you need any more painkillers, dear?” she asked. He sensed that she needed to feel useful, to keep busy: being still was something she struggled with, just like her son. “You should probably be sleeping.”

He shifted a bit, resting his head back against the pillows. “I’m okay,” he assured her. “Still quite numb.”

“I suppose that’s a blessing, then.” She stood up, moving to gently remove his glasses and—he had to assume, now he could no longer see clearly—place them on the bedside table. The blur of her face loomed closer, and he felt the brush of her lips to his forehead. “Close your eyes, then, my sweet,” she advised gently. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Obedient in a way he hadn’t been, maybe, ever, he closed his eyes; the call of sleep was too great for him to want to ignore it, anyway. He could hear the gentle murmurs of his parents, feel his mum’s hand still holding his; he knew it was safe, for now, to let it take him over, to sink into slumber for as long as his body would let him.

Everything else would have to wait.

Remus woke often during the night, the half-empty dorm feeling cavernous for the loss of its two loudest members. He could hear Peter tossing and turning on the other side of the room, evidently finding the evening as restful as he was. Every time he managed to drift off, it felt like no time at all before his eyes flew open again, his heart hammering in his chest. In the end, in a bid to help him acclimate after waking each time, he lit the small lamp that sat on his bedside table—that way, he could see that the ceiling wasn’t raining glass when he opened his eyes.

Of course, the images—the fear—followed him into each bout of slumber. The sounds and sights and pulsing panic felt so vivid in every dream; over and over, he saw the way Sirius’ face paled across the room, the way James, on the edge of his vision, threw his body like a shroud over his companions; and the screaming—relentless, wracked with a sheer and unbridled terror, like nothing he’d heard before.

By six, he gave up on getting any more sleep, and clambered out of bed, his body feeling heavy, unwieldy with the strain of everything that had happened. He turned up the temperature on the shower as high as he could bear it, letting the water hammer down onto his scalp, his shoulders: a scalding reminder that he was here, he was okay, he was in one piece. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, under the water, waiting for it to wake him up. A shower could only do so much.

Pete was still asleep as Remus headed out of the dorm and down the stairs, passing through an empty common room and out into the cool, quiet corridors of the castle. He knew he should probably go down to breakfast first—he hadn’t eaten much at dinner last night, hurried along by James who wanted help setting up the Swap Shop, and now, that seemed like a lifetime ago. But food was about the last thing he felt he cared about at the moment.

First, he stopped outside a heavy oak door, knocking briskly before he could consider the fact that it was still early. He shouldn’t have doubted his head of house, though: McGonagall answered the door to her quarters, already dressed for the day and looking like she’d been up for a while. “Ah, Mr Lupin,” she nodded. “I thought you might stop by.”

“James,” he said—no time for pleasantries. He tried to keep his voice calm, to not let the fear bleed through his words. “How is he? Is he okay?”

She stood aside, gesturing for him to come in and sit down, which he did, reluctantly; a wave of a wand later and he had tea and toast in front of him. “He is recovering well,” McGonagall said, sitting at her desk across from him. “I understand he woke up late in the evening, had a conversation with his parents, before falling back to sleep. The healers are keeping him in for another day or so, just for observation, before they send him back to us.”

Remus felt himself wilt with relief against the hard wooden chair, and reached for the mug of tea to steady himself. Just one sip told him that his teacher remembered exactly how he took the drink, and the sweetness, the warmth, helped settle his jangling nerves. “Thank god,” he murmured. “I thought—” He cut himself off, not wanting to put that thought into words—as if it might will the thing into existence, even acknowledging it. Safer, for James, to let it go unsaid. 

McGonagall seemed to understand all the same. “Yes, well,” she said, taking a sip of her own tea. “The healers at St Mungo’s did what they do best, and any crisis was averted.” She paused before adding, drily, “Euphemia told me James tried to get out of bed to speak on Ms Swift’s behalf, so his need to rescue others has not been damaged at all.”

Remus gave her a half-hearted smile, thinking over what she had said. “Professor—Charlie—she’s been acting strangely, lately,” he said. “Lily and I came across her on patrol last week, she looked almost like she was lost—she seemed confused.”

McGonagall gazed back at him, as inscrutable as ever. “It does seem her behaviour lately has been quite out of character, not even considering last night’s events,” she allowed with a brief nod. “I will pass your thoughts on to Professor Dumbledore.”

That sounded like a dismissal, and he stood up, taking the half-eaten toast with him. “I’ll let Sirius know—about James, I mean,” he said. “He’s probably lost his mind with worry in there by now…”

“If you could, I’d be grateful,” McGonagall replied. “And I’m sure Madam Pomfrey would be, too.”

After a quick goodbye, Remus left her office, making his way to the hospital wing. He felt a bit safer now, facing Sirius with good news about their friend.

Of course, their understandable concern over James wasn’t the only thing making him feel nervous to face Sirius. Truthfully, he had been more than happy—relieved, even—to be given an extra prefect patrol the evening before, if it meant having a bit more time before he had to face him. Their encounter in the bathroom was still lingering in his mind, and he had no idea what to make of the experience. That they had come so close to—well, it was madness, wasn’t it? Had he imagined it all, anyway? Looked for a chemistry, a shift in their relationship that hadn’t actually been there? Had he just taken advantage of Sirius’ blatant vulnerability?

He didn’t think that was the case, but he didn’t trust his instincts when it came to his friend. Sirius just seemed to be able to unravel Remus, his thoughts and self, with one simple look, without even trying—to take him apart in the most beguiling and arresting way. It wasn’t impossible that was what had happened by the cool blue light of his wand, that night—that he had been drawn in and taken apart all over again.

Besides all that, there was also the matter of Owain. Owain, who he cared deeply about—who cared deeply about him. Owain, who was fun, and funny, and clever, and thoughtful—who had done nothing but show him affection and light and happiness in the whole time they’d become...whatever they had become. Remus enjoyed the time they spent together; he didn’t spend it thinking of Sirius, not usually, anyway. The Swap Shop had been the exception to that, and Remus thought it wasn’t unsurprising, given everything that had happened.

He came to a halt outside the hospital wing, staring up at the huge oak doors. He’d been selfish, that much was becoming clear—he should’ve set aside his anxiety, his turmoil, and come to visit last night. Lily had been: she’d told him as much as she’d passed him and Trant on patrol soon afterwards. He had known, at least, then, that Sirius was okay. But surely he owed Owain more than waiting until the next day…

He drew in a deep breath, set his shoulders, and stepped forward. The door creaked as he entered, but it didn’t seem to disturb most of the patients, crammed in every available space, improvised screens attempting to give some privacy. It was a lot to take in. There was less blood than he’d anticipated, which he had to take as a good sign. Poppy had been able to work her usual magic with the same ruthless efficiency as ever.

After a quick survey of the room, he spotted Sirius, and Owain, in the bed just beyond. Well. That made it easier, he supposed.

He stepped quietly between the beds and screens, cautious not to wake anyone; by the time he reached the space between the two beds he sought, he found Sirius’ keen grey eyes watching him. “Hi,” he said, because he thought he should probably say something.

“Hi,” Sirius echoed, his voice a whispered croak. He tried to sit up; flinched; flopped back down against the pillows. “Have you heard anything about—?”

“James is okay,” Remus assured him quickly, quietly. He saw his friend deflate with relief amongst the starched blankets of the hospital bed. “They’re keeping him at St Mungo’s for observation, but...he’s okay.”

Sirius closed his eyes for a second, drew in a shuddering breath. “Thank fuck,” he murmured, a heartfelt declaration that Remus felt in his very soul. 

“Yeah,” Remus agreed; he paused. “How are you feeling…?”

There was a pause as his friend considered the question; Remus guessed that Sirius had not been at all focused on how he felt in himself, too busy caught up in worry about James. “A bit better than I did last night,” he decided. “Still sore, though.”

“These things take time,” Remus offered uselessly.

“Yes, they do say that about cursed glass, don’t they,” Sirius replied, watching him for a long moment. “Moony—don’t you think we should—”

A prime moment, it would seem, for Owain to wake up. “You’re here,” a croaking voice came from the next bed along, and Remus quickly moved—not guided by guilt, not at all—to Owain’s side. 

“I’m here,” he confirmed with a faint smile. “Said I would be, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Owain matched his smile with one of his own; it was amazing, how much of a relief it was to see it. “But you also said I wasn’t bleeding that much, so…”

Remus huffed out a laugh, sad, tired. “Well, it seemed the kinder thing to say when one’s boyfriend is exsanguinating all over the floor.”

Owain’s eyes lit up, then, and he grinned—a smile stronger than anything he’d managed so far. “Boyfriend, eh?”

Remus had to smile, too, although he felt all too aware of the eyes watching them from the bed next door. “If that’s alright with you…?”

“Alright with me?” Owain repeated, and grabbed Remus’ hand, tugging him down to steal a quick, soft kiss from his lips. “I’ve been wondering when we might have this conversation.”

“Sorry,” Remus brushed his hand briefly across Owain’s cheek. “I got there eventually.”

“Better late than never,” Owain agreed fondly. He looked over at Sirius, a proud smile on his face. “Did you hear that, Black? Got myself a boyfriend and all I had to do was almost bleed to death.”

Remus reluctantly looked over at Sirius, knowing what he would see there—although knowing still wasn’t enough to make the expression on his friend’s pale face hurt any less. Sirius looked like he’d been visited by some fresh agony, his eyes pained as he met Remus’ gaze for just a moment, before he looked back at Owain.

“Yeah,” he murmured, and didn’t seem able to even try for a smile. “I heard.”

When Lily woke, it was to the sound of sniffling in the bed next to hers. It took her a moment to get her bearings, to remember what had happened the evening before, and she sat up, shuffling out from under the covers and making her way over to Mary’s side. “Mare?” she murmured, reaching out tentatively to touch her friend’s shoulder. “Are…are you okay, love?”

She knew it was a stupid question—of course she wasn’t okay—but she didn’t know what else to say. She watched as Mary rolled to face her, her pale face tracked with tears, and only paused for a moment before she clambered into the bed next to her, lying on her side to look her in the eyes.

“Sorry,” Mary murmured, as Lily gently wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. “I just…I dreamt it was happening, again, and…”

“I know,” Lily whispered, taking her friend’s cold hands in her own. “It’s okay. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Mary shook her head, just slightly. “It’s ridiculous,” she said. “James—James didn’t even wake up! Sirius is in the hospital wing… All I got was a few cuts on my head, and yet I—”

Lily fixed her with her sternest look. “We went through something traumatic, Mare,” she reminded her, her voice soft. “I think we’re entitled to be upset about it.”

Mary nodded reluctantly, pausing. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You were—you were amazing, Lil. All action.”

Lily managed a faint, wry smile. “I wasn’t at first,” she told her. “I took one look at James and threw up.”

Mary let out a tiny shudder. “The blood…”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip a moment. “I just needed to help, you know? I felt—I wanted to do something, since I got out unscathed when so many others…” She trailed off, clearing her throat, trying to shift the emotion that felt lodged there. “I’m okay.”

Mary frowned. “It’s okay if you’re not,” she murmured; familiar words they’d shared before. “To be—to be worried, about James, I mean…”

Lily couldn’t seem to meet Mary’s eyes. “Of course I’m worried, like we all are,” she replied quietly. “But—Cadence will update us, I’m sure, when she knows more—”

At that, Mary rolled her eyes—then seemed to feel a bit guilty for that action. “Sorry,” she said. “I just, I can’t believe she was completely uninjured but was still freaking out to the point of needing calming potions…”

“Yeah, well,” Lily sighed, “like we said—the blood…”

Mary looked away, then. “Sorry,” she murmured again. “I’m being a bitch, aren’t I?”

Lily reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind Mary’s ear; the gesture made Mary look up, and even manage a smile, faint though it was. “It’s okay.”

They lay there for a few moments, just relishing the peace: for now, no demands on them, no new stresses or struggles to fight. No news from the infirmary, or St Mungo’s; no reason to let the fear seep in, again; no need to picture the blood, red, blooming like ink across the floor of the Great Hall.

“It’s okay,” Lily murmured again. Because it had to be.

Chapter Text

after

The twenty-seventh dawned cool, but bright and breezy, an effortlessly blue sky studded with a few clouds—perfect quidditch weather. Not that James was in much of a state for the game currently; his mum still looked panicked if he moved at anything more than a sedate stroll. But at least it was good weather for a birthday party.

His parents had been insistent that, after the rather dramatic end to term and the prolonged trauma of his time in hospital, he should have as many people round as he liked. Given his still-recovering state, he wasn’t exactly up to a full-on rager of a party—not that he thought that was what his parents had had in mind, anyway, but they were nothing if not indulgent, and he was turning seventeen, a prime event in a young person’s life. If he’d been in any fit state, things could have got rather messy.

Sirius, of course, was disappointed at the lack of firewhiskey-related plans, but was holding up manfully given the circumstances. Even he’d had to admit that getting trollied and larking around was not worth the possibility of James ending up back in St Mungo’s.

And so invitations had been extended to all the sixth year Gryffindors, as well as his teammates, and, of course, Cadence. A cake the size of a small cottage had been prepared—chocolate, his favourite—as well as a huge buffet that would probably have fed all the residents of Malmsmead as well as the party attendees. Basically, no expense had been spared, and so he supposed he should try not to look like a miserable sod the entire day.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing his friends—it had been weeks now since he’d seen anyone but Sirius, his parents or the Healers at the hospital. He just felt like part of him was still damaged, still missing, and although things didn’t feel as dark as they did when he was in hospital, he still wasn’t back to his usual, ebullient self. Having people here would only draw attention to that fact, when all he wanted to do was hide it away.

He wasn’t even sure how many people would actually come. Remus and Pete were guaranteed—loyal to a fault, those two—but quite a few of his teammates were either staying at Hogwarts, or being locked up securely in their own homes after the recent attack at school. He supposed it wasn’t much of a shock to find that parents were feeling extra protective, lately.

Then there was the issue of Cadence and Lily. Or, not an issue, as he insisted to Sirius, but something which merely provoked thought. Evans’ attendance wasn’t secure, anyway, given her mum’s declining health. He would completely understand if she’d rather stay at home, and not just because it would give him a bit more time to get his head around everything.

As for Cadence…she had written to him dozens of times by now, and he had sent a few, short replies. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her, necessarily: he just didn’t know what to say. Her missives had been emotional, pouring out her heart onto the parchment as she thanked him for “saving her life”—a sentiment he found uncomfortable at best. And what was it that made him so uncomfortable? Was it the implication that, because he had “saved her”, that proved his love for her?

And if that was the case…what did it say about his feelings for Lily?

No wonder he had a constant headache.

“James!” His mother’s voice filtered through from downstairs, shades of anxiety there that had been in her tone ever since the hospital. She couldn’t seem to shake the worry. “Hurry up, dear, your friends will be here soon!”

With one last look out the window, he heaved a sigh, and heaved himself up, ready to try to face the day. He was seventeen now, after all. He could be a man about this.

Probably.

before

Madam Pomfrey let Sirius leave the hospital wing two days after the attack, dosed up to the eyeballs on blood replenishing potion and some wonderful painkilling charms, and under normal circumstances, he’d have been relieved to get out. He’d never been one to enjoy his time in the infirmary—he found it too hard to lie still and be a good patient, to sit back and let things mend and knit back together. No, he’d always preferred motion, of any variety.

That was before his best friend ended up in St Mungo’s. That was before Remus publicly committed himself to Owain bloody Ollerton. That was before he’d felt like this.

It was a familiar feeling, in many ways: that overwhelming sense of control slipping through his fingers; the worry and fear that sat like a weight on his windpipe; the pain, relentless, like waves, of knowing, now.

Knowing he wasn’t good enough.

Knowing that he had no one to blame for this feeling but himself.

He couldn’t look Remus in the eye, not that he was certain his friend was trying to catch his gaze, anyway. They edged around each other, quiet and uncertain, whilst poor Pete tried to work out just what was going on. If Sirius had known the answer to that, he would have happily shared it. But there were no real answers—just more bloody questions.

And James… James was a natural leader, the glue that brought together their disparate parts—without him, they were floundering. Aimless.

Was it melodramatic, to think himself half-complete without James there? That without his, to be honest, better half, he was just a wasting thing, nothing that anyone could have any interest in. He’d never been so worried for someone’s health before, never had this type of sensation that an axe hung just above their collective necks, waiting to fall. He knew James was alive, but alive wasn’t always all it was cracked up to be, was it? Not when he apparently couldn’t move from his bed without bleeding all over the place, collapsing in a way that James—sporty, vigorous James, someone in better physical shape than almost everyone in their year—should not have been capable of. And this, the shower of cursed glass, was something no one seemed to know what to do about, not when James had been the most severely afflicted by it. It was far beyond what even the worst injury back in the infirmary had been. When the experts in St Mungo’s were taking a “let’s wait and hope” approach to treatment, he knew it had to be bad news.

James, bleeding. Remus, avoiding. And Sirius, trying to stay afloat.

Because the truth of it was that it felt rather like drowning, like the air around him had shifted to something toxic, and the only way out—the only way he knew, the only thing he'd relied on, lately—was old habits. It was a good thing they kept such a steady supply of firewhiskey in their dorm, in case of an “emergency” (an unplanned party type of emergency), because at least it meant that he hadn’t had to be sober since he got out of the hospital wing.

It was with a slight buzz in his veins, and a cigarette clutched in his hand, that Mary found him. ‘Found’ was being generous perhaps, given that he was where they always smoked together—hardly a masterful hiding place. But for him to have slipped out on his own was unusual, these days.

She sat down with a thump, taking the cigarette from his fingers for a quick drag of her own, aiming the smoke thoughtfully away from him. He watched her, noting the pallor of her skin, the dark shadows under her eyes. She had been in the Great Hall too, when the attack happened. She had already told him that she’d watched Charlie Swift walk past, and felt a familiar tug of something inside her—an understanding, perhaps, of another person under the imperius, something she herself had been the victim of last year, although thankfully with only one person damaged from the experience: herself.

Mary hardly talked about it, at least not to him—he had to hope that she had talked to her dorm mates about it at the time. The memory of her, shaking, pale, in the middle of the courtyard as she came back to herself was something that would stay with him forever.

“You alright?” he asked, which felt a daft question: she clearly wasn’t.

The echoes of a smile lifted her lips, something barely reassuring, and she shrugged. “It’s…” A pause, as she gathered her thoughts. “Others have it worse off than me.”

He frowned. “That’s bullshit, Mac,” he pointed out. “Everyone’s entitled to feel how they feel.”

She sighed, taking the cigarette again: another pull, and the drift of smoke. “George thinks I’m overreacting.”

Sirius bit back a laugh, something that would have been inevitably bitter. “What a prick.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Doesn’t mean he can say prickish things.” Sirius took the cigarette back, drawing out one last puff before it burned too low. “Means he should be extra un-prickish, surely, if I’m to understand the whole being-a-boyfriend situation.”

She shrugged, staring down at the grass at their feet. “I don’t think he remembers what happened, last year,” she told him. “He just thinks I’m…”

Her pause was telling, and he sat forward, pre-emptively annoyed. “Thinks you’re what?”

She met his gaze. “Thinks I’m making it about myself.”

A pause of his own, and then he stood up. “Good, then,” he said, dropping the cigarette butt and vanishing it from the ground. “I’ve been wanting to punch someone.”

She grabbed his arm, using it as leverage to pull herself up, too, as well as stop him in his tracks. “Don’t,” she told him. “You can’t just go round punching people, Sirius.”

“That’s not true,” he replied, his voice bitingly cheerful, something that probably betrayed far more of his mood than his words ever could. “And it would be very satisfying.”

Mary moved to block his path, a hand on each of his arms, now, and a stern look in her eyes. “What’s with the aggression, Black?” she asked. “Surely you don’t care that much about my boyfriend—”

“Soon to be ex, I should hope,” he interjected sourly.

“About my soon to be ex-boyfriend saying some unhelpful things.” She frowned, studying his face. “Has something else happened? You’ve been avoiding me since you got out of the infirmary.”

Because she was too fucking perceptive for her own good. If he wanted to be read like an open book, he’d ask for it. “What, you mean other than my best mate being in Mungo’s bleeding like a fountain?”

A slight softening to her expression, but she didn’t release him from her grip. “Other than that, yes.”

They stared at each other for a long minute, and he had to give her credit—she was as stubborn as he was. No wonder they got on so well. “Remus is officially Ollerton’s boyfriend,” he said at last, aiming for nonchalance and failing, miserably. “Make sure you send him your congratulations.”

“Oh, Sirius,” she sighed, her face falling, and she let go only to haul him into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“It’s okay that it does,” she told him, her head tucked in under his chin. “You can tell me. I won’t say anything.”

He knew she wouldn’t. At this point, he trusted her more than most people. It was different, talking to James about stuff like this: his loyalty was split, understandably, between Sirius and Remus. And he lived in a dorm with them both—a recipe for awkwardness if ever there was one.

No. He knew that Mary would listen. She wouldn’t judge him. And she wouldn’t say a word to anyone else.

“I hate feeling like this,” he murmured, and was surprised to find his voice was taut, threatening emotion where he thought he had none left. “I fucking hate it, and it’s all my own fault, and I just want to—”

He cut himself off, and she gave him a gentle squeeze, quiet for a moment longer. “Want to what?” she asked, pulling back a little to meet his gaze. “What will help, Sirius?”

He tried to smile, but, judging from the look on her face, it was maybe the saddest smile known to wizardkind. “I need to feel something else,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. “Anything else.”

She bit her lip, and nodded slowly. “Me too,” she said, and her voice was quieter now. “So maybe we can help each other.”

after

It had only been a few minutes since his beckoning, but by the time James got downstairs, he found a kitchen full of people. His father at the sink, overseeing the dishes as they washed themselves (“I don’t always trust them not to get distracted,” he was fond of saying); his mother fussing over Remus, who flushed pink at the attention; Sirius, speaking in low tones with Peter and Mary, the former of whom was at least partially distracted by a nearby tower of chocolate profiteroles. And there, in the middle, was Lily.

She looked uncomfortable, a sight he wasn’t used to seeing, an expression that only intensified when Euphemia transferred her fussing from Remus to Lily. She caught sight of James over his mother’s shoulder and gave him a small, wry smile before focusing back on his mum. “It’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs Potter,” she was saying. “Thanks so much for inviting me.”

“Now there are some lovely manners,” Euphemia beamed, giving Lily a quick hug.

“I can’t help but feel that was aimed at me,” Sirius noted, which earned him a laugh and a glare.

“And you must call me Euphemia,” his mother continued, now that she had dealt Sirius her silent response. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Mum—” James intervened, a note of desperation in his voice.

“Yes, well, let’s leave the young people to enjoy themselves, shall we?” Fleamont suggested; thank Merlin for his father’s generous soul. He didn’t seem to get quite so much pleasure out of ritual humiliation as his wife did. “We’ll be in the study if you need us, Jamie.”

His parents trooped out, and Mary’s face was lit up in undisguised delight. “Oh, I think we’ll be going back to them later, don’t you?” she said. “I’m dying to hear what Jamie’s been saying about us all.”

James couldn’t help but notice the way Remus’ expression shifted at Mary’s voice, barely perceptible to anyone who didn’t know him better. It was like something snapped shut in his eyes, and James wondered what else he had missed in his time away from school.

For now, though, a distraction. “What do we all want to do?” he asked.

“Buffet’s good,” Pete said—or, it sounded like he said, his mouth being full of choux pastry and cream.

“We’re not just going to eat all day,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “That’s no way to see in seventeen.”

“What can we do?” Mary asked. “No offence, Potter, but you look a bit like a strong breeze might knock you over.”

“I’m not sure how I can not take offence at that,” he considered.

“How about some games?” Lily suggested. “Exploding Snap tournament? Sitting down, but with explosions, surely everyone wins.”

“I like the way you think, Evans,” Sirius agreed, slinging his arm round her shoulder. “Come with me, fair maiden, and we will trounce the bloody lot of them.”

Mary and Pete made to follow the pair, and James hung back to catch Remus’ eye. “What’s on with—”

“Nothing,” Remus replied, too quickly to be believable, which he seemed to notice, too, because he sighed, and added, “Let’s worry about that later.”

James raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. “Later.”

before

The hospital was too quiet.

Quiet had never been something that sat well with James; he found too much of it to be unsettling, as if something awful was lurking round the corner ready to leap out and shatter the silence.

Shatter—seemed an appropriate word for his current situation.

He supposed that, at least, the awful thing had already happened—how much worse could things really get? That was a question that kept weaving its way through his head, relentless and never-ending, and a question that he both did and really did not want the answer to.

The quiet just gave the question more opportunities to circulate; nothing but the question, and the soft beeping of the various spells the Healers had set up to monitor him. The door deadened any other noise, so that he might as well have been the only room for miles, rather than where he knew he really was: in a huge, busy building in the middle of London.

His ‘few days of observation’ had turned into a week and counting, and no end in sight. Two days after the attack, the Healers had encouraged him to get out of bed and go for a walk—he’d made it halfway across the room before his legs had crumpled like paper beneath him. His mum had let out a horrible, horrified noise: the worst of the wounds had reopened, blood pulsing lazily down his shoulder, blossoming across the hospital-issued mint green pyjamas.

He’d pay good money to never have to hear his mother sound so distressed again.

Evidently, the Healers hadn’t expected the cuts to reopen—none of the patients at Hogwarts had experienced that problem, but, as his father put it, “none of them sacrificed themselves for their girlfriend”, which James thought was probably a bit unfair on the other students who’d been in the Great Hall that evening, as well as being just a touch inaccurate.

He hadn’t just been sacrificing himself for his girlfriend.

But that was beside the point. Back to bed he went, more healing spells cast, potions tipped down his throat with alarming speed, and all talk of getting back to Hogwarts was put aside. Something that did not help his mood: in fact, his parents talking about bringing his friends along for a visit—something that was ostensibly a good thing—just made him feel even more sour, because it signalled very clearly that he wasn’t going to be back at school any time soon.

His mood was another thing troubling the Healers, troubling his parents. The blood they could understand—he’d had a lot of cuts, some worse than others, and cursed wounds could be slow to heal. But one day, when he was pretending to be asleep, he’d heard a murmured conversation between his mum and dad and the principal Healer on his team.

“He’s not normally like this,” his mother had said, a seam of worry running through her voice as clear as day. “I’ve never seen him so, so—sullen, or withdrawn, or angry.”

“It’s not like him,” his father had agreed, and James had felt a pang of sadness at hearing his dad try so hard to sound steady, trying to keep his wife steady, too. “Not at all like him.”

“It’s possible the dark magic inherent in the wounds is having an effect on his personality, too,” Healer Robbins had replied. “As the wounds heal, that should improve. We will certainly keep a close eye on it.”

He had heard his mother’s heavy sigh, knew all too well what it meant: that she felt let down by the reply she’d been given. He had known, deep in his heart, that she would worry and fret and obsess over it all until something changed, and a small part of him felt a wave of guilt so intense it could have drowned him.

But a large part—the part that was sullen, that was withdrawn, that was angry—just wanted them to shut up and go away. Give him some peace in this unending quiet.

Because that was how it felt: an unending, churning noisy silence rattling around inside him; frustration and sourness and something that left an unpleasant taste behind in his mouth. And he was starting to wonder if it was anything to do with the dark magic at all, and if it wasn’t just him, the real him, pushing its way to the fore.

The sound of the door dragged him from these strange, circular thoughts, although he didn’t immediately open his eyes to look like he would have done even a week ago. Something compelled him to lie there a while longer, eyes tightly closed—it was a small amount of power, of control, that he still had even here in the middle of a hospital, bleeding from open wounds. 

A shuffling of a chair against the tiled floor, and a soft sigh as whoever it was sat down. Without looking, he sensed it was his mum: there was something about the way she sighed that he had always been intimately familiar with. He felt a twinge, then, something like guilt flashing through him as he thought about how worried she was—how old they both were—how little they needed the stress of him being there, let alone him being there and acting like a truculent prat during every waking moment. 

That was what forced his eyes open, and he saw he was right; Euphemia was sitting in a chair next to his bed, a worn paperback book clutched in her hands that she didn’t seem able to focus on at all. He squinted at the cover—Jane Eyre; he shouldn’t have been surprised, it was his mum’s favourite—and something about that minute movement brought her gaze up, away from the pages and towards him.

“Jamie,” she murmured, with a small, tired smile. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Part of him wanted, dearly, to respond in the same gentle tone, to do whatever he could to smooth down the worry at her brow. He was aware of that need, there, just under the surface—the classic James instincts. But whatever dark magic still eddying through his veins seemed to cast too large a shadow, hefted too much influence, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop himself from shrugging, a cold expression on his face as he replied, “the same.”

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed, watched her neatly-painted nails—a dark, wine-red—tap a brief rhythm on the cover of her book, now sitting closed in her lap. “Healer Robbins will be back soon for an update,” she said. “And your father has just nipped home to get you a few things.”

“Great,” he said, voice heavy and wooden. 

She seemed to be working hard to ignore his tone. “I’ve also spoken with Professor Dumbledore, about Sirius and Cadence being allowed to visit. He said he’s happy for—”

“Not Cadence,” James interrupted, and wasn’t sure why. The words had just come out, before he could really think about them. “Just...Sirius, and Remus and Pete, if they can.”

Euphemia frowned slightly, pursing her lips a moment. “That will be too many people—the hospital only wants two visitors at a time,” she explained. “I thought you’d want to see your girlfriend…”

He sighed, and closed his eyes. “Don’t particularly want to see anyone,” he muttered.

A long pause, and he felt that frustration again, bubbling away inside him. He didn’t even know what he was so angry about—he just knew he was, that there was nowhere for the anger to go but out, and at the moment, he didn’t care how it happened. Couldn’t seem to care. “Alright,” his mum said eventually. “Just Sirius, then.”

His eyes stayed closed, and a few minutes later, a shuffling sound again, a few small footsteps drawing nearer; and then, a hand gently moving across his forehead, brushing his hair back in an achingly familiar gesture, before his mother leaned down to dot a soft kiss there. “Get some rest, love,” she murmured. “I’ll be right here.”

It hurt. He fell asleep, that same hurt powering every beat of his heart, pulsing through his entire body, and the last thing he remembered thinking before he drifted off was, surely it shouldn't hurt this much.

after

A few hours had been passed amiably enough, their group growing in numbers with Marlene, Dorcas and Cadence arriving together. Exploding Snap turned to Gobstones turned to a convoluted card game of Pete’s own invention that everyone was too polite to admit they didn’t quite understand. It was during the carnage of round two—“round two? when the fuck did round one end?” Sirius had demanded—that James used the opportunity to slip out and get some fresh air.

Cadence had greeted him effusively, leaning in for a kiss which he had—subtly, he hoped—diverted to his cheek under the pretence of reaching for his drink. And then, her quiet, confused but sweet presence across the table from him had just compounded his sense of guilt, and guilt over he didn’t know what. What was he so ashamed about? Why couldn’t he just enjoy the company of his objectively beautiful girlfriend, on his seventeenth birthday, surrounded by his friends?

Hence the need for a breather. He didn’t think anyone had noticed his exit, too caught up in trying to understand how the next round of the game would work, although it was only a few minutes of quiet on the kitchen step before he heard soft footsteps behind him, and he sighed, steeling himself for Cadence’s gentle concern.

“You have a river at the bottom of your garden.”

He looked up, surprised to find Lily there instead, lowering herself to sit on the step next to him. She was gazing around the grounds, apparently determined to not yet meet his eye. “Erm, yeah,” he agreed. “It’s not ours, though.”

“Christ, imagine being so rich you owned a river,” she remarked, with a small, playful smile.

“I think it’d be a logistical nightmare, actually,” he considered, turning his gaze to the garden, too.

“Probably,” she allowed.

Silence fell, apart from the familiar sound of birdsong in the apple trees, and the sound of the river meandering past. “Thanks for coming,” he said at last, and they finally looked at each other. “I know being away from home isn’t easy at the moment.”

An expression halfway between a smile and a grimace crossed her face. “Is it horrible if I say it’s easier being here?” she asked.

“Not horrible,” he promised. “Understandable.”

She nodded, drawing in a deep breath, seeming to consider his words, and her own. “It’s hard, being there. She’s…dying a little more, every day.” It was a bit painful, to see the sad sort of acceptance on her face. No longer devastated: just, resigned. “My dad insisted I come, to be honest. Said it’d be good for me.”

“I’m glad he did,” he said. “Sorry for…bringing it all up again.”

She smiled, a little more convincingly, and gently bumped her shoulder against his. “As if it isn’t always there in the back of my mind anyway,” she replied. “Don’t worry about it.” She paused, giving him an appraising look. “How are you, anyway? Not like you to duck out of your own birthday celebrations.”

He nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m…getting there,” he replied, with some caution. “Wherever ‘there’ is.”

“Still in pain?” she wondered.

“A bit,” he admitted, gesturing loosely to his shoulder. “Not bleeding like a faucet anymore, though, which the Healers consider good progress.”

“I’d think we all consider that good progress,” she pointed out. He watched as she let her gaze drift, following the path of a cloud across the sky. “I never got the chance to say—”

“Fuck, no,” he interrupted quickly, something like panic in his voice. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” she interrupted in turn, knotting her hands in her lap. “God only knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t…” She trailed off, and glanced his way again. “Been stupidly heroic.”

He flinched. “Everyone keeps using that word,” he said. “But it’s not heroism, is it? It’s just…the decent thing to do.”

“Well, thank you,” she replied, and he wondered at the softness of her gaze in that moment. At the way her green eyes seemed to read more of him than he was willing to be read. “For being so decent.”

He held her gaze for a long few seconds, before finding he had to look away—he wasn’t sure what he would say or do if he didn’t. “My mum would prefer I stopped being so decent,” he told her, trying for lightness in his tone; he knew she could probably find the bald truth there, though. “She’s not up to another St Mungo’s stint, I think.”

“She’s not alone in that,” Lily replied, so quietly that he almost could have doubted she’d said anything at all. He looked over at her again, finding her staring resolutely down the garden, something like a blush on her cheeks. “You drove us all a bit mad with worry, James.”

James. Not Potter. He blinked, trying to get his head round this sequence of events. Trying to school his face into something calm and collected, and not just open awe and alarm. “Sorry about that.”

She cracked a weary smile, and that seemed to break some of the tension that he hadn’t even realised had built up until that moment. “We obviously forgive you,” she joked. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“Unless you’re just in it for some free cake,” he offered.

“Damn,” she murmured, and looked his way. “You’re on to me.”

If he had been told, even six months ago, that he would be sat on his kitchen step, sharing a look so intense as to set off the most embarrassing fleet of butterflies in his stomach, with Lily Evans of all people, he would have laughed his head off. And yet…

“Oy!” Sirius’ voice filtered through from the kitchen, and they broke their gaze, both glancing over their shoulders to find their friend’s looming presence there. “Come on, you two. Somehow Mar is winning this bloody game and we have to figure out how so that we can knock her off the top spot.”

Lily shot James a quick, gentle smile, pulling herself up from the step. “Alright, birthday boy,” she said, nodding towards Sirius. “You heard the bloke. Where’s your competitive spirit?”

James allowed a chuckle, carefully, steadily, standing up too. “It’s in there somewhere,” he agreed. “Maybe more cake will dig it out?”

“That’s the spirit,” Sirius agreed, giving him a friendly—and gentle—pat on the shoulder. “Cake is always the answer, isn’t it Evans?”

Another shared smile, and that familiar fluttering feeling again, before he looked away. “It is,” came Lily’s soft reply.

before

Nobody had seen Charlie Swift since the night of the attack. Two days after, Lily had come across Charlotte’s tearful dorm mates in the common room—all of her belongings were gone, her bed neatly re-made and removed to the corner of the dormitory. And, even though it was just about all anyone wanted to talk about, no one really seemed to know what had happened.

“She clearly wasn’t herself,” Lily was saying to Remus as they walked along the torch-lit Charms corridor. Patrol was even quieter than it usually was this week: she supposed it was hardly surprising that most people wanted to stay safely locked away in their Houses. “I wish I’d talked to her, after we found her that night…”

Remus nodded quietly. “Me too. Surely they don’t think that she would do something like this voluntarily—she had to be under the imperius curse or something.”

“I suppose…even if she was, she still did it,” Lily sighed. “And Dumbledore has to be seen to do something in response.” She glanced over at him, taking in the pallor of his skin, the dark circles under his eyes. “Any more news about James?”

Remus lifted his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I asked McGonagall earlier, she said there was a ‘complication’ in his being able to leave hospital and that he’d be there a while longer yet.”

Another, familiar stab of guilt caught her; she forced her attention ahead of them again, trying not to let her feelings show too obviously on her face. He was in hospital—still in hospital, a week after the attack—because of her.

Well, her and Cadence. But she couldn’t seem to shake the memory of his eyes catching hers just seconds before he pulled them both to the ground. It replayed on a loop in her head every time she closed her eyes. It only served to make the guilt, and all the other myriad, complicated feelings, pulse more intensely.

“How’s Sirius coping?” she asked, because it seemed like a good way to shift the subject slightly—although, judging by the look on Remus’ face, she started to doubt that theory.

“Not sure,” he replied, a little cagily. “He’s been…quiet. Since the attack.”

Lily had noticed that, too, although she hadn’t been surprised—almost everyone who’d been there that evening seemed to have come away shell-shocked. “Mary’s been like that, too,” she told Remus. “She’s really struggling with it all. She even broke up with George yesterday.”

Remus glanced her way, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really?” he asked. “I thought they were getting on well…”

“He wasn’t there, that night,” Lily explained. “And Mary didn’t feel like he was…understanding, enough, about what she’d been through. She felt like he was trying to chivvy her along, cheer her up too much.”

He nodded. “McMillan’s never struck me as being someone who copes very well with difficult emotions,” he said, quite diplomatically, Lily thought.

“No,” she agreed. “I think it’s a shame that Mary’s ended it, but—I suppose she wasn’t getting what she needs from the relationship, and that can’t be ignored, can it…”

Remus was quiet, hands in pockets. “No, I ‘spose not.”

They reached the main staircase and started their way back up, towards Gryffindor tower. “How’s Owain doing?” she asked after a few minutes of quiet. “He’s out of the hospital wing now, right?”

Remus nodded. “Got out yesterday. He’s still a bit sore, but otherwise he’s alright.” He paused. “We…sort of made things official.”

Lily couldn’t help the bright smile that spilled across her lips, moving closer to loop her arm through his and give him a congratulatory squeeze. “Rem, that’s great,” she said. “I’m so pleased for you.”

He smiled—a smile that was almost convincing. “Yeah. He’s great.”

She raised her eyebrows. “But…?”

They reached the seventh floor, setting off on the last part of their journey. “But nothing,” he replied. “He’s great.”

There was something in his eyes that made Lily think she probably shouldn’t push him on the subject, at least, not for the moment. She knew as well as anyone how complicated matters of the heart could be. “Good,” was all she said, with a small smile. “Oh, hey, could I borrow your notes from yesterday’s Arithmancy lesson? I was reviewing mine earlier and there’s a whole section that might as well be written in Norwegian for all I understand of it.”

“Sure, I’ve got them upstairs,” he nodded, pausing to give the password and leading the way through the portrait hole; the common room was quiet, only a few still up, and he nodded to the boys’ staircase. “Come on up, because there’s a section in my notes which made no sense to me, maybe you’ll understand it.”

She followed him up the stairs with a chuckle. “I do often wonder why I put myself through this subject.”

“Self-flagellation?” Remus wondered. “Your latent masochistic side?”

“Why can’t it be both?” Lily smirked. They made their way into the sixth-year boys’ dormitory, giving a brief glance over to Peter’s bed—the boy was snoring peacefully—before Remus started riffling through various papers on his desk. Lily took a seat on the edge of his bed. “Was it the sixth problem set that you were—”

But she didn’t get to finish her question, because both of their attentions were drawn away by Sirius’ bed hangings suddenly opening, and Lily watched, eyes widening in surprise, as Mary appeared, looking a little flushed and slightly dishevelled, adjusting her skirt as she went.

Her friend stopped, and blushed, at the sight of Lily and Remus there. “Oh! Lil, hi—um, hi, Remus…”

Lily had a feeling that Remus’ gaze had moved where hers had, too: back to Sirius’ bed, where the bloke himself was shuffling off the bed, lazily rebuttoning his trousers. With an almost defiant look in his eye, he first looked at his dorm-mate, then at Lily, an eyebrow raised as if to say, and?

“This is new,” Lily remarked, glancing briefly at Remus, whose face was tightly drawn, frozen, before she looked back to Mary. “Um. Shall we go to bed, Mare? I can get those notes tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Mary agreed, sending Sirius a sheepish glance. “Sleep well, boys.”

“Night, ladies,” Sirius replied easily; Remus said nothing.

Lily led the way back out of the dormitory, staying quiet as they made their way back down the stairs. It was only once they were climbing the girls’ stairs that she spoke again. “So, you and Sirius, eh…?”

Mary shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s not a…thing,” she replied. They both paused outside their dorm doorway, as if in unspoken agreement not to take this conversation inside where Marlene and Dor could hear. “We both needed…something. That’s all.”

Lily studied her friend’s face, chewing on her lip for a moment. “Just…make sure you don’t get hurt,” she offered finally. “You deserve all the good things, Mare. All of them.”

Mary gave her a small smile. “Don’t worry about me, Lil,” she told her softly. “I know what I’m doing.”

Lily really, truly hoped that she did. Because, although this was a slightly uncomfortable situation between them now, she had a feeling that the one they’d left behind in the boys’ dorm was about a thousand times worse. “Okay,” she agreed simply. “C’mon. Bed time.”

after

By the time the sky grew dark, Lily, Marlene and Dorcas had headed home—they all knew that Lily was anxious to get back, even if she had admitted to James that it was hard being at home. He had watched with more than a passing interest as Sirius and Mary had exchanged quiet words by the door, and he couldn’t not have noticed the way that Remus watched them, too. As Cadence, Pete and Sirius went to help Euphemia in the kitchen—“surely they don’t want more food?” Fleamont had asked in wonder—James ambled over to Remus, lowering himself gently down onto the sofa with just the slightest wince at the discomfort this brought.

Remus, of course, noticed. “Haven’t they got you on painkilling potions?” he asked, worry clear in his voice.

“There’s a limit to how much you can take, apparently,” James shrugged. “And I reached it a while ago. It was either stop or carry on and wait for my liver to turn into a shrivelled-up fig.”

“That’s specific,” Remus noted.

Another shrug, and a nudge with his elbow. “What’s on with Sirius and Mary, then?” he asked. “I know you’ve noticed something too.”

His friend’s expression froze, and he drew in a careful breath before replying. “They’re shagging.”

James’ jaw actually dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

The tension seemed to be rippling off Remus in waves. “Lily and I came across Mary coming out of his bed in the last week of term,” he replied, his voice even.

“But…” He shook his head, trying to get it all straight in his mind. “Mary’s with—”

“They broke up,” Remus interrupted. “Just after the attack. He wasn’t very supportive, apparently, when it was bringing up bad memories for her.”

James cringed in recognition. “Right, shit,” he nodded. “But even so—those two? I thought they were too busy being platonic soulmates poisoning their lungs by the greenhouses to get caught up in…all that.”

“Yeah, well.” To anyone else, Remus might have been doing a reasonable job of convincing them that he didn’t care. Unfortunately for him, James knew him too well for that. “Apparently not.”

This made absolutely no sense. Even if Sirius wasn’t willing to admit as much to James, his friend was clearly hung up on a certain other Marauder. James couldn’t pretend to understand the difficulty of dealing with questioning one’s sexuality, especially when it was tangled up with all the pureblood dogma and bigotry as it was for Sirius. But pushing it all aside and pretending otherwise was clearly not doing him any good—it hadn’t been doing him any good even before all this.

Something was missing, some piece of information that would put this development into sharper focus. “It can’t just be about the attack for Pads, though,” he considered thoughtfully. “I know him and Marl had a thing, but he doesn’t usually go after someone so close to our group of friends. He much prefers faceless shags from other houses.”

Remus had stilled, if it were possible to be any more still than he already was, as if even the tiniest movement might set something off, something that would bring the whole façade tumbling to the ground. “Lovely.”

James paused, squinted at his friend. Sighed. “What happened?”

Remus raised his eyebrows, shifting his gaze briefly to James before allowing it to flit elsewhere. “What do you mean?”

Another sigh. He was going to age immeasurably just trying to deal with these two. “Something clearly happened. What was it?”

A long pause, where they just sat there, listening to the distant sounds of squabbling from the kitchen—Euphemia on fine form, as ever, with the boys she considered her adoptive sons. Finally, with a sigh of his own, Remus spoke up. “Owain and I…made it official,” he said. “The day after the SWEN thing.” A flash of something like guilt on his face as his gaze drifted to the door. “Sirius was in the next bed.”

Fuck. Well, that explained an awful lot, and not just this whole mess, but Sirius’ general mood since the holidays had started. James wasn’t sure what to say at first, and maybe that was more than Remus could cope with, because he started speaking again. “It’s not like it was a surprise,” he said, a muttering, really, something darker than the usual tone of voice James had come to expect from him. “We’ve been…seeing each other for a while now. And it’s not like Sirius has anything to do with—”

“Moony,” James spoke up, softly, sadly. Remus exhaled heavily, meeting his friend’s gaze. “You two should be having this talk, not me and you.”

“Yeah, well.” He shifted in his seat. “That won’t happen, will it?”

“Nothing will change if you don’t help it change,” James offered, which earned him a small, grim smile. “I am seventeen now, you know. I have to be wise.”

“Alright,” Remus rolled his eyes, and gave James a nudge with his elbow—a gentle one, given James’ recent medical excursions. “I’ll…talk to him.” A short pause, and an added, “eventually.”

“That’s all I ask,” James smiled.

Any further discussion was—probably thankfully, from Remus’ point of view—curtailed as the others piled back into the room, weighed down by platters of yet more food. “I hope you’re hungry,” Euphemia called to them. “Because no one is leaving until all this food is gone.”

“That’s a challenge I can get behind,” Pete decided, clapping Sirius on the back.

Cadence stood back a little, shooting James an almost nervous look, and he felt the guilt inside him blossom to full bloom. He had to be better than this, surely—if he was the ‘decent’ person they kept saying he was. He gave her a small but genuine smile, and held out his hand; she moved gratefully to his side, perching on the arm of the sofa, her hand slipping to the nape of his neck—a fond, warm gesture he felt utterly undeserving of. “You joining Pete on the challenge of a lifetime?” he asked her.

Her smile strengthened. “I will do my best, for the sake of your mother’s pantry.”

He tilted her chin down and reached up for a kiss, something soft and unassuming. “You’re too kind.”

“Enough smooching!” came Sirius’ voice from the table. “Time to eat!”

Cadence only gave him another one of her warm, kind smiles. “Ready for round two?”

“Surely it’s round four by this point,” Remus interjected, getting up to move to the table.

James nodded, meeting her gaze again. “I’m ready.”

before

How they had reached the end of term in one piece, Remus wasn’t sure. The castle was subdued, for the most part, everyone still in a high level of anxiety after the SWEN attack. Charlotte had not returned, and all anyone seemed able to talk about was that someone, in their school, had chosen a muggleborn to imperius and make that attack on others like her. It was vicious. It was heartless. It was wholly unsurprising, in Remus’ opinion.

Meanwhile, with that backdrop of fear and uncertainty, other parts of life had carried on with no allowances for the strange situation they all found themselves in. Classes were as intense as always, with Merryton in particular seeming to take it upon herself to ramp up the homework: she’d assigned them all an essay on the Unforgivable Curses, due on their return from the Easter break. That was no coincidence, he knew.

Pete and Iris had reunited—Remus hadn’t realised they’d broken up again until Peter came down to breakfast a few days before the end of term and declared himself in love once more. And he couldn’t even share a wry grin with Sirius about it, because the bloke was doing his utmost to avoid meeting Remus’ eyes. He spent most of his time with Mary, or talking to Lily, or even (to both Remus and Pete’s surprise) to Cadence. Remus knew he was missing James—they all were—but Sirius was coping even worse than the rest of them were.

How he chose to cope was what bothered Remus the most, and the fact that it bothered him was even more, well, bothersome. Remus wasn’t stupid: he was well aware that it was about more than just James’ stint in hospital. But that was something he was unwilling to address, for now, at least.

Usually, most students stayed on for the Easter break, so close to exams that they’d rather knuckle down and revise than waste any time going home. Of course, the attack had changed things. Remus couldn’t help but notice that the sign-up sheet in the Gryffindor common room only had the names of students who were purebloods—those who felt the safest staying. Everyone else had apparently decided to put up with the long train journey home if it meant having that sense of security for even a few weeks.

Remus didn’t feel unsafe, exactly, despite everything that had happened—despite the dreams he still had, even now, of watching his friends tilt their unassuming faces up towards an onslaught of glass, raining down from the heavens. He knew that Hogwarts was one of the safest places to be; that to be even in the general vicinity of Albus Dumbledore meant a level of protection most wouldn’t get at home.

But there was no denying that he needed a change of scenery. A break, to be honest, from that dorm and the shadows that lingered there.

Owain had been disappointed, assuming, somehow, that they might stay back together. “A bit of studying,” he had said, “a bit of canoodling…”

As appealing as that was—and it was—Remus felt, deep down in the darker parts of him, that maybe he needed a break from that, too. From Owain’s gentle, easy smile; his kind words and playful nature; the expectations there that sank onto his shoulders, a pressure that didn’t come from Owain and never had, but a pressure he felt nonetheless.

Some space, to get his head around what they had become. About what it meant, in the wider expanse of his life.

Not that he said any of that to Owain. He couldn’t bear to hurt him, to be the cause of the dimming of that smile. Instead, he’d cited his desire to spend time with his mother, to visit James, who was due home any day now. Owain was understanding, of course he was, because he was just that sort of person—another reason that Remus felt less than.

He was worthy of all this, wasn’t he? Sometimes he wasn’t sure. Sometimes he wasn’t sure why he was pushing back, however subconsciously, against the chance to just be happy.

They gathered on the train, piled into a carriage as if a vital organ in their collective body wasn’t missing, as if the spectre of James didn’t hang over every interaction. Sirius and Mary sat together by the window, trading chocolate frog cards and laughing at nonsense; at one point, they sidled off together, and returned a while later, flushed and laughing some more. Remus didn’t acknowledge their return.

Owain spent some time with his dorm mates in another carriage, before joining them for the last stretch of the journey as the train chugged its way past Birmingham and onwards to the south. They sat together, holding hands, and Remus pretended he didn’t see Sirius trying not to look at them.

At King’s Cross, he hugged Lily goodbye as a pinched-faced blonde waited nearby; waved off Pete; nodded in Sirius’ direction as he was hustled away by Fleamont, Euphemia presumably still at the hospital with her son. And Owain—kind, sweet Owain—waited with him on the platform, waited for his mother to arrive.

“Write to me?” Owain asked, leaning against a pillar to fix his gaze on Remus more fully. “And not just to tell me how well you’re doing on Merryton’s essay.”

Remus gave him a smile, something that came much more easily when Sirius wasn’t looming in the background. “Did you want to know about how well I’m doing on other homework, too?” he teased.

“Smart arse,” Owain grinned, and leaned in for a kiss—just as Hope Lupin rounded the corner.

“Sorry, sorry!” she looked just a touch embarrassed for interrupting them: Owain just smiled pleasantly at her. “Parking—a nightmare—”

“It’s fine, mum,” Remus promised her. He shot Owain a smile of his own, a smaller one this time: a bit shy, a bit sad. “I’ll write.”

“So will I,” Owain promised. “See you in a few weeks…”

As they walked away, his mother took his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “He’s lovely, isn’t he?” she said, almost conspiratorially.

Remus gave one last glance over his shoulder, Owain’s figure already fading in the still-billowing steam. “He is.”

after

The kitchen was quiet, the only light coming from the still-lit range. From his position at the table, James could see the crescent moon hanging in the sky, almost hidden by clouds that had gathered throughout the day. Tomorrow wouldn’t be such good weather, he guessed. Not that it mattered.

Pete and Remus had headed home around nine, with Cadence following not long after. Sirius had made some excuses about being too full of cake to be awake much longer, although if James had to wager, he’d say that his friend knew all too well the questions that were coming his way after his interactions with Mary that day, and was more interested in avoiding them than in actually sleeping.

James had tried to get to sleep, too: Merlin only knew that he was exhausted most of the time, lately, so it shouldn’t have been difficult. But he had stared up at the ceiling, unable or unwilling to close his eyes, too many thoughts trawling through his head.

Sirius and Remus. Lily and Cadence. Sirius and Remus. Lily and Cadence.

(Poor Pete, he thought, although he was probably happy enough not needing to be worried about. When James had asked him earlier how things were, his response had been, “I’m thriving, mate!”, a statement that had made James crease up with fond laughter—and then regret the action for the discomfort it brought.)

And so down to the kitchen he had trekked, not out of hunger or thirst but more for something to do. He wasn’t much for insomnia, as a rule—a benefit of his constant state of movement being that he was usually crashed out seconds after his head hit the pillow—but when a bout of sleeplessness did hit, he found something rather calming about the kitchen.

He heard his mum approach, her footsteps made softer by the padding of her thick woollen socks, long before her figure appeared in the doorway. “You’re up late, love.”

He cast her a small, weary smile. “Can’t sleep.”

“Ah, the troubles of being old,” she sighed in sympathy, pausing to dot a fond kiss to the top of his head before she made her way over to the range. He knew, without having to ask, that she would make them both hot chocolate. “Is it the pain, love? Or something on your mind?”

He glanced towards the window again, to the moon, now shrouded in a grey haze: the wind must have picked up. “It’s not the pain.”

She hummed her understanding, quietly placing a heavy pan on the stovetop, measuring out the milk. It was a while before she spoke again. “Cadence is lovely.”

He raked his hand through his hair without thinking. “She is,” he agreed quietly.

Euphemia focused, for a moment, on grating the chocolate—a task she always took very seriously. She never did it with magic, said it tasted different. “Lily is lovely, too.”

At that, James sighed, and she looked his way with a raised eyebrow, a look he knew he often adopted himself. It was the all-innocent, what did I say? expression so beloved by the Potters. “What? She is,” his mother added.

“Yes,” he agreed heavily. “She is. She’s also my friend.”

With a wave of her hand—she made wandless magic seem so effortlessly simple—a wooden spoon began the gentle stirring process, and she turned to face him fully. “You seemed a bit…off, with Cadence, dear. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well,” he shifted in his chair. “I’ve been a bit off in general, haven’t I?”

She pursed her lips a moment, then moved to sit opposite him, reaching for his hand: he gave it to her readily. He could always find comfort there. “You’re getting there, my lovely. You’re so much more yourself than you were.”

He nodded, staring once again at the careful red nail varnish on his mother’s fingers, looking without seeing. “Things with Cady feel…different,” he said, voice almost lost in the quiet of the kitchen. “But I’m trying not to make any rash decisions, because—well, maybe it’s just me, you know?”

Euphemia seemed to have found some sense in amongst his words, because she nodded. “That sounds very wise to me, Jamie.”

He quirked his lips, closer to his usual grin than he’d managed in a while. “Must be my great age.”

“Must be,” Euphemia agreed fondly. She stood up, moving to pour out the hot chocolate into two mugs. “Well, I hope you’re not such a great age that you can’t share a drink with your old mother.”

He accepted the mug, but took her hand, again, too; the look on her face of something like relief, of so much unabashed love for her son, could have made him emotional, if he’d let it. “I’ll never be too old for that, mum.”

She smiled; gave his hand a squeeze. “Good.”

Somehow, as he sat sipping his drink, listening to his mother recount the story of his birth seventeen years ago for what must have been the millionth time, he sensed he would be able to get to sleep that night, after all.

Chapter Text

March bled into April, and with it came the start of the final term of their sixth year. James returned to school with a sense of foreboding that he was not used to: he had never dreaded school, not once, but on the train from King’s Cross, he felt that pit of darkness, congealing and distorting in his gut.

He didn’t tell anyone about this feeling, of course. Some things were best kept to himself.

And it wasn’t as if, once he was back in the swing of things at school, that feeling couldn’t be shifted and covered over. Their professors were gearing up for exam season, piling on the coursework and homework at an even more rampant pace than they had been previously. Merryton managed to reduce Iris into a gibbering wreck within the first week of classes—Pete had declared that he would “wreak revenge, to protect my love’s honour”, something which earned him a very long session in a spare classroom with her. Iris didn’t even seem to have noticed that he had failed to wreak any kind of revenge since then.

If that wasn’t enough to be getting on with, he also had quidditch to attend to. Normally, he found quidditch a wonderful interlude, a freeing break from the intensity of classes. But, on his return to Hogwarts, two problems reared up that made the whole experience much less enjoyable.

Firstly, he was still a bit sore: not nearly as bad as he had been even a few weeks prior, but not up to his usual standard of fitness. He was pushing through the discomfort for now, determined not to let on that every lunge for the quaffle left him feeling sore; he just hoped that it would improve enough in time for their next match.

Secondly, their Keeper was gone. McGonagall would not comment on Charlie Swift in any way when James had gone to ask his head of house—all she had said was that he’d better look for a replacement. As if it was as easy as that to find another highly skilled, intuitive, hard-working Gryffindor. Just the thought of it had given him a headache.

At least the search for a new Keeper meant he could bin off some proper practices in the name of running trials. Small mercies. There had been a lot of interest almost immediately after he had put a sign up in the common room, with enough people seeming keen that he decided to spread the try-outs across several evenings. He even made sure that the reserves who were interested attended the trials, too; he didn’t want to be accused of favouritism.

It turned out that none of the wannabe Keepers could hold a candle to Charlie, and James finished the last trial feeling utterly dejected. Just as he was considering heading off to drown himself in the locker room showers, Sirius—who had come along to watch each try-out, in his words, “for the free entertainment”—pointed out that Ornella Randall, one of his Chasers, would make an excellent Keeper, and that there were a few strong contenders from the trials who could take over as a Chaser instead.

Honestly, he could have kissed Sirius, such was the strength of his relief. And it was probably something James himself would have noticed, had he not been so tired, so achy.

Crisis averted, then, with Ornella happily taking over as Keeper, and fifth year Alf Gudgeon (who, luckily, was a darn sight better at quidditch than his seventh year brother Davey) joining the team as Chaser. Of course, that brought other demands: with a new team member and another in a new role, they needed extra practices to try to find their groove with each other, to try and coalesce. The first few practices had been worrisome, at best.

All this added up to a James Potter who reached the end of April feeling like he’d been run over by a herd of lairy hippogriffs, feeling nervy about the upcoming match against Ravenclaw—something Cadence thought was hilarious to tease him about, not, apparently, able to read the room when it came to quidditch—and feeling in over his head with schoolwork.

That was why, as Monday 1^st May came to a close, the weather outside warm enough that many students had wandered out to slope around on the lawn after dinner, James instead found himself sitting alone at the top of the Astronomy Tower, brooding.

It was a little cooler up there, the breeze picking up as it crept round the turrets of the castle, but that wasn’t enough to send James back down to a more comfortable space. At least up here it was quiet; he knew that the common room would be bustling as it usually was on a Monday evening, and even out on the lawn, the steady low murmur of the groups of pupils would be a distraction and an annoyance.

Besides, his own group of friends was gently fractured anyway. Sirius and Mary had headed outside to sit with Pete and Iris. Because of that, Remus had decided he’d rather sit by the fire in the common room, and Lily, Marlene and Dorcas had decided to join him. Of course, Remus would never admit that he wasn’t going outside because of Sirius and Mary: that would require a level of honesty and self-reflection that James didn’t think was likely to happen anytime soon.

The whole ‘Black and Mac’ situation didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon, although James couldn’t work out exactly what that situation was. He knew that Remus had assumed, after catching Mary leaving their dorm, that they were shagging. But James wasn’t so sure—they slipped off together a lot, true, and Sirius certainly didn’t seem to mind the implication that they were rocking each other’s worlds. There was just something about it all that made James doubt it. He’d quietly expressed as much to Lily, one evening by the fire, and she had murmured her agreement. Neither of them was sure—or, maybe, willing to state their guesses out loud—what exactly Sirius or Mary had to gain from pretending to be hooking up. It seemed to be part of the complicated tangle of emotions that was taking up half of the sixth year boys’ dorm, but more than that, who could say.

So, rather than pledge his allegiance to one camp or the other, he was happy to stay out of it. To take himself off and hide away, get some peace and quiet. Try to straighten his thoughts, if it was possible.

He hoped he would get back to normal soon. He didn’t think he suited the whole lone-figure-brooding-at-the-top-of-a-tower aesthetic.

It was nearing curfew when the peace was interrupted: the door swung open behind him, and without even turning around, he could sense who it was. There weren’t many people who could easily find out where he was. There were even fewer people who would notice that he had taken himself off to be alone, and decide to join him anyway.

Sure enough, Sirius plopped down onto the stone step next to him, briskly rubbing his hands together in a bid for warmth. “There’s toastier places to be a lonely, grumpy sod, you know.”

James glanced at his friend with what he hoped was a withering glare. He didn’t have the energy to be sure that it was. “I’m not a lonely, grumpy sod,” he replied.

“Says the bloke who’s spent the whole evening up here staring off into the middle distance like someone out of those muggle novels Evans likes.”

James just rolled his eyes. “I just wanted some time to myself,” he pointed out. “I know that’s not a concept you’re familiar with.”

“I can be by myself,” Sirius replied, not a little defensively. “I just choose not to be.” He sighed, shooting a look over at James. “You’re alright, then?”

It was a lot easier to just say that he was. The truth of the matter was so much more complicated, a complex web of conflicting emotions and that heavy cloud of exhaustion that hung, ever present, casting a shadow over every feeling so that it stretched and distorted beyond recognition. He was too tired to try to put it into words. “I’m alright,” he promised, because maybe if he said it enough, it would become the truth. “C’mon, we should head back or the prefects will have our guts for garters.”

Sirius hopped up with the kind of energy befitting someone who hadn’t stretched themselves too thin lately; he did, at least, offer his hand to help haul James up to standing too. “And it’s Dearborn and Rush on duty tonight,” he sighed. “Don’t want to give the brother any opportunities to punish you for defiling his little sister.”

James followed Sirius towards the door. “There’s no defiling,” he replied, knowing his friend wouldn’t believe him. “Just…inappropriate touching.”

“I’m not sure ol’ Caradoc will find that much better, Prongs.”

“No,” James sighed. “Probably not.”

They started down the stairs, Sirius slinging his arm round James’ shoulders. It was a blessing, in a way—someone to lean against as the weariness set in once more. Not that he would admit to that much. “Quidditch magazines in bed, I think,” Sirius decided. James knew that this was a charitable gesture, that his friend would have preferred to linger in the common room playing games or just generally making a nuisance of himself. He was infinitely grateful for the concession. “And maybe, if we’re lucky, Pete will tell us about the purity of his love for Fenwick again.”

James couldn’t help a laugh, tired though it was. It was times like this when he felt the warmth, the comfort, of his friendships; knew that he would founder without them. Even when they were nuisances. “We are due another recitation, aren’t we…”

Sirius winked. “Gird your loins, Potter. It’s coming, whether we like it or not.”

And actually…maybe he did like it. Mad and strange and tedious and exhausting as it all was.

Someone had lit the fire in the dormitory, and it crackled merrily behind the grate, casting dancing shadows across the stone floor. Once they edged into spring, they didn’t usually need the fire as much, although Remus was grateful for it now. From his prone position on his bed, he could feel the comforting warmth start to seep back into his weary bones.

Last night had been the full moon, and the first in a while where things were…well…normal. Since Remus’ stint at home before Christmas, Sirius had opted not to join them for the full—not because he had been asked not to, but of his own volition. Remus hadn’t known what to say about it: to acknowledge it, to invite a conversation, went against just about everything he held dear. He wasn’t about to issue an engraved invitation; when Sirius thought it was time, he could re-join them.

And so he had, at last. And without any fanfare, either—quite unlike Sirius. It had come to the time when Remus was about to head off to the Shack, and Sirius had just said, “we’ll see you down there.” His expression didn’t change, not even when James and Peter had both turned to look at him with slightly ridiculous looks of surprise on their faces. All Remus could do was nod, swallow his own surprise, and head off. At least he’d had some time to come to terms with the idea before the others had turned up a few hours later.

The night had gone how it usually did—he didn’t remember a lot, but he woke up in a far better state than he ever did when he was alone, and Pomfrey hadn’t even seen the need to keep him in the infirmary for more than a few hours after she’d fixed up the few scrapes and bruises he’d collected. Returning to the dorm, he found his friends all passed out in various states of undress: Pete had apparently had the energy to get into his pyjamas, and was tucked up sweetly in his bed; James was sprawled across the top of his covers wearing his Gryffindor jumper and boxer shorts; and Sirius slept slumped against the headboard, a book open in his lap and wearing only his pants and a Queen t-shirt. He looked as if he had tried to stay awake, and failed.

Remus hadn’t needed any more encouragement than the sight of his comatose friends to change, too, and crawl into bed. Whenever the full happened to fall on a Friday or Saturday, it was truly a blessing—it gave them all more time to recover. No one was going to wonder where they were, or why they looked heavy-eyed and bleary in lessons. His head had hit the pillow, and he was out before he could think about anything else.

Now, waking up in the toasty warmth of the dormitory, he drew in a peaceful breath before rubbing the sleep from his eyes and glancing around him. His friends were all awake, but quietly so, something that couldn’t usually be said for any of them. Pete was sitting up in his bed, squinting at a textbook, presumably in the hope that the information might present itself fully-formed and ready for his essay. James was battling with a tube of thick, pale green ointment—something the Healers had given him for his cursed scars. He had to apply it every day, although he usually waited until no one was around to do it. Perhaps today he was too tired to bother waiting; he looked about ready to fall back to sleep as he directed his wand at the tube, and closed his eyes as it squeezed itself out and smeared across his back. Sirius, meanwhile, seemed to be going back and forth between keeping an anxious eye on James, and looking at the map. It wasn’t clear if he was looking for anything in particular.

“Morning,” Remus croaked, forcing himself into a sitting position, and all three boys looked his way. “Or, afternoon, I suppose.”

“It’s just gone three,” Pete confirmed. “How are you feeling, Moony?”

“Not bad,” he replied, tentatively stretching his arms above his head; his bones clicked and shifted almost arthritically. “Just tired. Pomfrey only kept me in for an hour or so.”

“That’s good,” James offered with a smile. “You certainly don’t look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a grizzly bear.”

“Always a bonus,” Remus smiled back. He glanced over at Sirius, at the map in his hands. “Is something happening…?”

Sirius looked down at the map, something strange in his expression for just a moment before it vanished. “Oh, no, I was just having a nose,” he replied. “Although…looks like Ollerton is on his way up here.”

Remus felt terrible that his natural reaction was not a happy one. Before they’d become official, it had been easy enough to slip out of his life for a few days around each full moon. Now, it was much more complicated. He’d made up some mad lie about not feeling very well a few days ago, building up his ‘symptoms’ each day so that he’d have an excuse for disappearing for however long it took to recover from the full. And, yes, he wasn’t bruised or battered, he didn’t have to explain away any fascinating scars this time—but he was still exhausted, and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to keep up the charade. Especially not when it was one that made him feel so guilty.

Pete, like the empathetic delight that he was, seemed to read this uncertainty all over Remus’ face. “I’ll go and head him off, if you like,” he said. “Say you’re still not feeling well.”

He gave him a small but grateful smile. “Thanks, mate. You’re a legend.”

“I am, aren’t I,” he agreed, hopping off his bed and grabbing a sweatshirt from a pile on the floor before he headed for the door. “Back in a tick!”

The door closed behind him, and Remus, for whatever reason, did not want to look over at Sirius. Luckily, James came to the rescue. “Must be hard,” he guessed sympathetically. “Coming up with excuses. Have you thought about…telling him?”

Remus felt a bit sick, just at the thought. “No,” he replied, probably too quickly. “No, I—I don’t think that’s a plan that will end well for me.”

James frowned. “He’s a reasonable bloke, he clearly likes you a lot—”

“He doesn’t want to tell him,” Sirius interrupted, and Remus glanced over at him at last. His expression was impossible to read. “Just drop it, Prongs.”

James, for his part, looked a mixture of confused and guilty. He had always been much easier to read. “Right. Sorry, Moony.”

“It’s fine,” he replied. He threw back the covers and shifted to the edge of his bed. “I’m going to have a bath, see if I can wake myself up a bit.”

“Good idea,” James agreed. “Then when you’re ready, we could go down to get some food from the kitchens, so you don’t have to go to the Great Hall…”

Remus paused in the doorway to the bathroom, looking back at James. He was so lucky to have these brave, brilliant boys as his friends; boys who wanted to protect him, to look out for him at every turn. It just seemed so unlikely that anyone else could rise to meet that high standard, even someone as wonderful as Owain.

“Thanks,” he replied, realising he’d been quiet perhaps a few moments too long. “Appreciate it.”

Why tempt fate, why invite chaos, when he already had all the support he needed?

“And that,” Mary said, dropping her last card down with a flourish, “is what we call winning.”

Sirius sighed, staring down at the pile of cards on the mattress between them before glancing back up at her. She leaned back against his pillows, looking entirely too smug. “You taught me this game,” he pointed out. “How do I know you haven’t changed the rules to make sure only you win?”

Mary clutched her hand to her chest. “You wound me, Black.”

“I’m just saying,” he held up his hands in defence, “you can be sneaky.”

Their set-up at the moment was evidence enough of said sneakiness. They had shagged exactly once, back when they’d first come up with the idea, each desperate to think about something else for a while. And it had been…fine. More than fine, really, because Sirius hadn’t yet had a sexual encounter he hadn’t enjoyed, and his time with Marlene last year had given him some useful skills for getting a girl off with ruthless efficiency. But as they’d caught their breaths in an empty classroom on the third floor, it had quickly become clear that this wasn’t going to happen again. That it was just…well…weird. Mary was his friend, one of his closest, by this point; he didn’t want to jeopardise that, he told her. She agreed whole-heartedly, saying that while it had been fun, it wouldn’t be worth it in the long run.

However, the idea of winding certain people up with the thought that they were hooking up…well, as Mary pointed out, it could work wonders for the jealousy factor. Who knew, maybe Remus would break up with Ollerton and express his undying love?

Unlikely, Sirius thought, but worth a try.

And so they started shutting themselves in behind the hangings of his four-poster, the curtains charmed shut and a muffling spell cast so that no one could hear them. This would look, on the outside, like an effort to make sure no one heard their cries of passion; in fact, it mainly made sure that no one could hear them playing cards, or laughing over one of her girly magazines, or getting a head start on their homework.

Mary had been right about one thing: it clearly had an effect on Remus. When he’d first discovered them ‘post-coital’ before the holidays, his reaction had been fascinating: he had shut down completely, ignoring Sirius and refusing to talk to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the rest of term. At James’ birthday, he’d been all too aware of Remus watching his every interaction with Mary. And since term had started again, it had carried on, although Remus was at least trying to be subtle about it.

That was why, although it might not have been the most mature option, they had decided to carry on with the charade for a while longer. It was nice to have some quiet time with Mary, anyway, time that wasn’t spent outside smoking. She didn’t expect anything of him: if he wanted to talk, he knew he could, but if he didn’t, he knew she’d respect that. She was just easy to be around.

And he hoped that he gave her a similar level of support. She certainly seemed happier than she had when they’d shagged, like the time they spent playing snap or practising wand movements had given her the chance she’d needed to just let go of her anxieties, her sadness, and be a teenager again.

He knew it wasn’t right to lie, to let all their friends think they were constantly fooling around. That doing something for the express purpose of trying to raise the ire of one of his closest friends was foolhardy at best. And he knew Remus—he was hardly the type to let himself react. Which made all of this ultimately pointless.

But, for now at least, it was a routine, a pretence that boosted him a little, and her a little, too. Her self-esteem had taken a battering after the things that prick McMillan had said to her (and the bastard had added more to the canon when she said they were over, which, when Mary had relayed the details to Sirius, had been enough to make his hexing arm twitch), and anything that helped restore some of the patented Mac Shine was alright by him, frankly.

“I may be sneaky,” she allowed, “but not in this case.” She glanced at her watch. “Well, we’ve been in here twenty minutes. Is that long enough for you to have rocked my world?”

Sirius shrugged, leaning against one of the posts at the other end of the bed. “Let’s give it a bit longer, just to be sure,” he replied. “Can’t have my reputation as a voracious lover called into question.”

“God forbid,” Mary smirked. She watched him a moment. “Any clarity on talking to Remus?”

This was a downside of their arrangement: she was free to bother him about things he’d rather ignore, any time she liked. “Well,” he replied, as lightly as he could, “this morning in Transfig, he asked me what the incantation was, so…our communication is really top notch already.”

She gave him a withering look. “Isn’t this driving you mad?” she asked. “He’s one of your best friends and you have deeper conversations with that strange blonde kid in first year.”

“Quentin,” Sirius nodded. “A fascinating boy. Did you know his great-great-grandfather invented Dreamless Sleep potion?”

Mary sighed. “Yes, I do, because I was there when he wandered up to us in the common room,” she said. “I wouldn’t have had the balls to talk to sixth years when I was a firstie.”

“I did have the balls,” Sirius smirked. “But then I’ve always been remarkable.”

“That’s one word for it,” she agreed. “And don’t think I can’t see that you’re changing the subject.”

Sirius just shrugged. “What is there to say, Mare? He’s happily holding hands and sighing wistfully at Ollerton. Message received.”

“I don’t think there can be a message when not everyone has the full information,” she said, adding, at his confused expression, “how can he be making a statement about who he prefers if he doesn’t know your feelings?”

“Feelings,” he snorted. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Look, maybe I overegged it all back before the hols—I was fresh out of the hospital wing, James was on death’s door, I made it all into a bigger thing than it is.”

Mary watched him, far more pity in her gaze than he was comfortable with. “You don’t need to lessen it, just because you’re hurt.”

He swallowed. “I’m not.” He leaned forward to grasp her wrist, looking at the time. “Eh, that’ll do, won’t it? Nearly time for dinner, anyway.” He gave his hair a brisk rub, an attempt to make himself look suitably debauched, and undid his belt. “How do I look?”

She offered him a small, almost sad smile. “Freshly fucked.”

“Good.” He held out his hand, and she took it, drawing in a steadying breath. “Let’s go.”

The last stage of their Potions project—something that felt like it had been hanging over the sixth years for an absolute age by that point—was drawing near. It was difficult enough to keep up with schoolwork when you only had to be accountable to yourself; harder still when you were accountable to two others, with varying degrees of responsibilities and timetabling issues of their own. It took Lily, James and Sirius the best part of an hour to work out when they might be able to actually get together to start the final write-up portion of their project, and eventually they had had to concede that sometimes, it would have to be enough that two of the three could attend.

That day in the library was one of those concessions: James was running an extra quidditch practice to try to get the new Chaser used to the team, and so Lily and Sirius were holed up on their own. Lily had been surprised to find that Black wasn’t actually that bad a study partner; he was obviously (annoyingly) bright, with a memory for information that made her feel like she was an old-age pensioner in comparison, and he was taking their project as seriously as he was able. “I have to take it seriously,” he had told her when they sat down, his face solemn, “it’s in my name.”

He had only grinned at the groan and eye-roll he got in reply.

They were by now two hours into their work, various books scattered around the table and copious notes to show for their troubles, some in Sirius’ elegant cursive, some in Lily’s cramped, frantic hand. “I hate to say this,” Sirius spoke up, casting one such page of notes to the side, with a world-weary sigh. “But I think we need another book.”

Lily glanced up from the tome she was currently trawling through. “I thought we had all the ones we’ll need?”

Sirius cast a disgusted glance at the pile of books nearest to him. “If only. We need that one that Sluggy was banging on about the other day, the one that details aconite’s uses as a herbal remedy in muggle medicine.”

She sighed, but nodded, standing up. “I think I know where that one is,” she said. “You’ll have to come too, though, it’s on the top shelf.”

“Ah,” he stood up with his usual effortless grace, “you need someone tall and manly to help your dainty self, then?”

“And in the absence of such a person,” she replied, “I’m asking you instead.”

“Harsh, Evans.”

They ambled off into the stacks together, winding down a long aisle, then another, and another, until they finally reached the spot where Lily knew the book to be. She chose to think of her knowledge of the Potions section of the library as inspiring, and not at all pathetic, as she imagined Sirius probably saw it. “There we are,” she pointed up, and he reached easily to bring the book down.

As he did so, a group of voices suddenly got louder: three girls were talking on the other side of the stacks. The section on alchemy, Lily thought idly, before she realised that she recognised the voices. It was Cadence, Lambeth and Lucy, three girls who were rarely apart.

“—has to be here somewhere,” Lambeth was saying. “And, look, maybe you’re overthinking things.”

“I don’t think I am,” Cadence replied; Lily could picture her, a swing of her glossy, golden hair, the way she stood, gifted with a natural elegance and poise. “He’s being so strange, Lam.”

“You don’t think he still fancies Evans, do you?”

Lily did her best not to look directly at Sirius, whose gaze flashed over to her instantly.

“No,” came Cadence’s confident reply. “He said he hasn’t been remotely interested in her for ages, and I trust him.”

“They do seem closer, though,” Lucy piped up. “You said she was even at his birthday thing—”

“Well, he was inviting all the other Gryffindor sixth years,” Cadence replied. “It would’ve been weird for her to be the only one not going.”

Lily swallowed hard, staring down at the books in front of her. That…wasn’t true, was it? She hadn’t thought twice about receiving an invitation by owl at the start of the Easter holidays, which in itself had struck her, since it wasn’t that long ago that any communication from Potter outside of school would’ve been completely baffling. It was strange that it wasn’t strange.

“It must have been weird anyway,” Lucy guessed. “She’s so obvious, isn’t she? Got dumped by Thicknesse, tried it on with Black on Valentine’s, and now she’s moved on to trying to get your boyfriend, Cady. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

She’d always thought of Lucy as a friend. Not a close friend, by any stretch, but someone she liked and who liked her. Evidently, that was not the case.

And, Christ, the thought that people—that Cadence—thought she was trying to steal James away… her cheeks, by now, were flushed red with embarrassment, and she wasn’t sure if crying or shouting was the best response.

“They’re just friends,” Cadence replied, and Lily felt herself almost deflate with relief. “And barely even that, sometimes, as far as I can tell.”

“So if he’s not all hung up on Evans anymore,” Lambeth spoke up thoughtfully, “what’s his problem?”

“I don’t know,” Cadence said with a sigh. “I don’t know if I’m coming or going with him. One minute he barely talks to me, and the next he’s pulling me into the prefects’ bathroom and sticking his hand down my—”

Lily didn’t hear the rest of what Cadence was saying, because Sirius had taken her by the elbow and firmly guided her away. Interesting that that was where he wanted to draw the line. Not that Lily minded; much more of that conversation and she might have lost the plot completely.

“That wasn’t true,” she realised Sirius was saying; he tugged her back over to their study table, depositing her in the chair as if she were incapable of finding it herself. “About his birthday. He wanted you there, it wasn’t a pity invitation.”

She nodded, more keen to believe it than she realised. It was a devastating thought, somehow, that James might not actually be her friend after all. “Right…”

“Honestly,” Sirius insisted; she looked up to meet his painfully earnest gaze. “I dunno if Cady just got the wrong idea, or—I suppose it’s possible he said that just to get her not to worry about you being there—”

Lily blinked. “Why would she be worried about my being there?”

A pause as Sirius took in what he had said, tried to process a reply. “Oh, well, you know,” he replied vaguely. “Girls—um, can get funny about stuff like that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Can they?” But before she could give him a chance to reply, a horrible thought occurred to her. “Oh, god, does James think I fancy him?”

Sirius looked surprised. “Um…no, I don’t think so,” he said. “He hasn’t said anything to me about it, anyway.”

Lily sighed heavily. That was a relief, at least. “Good to know that Lucy Miller secretly thinks I’m a conniving bitch…”

“Ignore her,” he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “She’s always been a two-faced cow. We hooked up in a broom cupboard back in October and she was slagging off Cadence like it was her job.” He was looking at her as if he was worried—she found it unsettling. “Seriously, Lily, I wouldn’t let any of that bother you.”

Well, that was slightly reassuring. But only slightly. “I’m not bothered,” she said, because she had long reached the point where she did not want to talk about this anymore. “We should get on with our work. No rest for the wicked.”

Sirius paused, but nodded, reluctantly turning to their new-found book. “Alright. If you say so.”

Remus was a sensible boy. He had common sense to spare. He didn’t believe in the nonsense ‘art’ of Divination, not even able to cast aside his derision in order to take it for NEWTs and get what would inevitably be the easiest O of his life. He liked things that were set in stone, that were logical, that followed tried and tested patterns.

But even so, he was aware that sometimes the universe acted in strange and mysterious ways, ways that could not be easily explained. That didn’t make him a ‘crystal ball licker’, as Pete so lovingly phrased it, but merely showed that even behind the logic and order of his beliefs, he had room for that little extra something.

So, when Flitwick was assigning partners for their Charms lesson, he shouldn’t have been too surprised at the way things turned out.

And yet.

He’d been so busy worrying about who his own partner would be—please not Sirius, please not Sirius—that he almost missed it as Flitwick announced, “Black and…Ollerton!”

Remus’ gaze flicked straight over to his boyfriend, who merely smiled pleasantly at his new partner across the classroom; Sirius, meanwhile, looked about ready to walk out. Oh, Christ. This lesson was going to be excruciating.

“I’ll come to you, shall I?” Lily’s voice interrupted his panic-spiral, and he looked up to find her moving to sit in the now-vacated space next to him (Pete having moved to his partner, Mary, near the window).

“Oh,” he blinked. He hadn’t even heard Flitwick pair them up. “Yes—sorry.”

She gave him an easy smile as she sat down. “Why are you sorry?”

A straightforward question, surely. But he still wasn’t sure of the answer. “I’m not sure,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. His gaze drifted again, unwittingly, towards the front of the room where Sirius and Owain now sat together. “Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Lily advised. “Especially if you don’t know what you’re apologising for.” She followed his stare. “Could be interesting.”

Remus raised his eyebrow, turning his focus back to her. “You think?”

She raised her eyebrows in return. “They’re not exactly best mates, are they,” she pointed out. “Sirius seems to struggle to hold back his hostility, as far as I can tell.”

He bristled a little, just at the thought. “It’s bullshit…”

“Of course it is,” Lily agreed. “But jealousy will do that to a person.”

“What?” He looked back towards Sirius, trying to see what she apparently saw. “He’s not—”

“Of course he is,” she replied, managing to sound only mildly patronising. “He’s not exactly subtle, Rem.”

Remus paused, trying to find his footing in this conversation; he had not expected to be thinking about this, let alone talking about this, during a Wednesday morning Charms lesson. “I don’t think he’s…”

She patted his hand gently. “You know he fancies you,” she said, “don’t you?” She paused, considered her own words. “Actually, I’d say ‘fancies you’ is putting it incredibly mildly at this point.”

Remus frowned and didn’t know what to say. It was one thing to wonder, to think there were hints, that something had changed between them; it was quite another for someone else, an independent third party, to state it in such plain terms. It meant that he couldn’t just pretend it was all in his mind, that it wasn’t real.

Finally, he had to say something. “Has he…told you?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t need to,” she replied. “I noticed something between you last year, but then with the way he kept going off with impressionable girls to broom cupboards, I just assumed…” She trailed off, perhaps noting the discomfort that must have flashed across his face at the mention of Sirius’ many trysts. “But…especially since you and Owain started up…it’s become hard to explain away.”

He really didn’t know what to say. To acknowledge it felt too big, too significant. “I—I really don’t think he—”

“Come on, Rem,” she sighed. “It’s no coincidence that he and Mary started hooking up just after you and Owain made things official. The lad is lashing out.”

At that, Remus snorted humourlessly. “His speciality.”

“Yes, well,” she glanced back over to Sirius and Owain; they at least seemed to be talking quite amicably by now. Miracles did happen. “It’s hard to break those habits, isn’t it? Especially when you’re hurting.”

He swallowed against the lump of discomfort sitting heavily in his throat. “We should get on with our task…”

She gave him a sympathetic smile: of course she understood it wasn’t just his dedication to his studies that made him say it. But she was too kind to comment on it, and so they diligently turned their attention to the task at hand.

The lesson led them to lunch, and as usual everyone stood up, gathering their things quickly to get down to the Great Hall. Even Remus could admit that breakfast seemed a long time ago now, although he still dawdled as he packed his bag. And it wasn’t just so he didn’t have to leave at the same time as Sirius, who had found James and was making his way out of the classroom.

Owain ambled over to them, and Lily shot both him and Remus a cheery smile, saying, “I’ll see you downstairs,” before she, too, headed off. They were the only ones left in the classroom, and Owain took the opportunity offered by drawing Remus into his arms, planting a soft kiss of greeting to his lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Remus managed a small smile in return. “Fun lesson?”

“Incredibly so,” Owain grinned ruefully. “Black didn’t hex me on sight, which I consider a bonus.”

He thought back to what Lily had said; if it was true, then that session must have been agony for Sirius. “He’s not so bad.”

“Of course,” Owain agreed, probably to keep him sweet, Remus thought slightly uncharitably. “Just being protective of his mates. I can stand up to a bit of scrutiny, don’t you worry.”

Remus really wished that was all it was. It would be so much easier to deal with. “Let’s get some lunch,” he suggested, gently extracting himself from Owain’s embrace. “I’m starved.”

Owain agreed, taking his hand as he led the way out of the classroom and into the hallway, bustling with other students making their way downstairs. As they walked, Remus tried to ignore the growing sense of disquiet in his gut; finally, they reached the hall itself, and he made a decision. A decision to avoid Sirius at all costs. “Why don’t I sit with you and your mates today?” he suggested, and felt guilty at the way Owain’s face lit up in response. “You can all try to get the Gryffindor quidditch secrets out of me.”

“Now there’s an offer,” Owain winked.

They ate together, the atmosphere light and friendly, and he only glanced over to his own table once—and, anyway, found Sirius not looking his way.

The Great Hall was typically bustling with students and teachers, a standard Friday evening, not much to differentiate it from any other day. James sat at the Gryffindor table and stared into his bowl of stew as if trying to divine information from amongst the chunks of beef and carrot. Although it wasn’t a fascinating thing to look at, it was the best option he had.

One alternative was to look up, and catch sight of the enchanted ceiling, hanging above them and showcasing a dusky blue sky dusted with streaks of peach and pink from the setting sun. A lovely sight, if you didn’t associate the ceiling with intense pain and the sense of darkness settling around your heart.

Another alternative was to look at the group of friends around him. Sirius, Mary and Pete were engaged in an intense debate about the merits of Abba; Marlene, Dorcas and Remus seemed to be picking over their latest Arithmancy lesson, trying to make it make sense for each other. All fine, really. It was Lily that made this choice a less palatable alternative.

James may not, historically, have been the most perceptive of fellows when it came to the emotional quirks of the female species, and least of all of Lily Evans, the object of his unwanted affection. But even he could not have failed to notice that, for at least a week now, Lily had done her utmost to avoid getting in a situation where they would have to interact in any way. In the common room, she placed herself as far as she could from him, or else made some excuse or other to slip up to her dorm or wherever else she could hide. At meals, she hung back until everyone was seated—he guessed, so that she could work out where he’d sit himself, not that he was paranoid or anything—and then sat at a distance which could not possibly invite conversation with him. Currently, she was sitting at the other end of the group of sixth years, staring morosely into her own stew in much the same manner that James had just been adopting, not even pretending to join in with the Arithmancy puzzling going on next to her.

He had no idea what he had done now to invite this level of avoidance; as far as he knew, he’d been perfectly friendly. He didn’t remember saying anything obnoxious to her, and he tended to remember most of their interactions. Earlier in the week, he’d been tempted to ask Sirius or Remus if they knew what was going on: after all, Remus had always been close with Lily, and somehow Sirius had wound up with a decently strong friendship with her, too, despite the fact that the pair had been happily and mutually antagonistic towards each other not even eight months ago.

But he knew that if he asked, even if he asked Remus, that they would know why he was asking. Know why he cared. And if he was interested in being lectured about his feelings for one girl while he was dating another, he would ask for it.

So, he stayed miserably in the dark about the whole situation.

Technically, yes, he could have asked the woman herself. But that was a prospect that was wholly unappealing: why invite more conflict? Hopefully, if he just pretended he didn’t mind or hadn’t noticed for long enough, she’d forget whatever it was he’d done wrong, and they’d all be able to move on with their lives.

Staring at stew was all he had left.

“Jamie.” He glanced up to find Cadence, the candlelight in the hall catching the gold of her hair distractingly well, standing opposite him. She had that nervous smile on her face that he had come to…well…resent, a little bit. Why was she nervous around him? He wasn’t intimidating.

He did his best to shift these thoughts. “Hi,” he greeted her. “Alright?”

“Beef stew night—what’s not to be alright about?” she replied, and paused, glancing around them. His friends had made no attempts to hide the fact that they had all stopped talking to listen in. “Um, fancy a walk? After dinner…”

Not really, he wanted to say. He was exhausted; if simply being back at school and still trying to recover from his injuries wasn’t enough, the intensive schedule of extra quidditch practices had given him a shove from merely tired into almost broken.

But he could be a good boyfriend, even when all he really wanted to do, on his one free evening this week, was crawl under the covers of his four poster and close his eyes against the world. “Lovely,” he agreed, hoping he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt. “Come and find me when you’re finished.”

Her answering smile was dazzling, and he felt a fresh wave of guilt. “Great,” she nodded, fixing him with one last, warm look before she hurried off to join her friends at the Ravenclaw table.

Most of the others had gone back to their previous conversations; Sirius was the only one who hadn’t, and was now watching him thoughtfully from across the table. James heaved a sigh. “What?”

Sirius merely raised an eyebrow, in that infuriating way of his. “I didn’t say anything.”

“And yet you’re being irritating as fuck anyway,” James grumbled, returning his focus to his dinner.

Sirius paused, then leaned in a bit closer. “Don’t take it out on me just because you don’t want to spend time with your girlfriend.”

Another sigh; he sounded like a balloon deflating. He felt like one, too. “It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with her,” he replied, quietly, defensively. “I’m just knackered, that’s all.”

Sirius speared a chunk of beef with his fork, pausing with it halfway to his lips to study James more closely. “Yeah, you do look a bit ropey, to be honest.”

“Thanks.” James resisted the temptation to flick gravy at him. “You’re too kind.”

“Just saying,” Sirius shrugged. “Maybe you should see Pomfrey, see if she can help.”

“I’m fine,” James insisted, bristling slightly just at the implication that he wasn’t. “It’s just tiredness, getting back into the routine of things. And a walk round the castle with Cady will hardly kill me, will it.”

“No,” Sirius agreed. “But someone else might if you don’t work on the attitude.”

James shot him a look. “Pot, kettle.”

“I speak from a place of intimate knowledge,” Sirius allowed. “So you should heed my words.” He paused a moment. “Cady will understand if you’re tired, mate.”

James paused in his demolishment of his stew to glance over at the cluster of Ravenclaw sixth years, a little way down the hall. “I’m not sure she will,” he admitted. “She’s been a bit…funny, lately. Like she’s waiting for me to dump her.”

He couldn’t help but notice Sirius glance in Lily’s direction—something he didn’t remotely understand—before he replied. “Are you? Going to dump her, I mean.”

He was too tired for this conversation. “Not planning it, no,” he shrugged.

“Well,” Sirius said, after a short pause. “With that kind of lukewarm sentiment, I’m not surprised Cadence feels bowled over by your affection for her.”

“Piss off,” was all James could be bothered to reply with.

The dungeons tended to be about as warm and welcoming as the name implied—just one of the many reasons Sirius despised it down there. The fact that it was home to the Slytherins was another, as well as the place where he had to sit through tedious Potions lessons with Slughorn trying not to cream himself over Sirius’ family name. If he could, he’d stay away from that area of the castle entirely.

Which was why it was probably a bit strange that he found himself down in the dungeons, willingly, as curfew ticked ever closer. Outside it had been a seasonably warm day, and the majority of the castle had reflected that warmth. Down here, though, it was as cool and damp as ever. Maybe fire would be the only way to bring any heat down those dark stone corridors. Sirius would be the first to volunteer to spark that flame.

Cleansing fire aside (for now), he moved with purpose through the winding hallways; past Sluggy’s office, past the sixth-years’ Potions room, where the last of their project brews still simmered; past, even, the expanse of wall that he knew hid the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Eventually, he reached a dead end, the only door a heavy, rotting wooden thing that stood just slightly ajar. With a glance over his shoulder, he paused only a moment before pushing said door open further and stepping inside.

It was a small room, probably an old, disused office that no one could force themselves to use anymore. A small window of thick glass looked out into the depths of the lake, casting a strange, green glow across the flagstone floor. The few lamps on the walls had been lit, and flickered peaceably, bringing the figure in the chair in the corner into gentle relief.

“Reg,” he said, hands in his pockets.

His brother stared back at him, his hand resting on his leg—on his wand, he noticed, as if he thought Sirius might hex him into oblivion. Not a completely incorrect assumption, in fairness, and Sirius could respect a certain level of preparedness. “Sirius,” Regulus replied, every syllable tightly drawn, controlled. “I didn’t expect to be called here, of all places, and by you, of all people.”

Sirius tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Don’t worry, I won’t make a habit of it,” he told him, glancing around them with open distaste. “It’s like a mermaid’s brothel down here.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know what any kind of brothel looks like,” Regulus replied primly, which earned him a snort of derision from his brother. “You wanted to discuss something?”

“I did,” Sirius confirmed, returning his gaze to Regulus. “I remembered something you said, the last time we spoke.”

If Regulus had any idea where this was going, his face gave no indication. “Oh?”

“You warned me to stay out of the SWEN stuff.” Sirius was unrelenting in his stare. “That was about a week before someone imperius’ed Charlie Swift into maiming half of Hogwarts.”

Again, Regulus’ expression did not change. “They’re going with the imperius excuse, are they? How original.”

Most probably wouldn’t have picked up on the slight tightness of his voice, or the flicker of a muscle at his jaw; but Sirius had grown up with the boy, had learned to read micro-expressions, to pick up even the smallest change of inflection—after all, these things were vital self-defence when you lived in a house with parents who were by turns maniacal, mercurial. He could read his brother like a book.

“I have to assume you knew what was going to happen,” he continued, his voice cold. “You were trying, in your own pathetic, roundabout way, to stop me from getting injured.”

Regulus looked away briefly, an act of submission he wouldn’t normally have done: the Blacks were firm believers in intensive eye contact. “Make all the assumptions you wish, brother.”

“Which means you know who was behind it,” Sirius added. “I thought I’d give you the opportunity to come clean. To make things right.”

A heavy sigh, and Regulus looked utterly bored of their conversation. “How wonderful it must be, Sirius, to be so righteous—”

Sirius pushed forwards, frustration filling his veins. “I was in the infirmary for three days, Reg,” he bit out; his brother paled just slightly. “James almost died!”

At that, Regulus’ expression shifted, resentment like a wave across his face. “Ah, well, Merlin forbid your precious Potter get a few cuts.”

He was trying to rile Sirius, he knew that, and yet he rose to the bait, predictable to the last. “A few cuts? He was in St Mungo’s for two weeks, you twat—he almost bled to death!”

Regulus took this in with the same blank, unimpressed look. “Well,” he said, after a short pause. “It’s a relief for us all, then, that the perpetrator was expelled so quickly.”

“What are you getting out of this?” Sirius asked bluntly. “Are you really the same level of noxious cretin as those idiots you call friends? Happy to inflict pain and suffering on anyone who challenges their ridiculous, outdated views on blood purity?”

“It’s been a delight to catch up, truly.” Regulus stood, pausing to smooth the wrinkles from his robes. “I do love our chats.”

As he passed him, Sirius grabbed his arm, not expecting the hiss of pain his brother let out in response. “What—why did that hurt?” he demanded, a strange sense of panic sinking over him. He tried to grab at Regulus’ sleeve, but the boy wrenched his arm away, looking suddenly more alarmed, more scared…more anything than he had for the entirety of their conversation. “Reg, what the fuck have you—”

“It is not your concern anymore,” Regulus shot back, his words aimed to hurt. “We are not family any longer, are we? You made sure of that.”

And with a melodramatic sweep of his robes—a move so beloved by his fellow Slytherins—Regulus swept out of the room. Sirius stood there, alone, staring at the space his brother had just stood in, trying to process everything that had passed between them.

It was ten minutes before he felt he could move again.

It wasn’t easy, avoiding someone. Especially when that someone was in the same house as you; when that someone was friends with all your friends; when that someone was in your bloody Potions project group, even.

And…yes…when that someone still managed to catch so much of your attention, even when you were trying desperately to stay away.

Lily hadn’t told any of the girls about what she and Sirius had overheard in the library. She knew that they would leap to her defence, maybe even go and confront Lucy, if Dorcas was told when she was just in the wrong mood. That was the last thing she wanted. She knew that she hadn’t done anything untoward, that she hadn’t been angling after someone else’s boyfriend come hell or high water; but even knowing this, she still felt herself raking over every interaction she’d had with Potter recently, breaking every conversation or exchange of glances or shared smile down to rubble in her effort to understand how someone could think it in the first place. And she knew, if the girls knew, that they would want her to stop doing that, to be angry instead of what she was: sad. Anxious. Unsettled.

She wasn’t sure why it had thrown her so much. She didn’t want to analyse that side of things too deeply—that seemed to be inviting trouble. And it was a depressing but expected fact that pureblood girls (and boys, too) tended to think of muggleborn girls as more…loose, in their morals. Lily hadn’t been victim of that too much in her time at Hogwarts, at least not to her knowledge, but she’d seen it levelled at Mary, as well as many other students, almost exclusively with no reason other than blood status and, presumably, jealousy or a personal vendetta. Now that she found herself under that spotlight, she was surprised at how quickly she had started wondering if she really was at fault. If she had been sending signals out to James, somehow, without even realising it.

All of this, alongside the shadow cast over her life by her mum’s illness, meant that she was struggling to sleep. She fell asleep just fine, out like a light when her head hit the pillow, but she would inevitably wake in the night and then struggle to get back to sleep. If she did manage to fall asleep again, the whole process would repeat itself until she just gave up and got out of bed at some ungodly hour.

That was how she found herself, on this mid-May morning, wandering through the grounds towards the lake. Being not long after six o’clock, the sun had not yet made an appearance, although the dark blue of the sky had begun to lighten. It wouldn’t be long now, she thought.

There was something freeing about being outside, just her and the cool spring air, in a space normally so full of life. Knowing that the castle behind her slumbered on, that it would be at least an hour before most of the students were awake, that she didn’t have to worry about how she would be seen or who she might have to interact with. It gave her time to think.

Not to obsess over her every conversation with Potter, because she couldn’t cope with much more of that…but, admittedly, he was on her mind. She knew that things had shifted between them this year, the terrain of their relationship changing from rough and pocked with mines to something smoother, safer. Well, in theory safer, but she still couldn’t help but feel that there was something inherently dangerous in their friendship. As if the spectre of something else hovered above them all the time, and she was only just noticing its presence.

She didn’t want to notice it. She much preferred obliviousness.

As she reached the lake shore and set off along the path that tracked round it, she became aware of a figure in the distance, moving towards her. Great, she thought grumpily. Not as alone as I thought. In the gloomy morning light, and from the still significant distance, she couldn’t make out who it was, and she gave turning around and finding somewhere else to walk serious consideration before she decided that she had as much right to be out here as they did.

The figure stopped, and turned, as if they had heard something from within the nearby swathe of trees that marked the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. Then, the figure doubled over, and with a frown, she picked up her pace. It would be just her luck to bump into someone who needed help at the arse-crack of dawn; she had to swallow down her frustration at the potential interruption to her intended alone time.

With her quickened pace, it wasn’t long before she was within calling distance of the person, and now she could see it was a boy: he had straightened up, and was tugging off his shirt, pausing to wipe at his face. Something about the movement stopped the words from spilling from her lips. It seemed…familiar.

Now she was close enough to see the broad expanse of back, impressively strong shoulders and well-muscled arms, shorts that hung low on his hips. All of this would have been very distracting—she was only human—if it wasn’t also for the sight of dozens upon dozens of scars, picked out as if in silver thread against his pale skin, most only an inch or so long except for one, much longer, scar which curved round a shoulder blade and reached towards his spine. She wanted to reach out, to brush her fingers along it, to feel the raised ridge of skin, and she wanted all of this even though she knew, now, exactly who it was standing by the lake.

He turned around quickly, presumably at the sound of her footsteps, and blinked in surprise. “Evans…”

She swallowed. Tried not to let her gaze drift down, over what looked like abs chiselled from marble. “Potter,” she replied. “Um, hi.”

He stood there, staring back at her, his sweaty t-shirt clutched in his hand, quiet for an agonising moment. “Early morning stroll?”

She felt her cheeks flushing, quite against her will, and was glad that it was still relatively dark. “Yes. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so…”

He nodded in understanding. “Same. Thought I’d try to run it out of my system.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “Not sure it’s worked, to be honest.”

She matched his smile nervously. “Did you…I thought maybe you were hurt…?”

He frowned a little, before realising what she was talking about. “Oh! No, I just—heard some classic weird noises from the forest, and decided I needed a breather,” he told her.

“Oh,” she replied, her gaze drifting again to his bare chest before she forced it back up. “Well. Good.”

He seemed to become aware only then that he was shirtless, and hurriedly pulled his t-shirt back on. She looked away, giving him some semblance of privacy, but found herself saying, “Your back…”

The realisation flashed in his eyes, realisation of what she must have seen before, and he nodded. “Sirius says I look like I had a fight with a cheese grater.”

She smiled, reluctantly. “Aren’t you lucky to have such an understanding friend?”

“The luckiest,” he agreed, and paused. “It looks worse than it is, now. I’m alright.”

She bit her lip, but nodded, and he took her silence as impetus to say more. “It’s nice to talk to you.” She looked up, and felt a squirm of guilt at the gentle, sad expression on his face. “I sort of feel like you’re…avoiding me, lately.”

Lily drew in a steadying breath. “Things have just been…strange,” she replied, knowing as well as he did what a non-answer that was. “It’s nothing personal.”

James nodded, apparently willing to take her word for it—for now, at least. “You know I’m here for you,” he offered. “If you need anything. That’s—” He hesitated, the barest flicker of it on his face before it settled into something more neutral. “That’s what friends are for.”

She smiled, a stronger smile than before. “Thanks,” she replied. “I appreciate it.”

He nodded again—apparently all he was capable of doing—and glanced up at the lightening sky. “Want company for your walk?”

She found that she did: she really did. But she also thought of how it would look, her and James wandering back into the castle together, students going to breakfast pausing to note their wind-kissed cheeks and inevitable smiles; of how all that would look, if Cadence, or Lucy or Lambeth, was one of those students.

“No, it’s okay,” she replied. “Finish your run. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

He looked almost ready to argue with her, but forced up another small smile instead. “Yeah. See you at breakfast, Evans.”

James set off at a light jog, back in the direction of the castle, and she allowed herself only a few moments watching him go before she turned around and started walking again.

She was in trouble.

Chapter Text

Lily didn’t know a lot about quidditch: she knew just about enough to get through house matches, or to understand about sixty percent of what people were talking about at the breakfast table—basically, no more than she absolutely had to know. When some of her housemates had discovered her true apathy in the face of their sporting obsession, she had been viewed with distrust and horror, but really, no one should have been surprised. No one who knew her, anyway. She abhorred sports, almost without exception (tennis could have its moments), much to the continued disappointment of her father who was a lifelong supporter of the England national rugby team, as well as the Warrington Wolves, his local league team growing up in Cheshire. Her sporty father—not only a rugby fan, but a supporter of Liverpool FC, and a cricket obsessive—Anthony Evans had never met a sport he didn’t like, and Lily had to imagine that having two of the least sporty daughters in the world was probably at least a bit of a let-down. Still, she knew what she liked, and it wasn’t sitting outside in the cold watching a ball be passed back and forth, whether that was on the ground or in the air.

One of the things she didn’t like about sport was the way that people seemed to live or die with their team’s success. In the week leading up to the final quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw, the atmosphere in the Great Hall had taken a palpable turn; James and the rest of his team tended to sit together, huddled over their meals and speaking in low voices as if worried someone might overhear their tactics. At one point, she saw James trying to demonstrate a new play using the salt and pepper shakers, waving his wand to direct them towards the ‘goal’ (the bowl of mashed potatoes). He acted like a general about to lead his men onto the battlefield. It was all a bit, well, over the top.

Not that the Ravenclaws seemed to be much better. For all their high-minded ideals and borderline snobbery about anything that wasn’t considered academic, they seemed to care an awful lot about the approaching game. She had noticed that Remus and Owain had stopped eating together that week, presumably because they each received such a suspicious reception when dining at their boyfriend’s house table. The Ravenclaw captain, seventh year Siobhan Byrne, went everywhere with a protection squad, apparently concerned that carousing Gryffindors might leap out from behind a tapestry to try to sabotage her.

James’ reaction, on hearing of Siobhan’s actions, had been a derisive snort. “As if we need to do any of that shit when we can just destroy her on the pitch.”

Emotions were high all round, all week. On Monday, she watched on as Remus tried to comfort Peter, stoically ploughing his way through a bowl of chicken and leek soup after he and Iris had broken up again. “She said she needs time,” he said, and Remus had nodded, as if that made perfect sense; Lily had managed not to interject and ask exactly what she needed time for.

At breakfast on Wednesday, the tables were abuzz with the news that Rafe and Aoife Walsh had broken up—“for good, this time,” Alison Tratt had reported with no small amount of glee. Lily had glanced up, over to the Ravenclaw table, and noticed for the first time that the pair were sat well away from each other, pretending the other didn’t exist. It made for an interesting change after months of seeing them draped over one another or getting intimate with each other’s tonsils.

She found, to her surprise, that she didn’t really care, one way or the other. He had treated Lily like crap, it was true, and she wasn’t likely to forget that any time soon, but the shine of her hurt and humiliation had been buffed away to a dull finish, something that didn’t so easily catch her eye. It probably helped that there were far bigger things in her life to worry about.

Apparently it was the week for break-ups: by Friday lunchtime, at least eight more couples (that she knew of, anyway) had split, making for rather more theatre in the corridors, in lessons and over the dinner table than usual. All of this relationship turbulence, paired with the building quidditch tensions, meant that Lily was almost looking forward to the approaching exams. It would be a relief to focus her attentions entirely on something which couldn’t be dramatic, couldn’t be anything but logical and rational. And maybe, just maybe, the other year groups—or at least, fifth, sixth and seventh years—would realise they needed to concentrate, too, and the excitement could ebb away for a while.

A girl could dream.

Apart from Peter and Iris—and Lily wasn’t sure they really counted, given how often they broke up and made up—no one else in her close circle of friends seemed to have been affected by the wave of relationship drama. Not that she wanted any of them to be, of course. James and Cadence seemed happy, although she had noticed that they were spending less time together than they had done before Easter. Again, not that it was of any interest to her, of course. Remus and Owain were going strong, as far as she could tell, despite their differing quidditch loyalties. And Sirius and Mary…well, whatever was going on there still seemed to be going on. She didn’t like to pry; Mary would tell her, eventually.

Those less interested in quidditch were abuzz with talks of the next Hogsmeade weekend, coming up just before the start of exams, but Lily couldn’t rouse even her usual level of interest in that. In fact, two boys had already asked her to accompany them: Benjy Fenwick, Iris’ brother in seventh year, a sweet if slightly boring chap; and George McMillan, who apparently had no concept of the don’t-date-your-mate’s-ex code, which would’ve had her saying no even if she had been remotely interested, which she wasn’t.

She wasn’t sure she would say yes to anyone, at this point. Her mind felt so saturated, overwhelmed with everything going on, that even if someone she liked asked, someone like—

She cut that thought off before it could take form. It did her no good to linger over these ruminations, and she’d only end up feeling more confused than ever.

At least after today, the talk of quidditch would die down; she just had to get through the match first.

Marlene, Dorcas and Mary had already headed down to lunch by the time Lily had pulled herself out of bed, feeling a bit resentful that she had to be up and about before noon on a Saturday just for bloody sport. She felt a bit brighter by the time she’d showered and changed, pairing jeans with a Gryffindor-red jumper (any time she’d tried attending a house match in clothes that weren’t red, she’d been harassed unrelentingly—it no longer seemed worth the hassle), and the sight of the cool but bright day out of the castle windows as she made her way down to the Great Hall even gave her a little bit of a spring in her step.

She entered the hall just as the Gryffindor team were leaving to make their way down to the pitch; James briefly caught her eye, managing a small, tense smile as he led the group, and she paused there in the doorway, wondering why she felt this strange tug in her gut to follow him, to talk to him and ease the strain from his brow.

It was an urge she swallowed down, drawing a steadying breath before she moved to join her friends at the lunch table. “There’s Sleeping Beauty,” Mary teased as Lily sank onto the bench opposite her, already reaching for the teapot. “I was just beginning to wonder if you’d make it to the match at all…”

Lily raised a weary eyebrow. “As if you lot would give me a moment’s peace if I missed it.”

“Oh, Lil,” Marlene sighed, leaning over to drop a plump white bread roll onto her friend’s plate. “I’m going to make you a quidditch fan if it’s the last thing I do.”

“That,” Lily considered, liberally spreading butter and layering cheese onto said roll, “sounds like a threat.”

“That’s because it is.”

Lily looked over at Sirius. “Are the Ravenclaw team good this year?”

“They are,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug. “But we’re better. Ornella turns out to be a bloody good Keeper, and I think the new Chaser is holding up well.”

She chewed, her thoughts drifting to Charlie Swift for a few moments. That whole situation felt entirely unfinished, and utterly unjust, but it seemed as if all talk of her had died down, and the staff were unwilling to address it if anyone asked. It sent a chill through her, to think that someone had forced Charlie into doing what she had done—and that someone was still roaming the castle, free to do what they liked.

Maybe it was best not to think about it too much. Not when she had so many other thoughts swirling in her mind.

It wasn’t long before her friends wanted to join the crowds heading down to the pitch, apparently concerned about getting good seats, and so she took the remainder of her sandwich with her for the walk. Out in the fresh air of the morning, she fell into step with Remus, shooting him a crumb-y smile. “Think you and Owain will still be talking to each other by the end of today?”

Remus laughed. “He’s like you, he’s not that interested in quidditch,” he replied. “He told me last night that he ‘couldn’t care less’ who wins, although he also made me swear not to tell his dorm mates.”

She smiled. “I knew I liked him for a reason.” She paused, wondering why she wanted to ask her next question. “How are James and Cadence coping with the inter-house rivalry?”

His smile faded just slightly, which was telling, and he hesitated before he replied. “I’m not sure she has twigged exactly how serious this stuff is for him,” he said, quite diplomatically. “She’s made a few jokes, I think thinking it’s just friendly banter. But…”

“Potter doesn’t do quidditch banter,” Lily nodded in understanding. She’d found that out the hard way at the start of fifth year, when she’d gently teased him about his various pre-game superstitions and received a barrage of stressed-out ranting that had only ended when Sirius had led him away, trying not to laugh. “See, this is what I don’t like about sports. Surely there are bigger things to worry about than if a ball goes through a hoop.”

Remus smiled, shaking his head. “I think whether the ball goes through the hoop or not is quite a nice distraction from all the things we have to worry about, to be honest.”

She bobbed her head, dusting crumbs from her hands now that her sandwich was finished. “You make a good point.”

Up in the stands, the atmosphere was electric: the Gryffindor fans were well aware that, if they won this game, it wouldn’t just be a victory over Ravenclaw—always a satisfying prospect—but it would also secure them the house cup. McGonagall had been making comments about how much she enjoyed having the trophy in her office, a rather unsubtle attempt, Lily thought, at piling on the pressure the team were already battling against. But Lily wasn’t without house pride. Winning the house cup, especially over Ravenclaw, a house she would forever now associate with conniving, cheating bastards, would be a great way to round out the year.

Sirius and Mary were leading the crowd in a rousing rendition of the Bread of Heaven song (“one of my finest accomplishments,” Remus grinned) as the game got underway, red and blue blurring past at lightning speed. If it weren’t for the commentary, she would have been clueless as to what was actually going on—and even with it, she wasn’t entirely sure. She knew enough to know when to cheer, when to boo, when to shout abuse. That tended to be plenty to get her through an average game.

This was not an average game, as it turned out. Play went on for an excruciating two and a half hours (Lily knew the time down to the second, because she’d been checking her watch every five minutes), each team wracking up points at a fairly even pace with no sign of the snitch. James looked like he was flagging—highly unusual for him, but she supposed, given his recent injuries, it was to be expected—and had, again, unusually, missed out on scoring some crucial points throughout the game, caught out by the Ravenclaw Keeper. In fact, it was new Chaser Alf Gudgeon who scored most of the points for Gryffindor.

Ravenclaw were up by thirty points when Ruthie Bowden, the Gryffindor Seeker, tore across the pitch in a flurry of red and gold, hand clasping around the snitch only moments before her rival Seeker reached the same spot. Around her, the crowd went wild, and Lily was drawn into the celebratory atmosphere, jumping up and down, hugging everyone close enough to hug as Sirius chanted, hoarse and delighted, “We won the cup! We won the cup!”

It seemed like the entirety of Gryffindor house swarmed the pitch, Ruthie being hoisted onto someone’s shoulders while the other team members found themselves embraced and praised with abandon. Through the mass of people, Lily could see James, a look on his face that she didn’t quite believe: he was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Congrats!” He turned to meet her gaze as she reached his side, and she found the smile even less believable up close. “That was one hell of a match…”

“Thanks, Evans,” he nodded, tentatively rolling his shoulder—the shoulder, she remembered, that had featured that long, jagged scar. “Sorry it was so long, I know it’s not really your thing.”

She gave him a patient smile. “Hardly your fault that the snitch went into hiding.” She paused. “Is your shoulder—”

She never got to finish her question, because Cadence squeezed through the crowd, a bright smile on her face as she stood on her tiptoes for a kiss. “Well done, Jamie,” she beamed, pinching his cheek fondly. “That was bloody close, wasn’t it?”

James exhaled; Lily wondered if it was her imagination that he was avoiding looking over at her now. “Very.”

Sirius had sidled over, too, draping his arm casually around Lily’s shoulders. “You did great, Prongs.”

“Thanks, mate,” James managed a more realistic-looking smile.

“You did,” Cadence agreed, a twinkle in her eye. “And thank you for giving our Keeper something to do, saving all your goals kept him from falling asleep.”

Lily couldn’t help her cringe—this was the so-called ‘banter’ Remus had mentioned. How did Cadence not see the look on James’ face? It seemed as clear as day to Lily: he looked about ready to lose it.

“Thanks,” was his short reply, smile gone completely.

“Oh, come on, babe,” Cadence stroked his arm, and although her tone was conciliatory, she was still grinning, a move which rather undercut her words. “You still won the game and the cup! You don’t need to be a grump just because you only scored twenty points.”

Sirius opened his mouth, apparently about to attempt to salvage this conversation, but James cut him off, pulling his arm out of Cadence’s reach. “Don’t you have a cup-losers party to go to?” he asked coldly; now, her smile was gone entirely, and Lily swallowed down against the burning sense of discomfort, being here for this argument. “I’m sure your team will find these much funnier.”

Cadence was frowning, apparently not having seen this mood coming. “Hey, come on, it was only a joke—”

“Yeah, well, give it a rest,” he snapped. “It’s not fucking funny.”

“James—”

“I need a shower,” he cut her off, looking over at Sirius and Lily. “See you up at the tower.”

And with that he was gone, pushing through the crowds back towards the locker room, leaving his girlfriend looking shell-shocked. Lily felt rather sorry for her; the girl looked like she might cry, if given the opportunity.

“I didn’t—” she started, looking at Lily, then Sirius, as if searching for support. “I was just—it was a joke.”

Sirius sighed. “James doesn’t joke about quidditch, Cady,” he pointed out. “And he’s clearly still struggling with his shoulder, no wonder he didn’t play like he usually does.”

Cadence’s face fell even further, something Lily didn’t think was possible. “Shit…I didn’t realise…he never said…” She looked over in the general direction of the locker rooms. “Should I…?”

“I’d give him some space,” Sirius suggested. “Talk to him tomorrow, once he’s calmed down a bit.”

Cadence nodded, biting her lip before she turned, melting back into the crowd. Lily watched her go, a strange sort of feeling in the pit of her stomach, one she didn’t want to acknowledge or name. “Well…”

Sirius nodded, giving her a squeeze before he let go of her shoulders. “Well, indeed,” he said. “This could be a very strange victory party.”

Lily’s mind was still on James’ face, the hurt and frustration there, as they made their way back up to the castle. Something she didn’t want to be thinking about, but something she couldn’t seem to shift at all.

The only solution? To get drunk.

Remus was used to odd and interesting scenes at Gryffindor parties. His housemates didn’t do things by halves; they didn’t have the reputation for the wildest parties at Hogwarts for no reason, after all. And, with a quidditch win as well as the house cup under their collective belts, this party was no exception: in the space of about an hour, most of his peers were well on the way to drunk if not already there; a crowd was dancing with reckless fervour on a makeshift dancefloor by the fireplace; a breakout game of Strip Gobstones had ended up with a few injuries and at least two seventh years down to their underwear.

But none of these were the strangest thing he saw that night. No, that dubious honour was reserved for the sight of Sirius Black—taciturn, supposedly-fancying-Remus Sirius—laughing and joking with Owain.

When he first spotted them, he briefly wondered if his drink had been spiked with some kind of hallucinogenic. But, after Pete gamely confirmed that he saw it, too, he had to come to terms with the fact that it looked…well…it looked like Sirius and Owain were getting on with each other.

Resisting the temptation to march over there and find out exactly what it was that had them both so entertained, Remus did what any sane and rational person would do: he lurked on the periphery, watching them closely in a way that made him feel a bit like a man obsessed, trying to work out what the hell was going on.

And, although various other people joined and left them over the next hour, the unlikely pair stayed in each other’s company, all the while smiling and chatting as if there was nothing odd about this interaction at all.

Eventually, he couldn’t bear it any longer: he got himself a large glass of whatever strange, purple concoction someone had mixed up for the occasion, and marched over to where they were sat by the windows.

“—like a total bellend!” Sirius was saying with a smirk, clearly enjoying Owain’s enthused guffaw; both of them looked up at him with a grin. “Moony! We were wondering where you were.”

That seemed unlikely, at least from Sirius’ point of view—he’d spent the past few months in an odd limbo, sometimes hardly talking to Remus at all. Was it possible that they’d turned a corner, somehow, without Remus even realising? That maybe Lily had been wrong about Sirius’ feelings after all? “I’m here,” he replied, glancing from Sirius to Owain. “You two having fun?”

“Did you know old Olly here is a huge Queen fan?” Sirius asked cheerfully.

“I have two ears and a heart, don’t I?” Owain reached for Remus’ glass, snagging it to take a sip. “Bloody hell, what is in this?”

“If you can work it out, you win a prize,” Sirius winked.

“I’m sure we’ve talked about Queen, anyway,” Owain said, reaching for Remus, now; he drew him closer so that he tumbled to the sofa between them. “I distinctly remember telling you about the religious experience I have listening to Somebody to Love.”

Remus wasn’t sure how it was that he’d found himself here, squeezed between these two particular boys, chatting about music as if there wasn’t something strange and awkward hanging over them all. He knocked back the remains of his drink (both Sirius and Owain raised their eyebrows in surprise) before he answered. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that a few times.”

“Ah, well, who can blame you,” Sirius shrugged with a grin. “You’re only human.”

“Exactly,” Owain laughed in agreement.

Weird. Just weird. “Have you seen Prongs?” Remus asked Sirius; somehow, their friend seemed a safer topic than even something as uncontroversial as music.

“He’s probably still in the showers,” Sirius guessed, glancing around the room just in case. “He had a bit of a…disagreement, with Cadence, after the game.”

“Oh, Christ, did she joke about quidditch again?” Remus asked with a wince.

“She did,” Sirius confirmed. “It was awkward as fuck. Evans and I just stood there and tried not to look too embarrassed.”

“But…you guys won,” Owain pointed out, looking confused. “Shouldn’t that put Potter in a great mood?”

“He’ll feel like he let the team down, because he didn’t score much,” Sirius explained. “His shoulder’s still giving him some grief, which doesn’t help the mood, I should think.”

“He probably shouldn’t have been playing again yet,” Remus considered. “Not that he would’ve listened if anyone had suggested that.”

“Oh, Euphemia tried,” Sirius laughed darkly. “You can imagine how that conversation went.”

There was a pause as Remus reflected on this; he could well imagine how badly James had taken the suggestion. Then, the quiet was cut through by Owain speaking up.

“Oh, look—there he is.”

They all looked over towards the portrait hole, seeing James—freshly showered, if still subdued-looking—emerge. He was almost instantly surrounded by his fellow Gryffindors, desperate to offer their thanks and congratulations. Remus could see the discomfort coming off of his friend in waves; he was doing a decent job at smiling through it, hugging and patting people on the back, but anyone who knew him well could have seen his unhappiness. “Should we rescue him?” Remus wondered.

“I’ll go,” Owain offered, hopping up from the sofa with a sprightliness that seemed unnatural, given how much he’d had to drink that evening. “No one will stop and talk to us because I’m the enemy.”

“Good thinking,” Sirius gave him a salute. “Good luck, try not to get kicked out for invading the opposition’s territory.”

Owain winked—winked—at Sirius before he headed off through the crowds and towards James, leaving an only slightly awkward silence behind him.

Remus paused before glancing over at his friend; Sirius was giving careful consideration to the label on his bottle of booze. At least Remus wasn’t the only one who found this a bit uncomfortable. “So,” he said. “You two are…friends.”

Sirius looked up, seeming just a touch reluctant to meet his gaze. “Well, Flitwick keeps pairing us up in Charms,” he shrugged. “What can I say—we’ve bonded.”

As simple as that. Why did it still leave Remus with an odd sort of feeling, like the world had tilted ever so slightly on its axis—not enough to send anyone toppling, but enough to feel disconcerting, distracting. “Well…that’s good.”

Sirius looked away again, over to where Owain had reached James’ side; sure enough, a Ravenclaw’s presence seemed to be driving the hordes away. “And you two are a proper thing now, aren’t you, so…not like he’s going anywhere.”

He wished he could understand the expression on his friend’s face; wished he could just say what he meant. That they didn’t both feel the need to do whatever strange dance this was. “Right,” he agreed, surprised to find his voice a bit strained, almost hoarse. “Well, thanks.”

If Sirius heard the change in Remus’ voice, he didn’t acknowledge it. Besides, Owain had his arm round James’ shoulders now, guiding him purposefully towards them. “Look who I found,” Owain smiled, giving James a gentle push towards what had been Owain’s seat. “I’ll get you something to drink, Potter—mystery drink, or do you want something that won’t melt away your stomach lining?”

James managed a genuine smirk, sinking into the cushions next to Remus. “Mystery drink sounds quite appealing right now, actually.”

“On your head be it,” Owain laughed, glancing at Remus, then Sirius. “You two alright for booze?”

Remus had, by now, drained most of the purple concoction (and who could blame him, in the circumstances), and handed over his empty cup; Sirius just held up his bottle, still sloshing with liquid, as his answer.

“Alright, I’ll be back…”

James seemed all too aware of the stares of two of his best friends; he just chose to tip his head back, resting it against the sofa and gazing up at the ceiling. “He’s a good’un, your bloke.”

“He is,” Remus agreed, hesitating only a moment before he spoke again. “I heard you and Cadence had a…falling-out.”

James snorted humourlessly, closing his eyes. “She’s been making these digs all fucking week—”

“No one’s saying you shouldn’t be annoyed, mate,” Sirius interrupted. “But maybe getting arsy with her in front of half of Hogwarts isn’t the best approach.”

James was quiet for a few seconds before he sighed. “Yeah.”

Remus and Sirius exchanged a quick look—it wasn’t like James to just admit his own culpability so easily. This mood was obviously worse than they had realised. “I’m sure you can make it up with her tomorrow,” Remus said.

“Yeah,” James murmured again.

“And stop being so bloody hard on yourself,” Sirius added. “Even you injured is a better quidditch player than most of the people in this school. Fuck, half the people on the Hufflepuff team, even.”

“I thought I’d enjoy it more,” James said, opening his eyes again. He looked exhausted. “Winning the cup, as captain…”

“Prongs,” Remus frowned. “You’ve had a rough few months. Pads is right, you need to go easy on yourself.”

James sighed again, a heavy thing, weighed down with so much more than he was saying. He was great at supporting others, James, a wonderful friend to lean on when you needed him…but he wasn’t so good at letting others do the same for him. At least, he wasn’t at the moment. “Not sure I’m in the party mood, to be honest,” he said at last, carefully hauling himself off the sofa. “Think I’ll just get some sleep.”

Sirius frowned, sitting up. “Mate—”

“I’m fine,” James promised, empty words, emptier still when paired with the hollow smile he gave them both. “Just knackered. See you in the morning…”

He was gone before either of them could even get off the sofa themselves; Remus shot Sirius a worried look. “Should we follow him up?”

Sirius considered it, before shaking his head. “Let’s let him sleep it off,” he decided. “He won’t want to talk to us tonight anyway.”

Remus felt awful that he’d, even for a moment, forgotten about Owain entirely; his boyfriend returned, three glasses full of the purple mystery drink floating ahead of him, and his smile dimmed when he noticed James was missing. “Oh! Where’s Potter? I poured him an extra-large serving.”

“Funny mood,” Sirius explained, taking the third glass. “He’s gone to bed. Hopefully he’ll be feeling more himself in the morning.”

“A quidditch party without the captain,” Owain raised his eyebrows, handing Remus his refill. “Well, I won’t feel too bad, then, about going back to McKinnon—she promised to tell me Marauders stories that would make me want to ‘find a less certifiable boyfriend’.”

Remus managed a small smile. He wanted Owain to bond with his friends; he didn’t know why this all felt so odd. “Let her do her worst, then.”

Owain grinned, pausing a moment to dip down and press a kiss to Remus’ lips—a quick, soft thing, affectionate and sweet—before he turned to head back towards the drinks table where Marlene and Dorcas were holding court.

The silence that settled between them only lasted a minute or so before Sirius spoke again; evidently, neither of them wanted to address the things they probably should. “Saw you talking to Merryton again yesterday,” he said. “She still want you to join her secret society?”

Remus thought back to the day before, how Merryton had caught him as he made his way to Transfiguration; she was relentless, that was for sure, and not just in her teaching. Ever since their meeting with Moody after the Christmas holidays, she had made it her mission to encourage him to act as their ‘spy’. It was really only because of the knowledge that Dumbledore was involved, too, and that he wouldn’t get into any trouble, that he had agreed to it in the first place. Of course, he’d been absolutely no help so far—a bit preoccupied with his boyfriend and best friends almost getting sliced to ribbons.

“She wants me to…” He paused, glancing round them; no one was paying the slightest bit of attention. “To keep an eye out, for anyone who might be involved with dark magic. With…Voldemort.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “Surely you just direct her to the dungeons and be done with it.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I think it’s a bit more nuanced than that,” he replied. “Anyway, I’ve been no help. Yesterday she was asking if I had seen or heard anything linked to the SWEN attack, and I had nothing useful to tell her.”

He could see the instant that Sirius’ expression shifted, even if it was a minute change; he watched on, fascinated, as Sirius apparently weighed up his options. This was the benefit of six years of near-constant contact: he could read his friend like a book, well-thumbed and poured over many times.

Finally, Sirius sighed. “Reg tried to warn me away from the SWEN thing,” he said, ignoring Remus as he jolted in surprise—that wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “I didn’t realise that’s what he was doing until a few weeks ago, and when I confronted him about it…” He shook his head. “He was a squirrelly, evasive little git.”

“Pads,” Remus breathed. More than anything, in that moment, he wanted to reach out, to offer some comfort. He knew all too well the effect that Sirius’ family had on him, how even the most benign of interactions could knock him to the floor. “Bloody hell. Do you think he was…?”

“I do,” Sirius confirmed grimly. “And he had something wrong with his forearm, he acted like it hurt when I grabbed his arm as he was leaving, then tried to pretend he was fine.”

“His arm?” Remus frowned, confused. “Do you think it was…an injury, from…I dunno, or some kind of dark magic…?”

“I don’t know what it was,” Sirius replied. “I just know that it’s important, because his reaction was far out of proportion. It was the only thing in the whole fucking conversation that seemed to rattle him at all.” Sirius was quiet a few moments. “You should tell Merryton.”

Remus’ frown only deepened. “But…tell her what? That your brother has a sore arm? It’s not enough to go on.”

Sirius tilted his head in reluctant acknowledgement, pausing before draining his glass. “Well, then,” he decided. “We need more to go on, don’t we. So we’ll do a bit of spying.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, surprised. “We?”

Sirius looked his way, seeming, for a fleeting moment, almost embarrassed—although of what, Remus could only guess. “That is, if you want some spy-company.”

It felt like an important moment; too important, for a drunken quidditch party, with one of their best friends upstairs, miserable and alone, the other drunkenly dancing his break-up out of his system. But he smiled, anyway, unable to stop the reaction. “I hear it’s unwise to spy alone.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” Sirius smirked, holding up his empty glass in a well-meaning cheers. “To the two most dashing spies Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Remus clinked his still-full glass, caught for a moment in Sirius’ gaze. “Cheers to that.”

A long sleep—and it was long, given that he’d climbed wearily into his bed at just gone nine o’clock—meant that James woke the next morning feeling a bit more himself. Exhaustion crept up on him more easily these days, his body still in recovery mode, and now that he had ten solid hours of sleep under his belt, he could look back on the previous day and realise that he may have overreacted. Yes, her jokes were unhelpful, but Cadence didn’t mean anything by them. For him to snap at her and go off in a strop was, in the cold light of day, rather embarrassing.

After a fortifying shower, he left his best friends still sleeping off their hangovers and headed for Ravenclaw tower. A check of the map had told him that Cadence was still in her dorm, and he figured that some time waiting outside for her could show her just how sorry he really was.

A few students passed him by, one fifth year girl heading back in offering to let his girlfriend know he was there; he just stayed, leaning against the cool stone wall, wondering whether he should have planned his apology, whether doing it off-the-cuff (his preferred speaking style) would be enough. He was just considering this conundrum when the portrait hole swung open and Cadence emerged.

He straightened up, taking in her appearance: she looked tired, her eyes puffy—oh, Merlin, had he made her cry? As if he didn’t feel enough of a bastard as it was—and she didn’t wear her usual warm, glowing smile. “Sara said you were out here,” she said, folding her arms tightly across her chest. It looked like a defence mechanism, and once again, he felt like an utter shit. “What’s up?”

He stepped forward, reaching to brush a lock of that golden hair away from her face; she chewed on her bottom lip, looking down. “I wanted to apologise, for yesterday,” he said. “Cady, I’m sorry…I overreacted, I shouldn’t have behaved like such a twat.”

He could hear her draw in a shaky breath, like she was trying to stay calm. “I wasn’t trying to upset you,” she replied. “I was just—we joke about so many things, I didn’t know you felt like that—”

“I should’ve said something sooner,” he agreed quietly. “Not let it all build up.”

“And your shoulder,” she looked up, then, a frown marring her lovely features. “Sirius said it’s been hurting you all this time—why didn’t you tell me?”

James sighed. “I didn’t want to go on about it…”

“James, I’m your girlfriend.” She lifted her hand, almost tentatively, to rest at his jaw. “You should feel able to tell me anything.”

“I do,” he promised her, and it was mostly true. He didn’t know why he had chosen not to tell her about this, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend any time thinking it over. “I’m sorry. I think coming back to school has been…a bit overwhelming, really. I’m knackered all the time, my shoulder hurts, the team is struggling, all the work in class has stepped up…”

Her thumb skated gently across his cheek, a soft, repetitive motion that soothed him: he closed his eyes a moment, tipped his head forward till his forehead met hers. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were struggling,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was struggling,” he replied quietly.

They stood there like that for a while, and he drew strength from her presence, from her warmth, from her touch. He didn’t open his eyes to murmur what he said next. “It’s all my fault.”

He didn’t need his eyes open to know she was frowning. “What is?”

“The attack.” His arm had found its way round her waist, and he held onto her as if she was the only thing keeping him upright. “If I hadn’t started this SWEN thing, there wouldn’t have been an event for them to attack…Charlie would have been left alone, she’d still be here…”

“James.” Her quietly insistent tone forced his eyes open, and he found her gaze, the calm and affection there. “None of this was your fault. They would have found some other way to hurt people.”

“But—”

“Your SWEN events have been amazing,” she carried on, soft but steady. “So many people have been asking me when the next one will be—they feel like they’ve got a voice again, that their lives aren’t being marginalised and pushed to the side. You helped do that, James.”

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, not wanting to get emotional, not out here in the middle of the corridors. “It feels like I let everyone down.”

She tipped herself forward, her lips gently brushing his. “You haven’t let anyone down,” she whispered, a promise that he could almost believe. “Don’t give up, Jamie. Don’t let them win.”

He didn’t deserve her. How was it that he had come here to apologise, to desperately try to make it up to her, and she’d ended up comforting him? “Okay,” he agreed quietly.

“Okay,” she echoed, one last brush to his lips before she pulled back, fixing him with her gaze. “How about we go to breakfast, and we can start thinking of the next SWEN thing? Maybe for Hogsmeade next weekend?”

He gave her a smile, a genuine one that seemed to melt away any remaining anxiety lingering around the edges of her. “Not just a pretty face, are you.”

She gave her hair a teasing flick. “No, I’m told my arse is pretty great, too.”

James laughed, looping his arm around her as they left their post outside Ravenclaw tower, heading down towards the Great Hall. “I can’t deny that.”

In fact, Cadence made it her mission to gather together the usual group of SWEN planners—a motley crew from across three of the four houses—as they each stumbled into breakfast, and they ended up having an impromptu planning meeting at the Gryffindor table. Their enthusiasm was uplifting: James realised that, although it couldn’t be disputed that the last SWEN event had not ended well, the will to carry on with their efforts had not gone away. If anything, everyone seemed galvanised to make sure they kept things going as much as possible: as Cadence had said, to not let the darkness win.

It was Mary, looking just a bit peaky in her hungover state, who suggested another scavenger hunt, but entirely muggle, this time. Enough of the SWEN group had taken part in the last one for this to be met with cheerful approval, and Mary, Lily and James agreed to put together a list of entirely non-magical things that entrants could ‘scavenge’ from Hogsmeade. “Not the easiest task,” Mary admitted, “but not impossible, either.”

“I’ll make posters,” Cadence offered, shooting James a smile, “so we can get the word out as soon as possible.”

“I can help with that,” her friend Lucy agreed (and James noticed, intriguingly, Lily shoot the girl a sad sort of frown before she rearranged her expression into something more neutral).

“Great,” James nodded, looking around the group gratefully. “Thanks, everyone. This is going to be fun.”

He parted ways with Cadence after breakfast, leaning in for a lingering kiss and a promise to find her later before he followed his friends back up to Gryffindor. “Made up, did you?” Sirius asked, subtlety not being his strong suit.

“We did,” James confirmed. “I said I was sorry for acting like an idiot, and she was very kind, all things considered.”

“Lucky,” Sirius smirked. “Some girls would’ve sent you packing for that kind of attitude.”

“I am lucky,” he agreed, looking ahead of them to where Lily and Remus were deep in conversation. “You and Ollerton looked chummy at the party.”

Sirius shrugged, looking away. “Thought it was probably time to be friendly.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Probably,” he agreed. “And…you and Moony seem friendlier, too…?”

His friend rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Can’t stand things being weird and sad anymore,” he said. “If that means I…” A sigh, and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, anyway. We’re just letting things go back to normal.”

James wondered if that was even possible, given the apparent feelings on both sides of that particular equation—but he had to admit, it was a relief to see his friends talking and joking like normal again. One less thing for his tired mind to worry about, even if it did seem to be predicated on an array of falsehoods and cheerful pretences.

“That’s good,” he said. “Really good, Pads.”

Sirius just shrugged again, watching Lily as she said something which made Remus laugh. “You and Evans are mates again.”

James frowned. “Yeah, she…she doesn’t seem to be avoiding me anymore, at least.” He paused. “Do you know what that was about?”

Sirius’ moment of hesitation was very telling. “Um…”

“You do know,” James sighed. “Out with it, Pads.”

Sirius sighed, too, and dropped back a bit so there was even more distance between them and the subject of their conversation. “Evans and I were in the library, working on the Potions project,” he said, his voice lowered. “And we overheard Cady talking to Lucy and Lambeth…about you.”

He swallowed. That couldn’t have been a good thing. “About me?”

“Cady was worrying that something was wrong,” Sirius said, looking like he’d really rather be talking about anything else. “And…the others were asking if you’re still hung up on Evans, and…saying that she’d been ‘throwing herself’ at you.”

James came to a sudden halt, turning to Sirius in surprise. “What?”

“Yeah,” Sirius confirmed darkly. “Lucy called her desperate, said some pretty nasty things. And…”

He raised his eyebrows impatiently. “And?”

Sirius glanced up the corridor; Lily and Remus had gone completely, far enough ahead now to be almost back at the tower. “Cadence said how Evans was only invited to your birthday because you didn’t want it to be weird that everyone else of the Gryffindor sixth years were invited but not her.”

James blinked. “What? I never said anything like that—”

“I said as much to Evans at the time,” Sirius assured him. “I think Cady was just frustrated because…well, you were a bit hot and cold with her. It’s just bad luck we happened to be there to hear it all.”

James shook his head, still trying to process it all. “So…she was avoiding me, because she thought my girlfriend’s friends think she’s…”

“A homewrecker?” Sirius supplied. “I think so, yeah. I never asked her, she didn’t seem keen to talk about any of it afterwards.”

“Fuck’s sake,” James frowned. “She—she hasn’t been throwing herself at me! We’re friends!”

“Well maybe, seeing as how she hated your guts last year, it’s just that friendship seems like more, to an outsider,” Sirius suggested as they started walking again. “It has been quite the turn-around.”

“Yeah, but…” He wasn’t sure exactly what about this was bothering him. It was all very confusing. “I should talk to her. Apologise.”

Sirius shook his head. “It’s not your thing to apologise for, and Evans will freak out if you try and confront Cadence about any of it. That might play into the narrative, anyway.”

James sighed, nodding reluctantly. “You’re right,” he agreed. “And I’ve only just got things back on an even keel with Cady as it is.”

“I know it goes against your every instinct, to just let it go,” Sirius said, only half joking. “But I think that’s your only option here.”

They rounded the corner along the corridor from the portrait hole; ahead of them, Lily and Remus waited, caught up in easy conversation. James felt a strange sensation tug in his chest: did she think he still fancied her? Was that why she had avoided him?

“Get stuck in a trick step?” Lily asked with a bright smile as they reached the pair.

James shot Sirius a quick glance, before returning her smile, trying to ignore the fluttering of something in the pit of his stomach. “Luckily Padfoot was there to rescue me.”

“Where would you be without me, eh?” Sirius joked.

He could always rely on Sirius to go along with a lie.

James wasn’t sure if Cadence had spoken to his mates, but over the next few days, they seemed to make a concerted effort to get themselves—and James, too—into bed at a reasonable hour, ignoring the temptation to linger in the common room chatting or playing chess. On Tuesday, when they had a free period, Sirius marched James to the infirmary so that Pomfrey could look at his shoulder, and, although he felt just a bit patronised, he had to admit that it was worth it. Poppy Pomfrey was a miracle worker, after all: she cast a few healing spells and dosed him up with a tonic that seemed to give him back his old range of movement, the pain dulling almost into insignificance.

With more sleep, and less pain, it felt a lot easier to keep on top of his homework, to pay attention in lessons. It had been tempting to tell Cadence he’d heard about her conversation in the library, but he pushed that aside—it was at least a month ago, now, and what good would it do to dredge that all up? Besides, he didn’t want to open the door to a conversation about Lily; he wasn’t sure what he would say about her, and he didn’t think that would be particularly comforting to his girlfriend.

Mary and Lily helped him make quick work of a list for the scavenger hunt, all non-magical items which could be located in Hogsmeade, and the posters advertising it were plastered over the castle by Wednesday lunchtime. Remus, Sirius and Owain had used a rather potent sticking spell to get the posters to adhere to the walls, which meant that they all got to spend an enjoyable five minutes before Potions on Thursday morning watching Mulciber try to remove one of the posters in the dungeons. “Poor lad,” Sirius had smirked. “I’m not sure he could manage it even if it had been a normal sticking spell.”

Thursday evening’s dinner was celebratory in atmosphere: Pete and Iris were back together, and his smile could have lit up the entire castle on its own. James was starting to wonder if perhaps they were not the most ideal couple—surely it wasn’t healthy to be off and on like this—but, considering his own relationship ups and downs lately, thought he was hardly in a position to judge. “I’m pleased for you, mate,” he clapped his friend on the shoulder, enjoying the rosy pink glow of Peter’s cheeks. “And just in time for you two to compete together at the scavenger hunt.”

“I will scavenge the world, if I have to,” Pete replied, the intensity of his words only slightly undermined by the ketchup stain on his chin. “Anything for her.”

“It shouldn’t come to that, Wormy,” Remus grinned. “Unless Prongs is planning on sending us a bit further afield…?”

“Nothing outside of Hogsmeade boundaries,” James promised. “Can’t have everyone ending up in detention.”

“That would ruin things a bit,” Sirius agreed.

“We won the house cup,” Pete sighed happily, digging back into his fish and chips. “Iris is back in my life. It’s Hogsmeade weekend. Could this week get any better?”

It did seem to be going rather well. James just hoped it would continue that way.

There was a disconcerting drip-drip-drip sound, echoing magnificently off the stone walls: disconcerting not least because they couldn’t see the source of said dripping. “What if it’s blood?” Sirius whispered, unable to keep that thought to himself any longer.

Remus, Sirius could tell, even in the dim light, was trying not to look too alarmed. “That would be a lot of blood, to make that much noise.”

There was a pause, before Sirius admitted, “It’s probably just something to do with the lake.”

The most likely, and, yes, the most boring explanation. They had been in the dungeons now for forty-five minutes, huddled under the invisibility cloak, waiting for…well, Sirius wasn’t entirely sure. Waiting for someone evil to come along, or for someone to do something evil. As if that might happen out there in the corridor. Even the Slytherin brain trust weren’t quite that stupid.

“I think,” Remus whispered, “that if Merryton knew this was our plan, she would give us one of those looks which could make your soul shrivel up and die.”

“Good thing you didn’t tell her, then,” Sirius remarked, shaking his head. “She doesn’t need any more reasons to direct that look at me. Honestly, she hears me say she’s really quite fuckable one time and now she hates me for some reason…”

“Yes,” Remus murmured dryly. “Shocking, that.”

“Anyway, we’re giving up our Friday evening for this,” Sirius continued, as if Remus had not spoken at all. “So maybe she should just be grateful for the effort.”

“Yes,” Remus said cautiously. “I suppose so.”

Sirius had to admit that it was a nice idea, in theory, although he still felt that their plan—if you could even call it that—was lacking. No one had even strolled by, everyone but the prefects apparently safely ensconced in their dormitories, and all they had got for their troubles was sore feet and a pervading chill that had started to seep into Sirius’ bones.

“We might have better luck if we keep an eye out for them tomorrow,” Remus suggested eventually, after five more quiet, cold minutes had passed. “Maybe they’ll use the Hogsmeade visit as a cover to gather together…”

Sirius shot him a thoughtful look. “You know, that’s not a half bad idea…”

“Thanks.”

“And if we take the cloak tomorrow, we can do a bit of infiltration,” Sirius was warming to the idea. He had always enjoyed a bit of larking around, some hijinks. “Plus, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Moony, but it’s fucking freezing down here.”

“I had noticed, yes,” Remus confirmed.

“In May! No wonder they’re all such miserable bastards—they’re in a constant state of hypothermia.”

“So, does this mean we can go?” Remus asked. “Before I lose a toe?”

“Can’t have you hobbling about, losing your balance,” Sirius agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”

They waited until they were on the fifth floor before they removed the cloak, having already passed the patrolling prefects as they made their way back down through the castle. That, plus the map telling them that Filch and Mrs Norris were currently waylaid on the first floor, meant that they could have a more comfortable walk back to Gryffindor tower. When they were under the cloak, they had to huddle together, both too tall now to really get away with having more than one person under there. While huddling close was good for sharing body warmth in the cold, damp dungeons, it was a bit more awkward, somehow, when moving around the rest of the castle.

“James seems a bit cheerier,” Remus said, apparently having reached his limit for mildly uncomfortable silences.

Sirius nodded his agreement. “He likes to have something to focus on.”

“I wasn’t sure if him and Cadence weren’t about to break up…”

Sirius glanced his way with a wry smile. “I dunno. I get the feeling Prongs is going to hang on in there for as long as he can, to prove a point.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “And what point would that be?”

“If it’s what I think it is, you can have one guess,” Sirius smirked. “Here’s a hint: it’s been his reasoning behind almost everything since, oh, third year.”

“Lily,” Remus sighed. “What point does that prove, though?”

“That he’s not still head over heels for her?” Sirius suggested; they paused together as one of the moving staircases swung closer, hopping on in perfect unison at just the right time. “That he can be with someone else?”

Remus shook his head. “That’s not a great reason for sticking out a relationship that doesn’t make him happy.”

Sirius was quiet a few moments; he hardly felt qualified to comment on why someone might stick it out in an unhappy coupling. He’d spent most of the past few months hoping that someone might not want to stick it out with their partner, like the great and wonderful friend that he was. He could hardly admit that to Remus now, not when they were finally getting back to normal. He hadn’t made all this bloody effort with Owain to screw things up with honesty. “Well, people do strange things, Moony.”

Remus huffed a laugh, leading the way off the staircase as they reached the seventh floor, along the corridor towards the portrait hole. “So I’ve learned.”

Sirius rubbed his hands together in a half-hearted attempt at warmth: he had thought that in May he wouldn’t need his jumper or cloak. The best part of an hour in the dungeons had been enough to suck the warmth from his bones. “You heading into Hogsmeade with Owain tomorrow?”

Remus gave him a fleeting glance. “Oh, um, yeah,” he replied. “We’re meeting by the carriages at ten.”

“Can’t believe we’re at the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year already,” Sirius said, because it seemed an easier thing to comment on than Remus and his boyfriend. “Bit of a mad year, eh?”

Remus snorted in an undignified manner, stopping by the Fat Lady to give the password; she swung open with a grumble, apparently having been trying to nap. “I think that’s putting it mildly, Pads.”

“Psh, a bit of an attack here, a bit of drama there,” Sirius joked, following Remus through into the common room; it was empty, James and Pete already having gone up to the dorm. Or, it seemed empty, until he spotted Lily curled up in an armchair by the windows. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you…”

Remus nodded, looking briefly over at their friend before he disappeared up the stairs; Sirius thought, perhaps uncharitably, that he was probably keen to get a bit of space from him after spending all that time under the cloak. Still, they’d lasted—something that had not been likely even a few weeks ago.

“Alright, Evans,” he spoke up as he slipped into the chair opposite hers. Now that he was closer, he could see her eyes were rimmed red, her face pale; in her hand, she was clutching a letter. “You okay?”

It took her a moment or two to even realise he was there: she looked round, as if surprised to find him looking at her, and blinked, quickly wiping her cheeks. “Oh, hi,” she said. “Sorry, I was in my own world…”

He frowned, sitting forward a little. “Has something happened?”

She tried to smile, and it was one of the saddest things he’d ever seen. Lily was someone usually so vivacious, so full of life, but now she looked like a poorly-made duplicate of herself: none of the spark in her eyes, and her body almost as if she was folding in on herself, struggling to stay upright. “No, not really,” she replied, and rolled her eyes at herself as a tear slipped, unchecked, down her cheek. “Had a letter from dad, and…” She paused, drawing in a breath, trying to steady herself. “He says she’s not in as much pain now, because they’ve given her lots of medicine, but…she’s sleeping a lot.”

Sirius shuffled his chair closer to hers so he could reach out, take her hand in his. “I’m sorry, Evans…”

Lily just shook her head. “She’s no worse off than the last letter,” she murmured. “I don’t know why it all hit me like this tonight.”

He paused. “No offence, but…you don’t look like you’ve been sleeping that well,” he said. “Being exhausted probably doesn’t help.”

A faint, flicker of a smile passed across her face, something more genuine this time, even though it was still laced with sadness. “No, probably not,” she agreed. “I just…can’t seem to stay asleep.”

“You should talk to Pomfrey,” he said. “I bet she’s got something that could help.”

“It’s not that bad…”

“What is it with stubborn people around here?” Sirius wondered, giving her hand a squeeze. “First Prongs, now you—there’s nothing wrong with needing help, Evans.”

She looked up, biting her lip a moment. “James got help for his shoulder?”

“Yes,” Sirius confirmed patiently. “And now he happily admits that he should’ve gone sooner.”

She sighed, running her free hand over her face in an action that seemed far too weary for someone so young. “Fine. I’ll go and see Pomfrey on Monday, okay?”

“Good.” Sirius waited until she met his gaze again, and gave her one of his trademark smiles. “I can’t be the one giving out sensible advice, here, you know. It goes against all my principles.”

“Sorry,” Lily laughed, a faint laugh, yes, but still a laugh. That was a victory he would take.

“Well, sort out your sleep schedule and you’ll be back to being the sensible one again,” he said. “And I can go back to being—how did you phrase it, that time in fifth year? After the Shepherd’s Pie incident?”

She scrunched up her nose, a highly endearing move. “A selfish, egotistical wally who really ought to know better?”

“That’s the one,” he grinned. “My favourite flavour of Black.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, now. “You’re not selfish and egotistical anymore,” she told him quietly. “And only a little bit of a wally, sometimes.”

He smirked. “Well, thanks.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” She glanced back towards the windows, at the dark night that spread out before them. “How long are you and Mare going to pretend you’re shagging?”

His head turned sharply to look at her; she had the hint of a smile on her face, even as she continued to stare out at the stars. “What?”

“You are pretending,” Lily pointed out patiently. “Right?”

A long pause, where Sirius weighed up the benefit of being honest versus keeping the charade going. Although what was the point, really, if she had already sussed it out? He’d thought they were doing a pretty decent job at keeping up the pretence—apparently not, or at least, not decent enough for a sharp eye like Lily’s. “Right,” he sighed. “How long have you known?”

“Oh, the whole time,” she replied lightly.

“Fuck’s sake,” Sirius shook his head. “You’re like a bloody—what was his name, that muggle detective that Remus is obsessed with? With the pipe and the funny hat?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” Lily confirmed. “And yes, you’re right, I am just like him.”

He slumped back in his chair, defeated. “We did shag once, you know.”

“I don’t need to know the details,” Lily assured him.

“I’m just saying…” He studied his fingernails carefully, as if they were of great interest. “Do you think…anyone else knows we’re not?”

Lily finally looked away from the window, watching him, as canny as ever. It could be quite irritating, being friends with someone with this much emotional intelligence. He couldn’t get away with anything. “Well, I know James suspects, because we’ve talked about it—”

That surprised Sirius, for a number of reasons, not least that he thought James would’ve said something by now. He didn’t like to keep his theories to himself, especially not when it came to anything Sirius did. He also, and this wasn’t just Sirius being ungenerous, wasn’t quite as…observant, as Evans was. If James had his suspicions…

“—but I haven’t talked to anyone else about it, so I don’t know.” Lily raised an eyebrow. “Why, who do you want to think you’re shagging Mary?”

Sirius met her gaze, heaving a sigh. “No one.” He stood up. “Come on, we should be going to bed. Busy day tomorrow.”

She stood up too, but didn’t let him sidle off: she drew him into a long hug, her arms slipping easily around his waist, her head resting against his chest. “Thanks for being here,” she murmured after a few moments.

“Any time, Evans,” he promised quietly.

“And remember…I’m here for you, too.” She pulled back, fixing him with a loaded look; he nodded sheepishly. “When you’re ready to talk.”

He draped his arm round her shoulders, walking her back towards the staircases. “Between you and Mac, I’m spoiled for listening ears.”

“Me, and Mac, and James, and Remus, and Pete…” she reminded him. “All people who would be happy to listen.”

That may well have been true, but there was someone in that list that he really didn’t think he could talk about this with. “You’re too wise, Evans,” he said, as lightly as he could. “Put us all to shame.”

“You say the nicest things,” she winked, pausing at the bottom of the staircases; she dotted a quick kiss to his cheek. “Night, Sirius.”

“Good night,” he echoed, watching as she made her trudging way up to the girls’ dorm. The common room at last now empty for the night behind him, there was no reason to linger, and yet it felt strange, almost nerve-wracking, to make his way upstairs. Even just that conversation with Lily, as much as he’d skated round things, had left him feeling rather more vulnerable than he liked. If James was still up, he’d see that in his friend’s face, he’d ask questions…

But he couldn’t put it off any longer: he was tired, and sitting alone by the fire didn’t hold the appeal that it had at the start of the year, when he was angry and lonely and lost in his own pain. Yes, there was still pain in there, but after everything that had happened, he hoped that he was dealing with it differently.

He headed up the stairs, wondering if maybe it would be okay for James to notice his discomfort; maybe it would be okay, to have him ask questions—to offer quietly honest answers. Maybe it would help, to confide in someone. To share the burden.

A breakthrough, of sorts. So it was almost a shame when he reached the dorm and found everyone already asleep.

Another time, perhaps.

Chapter Text

The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air.

Remus was prepared. If anything, he was over prepared: Defence Against the Dark Arts was easily his best subject, and so revising for this exam wasn’t a bind…if anything, it was something he actually enjoyed. He’d always made thorough notes, and took great pleasure—to the ridicule of his friends—in revisiting them.

It didn’t even put him off that Merryton watched over them all with a face reminiscent of an arctic tundra. Within minutes of them having sat down, one of his fellow students had crumpled under the pressure and ran out of the room sobbing. Their professor had just watched on, expressionless and entirely unimpressed with such a show of emotion and human frailty.

Luckily, Remus had spent enough of the year on the receiving end of her cold ire to be undeterred. He was damned if he was going to let Merryton intimidate him into doing anything less than his best.

To his left, he could see James bent over his parchment, scribbling intensely, as he had been since the exam started. Since seeing Pomfrey to ease his shoulder, and since Cadence had collared Remus, Sirius and Peter to make sure he got to bed at a decent time each night, James had seemed much more like his old self. It had been a relief to see the sparks of his usual ways: he’d been laughing and joking in lessons, plotting pranks with Sirius, and keeping spirits high in the common room when studying got a bit much. It felt like they had their friend back again, something Remus certainly wasn’t taking for granted.

On James’ other side, Peter was intermittently scrawling answers and staring down at the page with an air of vague bemusement, as if this were his first experience in the subject at all. Pete had eschewed the full revision schedule in favour of taking Iris off to a spare classroom, and as he explained it, he found the whole experience “entirely worth failing”. Remus wasn’t so sure Pete would still feel that way when Merryton handed their exams back, but he admired the sentiment.

Sirius, a few rows away and sat next to Lily, had been writing intently and now seemed to have decided to stop. He tipped back on his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face that could not be chased away even when Merryton stared at him for a solid two minutes. Sirius knew, as Remus did, that he’d cruise through this exam even with minimal effort. Annoying, but true.

But Remus was prepared. Distracted, yes, but prepared.

As easy as it would be to sit and watch Sirius for a while longer—and it would be possibly too easy—he forced himself to turn his attention back to the parchment in front of him. The changes in his friendship with Sirius lately had been more of a blessing than he’d expected, and, he knew, came in no small part due to his friend’s overtures with Owain. It felt like Sirius was making an effort, something he didn’t usually appear to do: he had grown up so effortlessly aristocratic, so effortlessly nonchalant and funny and clever, that it was a bit baffling to see him actually put the work in. And Remus knew, of course he did, that there were plenty of things his friend worked at (this year, controlling his temper was one of them, although that came from his weekly detentions/meetings with McGonagall). It was just that all of that usually sat below the surface, hidden away behind layers of placid, unruffled cool that Remus had always been envious of. Remus never could manage anything like that: he knew he could—he did—hide things beneath the surface, but he did so in a way that made it clear there was something else there. He might not let everyone in, but they also knew he was holding back.

To see Sirius Black, arguably the person in sixth year with the least need to actively make friends, chat and bond with Remus’ boyfriend did something strange to him. It was a warm feeling, a sort of glow; but it also felt like a twisting, a clenching that he couldn’t relax away.

It meant he didn’t have an excuse not to be around him. To avoid spending time with him.

But he didn’t want to avoid him. Did he?

It was this helpful sort of circular thinking that meant he wrote only a few more inches before the exam was over; luckily, he’d already covered most of what he felt needed saying. He’d have to think carefully about where he sat for future exams, if this was the potential level of distraction he was in for. He shared most of his subjects with Sirius—he couldn’t afford to get so preoccupied over the way Sirius tilted on his chair, or the way he frowned just a little bit as he wrote, that he didn’t focus on his own work.

The same went for revising: from that point on, he declared that he would only study by himself. James took this in with a nod and a look of slight suspicion, but, for once, no comment, not even when Sirius said he was going to take the same approach. Remus guessed that they all had bigger things to concern themselves over, for now.

Like the odd behaviour of Sirius’ brother, for example.

The two of them had been keeping an eye on Regulus ever since their conversation at the quidditch party a few weeks ago. This had involved following him for a while around Hogsmeade (“you wouldn’t think that someone so embroiled in evil would be so fucking dull,” Sirius had lamented at one point as they watched Regulus compare two near-identical pairs of leather gloves); utilising the invisibility cloak to lurk around the dungeons or to follow him on one of his many walks around the grounds; and employing various spells to attempt to eavesdrop on conversation at the Slytherin table. All the latter had told them was that someone sitting near Regulus chewed with their mouth open. Disgusting, but not exactly reportable.

Still. There was something off about everything they saw him do; Sirius had described him as being “a shifty looking bastard”, and although Remus might not have used the same terminology, he didn’t disagree with the sentiment. And it wasn’t just Regulus, either: there were a few of the older Slytherins who constantly looked like they were about to do something reprehensible.

And yet, nothing had happened since the SWEN swap shop. Not even a hexing in the corridors. True, the prefects’ rota had been bulked up considerably, and the heads of houses were often patrolling too, but even so, it was actually a bit unsettling that it all seemed so settled. It made Remus fear that something was lurking, just around the corner, something so much worse than anything they’d experienced so far.

It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon when they next saw anything of interest, and even then, it happened by accident.

They’d just finished a gruelling two hours in the greenhouses, Professor Sprout proselytising at length about the medicinal benefits of various vicious plants, and the crowd of sixth years spilled out from the heavy humidity with a collective sense of relief. Outside, the sun was making its way to the west, starting to dip in the sky, and the air felt cooler for it. James and Pete had already started back up the slope towards the castle, James having spent the final thirty minutes of their lesson muttering about how hungry he was, but Sirius grabbed Remus’ elbow before he could make to follow them and nodded towards the edge of the forbidden forest in the other direction.

Following his gaze, Remus saw the tall, slender figure that was unmistakably Sirius’ brother—he held himself in much the same way that Sirius did, although Remus knew that his friend would despise the comparison. Regulus was walking alongside a shorter, stockier figure, and together they disappeared into the trees.

“Fancy a stroll?” Sirius suggested.

One look at his face told Remus that, even if he didn’t want to, they’d be going anyway. Sirius was helpless to stop himself when it came to his brother. “Alright,” Remus agreed.

The forest was, of course, more than familiar to them both, and they moved quietly, keeping to the shadows where possible as they continued to follow the pair of Slytherins. Every now and then, they caught snatches of conversation, but never enough to truly understand what they were talking about. Just when Remus was thinking that this was a waste of time, that they were just tailing Regulus Black while he went for the most boring afternoon stroll of all time, he collided with Sirius’ outstretched arm, his effort to stop him in his tracks highly successful.

Remus glanced quickly over at his friend, who held his finger up to his lips and nodded a little way ahead. From their vantage point behind a cluster of menacing-looking bushes and a rotting tree stump, they could only just see Regulus and his companion—Alfred Avery, a seventh year who took great pleasure in making muggleborn’s lives as miserable as he could. Although they couldn’t see them well, though, they could hear them perfectly fine, their low voices carrying in the still, cold quiet of the forest.

“—before the end of the year.” Regulus sounded as he often did: a bit bored, as if he were speaking about the weather, or what was for dinner. “It would be impractical.”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t care about impractical,” Avery hissed in reply. “He wants our message out, loud and clear—”

“It is,” Regulus replied. Remus caught Sirius’ gaze a moment, and had to fight back the urge to reach out to him at the look on his face. “We have already brought more people to our cause.”

“What, Snape?” Avery sounded as disgusted as Sirius did whenever he said the same name. “And Mulciber? I’m not sure what those cretins—”

“Mulciber has more than proven himself recently,” Regulus interrupted again. “Don’t you think?”

A silence, and then a sigh, so heavy they could hear it as if Avery were right in front of them. “Fine. I will contact Malfoy and explain, but—I’m not sure that he’ll be very impressed.”

Sirius looked as if he were trying to hold back a response—probably, knowing him, a snort of derision. Lucius Malfoy had been a few years above them, and, Remus recalled, recently engaged to Sirius’ cousin. Another reminder of what their friend had torn himself away from: a hate-filled, dark arts-obsessed family who would apparently stop at nothing to further their agenda.

“He’ll be fine.” Regulus’ voice started to get quieter again, and was joined by the rustling of leaves: his footsteps, heading off further into the forest. “And I think he’ll be pleased when he hears…”

The rest was lost, the two boys already vanished from view, and the two Marauders having made no move to follow. Remus watched his friend closely, not sure what to say at first. He knew that this, a fairly obvious sign that Regulus was wrapped up in Lord Voldemort’s group, had to be a blow to Sirius. He’d suspected already, of course, but it was different to have it all but confirmed.

“Pads…” he murmured, and paused before he reached out, giving his hand a squeeze.

Sirius stared down at their hands, clasped together at his side, and for a moment Remus wasn’t sure how he would respond. There must have been so many emotions flying through him: anger, sadness, confusion, disappointment, betrayal… And Sirius wasn’t exactly known for his emotional capabilities. Remus himself had been the victim of that shortcoming before.

But that moment passed, and Sirius gave his hand a squeeze in return before letting go, raking his fingers through his hair as if he needed something to do. Remus tried not to feel empty at the movement, his own hand moving pointlessly back to his side.

“Yeah,” Sirius sighed, and glanced briefly over his shoulder before he shook his head, apparently making a decision. “Let’s go back. We…we should tell Merryton.”

Remus nodded, falling into step with him again as they made their way back in the direction of the castle. It was strange, the two of them in the forest: so quiet, almost dark as the canopy of trees blocked out most of the remaining daylight. A place they had spent so much time as a four; a place that had helped cement their bond. Why did it feel, this time, that they wouldn’t ever return…?

He shook his head, trying to shake off that feeling. It made no sense, to feel this way. And he certainly wasn’t about to open it up to Sirius, to ask if he felt the same way—why change the habit of a lifetime, after all?

They were climbing up the castle steps before either of them spoke again. “You should tell her on your own.” Sirius had stuck his hands firmly in his pockets, and stared resolutely down at the stone as he walked. “She doesn’t like me, anyway.”

“I’d hardly say she likes me,” Remus pointed out.

Sirius managed a faint, half-smile. “Well, she likes you more, at least.” He stopped as they reached the entrance hall, his gaze flickering against his will—tellingly—towards the dungeons. “See you at dinner.”

Remus realised, as he watched him go, that he hadn’t even found the words to reply.

The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air.

James glanced over the questions again, wondering if he had time to squeeze an extra one in. Technically, they only had to answer three of the questions—in copious detail, of course—in order to potentially pass the Transfiguration exam. McGonagall had spent many lessons discussing the complicated theory behind the spell work they had covered that year, advising on approaches to the essay portions of their exams (the practical side having already been undertaken the week before), and she had impressed upon them all that three of the five possible questions should be their focus.

The thing was, James had answered four of them already. He didn’t think it was showing off to admit that he just got Transfiguration, that it came as easily to him as flying did; Merlin, it wasn’t bragging, it was simply knowing his own strengths. He’d soared through the requisite three questions in record time, no less thorough for his speed, and then had become bored at the thought of doing nothing for the remaining thirty minutes, and so had turned his focus to the remaining questions that he had ignored so far. He had a feeling that Sirius was in the same boat, although he wasn’t as confident that his friend would have bothered doing any extra work. In fact, he looked up from his parchment and over to his right, and sure enough, Sirius seemed to be focusing his innate talents on doodling a basilisk in the corner of his essays. He was sweetly predictable like that.

Maybe he could allow himself a break, too. The last question was a bit of a thumper all about the legal limitations of Conjuration, something James—of course—understood and could explain, but frankly, didn’t want to. Far better to turn his mind to the other exams to come.

He wasn’t especially worried about any of them, although Charms wasn’t exactly his strongest area. He knew he could get by in that subject, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to cram in a bit of extra revision before the exam in a few days time. Aside from his own needs, he also felt hyper-aware of the needs of those around him. He knew that Pete wanted a bit of guidance for Herbology, which he was happy to give: it wasn’t his favourite subject, but his mum was enough of a plant nut (not that he would call her that to her face) for some of it to have stuck over the years. Remus and Sirius didn’t need his help (at least, not when it came to exams), and anyway, he knew that those two both preferred to study on their own.

And then there was Cadence. Things seemed to have settled between them again after the post-quidditch drama, but…well, they’d settled a bit too much. He didn’t feel a desperate need to seek her out, to spend time with her, and he would never admit it, not even to his best friends, but her constantly appearing in the library or the Great Hall during their study sessions was getting a bit wearing. He knew it was beyond uncharitable to feel that way about his own girlfriend; that he really ought to do something, instead of just letting stasis kick in. Easier said than done, though.

Did this all mean that he should break up with her? Maybe this was just how relationships were, once things had calmed from the first flush of romance. James had never had a proper girlfriend before; a few dates here and there, of course, but when one was head over heels (and not at all subtle about it) for another girl, dates didn’t tend to come flooding in. Perhaps all relationships petered out into a dull hum. Perhaps this was just the way he was supposed to feel about Cadence, about spending time with her. Perhaps any relationship would feel this way. The grass wasn’t always greener on the other side, as his grandma used to say. She had meant it as a joke, of course—being the potioneer behind a popular grass-revitalising remedy that revolutionised the gardens of Britain back in the day—but the saying could still work. He could make it work.

He shook his head, returning his focus to his parchment. If his mind wanted to take a rest by churning over his relationship issues, he’d rather answer the last exam question. Surely that was a better use of his brain power.

It was this force of denial and avoidance, not normally something he put such energy into, that found him in the school library the next morning. Sirius was still in bed; Remus had settled into a corner of the common room with his Arithmancy textbooks and an air of weary acceptance; Pete had gone off to find Iris and “help her with her revision”, which James took to be code for “feel her up in a broom cupboard”. With no lessons that morning, and no exams that day, James had been tempted to use the time for more relaxing pursuits. It was a bright, clear morning, the sky a delicate blue that stretched as far as the eye could see without a single cloud to mar it: perfect flying conditions. A jaunt on his broom would be good for his mind. But he didn’t give it much consideration; something told him he should focus his efforts on studying. After all, he had a whole summer to fly around to his heart’s content.

Madam Pince followed his progress through the library doors and past her desk with a steely glare, probably not helped by James’ cheerful, “morning, Irma!” as he passed. She was just too easy a target. He wound his way round clusters of tables, already filling up with students, heading towards the rear of the library where his preferred work area was. It was quieter back there, and, having access to some windows, too, one of the few parts of the library with any natural light. James liked to know what time of day it was. Too much candlelight could be maddening.

He rounded one of the stacks and found himself confronted with an unexpected, but welcome, sight: Lily was sitting at a table in front of the window, sunlight streaming in to catch the red of her hair, making it look more like a flame than ever. Apt, that was, as he felt helplessly drawn forwards, towards her.

She glanced up, and a smile bloomed across her face, almost as if she didn’t mean to react that way. “Hi, Potter,” she greeted him, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to do some work?”

He laughed, shifting his school bag from one shoulder to another. “It seemed like the right thing to do,” he replied. “Mind if I join you?”

She gestured to the empty chairs, an implicit invitation, and he sat down, rooting around for his parchment and quill. “Not accompanied by your merry men this morning?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Merry men?”

Lily sighed, rather dramatically, he thought, although he enjoyed it nonetheless. “Ask Remus to tell you about Robin Hood.”

James made a mental note to do just that. “I assume it’s not a bird.”

She giggled—a soft, lyrical sound, and one he wanted to hear more of, if he could—and shook her head. “He was a vigilante. Robbed from the rich to give to the poor. And he had a band of merry men who followed him around and…well, helped, I suppose.”

He considered this thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, you’re right, I am terribly wonderful and inspiring,” he replied. “And I do have my loyal followers.”

Lily rolled her eyes, unable to keep back her smile. “Christ, I didn’t intend to inflate the ego any further, Potter.”

“You may not have intended to,” he winked. “And yet…” He nodded to her books. “What are you working on?”

She showed him the front cover—All in the Mind: Advanced Charms Through Non-Verbal Spells by L T Thornbury—and sighed. “I just have a feeling the Charms exam is going to be a stinker.”

“Flitwick can be a sneaky one,” James nodded. “But you’re ace at Charms, what are you worried about?”

She glanced down at the book, giving him the opportunity to admire the gentle pink flush of her cheeks for a moment without fear of being caught out. “Well, thanks,” she replied. “I just…I feel like my mind’s been all over the place lately, that I’ve probably missed out on loads of stuff without even realising it.”

His smile dimmed; now he just felt guilty. What sort of a friend was he that he’d as good as forgotten everything she was going through with her mum’s illness? Too caught up in his own drama to notice that things weren’t getting any easier for her. And now, too busy thinking about how pretty she looked in the soft morning light to consider that there was more to it than just a bit of exam anxiety.

“I’m sure you haven’t,” he told her. “Evans, you run rings around us all in Charms even on an off day.” She looked back up at him, her expression quietly disbelieving, and he didn’t give her a chance to argue with him before he spoke again. “Why don’t we have a look through this stuff together? I think you’ll be more help than I will, to be honest, but if you don’t mind doing the heavy lifting…”

She pursed her lips, studying him a moment. “You didn’t come here to revise Charms, though, did you?”

He shrugged. “It was on my list. And if that means I can put off Ancient Runes for a bit longer, then all the better.”

A pause, and then, a sigh. “Alright. Thanks,” she said. “If you’re sure…”

“Never been more sure, Evans,” he promised her. “Why don’t I go and find that book Flitwick was talking about the other day, the one about intent in non-verbals, and we can start there?”

“Okay,” she agreed, seeming a little brighter now. “Good idea.”

He stood up with a scrape of his chair, giving her a quick grin before he wandered off into the stacks. As much as anything, a few minutes away from the table might help him resettle himself. Time with Lily always left him feeling off-kilter in some way—not always unpleasantly so, but in a way that was very difficult to ignore. And given the fact that she’d only recently stopped avoiding him, having assumed, it seemed, that he still fancied her, he didn’t want to give her the impression that he was starting all that up again. She needed friends, not someone who was going to moon over the way her pale skin pinkened delicately at his words.

Merlin. This was a slippery slope.

He found the book easily enough, and had turned to head back to the table when he found Cadence there, suddenly. He’d been so in his own head that he hadn’t even heard her approach; she was clutching a few books of her own, and looked equally surprised to see him. “Hi.”

James felt a stab of guilt that his initial reaction was one of annoyance, that he couldn’t just head straight back to the table and slip back into easy conversation with Lily. “Hi,” he echoed. “Thought you said you guys were studying in your common room today?”

Cadence tilted her head to the side a little, the glossy golden curtain of hair rippling in the dappled sunlight that made it through the piles of books around them. “We are,” she confirmed. “But we needed a few extra texts. Luce is panicking about Potions again.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d felt fairly ambivalent about Lucy Miller, Cadence’s best friend and, it seemed, permanent shadow, only really thinking that she seemed a bit intense. That feeling had changed once Sirius had told him what he’d overheard Lucy saying about Lily, the gossip and bile she had spouted that had made Lily avoid his company for several weeks. “Is there anything she doesn’t panic about?”

Cadence frowned just a little. “What do you mean—”

He shrugged it off, and moved forward, pausing to drop a kiss to her cheek. He felt like he should make some kind of show of affection; it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? “Only joking,” he said, a lie so blatant that he was sure she was as aware of it as he was. “Better get back to work. Charms doesn’t revise itself.”

She turned to follow him, a step or two behind. “You and Sirius finally decide you should put some effort in?” she asked, a joke which didn’t have much energy behind it.

“Sirius is only putting effort into having a lie-in,” he replied. They reached the end of the aisle, from which point they could see across the quiet study area to where Lily sat, engrossed in her book. At his side, he could sense the precise moment that Cadence spotted who was there, the moment she joined up Lily’s presence, his bag on a nearby chair, his favourite quill discarded on the table. She took it all in, he knew, but didn’t say anything. And he didn’t think that was because he didn’t give her the chance to. Maybe she’d got over her previous worries about Lily; maybe she’d decided to stay quiet until she did.  “See you at lunch?”

Cadence paused; across the room, he saw Lily lift her head, catch sight of them; and then his girlfriend stepped into his line of vision, her hand sliding up his chest as she stood on tiptoes to press a long, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, she had an odd sort of look on her face, one he couldn’t parse. “See you at lunch,” she confirmed, then turned on her heel and walked away.

Back at the table, he wasn’t sure who was more uncomfortable: him or Lily. He placed the book down between them, shifting into his chair. She didn’t seem quite able to meet his gaze at first, and he wasn’t sure he blamed her. “Right,” he said, and hesitated. She finally looked up; he wished he knew what to say. How to undo this strange, strained atmosphere that now settled between them. “Intent…”

“Intent,” Lily echoed, and they both forced their gazes down to the work at hand.

The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air.

Explain, with examples, the role of organised religion in muggle society, from the day to day lives of ordinary citizens to its place in government and the monarchy. 

Excellent. Sirius had thoroughly enjoyed that series of lessons last term, and not just because it had so wonderfully widened his swear vocabulary. (His personal favourite? “Jesus H Christ and all his carpenter friends”, something which had earned him a stern telling off from McGonagall when he’d dropped it in her class once.)

Although he had stuck with Muggle Studies initially to piss off his parents—it was such an easy win, after all—he had found over the years that he had something of a knack for it. True, he had a knack for just about everything, but something about the subject really caught his interest. It made him wonder all the more why people like his parents were so viciously against muggles: how could you hate people who invented microwaves? It didn’t make any sense.

So not only did Muggle Studies at NEWT level really infuriate his parents, but it also made him into a better, more well-rounded person, and that could only be a good thing. Especially given how, after all the ways he had fucked up that year (and, he could admit, before), being a better person was a personal focus of his.

Being a better person had led him into offering to help a frantic-looking fifth year in the library the other day, a Hufflepuff boy who couldn’t seem to get his head round the OWL syllabus for Charms. He usually left the helping and general do-goodery to the likes of James and Evans, but even Sirius could stretch to setting aside an hour or so to explain a few key concepts. And no one could accuse him of doing it for the praise, either, since everyone else had been revising in the common room.

Being a better person had also led him into this strange friendship with Ollerton. He could admit now that, yes, he had liked Owain before he’d shown an interest in Remus, that he’d found him to be funny and generally good company (for a Ravenclaw swot, of course). And he could admit—to himself, he wasn’t that far along in his journey of self-discovery—that it was only Ollerton’s relationship with Remus that had changed how Sirius felt for the boy. It didn’t sit well with him that he had become the kind of person who held a grudge against someone, someone who was, as far as he could tell, a genuinely nice bloke, just because he was allowed to kiss and hold and cosy up to—

Well. Anyway. He didn’t like being that person, and he didn’t like the distance that lingered between himself and Remus, and so he’d set his issues aside and made an effort. That effort hadn’t gone unnoticed, thank Merlin, and things with Moony were so much more normal again now that he could have planted a kiss on Ollerton’s lips in thanks, if the idea didn’t make him feel a bit altogether uncomfortable. As if that situation wasn’t complicated enough without adding that whole dimension into it.

It was because of all this effort, because of his Better Person-ing, that he found himself an hour later wandering out of his Muggle Studies exam, falling into step with Owain and trying not to look distinctly alarmed when the boy said, quite abruptly, “Is Remus okay?”

Shifting his bag onto his other shoulder, Sirius shot Owain a baffled look. “Um…I think so? Why?”

Owain sighed, glancing around them—evidently, no one seemed to be listening in. “He’s been a bit…distant, lately,” he replied. He sounded so worried that Sirius stopped walking, nodding towards a stone bench tucked against the wall. “I wasn’t sure if…well, if it’s something I’ve done, or…”

Was this what being a better person entailed? Counselling his best friend’s boyfriend instead of yelping with glee and throwing in something that would inevitably make the situation worse? Someone out there was really testing his resolve. “Have you done something?” he wondered.

“That’s just it,” Owain sat down, dumping his bag by his feet. “I don’t think so, but—I’m not sure why else it could be happening.”

Sirius sat down too, considering his options. He and Remus had talked a lot, lately, although nothing about his relationship with Ollerton: they were not at that stage yet. He’d been so busy enjoying the fact that his friend was talking to him again, that they were teasing and laughing and messing around like they used to, that he hadn’t wanted to push it anyway. But he could hardly say that to Owain, could he? ‘He seems perfectly fine when he’s with me’ wasn’t exactly the most helpful thing to say. “He hasn’t said anything to me about it,” he offered. “If you’re that worried—”

“Talk to him?” Owain sighed again. “I tried, yesterday. He got all weird, then distracted me by putting his hand down my trousers—”

“Okay, well,” Sirius cut off that sentence before it got any further. There was a limit to what he was willing to listen to, in the name of being a good person. “Keep trying. I’m sure it’s nothing, though. Maybe just exam stress?”

“Maybe,” Owain allowed, but he still looked worried. He stared across at the opposite wall, lost in thought for a moment. “Sorry, I know this puts you in an awkward position. I just…” He hesitated, and glanced round to meet Sirius’ eye. “I really like him.”

Sirius swallowed. Such simple words. Surely they shouldn’t hurt that much. “It’s okay,” he replied. “Wish I could be more help, mate. But really, I’d just try to talk to him again. I know that…” He drew in a steadying breath, and hoped it wasn’t as obvious as it felt how difficult the following words were for him to say. “I know that he really likes you, too.”

Owain managed a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Sirius.” He gave him a pat on the shoulder, an awkward move which almost made him laugh—might have done, if the whole situation weren’t quite so wretchedly painful. “You’re a good friend.”

Now, he did laugh. “I try.” He stood up again. “Come on, we deserve a hearty lunch after that exam. Organised religion and the role of monarchy in governance? Felt more like a seventh-year paper than a sixth.”

Owain stood up too, nodding his agreement as he gathered his things. “I’m starting to wonder if Professor Shales doesn’t hate us all, a little bit.”

Down in the Great Hall, the usual hustle and bustle of the lunch crowd left the room noisy enough to make much more conversation pointless. Halfway down the Gryffindor table, Sirius could see the other Marauders in deep discussion over their sandwiches. He glanced over at Owain, knowing what the good thing to do was. “Want to sit amongst the brave at heart today, Ollerton?”

Owain looked down the table too, watching Remus for a moment—Moony hadn’t looked up, although Sirius got the impression that he had sensed them looking over at him—before he managed a half-hearted smile. “Maybe later,” he replied, gesturing to his best friends over on the Ravenclaw table. “Need to catch up with Phil and Tom, or they’ll accuse me of neglecting them.” He patted Sirius on the shoulder again, a move that seemed less uncomfortable this time around. “Thanks for listening.”

With a nod, Sirius and Owain parted ways, and Sirius trailed a little way down the hall until he reached the empty spot on the bench next to Peter. He plonked himself down, already reaching for a roast chicken sandwich. “Alright, lads?”

“Alright Pads,” Pete grinned, waving a crisp at him. “How was Muggle Studies?”

“Piece of piss, mate,” Sirius replied with an easy shrug; he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Remus glance back towards his boyfriend’s table. “Shales is going to wet himself with delight when he reads my essay answers.”

“Good to see your modesty hasn’t taken a knock,” James smirked opposite him. 

“As if it could,” he winked in reply. “How was Ancient Runes?”

“Awful,” James sighed, at the same time Remus said, “Average.”

Pete laughed. “Iris said it could’ve been worse.”

“And Magical Creatures?” Sirius raised an enquiring eyebrow at Wormtail. “Get bitten by any bowtruckles?”

Peter held out his hands indicatively. “Not a single nip.”

“Nice work, Wormy.”

It wasn’t too long before the platters of sandwiches held nothing but crumbs, the crisp bowl depleted—nothing left but a few disregarded apples, in fact. Examinations were hungry work. Sirius felt he could even squeeze in a few chocolate frogs, if only he had time to get back up to the dormitory before their double Potions lesson that afternoon. Something sweet would’ve gone down well, faced as they were with three hours of painstaking revision with Slughorn. Never mind—they’d be all the sweeter later. 

Down in the dungeons, he settled into his usual bench alongside James and Remus—Lily sat at the one in front, talking quietly with Mary and Dorcas. Across the room, he could see Cadence looking over at them, a look of quiet discontent on her face. Great: yet another disgruntled partner. He hoped desperately that Cady didn’t intend to bend his ear about James too. Surely he’d fulfilled his role as Listening Friend for the day. The week, even.

James, for his part, seemed not to have noticed the attention he was getting, too engrossed in the chapter Slughorn had suggested they read. Remus, though, was as perceptive as ever. “Alright, Pads?” he murmured. 

Sirius cringed, briefly uncomfortable. He really didn’t want to have this conversation. But if he didn’t, then…well, what did that say about him? He didn’t want to know. “Ollerton’s worried that he’s pissed you off,” he said, quietly, simply. 

Remus looked surprised. “…what?!”

Sirius shrugged, staring down at his textbook. “Says you’re being a bit off with him. Doesn’t understand why.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, laden with many things unsaid, aspects of their relationship left firmly unexplored. Sirius didn’t need to look up to guess at what Remus’ face would look like—his brow would be creased, he’d be biting his lower lip, he’d be avoiding eye contact if at all possible. That was why it was not cowardly for Sirius to continue to stare at the desk, but rather a grand act of generosity, surely.

He could get behind that reasoning, as long as he didn’t think about it too hard.

“Oh,” Remus said at last, and Sirius chanced a quick glance over at him; he’d been right. Remus looked deeply awkward, like he was considering the likelihood that the ground might swallow him up and save him from saying anything else on the matter. “Right…”

“I said I didn’t think there was, but that he should talk to you if he’s worried about it.” Sirius was aware, now, that James had started listening in; his friend caught his gaze briefly from the other end of the desk, eyebrow raised an infinitesimal amount in an unspoken question. Sirius shook his head, just barely, in reply. “So…prepare yourself for that, Moony.”

“Right,” Remus said again, his frown deepening. He looked over to where Ollerton sat on the other side of the dungeon, deep in conversation with his two best friends. “Thanks.”

James, apparently, had decided now was the time to abandon the pretence that he wasn’t eavesdropping. “Are you pissed off at him?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed a rather becoming shade of pink. “No. Of course not.”

Sirius decided it was best to look away. “I said maybe it’s just exam stress.”

James chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the only one suffering, Moons.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Remus said quietly. Sirius wished it was more reassuring than it was. “Sort things out.”

Sirius let the subject go—of course he did, it wasn’t like he was keen to dissect his friend’s relationship woes—but of course, James didn’t seem quite so eager to forget it all. After Potions, as Remus disappeared off into the crowd heading to dinner with Lily and the other girls at his side, James slung his arm around Sirius’ shoulders. “You alright, mate?”

Sirius cast him a scathing glance, one that made absolutely no difference. James was a determined bugger when he wanted to be. “I’m fine,” he replied. “Long day.”

James nodded in understanding. “Can’t have been easy,” he said. “Ollerton talking to you about him and Moony…”

Sirius shrugged his friend’s arm away, rolling his eyes. “He’s my mate too,” he pointed out. “No skin off my nose what he wants to talk about.”

“Pads—”

“I said it’s fine,” he interrupted, and James stopped (causing the people walking behind them to sigh and tut in displeasure). “Just let it go, Prongs.”

James frowned back at him, but nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine,” he replied. “But one day you’re going to actually need to talk about all this shit, you know that, right?”

He knew it. He knew it very well. Mary reminded him regularly that he couldn’t keep things bottled up; Lily was constantly asking him how he was, asking if he wanted to talk. He knew that he had a myriad of options, as and when he wanted to open up: he was not short on people ready and willing to listen. But it just seemed so…pointless. What good would it do, spilling his guts to James or anyone else? It wouldn’t change anything; it wouldn’t change how he felt; it wouldn’t change how…others felt about him. It would only hurt, and he wasn’t sure how much more pain he could face this year.

Besides, fifteen or so years at his mother’s knee had taught him something. Keep things locked up tight, or face punishment, face pain.

“I know,” he replied.

It was all he could say, for now.

The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air.

Although many of her fellow students did not enjoy working in the dungeons—too cold, too damp, too altogether creepy—Lily had always found it to be an environment that suited her. There was something about it that felt tucked away from the rest of the world, a place where nothing mattered apart from the strength of the flame under your cauldron and the hue of the liquid within it.

Of course, the practical exams had already been completed—aced, according to Slughorn, who had not bothered to hide his delight when he’d seen her final Sleeping Draught—and so they were now less concerned with actual cauldrons and more concerned with the theory behind the brewing. Lily had always enjoyed the theoretical side as much as she had the practical, finding it endlessly fascinating to delve deeper into why this particular ingredient was first utilised or how that particular brewing approach yielded better results. She didn’t like to blow her own trumpet, but this was an exam that she could sail through with flying colours even if she’d been blindfolded and was standing on her head. It wasn’t arrogance—just the truth.

And besides, she needed to feel like something was going to go her way. She hadn’t felt like she’d had a good handle on how the other exams had gone, a feeling she was not used to but that which she knew was down to the turmoil in her head and in her heart at the moment. As Mary had put it, it was good enough that she was able to put one foot in front of the other. And sixth year exam results—although important—weren’t the be all and end all. If she needed to make her marks up next year ahead of NEWTs, she could.

She just had to get through Potions (easily done) and Arithmancy (less easily done), and then she could relax. Or at least, she could forget about studying for a bit, even if she didn’t relax fully.

In a few weeks, they’d be back on the train, heading south. She’d have the whole summer in front of her, a time she normally would devote to seeing friends, reading, spending time with her parents. She knew, though, that this summer would be different. There was no way it could be anything else.

Her last letter from her dad had said the usual things: mum was resting comfortably; she had energy, now and then, to read her favourite books. That Petunia had been visiting a few times each week, driven up by her attentive and (not her dad’s descriptor) irritating boyfriend Vernon. Lily took this all in as she always did—comforted, in some small way, that things had not changed yet; guilty, that she couldn’t be there to help, to keep her mum company, to look after her father who was probably so busy looking after his wife that he’d likely started to neglect himself.

At least those were things she could make up for, over the summer. She would be the most helpful, most thoughtful daughter she could be, even if it meant not seeing any of her friends.

The Gryffindors had taken to planning summer exploits as a way to break up the stress of studying for exams. Around the fireplace a few nights ago, Marlene and Sirius had come up with a convoluted plan for them all to go camping near the coast. One morning at breakfast, James and Remus had suggested that they all attempt to sample every flavour available at Fortescue’s ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley, in order to come up with a definitive ranking. Even Dorcas had joined in, crafting a plan to introduce “these pathetic purebloods” to the “wonder of muggle cinema” (and ignoring both James and Sirius’ appalled replies that they had already been to a cinema, thank you very much, and that she was a ‘pathetic pureblood’ too).

There was no doubt that they were all appealing ideas. Not even a full year ago, their two friendship groups had barely intersected, largely due to the animosity between Lily and James. Now, it warmed her heart to see the bonds that had formed and strengthened amongst them all, that they all just assumed they’d spend time together in the summer holidays, as if they never did anything different.

And it certainly wasn’t that Lily didn’t want to see any of them. She did. She really did. She was maybe a bit afraid of how it made her feel, to think of going several months without seeing…her friends.

But her mum had to come first. She was surely more important than friends she would see in September again anyway. More important than…

She glanced up from her exam paper, catching sight of James at the bench in front of hers. He was scribbling furiously, an expression of thoughtfulness etched on his face. If she let herself, she could watch him work for a while.

But she didn’t let herself.

One of the reasons she didn’t let herself popped up at the dinner table, after they’d handed in their parchment and crowded up to the Great Hall together, famished and tired.

“Alright, Cadence?” Sirius had spotted her before James did. “Potions treat you well?”

Cadence sighed, brushing her golden locks from her face. “I don’t know, it was harder than I thought it would be,” she replied, before turning to James. Lily looked away, not wanting to take in this interaction. “Want to join me at the Ravenclaw table tonight? I’ve missed you today…”

There was a pause, long enough that Lily let her gaze flick up briefly from her plate of chicken stew; James’ expression was very hard to read. “Eh, I’ve already started eating, Cady,” he told her, gesturing to his fork demonstratively. “I’ll find you after pudding, yeah?”

Cadence looked disappointed, and, inexplicably, glanced over towards Lily for a moment. “Alright,” she agreed, her tone short—shorter than Lily had ever heard her speak before. “See you later, then.”

A brief silence fell as James’ girlfriend walked away, before Sirius let out a heavy sigh. “That went well, didn’t it?”

James bit out a terse, “piss off, Padfoot,” before returning to his dinner.

Lily didn’t know what to make of it—any of it, really—and tried her best to focus on eating, and conversation with Mary and Remus across from her instead. She definitely didn’t notice or care when, after the treacle tart had been polished off, James stood and made his way over to the Ravenclaws, looping his arm around Cadence’s tiny waist and murmuring something in her ear before they disappeared together, the blonde blushing and smiling broadly.

Apparently, Marlene had noticed her not noticing or caring, because as soon as they reached the dorm—Mary and Dorcas still down in the common room, cracking the books for their last exam the next day—her friend shut the door firmly and turned to Lily with an expression that read: don’t mess with me.

“Mar?” she frowned, watching with some concern as the other girl moved to sit, legs crossed, at the end of Lily’s bed.

“Something’s going on,” Marlene stated. She reminded Lily of the barristers on the television dramas her mum liked to watch: calm and sure, ready to state her case. “With you and Potter.”

Lily blanched, joining Marlene on the bed. “What? No, it’s not.”

“I don’t mean that I think you’re having it off with him behind Dearborn’s back,” Marlene clarified, an eyebrow raised when that statement caused Lily’s cheeks to heat tellingly. “I mean that you’re being…strange, around him.”

Lily sighed, tucking her legs up under her as she leaned back against the headboard. “Am I?”

“You know you are.” Marlene paused, reaching out to give her knee a reassuring pat. “For a while you ignored him, and now you’re mates again but acting oddly, especially when Cadence comes around flicking her perfect hair over her shoulder…”

Lily pursed her lips, wondering how little she could get away with saying. She didn’t like her chances.

“And that’s not even considering how strangely Cadence is acting towards you,” Marlene continued, apparently warming to the theme. “I thought you two were—well, not best friends, by any stretch, but friendly?”

“We are,” Lily replied, pausing before correcting herself. “We…were. She thinks I’m after James.”

It was a few seconds, at most, but felt like much longer, silence settling over the room; it forced her to lift her gaze, to meet Marlene’s eyes. Her friend was watching her, a look of quiet sympathy on her face: a look which made Lily feel utterly ridiculous and utterly loved, all at the same time.

“You couldn’t stand the sight of him barely five minutes ago,” Marlene said, choosing her words carefully. “And now she thinks you fancy him?”

Now it was Lily’s turn to fall quiet; she felt so weary, suddenly, like the weight of all the things she was keeping locked up inside was dragging her down, would sink her to the bottom of an endless ocean if she didn’t do something to stop it.

“I think maybe I do,” she said at last, her voice very soft, almost inaudible. She forced herself to hold Marlene’s gaze. “Fancy him…”

Lily expected many responses: derision, sarcastic laughter, scorn. What she didn’t expect was the gentle, fond smile that lit up Marlene’s face. “You do?”

She sighed, shifting position, fiddling with the end of her jumper sleeve. “I don’t want to,” she defended herself. “Trust me, I’ve been trying not to…”

“Lil.” Marlene leaned forward, taking Lily’s hands in her own. Her touch was warm, a comfort she hadn’t realised she needed. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re finally admitting it.”

Lily raised her eyebrows, blinked, trying to let her friend’s words sink in. “Admitting—?”

“My love, you’ve been battling with something like this for bloody ages,” Marlene replied, squeezing her hand. “I thought that it was either you fancy him, or you’ve been very slowly plotting his murder.”

Lily couldn’t help a laugh, then, something like relief—that at least someone else knew, that she wasn’t alone with this feeling anymore—sinking over her. “Sometimes it’s both, Mar.”

“Well, that’s only natural when it comes to Potter,” Marlene agreed fondly. “When are you going to tell him?”

“Tell him?” Lily repeated, aghast; even the thought filled her with horror. “Are you joking?”

She raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Deadly serious, babe.”

“I can’t tell him!” Lily said, shaking her head. “He—he has a girlfriend! He hasn’t fancied me in ages!”

Marlene let out an undignified snort. “He has a girlfriend who he doesn’t seem to enjoy spending time with,” she pointed out. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way Dearborn is getting increasingly desperate to keep her claws in him?”

Lily hadn’t noticed anything of the sort, probably because she tried not to watch them together if she could avoid it. “I can’t tell him,” she said again. “It’s just—it’s a passing thing. I’ll get over it, and he’ll carry on dating his lovely blonde girlfriend, and—”

“Anyone with eyes and a brain knows that he fancies you back, Lil,” Marlene frowned. “He’s never stopped.”

She shook her head again. “I just…can’t,” she sighed, closing her eyes a moment. “Please don’t tell Mary or Dor. I think—I’ll have the summer to get past all this, and then we can start fresh in September.” She wasn’t even aware of how sad she sounded when she spoke again. “We’re better off as friends.”

Marlene closed the gap between them, drawing her into a hug. “I won’t say anything,” she promised, her voice muffled against Lily’s hair. “But I don’t think you should dismiss it all so easily…”

Marlene’s words lingered in her mind throughout the evening, and throughout an uneasy, restless night of sleep: in fact, she was still thinking about them as she waited outside the Arithmancy classroom the next day, wondering if maybe her friend was right. She’d spent so much of her life dismissing or minimising her own feelings, to make others more comfortable: making herself smaller, less magical, less muggle, for whoever her audience was. Maybe it was okay for her to be upfront about how she felt. Maybe it was okay that she felt the way she did.

She’d just decided that she would find James later, try to talk to him—a thought which, though exciting, also filled her with a kind of terror she hadn’t felt in a long time—when she became aware of hurried footsteps approaching. The gathered sixth years turned almost as one, watching as Professor McGonagall neared, her face pale and drawn. Her gaze found Lily’s; a moment of hesitation so uncharacteristic that to see it felt like the world being tipped on its axis. And somehow, without her even having said anything yet, Lily knew what was coming.

She knew, now, that everything had changed.

Chapter Text

Sirius stared into the mirror, and a serious, muggle-suit-wearing man stared back.

He hadn’t ever really paid much attention to how he looked: he had no need to, always understanding (from the looks, the words of others) that he didn’t have any worries in that department. Unlike James, Sirius’ hair always fell just so, with very little effort beyond a comb and some shampoo required. And, considering his aversion to quidditch—much preferred watching to playing, always had—he was in good shape, the sort of lithe, well-built body that seemed to cope just fine with him shovelling chocolate and alcohol into it, or smoking like a chimney (a habit he was trying to break, with little success). His appearance was reliably appealing, he knew that much.

But now, even beyond his usual reliability…Merlin, he looked great.

He didn’t have much experience with muggle formalwear, but Fleamont had suggested they might fit in better, given Lily’s mum was a muggle. The last thing any of them wanted to do was draw attention, make a scene, on a day like today. And so, Euphemia had procured the four of them suits for the day, and he didn’t think it was immodest to say that he thought he carried the look rather well.

Not that the day was about that. But it didn’t hurt to know, for the future.

Funerals had always made him uncomfortable. He had a vivid memory of attending one, his grandfather’s, at the tender age of seven: he had sat, stiff-backed in uncomfortable dress robes, listening to people drone on about how Pollux Black was a pillar of the community, the standard against which they should all measure themselves, a man with the right ideals in a world fast forgetting about what was important. He remembered struggling to match up the man presented in this elegy, a mountain of a man looked up to by all, with the frail but fierce, vicious grandfather who had shut him in the cellar last Christmas for daring to speak out of turn. He remembered wondering, where was this version of my grandfather all these years? How many different people could one person be?

He’d been naive, then. 

There’d been many more funerals since that one—inbreeding did tend to play merry havoc with people’s life spans—but the most recent one had been the hardest. Uncle Alphard had been, by quite some distance, the least awful member of the Black family, and one of the few relatives Sirius felt any kind of kinship with. His death had been a blow, like the last thread that had kept him connected to them had been quietly snipped away, setting him adrift. His mother had worn her grief like a costume that day, a performative approach that only served to remind everyone that all she really cared about was Alphard’s money. 

Sirius would’ve given anything to be there, to see the look on her face, when she found out it had all been left to him.

He wasn’t sure how today would feel; it was different, wasn’t it, without that personal connection? Obviously he cared about Evans, she was his friend, but he’d only ever seen her mother in passing at King’s Cross. She’d seemed nice enough—practically anyone was, in comparison with his own mother—but he hadn’t known her. His grief, today, was more for his friend than for the deceased.

A different sort of task, then. Look out for Lily, make sure she was as okay as she could be. 

He paused, then, remembering the sight of her, pale, so much in shock that the tears hadn’t yet arrived, as she hurried through the common room. At the time, they hadn’t known what was going on; they hadn’t known anything at all until Mary joined them by the fire, her own face drawn, and said, “Lily’s mum…”

That was all she had needed to say. They could finish the rest of the sentence themselves.

Sirius cast one last look at his reflection in the mirror, then turned, making his way out of his bedroom and into the hallway. The Potter household was never usually quiet: if he or James weren’t creating some kind of ruckus, then Fleamont would be singing along to his wizarding records, or Euphemia calling out one question or another from the other side of the house. This morning, though, was peaceful, unnervingly so. 

He glanced into the open doorway of James’ room, but saw no sign of life; the door to one of the spare rooms, where Remus had slept, was securely shut—enough of a hint, even by Sirius’ standards, that no one should feel free to wander in—but the other spare room, Pete’s quarters, was open, and he stepped inside, finding his friend sat on the end of the bed.

“Looking sharp, Wormtail,” Sirius spoke up; although Pete didn’t carry off the suit with quite as much panache as Sirius did, he still looked smart enough. Maybe they should all be wearing these things more often… He nodded to the scrap of parchment in his friend’s hand. “What are you up to?”

Peter looked only mildly embarrassed. “Wrote a poem, for Evans,” he replied, handing over the paper. “Iris said muggles bloody love that sort of thing at funerals.”

Sirius wasn’t sure how Iris, who was pureblood at least four or five generations back, knew any of this, but didn’t say so. “I’m sure Evans will appreciate it,” he nodded, glancing over Pete’s meticulous writing; he’d taken a lot more care with his presentation than he usually did. “I think rhyming Rose with ‘froze’ is imaginative,” he offered, quite generously, he thought, “but it does put you in a bit of a sticky situation, grammatically speaking.”

“Well, it’s poetry, isn’t it?” Pete shrugged. “It’s not about grammar, it’s about…meaning.”

“True enough.” Sirius handed it back over. “Nice gesture, Pete. You’ve done well.”

Pete stood up, carefully folding the parchment and sliding it into his jacket pocket. “I’ve not been to a funeral since my dad’s,” he said, quietly casual; the only evidence that this statement might mean more was the way his eyes flickered just briefly over to Sirius’, as if testing for his reaction. Peter never really talked about his dad: the man had died ten years ago, and he always said he didn’t remember that much about him. Sirius sensed, though, whenever Pete watched James and Fleamont interact, that he missed the idea of a father more than the man himself. And that was something Sirius could relate to, even if his father was alive and well, last he heard.

Sirius nodded. “Might feel strange, then,” he offered, and paused. He wasn’t used to being the one to offer thoughtful advice. “You can always step out a bit if you need to. Evans would understand.”

The flash of surprise across his friend’s face made Sirius feel a twinge of guilt: that Pete had not expected this level of understanding from him didn’t say much about his friendship levels of late. Still, he could and would do better. “Yeah,” Peter agreed, with only some caution. “Thanks, mate.”

“S’alright,” Sirius nodded again, shoving his hands in his pockets. A moment, heavy with awkwardness, passed before he spoke next. “Breakfast? Euphemia promised bacon butties.”

Pete’s eyes widened and he patted his stomach. “Merlin praise Mrs P.”

Sirius smirked. “Indeed,” he agreed, and gestured to the hallway. “Let’s do this.”

It was bad luck, that was all it was, and there was nothing to be done about it. Remus didn’t have control over the phases of the moon: his life would have been a darn sight easier if he did. But nonetheless, it was simply bad luck that the full had fallen only two days earlier, and that Remus was in a bit of an exhausted, sorry state even now, preparing to head to his friend's mother’s funeral looking like he’d been recently swept under by some variety of wasting disease. 

He usually slept like the dead the night after the full; it was the night after the night after that always hurt. He’d spent most of it tossing and turning, despite the comfort that always came with staying at the Potters’, and had given up entirely by six, instead retiring to a warm bath in a way that Sirius usually compared to that of a little old lady. 

Well, times like this required the simple pleasures of stewing in hot water. That was just the way of it. 

He finished knotting his tie, smoothing it down before catching sight of himself in the mirror. A pale, worn face stared back. In a way, maybe it was for the best that the timing had worked out like this; another recovery away from Owain, who, although trusting and kind, was surely only a matter of time away from working out the truth about his boyfriend. 

Something that had been on his mind a lot, lately. How long he could continue this charade, this falsehood; whether he should be honest, and risk everything. The alternative…he’d known he’d have to consider it eventually, but the truth of it was painful: fess up, or break up. And maybe even both. 

It came down to trust, didn’t it? And his trust had been battered and bruised in the last year alone. Did he trust Owain to cope with the truth, to keep his secret and still see him as Remus, rather than a monster?

He wasn’t sure. And that, in itself, felt like a betrayal of his boyfriend. 

But today, of course, was not a day to worry about that. Owain was back at Hogwarts, enjoying the last few days of term; he’d said he would owl Remus as soon as he was home, that they would arrange to see each other before long. Owain more than understood why Remus had to be where he was; it was important, to be there for his friend. Today was about Lily, keeping her in one piece, if it was possible. 

Remus’ experiences of funerals were muggle, his mother’s parents within months of each other in their bungalow in Cardiff back when he was ten. It had been a shock, to suddenly realise that his nan wasn’t there, wouldn’t ever again slide him a fresh Welsh cake off the griddle, winking his way; that his grandpa wouldn’t settle in his armchair, challenge him to another round of his favourite card game, or tell him a long-winded but entertaining story about his service in the Royal Air Force during World War Two. To find two gaping holes, all of a sudden, in their family: two ways for his mum’s heart to break a bit more. 

He supposed no one really had good associations with funerals, though. 

He threw one last look around the room, checking he hadn’t forgotten anything, before he opened the door and stepped out into the plushly-carpeted hallway. He could hear voices drifting up from the kitchen, as unusual as it was for any of them to be ready so early—they did have a very good reason for it today, of course. 

Winding his way past photos of James and his parents (laughing, playing quidditch, engaged in some kind of tug of war over a large bar of chocolate), he followed the voices downstairs, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen to take in the scene before him. 

Euphemia and James appeared to be in a dispute over his hair—surely this was not an unusual occurrence—which the former managed while simultaneously frying a vast array of bacon on the stove. Pete was tugging at his shirt collar, munching his way through a preliminary bowl of cornflakes; Fleamont sat at his side, reading the paper and sipping from a mug of tea. And Sirius…

The boy in question turned round from his spot by the back door, silhouetted by the sunlight pouring in behind him; he wore his suit like it was tailored specifically for him, like he’d been poured into it. His dark hair was, for once, tied back at the nape of his neck—all the better to highlight his razor-sharp cheekbones, although Remus guessed it was probably more about propriety, considering the occasion. Basically, he looked far better than he had any right to look. 

Sirius raised his eyebrow in Remus’ direction. “Alright Moony?”

Right. He shouldn’t just stand there staring at his friend. “Fine,” he agreed, moving from the doorway over to the table. 

“Mum, just leave it,” James brushed her hand away, looking over at Remus. “We scrub up well, don’t we?”

“Such a handsome quartet!” Euphemia agreed fondly. “I know it’s for a funeral, it’s terribly sad of course, but…should we get a picture, Monty? With our boys looking so smart?”

Fleamont glanced over the top of his paper, giving his wife a smile. “Good idea,” he said. “Merlin only knows when Jamie will look so tidy again.”

“Slander,” James sighed, sliding into the chair opposite Remus. “The very cheek of it…”

“What time are we meeting the girls?” Pete asked, having finished his cereal. “Is it nine?”

Sirius nodded. They’d arranged a place to apparate to, to meet with Mary, Marlene and Dorcas, so they could go into the church together. Remus wondered whether Lily’s closest friends felt as helpless as he did, but maybe that was just the way these things went.

“You’ll have to make sure you look after each other,” Euphemia said, carrying a platter of sandwiches over to the table. “You’ll all want to be strong for Lily, of course, but that in itself is draining.”

They all reached forward for a bacon sandwich, getting stuck into their breakfast with some relish. “We’ll look after each other,” James promised his mum. “That’s what we do.”

Euphemia nodded, staying standing for a moment longer. She looked pale, worried. “You’re all so young, to be attending funerals,” she noted. “It’s not right…”

No one seemed to know what to say to that; Pete seemed determined to keep his focus on his sandwich, while James looked lost in thought. 

Well, someone had to say something. “Life is made of ever so many partings welded together,” Remus said, watching the way ketchup dribbled out the side of his sandwich. 

There was a short pause; he glanced up. Sirius was watching him, an inscrutable look on his face. “Well,” Sirius said. “That’s cheerful, Moony.”

Remus couldn’t help a small smile. “Blame Charles Dickens, not me.”

“I will,” Sirius assured him with a slight smirk of his own. 

Euphemia shook her head, as if to dislodge whatever melancholy mood had overtaken her. “Well, anyway,” she dusted her hands on her apron. “Eat up boys, you’ll need to get moving soon.”

But not, apparently, until they had each had another sandwich. 

James had never set foot inside a church before. He was fairly certain that Sirius and Pete hadn’t, either, although Sirius was pretending to be something of an expert, largely on the back of his continuing Muggle Studies for longer than the rest of them. James remembered looking at a picture of a church in a lesson back in third year—a still photograph, too, to be “truly authentic”, according to Professor Shales—but, when he reminded Remus of this, trying to point out that he didn’t need an etiquette lesson on how churches work, thank you very much, his friend simply sighed and replied, “that was St Paul’s Cathedral, Prongs.”

As if that meant anything.

Anyway, after the brief lecture from Moony about the best way to avoid accidentally desecrating a church or defiling someone’s religious beliefs, they had gathered up the girls—all dutifully dressed in black, too, and Mary already looking tearful—and headed down the road towards the Cokeworth parish church.

St Bartholomew’s did not quite measure up to that picture from Muggle Studies: it was significantly smaller, had no domes to speak of, and was jammed in between rows of tired-looking houses. Still, there was a narrow stretch of grass up one side that led, he assumed, to the graveyard, and the relative-brightness of the limestone walls compared to the smog-worn redbrick homes gave it a cheerier look than he had expected.

Not that it needed to be cheery, today of all days. Or maybe that would help—he wasn’t sure. He felt, already, out of his depth, and they hadn’t even seen Lily yet.

They stepped out of the bright sunshine and into the cool of the nave, taking a moment to let their eyes adjust to the changes in light. Remus picked up a pile of paper booklets from a table nearby, each identical and printed with a small, black and white photo on the front: a woman, smiling in the sun, somewhere leafy and verdant. Beneath, in neat, printed letters, read ‘Service of Remembrance for Rose Edith Evans, 1938–1977’.

James swallowed, staring down at the picture. She’d been very young. His own parents were considerably older.

Fuck, he did not want to start thinking about that. That was a worry to shove right back down to the bottom for now.

It was only once they’d found a seat, about halfway up the aisle and overlooked by an almost menacing stained glass window relief (“that’s Jesus,” Sirius whispered helpfully; “yes, thanks Pads,” James had hissed in reply, “I’d sort of worked that out for myself”) that he took the chance to have a look around them. The church was filling up quickly, muggles in sombre colours clutching handkerchiefs. He craned his neck to see to the front, but either she was hiding, which seemed unlikely, or Lily hadn’t yet arrived. He wasn’t sure how muggle funerals worked compared to wizarding ones, and he’d only been to a few that he could remember. For his Uncle Abhainn’s funeral two years ago, they had gathered by the sea in Cornwall; Euphemia and her remaining siblings had each said a few words; and then that was it. Well, apart from going back to Abhainn’s palatial home and helping his wife plough through what was left of his firewhiskey supply. But Abhainn had been ninety-one, the oldest in his family, and had by all accounts led a long and happy life. 

You could hardly say the same for Rose Evans.

Only a few more minutes passed before a blast of music issued from the organ at the front of the church (startling poor Pete, who had been flicking through the Bible that sat in the hymnal holder of the pew in front of theirs); everyone around them stood, so they did too, and gazes flickered almost as one towards the back of the space. And James, from his position at the end closest to the aisle, had the unfortunate luck of seeing exactly what was coming before his friends did.

Four men, solemn-faced and eyes lowered, carried the coffin. It seemed…so small. How could that box carry a person, carry someone’s life? And behind the coffin walked three people, arms tightly linked like they were depending on each other to stay upright.

In the centre, Lily’s father was staring straight ahead, gaze fixed on his wife’s coffin as if worried it might disappear. He looked tired, James thought, not that that was much of a surprise. To his right, he assumed, was Lily’s sister Petunia: blonde hair, tight-lipped, spine ramrod straight. It was almost as if every step was painful, but she kept her chin high, her eyes on the portly young pallbearer nearest to her. And to his left…

Her eyes were rimmed red—the only one of the three, in fact, who looked like they’d been crying—and her hair was scraped back from her face, uncharacteristically neat, orderly, as if she were trying to douse the fire of her red locks. James felt a strange ache in his chest as he looked at her, as he watched her stare at the ground. They passed the row of Hogwarts friends, and that close, he could see her hands were clenched, knuckles white as she held onto her father’s arm.

Helpless, again. That was the overwhelming feeling. He stood there, in a strange muggle suit in this strange muggle church, and realised that he would do literally anything to help her, if he could. And he hated that he couldn’t.

Which he would feel, seeing that kind of grief on the face of any of his friends. 

He let that thought, even if it was tinged with a hint of desperation, carry him through the whole service. It required a lot more effort than he thought, pretending to be like everyone else around them: these muggles seemed to share a common thread of understanding that told them the tune to each of the hymns, or how to do the call and response in the prayers, or the appropriate times to stand up and sit down. James thought they just about made it through, largely due to the lead of Mary and Remus. Afterwards, they filed out of the church with everyone else, spat back out, blinking, into the June morning sun and around the corner to the church hall.

“Moony,” James murmured, sidling up beside his friend as they lurked in a corner of said hall, clutching a mug of tea and a plate replete with cake. “Are these places always so…”

“Depressing?” Remus supplied quietly, glancing around the room; nearby, a window showed the glorious view of a moss-ridden brick wall. “Sometimes. Not always.”

“Bit bloody miserable for a funeral,” James decided, trying to balance his mug on his arm so he could attack the slice of lemon drizzle cake that had been calling his name. It was harder than he thought it would be. “Even by a funeral’s standards.”

Remus shrugged. “They probably thought, with this many guests, they wouldn’t be able to host the wake at home. And this would’ve likely been free.”

“Well, yes, Moony,” James agreed, as lightly as he could, “because to charge for this hole would be surely against the laws of decency.” He gave up on trying to balance his mug, instead lifting his plate directly to his mouth so he could take a bite of the cake. “Wonder where Evans is…”

Marlene, stood nearby and watching with undisguised disgust as James ate mouth-to-plate, glanced towards the doors. “They were doing the burial part privately. They’ll be along in a minute.”

Pete sucked the chocolate crumbs from his fingers. “Oh, good. I need to give her my poem.”

James decided not to ask for more information—just caught Sirius’ eye, a single eyebrow barely raised, and nodded at the slight turn of his head in reply. “I thought the, um…the talk? Was nice.”

“The eulogy,” Mary supplied. “I agree. Lovely words.”

“I’ve often wondered what people will say about me when I die,” Sirius said, clearly trying to lift the mood. “Apart from commenting on my devastating good looks, of course.”

“Trouble is, Black,” Dorcas sighed, all faux sympathy, “it’s not considered polite to talk about what a colossal prick someone was at their funeral, so what would there be left to say?”

“I guess that just leaves my huge—”

“Funeral,” Marlene hissed, eyes darting frantically around them to see if anyone was listening. “We are at a funeral, for fuck’s sake.”

“Oh, look, there’s Mr Evans and Petunia,” Mary pointed out; sure enough, Lily’s father and sister had made their way into the hall and were being greeted, hugged and sympathised with by everyone they passed. “Where’s Lil?”

Huh. She was nowhere to be seen.

The porch of the church offered some respite from the heat; Lily sank down onto the steps and leaned against the cool stone wall. The porch was open on three sides—from the front, you were gifted a view of the cars parked along the road, crammed in like sardines, and the houses similarly squished together opposite. From the left, you could look across a modest patch of grass and over to the entrance to the church hall, currently packed with people desperate to tell her how sorry they were. 

But from her place on the right of the porch, she couldn’t see anybody at all; she couldn’t see the weight of their expectations. From here, she couldn’t see the church building itself, where a vicar who had never met her mother had spoken about a life well lived; she couldn’t see the graveyard where her mother’s coffin now rested in the freshly dug earth. All she could see was a hedge, neatly trimmed and dotted with white blossoms. She could almost be anywhere, at any time. 

None of it felt real, yet. She wasn’t sure when it would…if it ever would. She had stood in front of the mirror this morning, smoothing down wisps of hair, and half expected her mum to appear in the doorway, to remind her to polish her shoes or they’d be the talk of the parish. 

She looked down at her shoes, now. The leather was scuffed. She wasn’t sure anyone would dare to remark on it, though. Or if they would…whether she would even care.

She was still looking down at her shoes when someone sat carefully next to her: black leather brogues, laces neatly tied and looped in bows, and trousers that were not quite long enough to hide some truly spectacular socks. A neat row of golden snitches, presumably charmed to stay still for the occasion, peeked out at her. She would’ve been able to guess who it was anyway—something about the scent of him, the way he held himself—but the socks would’ve given it away, if she hadn’t. “Alright, Evans?”

Lily looked up, finding James not watching her as she thought he might be but rather gazing, as she had been, at the hedge opposite. It felt like a gesture of kindness, him giving her space, should she need it, even as he sat at her side. “Alright, Potter,” she replied softly. 

He carried on staring straight ahead, and she wondered for a moment if he was going to even say anything else—quite out of character for him. But then he cleared his throat, a gentle thing that made her look away. “I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice unbearably tender. “About your mum…”

She nodded; she still hadn’t worked out what to say to such things. ‘Me too’? ‘Thanks’? It all seemed so empty. “Thanks for coming today,” she murmured. “It…” A swallow, against the lump in her throat. “It means a lot.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” he assured her. “McGonagall tried to tell us it only needed to be the girls who came, you should’ve seen Sirius’ reaction.”

She couldn’t help a snort at that. “Epic?”

“Truly,” James confirmed. “He monologued about the importance of friendship for at least three minutes before she managed to cut him off.”

She smiled—a sad, faded sort of smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Well, I appreciate you all missing out on the end of term fun for me.”

He gave her shoulder a nudge with his own. “Don’t be daft.” He paused. “It was a nice service.”

So much of it had been a blur to Lily that she might as well not have been present at all. “Yeah, it was…”

“I liked the, um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly—he was obviously trying, and she wished she had words to tell him not to worry, not to bother. “The songs?”

“Hymns,” she supplied softly, and looked his way a moment. “My mum loved those ones. About the only thing she liked about church, I think.”

A pause. “You mean she didn’t like the insane coloured-glass pictures of Jesus?”

Lily smiled, faintly, down at her feet. “Well, who doesn’t like those.”

“True,” he agreed quietly.

Silence fell again, and after a few moments she glanced up at him. He looked terribly grown up in his muggle suit—not like a boy playing at being a man, but like an actual man, all broad shoulders and long limbs. When had that changed, she wondered. “I was having breakfast.”

He looked up, meeting her gaze. The sympathy there was almost overwhelming. “…breakfast?”

“When she died.” She blinked, aware of the sting of tears in her eyes all of a sudden. “I was eating bran flakes and thinking about my last exam, whether I was prepared enough.”

He let out a breath she hadn’t realised he was holding. At his knee, he flexed his fingers, as if itching to move his hand—to reach for hers? Probably not. “I didn’t realise,” he said, looking pained. “I thought—you know, that you got to…”

“Say goodbye?” She looked away again. “No. It happened quite quickly. And…dad was overwhelmed, it took him a while to remember how to get in contact with McGonagall…by the time he did…”

It was too late. It was all much too late. 

“I’m sorry,” James murmured, what could have been seconds or minutes later. All she knew was that she’d started crying again, and at some point, his arm had wound around her shoulders, pulling her gently into the warmth of him. It wasn’t something they did very often; it was odd, how normal it felt. “I’m—it’s fucking awful, Lily.”

She took a gulping breath, moving to hastily wipe her cheeks, as if that might erase the knowledge that she’d cried at all. As if he couldn’t see the tears, didn’t feel the shaking of her shoulders, hear the shuddering attempts to steady her breathing. What was the point in pretending, anyway, of hiding her vulnerabilities away? Everyone knew they were there.

Maybe that was worse. She had been largely numb to it all as they walked into the church, following behind her mother’s coffin; she’d been too busy thinking about how this was the last time she’d be anywhere near her mum, the last time there wouldn’t be six feet of cold earth between them. How could she worry about what people thought when they looked at her, when she could only try to remember the last time she’d hugged her mother—had it been in the Easter break? It must have been, but then, each step heavy against the flagstone floor, she couldn’t even vaguely recall it.

Was that how it would be, now? Every part of her life with her mum, every touch and smile and word just smudged away, fading over time until it was gone completely?

That thought made her want to crawl, drag herself over to the ground where her mother lay buried, and sob into the dirt until she had nothing left to give.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she found herself able to talk again. “I don’t think I can go in there,” she said, eventually, the tears slowed and her head now almost resting on his shoulder. “Everyone wants to tell me how brilliant she was. As if I don’t know that…”

He nodded, glancing back in the general direction of the hall. She could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain. “Well…do you think your dad would mind if we sneak you away for a bit?”

She managed a tremulous smile. “I’m not sure he’ll notice, to be honest.”

He nodded again, more sure this time. “Okay. Stay there, and think about somewhere we can apparate to. Back in a jiff.”

He’d already leapt up and strode off round the corner, making light work of it with his ridiculously long legs, before she even had the chance to consider just how much he’d calmed her. He’d listened, been thoughtful, been respectful… if someone had said to her a year ago, she’d be accepting comfort from James Potter, she’d have told them to piss off. 

Life certainly took its strange turns.

James reappeared a few minutes later, closely followed by the rest of the sixth years, each clutching various lumpy napkin-wrapped items. James shifted one such thing into his suit pocket, held out his hand to help her up, and gave her a smile. “So,” he said. “Where are we off to?”

The place they apparated to was not far away—in fact, Sirius thought he could see the church spire, if he turned back towards the town—but, given the way the temperature had ticked up throughout the morning, and they were all still in their smart funeral clothes, they had quickly decided not to bother walking. Lily had chosen a spot on the outskirts of Cokeworth, where a river lazily threaded its way through a copse of trees, as if avoiding the busy town nearby before it made its way further south. They set themselves in a huddle on the riverbank, sheltered from the heat of the sun by the shadow of a huge oak tree; Marlene and Dorcas took off their shoes and tights, deciding to go for a paddle in the shallows, which, Sirius had to admit, was an appealing thought. Still, he just shed his jacket and lounged on the grass for now, deciding to conserve his energy.

To his right, Mary had settled herself in next to Lily, one hand grasping hers like she thought she could transfer strength purely through her grip. The group had unloaded their napkin bundles, various chunks of purloined cake and sandwiches from the church hall, and spread them out on the ground: now, Mary tried to tempt her friend into some Victoria sponge, or a cheese and cucumber sandwich, with little success. 

“She’ll eat when she wants to eat, Mac,” Sirius pointed out, a friendly statement which earned him something like a glare in return.

On his other side, James had also shed his jacket, as well as his tie, and was trying his hand at a bit of amateur grass weaving. He seemed well focused on the task, such as it was, and didn’t seem bothered about making conversation, even when Sirius had tried to quietly draw him out on what he’d talked to Evans about back at the church. It was very unlike Prongs not to want to talk about an interaction with Lily.

“I’m really okay,” Lily said, a promise which meant absolutely nothing to any of them. She squeezed Mary’s hand. “Honestly. Don’t worry about me.”

Pete lurched up from his prone position, grasping in his pocket. “Oh, Evans,” he said, leaning over her outstretched legs to hand her the folded piece of parchment he’d shown Sirius that morning. “Erm…I wrote this. For you.”

Lily was clearly trying not to look too surprised, glancing briefly over to James (interestingly, Sirius thought) before she unfolded it. They watched her read it, and Sirius was just wondering if he might need to cause a diversion to help with any awkwardness when Lily looked up again, her eyes bright with tears. “Peter,” she said; even James finally looked up, his gaze moving between them in confusion. “Thank you, this is so—” She shook her head, and pitched herself up onto her knees so she could lean over and give him a hug. “Thank you.”

Pete’s cheeks flushed pink, and he patted Lily on the back as if she were a baby in need of burping. “Oh, well. You’re welcome, Evans.” He paused. “Lily.”

She pulled back, tucking the parchment into the pocket of her cardigan, and wiped at her eyes—catching Sirius’ gaze now, too. “You didn’t write me a poem,” she teased, a hint of that familiar smile on her face. To be honest, it was a relief to see it.

“I didn’t,” he agreed, voice heavy with faux regret. “I tried for a sonnet but got a bit stuck on iambic pentameter. You know how it is.”

Lily actually laughed; James glanced between them. “Iambic who?”

Sirius gave an airy wave of his hand. “You wouldn’t understand, Prongs,” he replied. “You’re not as literary-minded as Evans and I.”

“And Pete,” Lily reminded him, shooting Peter a fond smile.

“And Pete,” Sirius allowed. “My apologies.”

“Apology accepted,” Peter nodded magnanimously. 

“Alright,” James shrugged, although he had a small smile of his own he was clearly trying to quell; he returned to his grass weaving task. “Have your private jokes.”

Sirius grinned before pushing himself up onto his feet. “I’m going wandering,” he declared. “Mac, join me.”

“Oooh,” Pete laughed. “You’re not going to cop off in the bushes, are you?”

For a moment, Sirius felt more than a bit baffled, but then he remembered that, as far as Pete knew, he was still happily shagging Mary at any opportunity. To be honest, that fiction had faded from his mind not long after Remus had started being friendly again. After all, and though he would never admit as much out loud, the whole point of it had been to get some kind of reaction out of that granite-like, reaction-less boy. From Sirius’ perspective, it didn’t seem to have worked to any kind of level of success, but better to have tried and failed than…whatever. He couldn’t be held responsible for decisions made when angry and sad and a bit drunk, could he?

Luckily, although he was too busy remembering what on earth his friend was referring to, his so-called sexual partner had more of an idea of what was going on. Mary stood up, rather more gracefully, and brushed the grass from her arse. “No, we are not,” she replied. “Of that much, you can be assured.”

He held out his hand to her, ostensibly to steady her movements across the cake-laden grass (a movement which, he noticed now, seemed to catch Remus’ attention), and she hopped to his side. “Let’s stroll, Black.”

He picked a direction and started ambling, Mary’s hand still tucked in his. Once they were a little way away from the group, he glanced over at her; a few locks of her dark hair had come loose from the bun at the nape of her neck, framing her face in the afternoon light. She seemed fine, but then, she always did: it was something of a skill of hers, covering up her emotions in the name of protecting others. But Sirius knew her well enough by now, well enough to spot the signs—and they were all there today, might as well have been flashing neon letters for how obvious they were, like the way she chewed subconsciously on her lower lip, or her reluctance to hold anyone’s gaze for too long, as if it would draw out an emotion she was trying to keep down. “Talk to me, Mac.”

She raised an eyebrow, sure enough keeping her eyes forward. “About what?”

Fine. He could do things the hard way. (It wasn’t as if he couldn’t be just the same, that much he could admit.) “You’re allowed to be upset too, you know,” he offered. “For Evans, and for yourself.”

Mary tried to shrug it off. “I liked Rose,” she replied, each word cautious, carefully chosen. “She was always kind to me when I visited in the hols. And Lil…”

Sirius squeezed her hand. “Yeah.”

“I hate seeing her so…heartbroken.” She sighed. “And I feel useless, because I can’t do anything.” She cast a look in his direction, a pretence at hiding her frustration, as if it wasn’t real and vividly felt. “Because she won’t let me.”

He stopped, stooping to pick up a particularly appealing stick from the ground—the dog instincts stayed strong, even when in human form. “It’s still fresh, Mac,” he reminded her. “Give her a few days to settle into her new existence. Grief takes time.”

Mary didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “I used to be able to rely on you to be irrational, you know,” she told him, just a flash of fondness taking the sting out of her words. “Where did it all go wrong?”

Sirius smirked slightly, pausing to throw the stick into the river; watched, as it bobbed at the surface before sinking down, caught by a gentle current. He knew the feeling. “I think we should break up.”

She paused at his side; he could feel her gaze on him. “Sirius, my love,” she started, and he glanced over at her, finding the warmth of her eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but we were never actually together…”

He sighed. “I do know that,” he assured her. “I just mean, to the others. Pete still thought I was going to drag you into a hedge for a quick fuck…”

“Well, he needs to get his mind out of the gutter,” she decided. “Iris is obviously a bad influence on the poor lad.”

“That’s a whole other topic,” he decided. “But you see my point.”

“I do,” Mary agreed. “And it’s fine with me. Although I think I should be the one to dump you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How’d you suppose that?”

“You’ve got enough of a tarnished reputation as it is,” she reminded him. “Besides, think how sympathetic you’ll look if you’ve been dumped.”

He decided not to ask her who she thought he wanted to garner sympathy from: it would only open him up for a conversation trail he didn’t want to wander down. “Fair enough.”

She leaned in to dot a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll dump you next week. It’s not the done thing to do it at your friend’s mother’s funeral.”

Sirius allowed her a nod. “No, I remember that from my etiquette lessons.” He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. “C’mon. Let’s see if we can get Evans to eat one of those coronation chicken sandwiches.”

Mary laughed, a soft, sad sound, but somehow brighter than it had been before. That was progress at least. “Worth a try.”

James felt that familiar, strange twist of gut behind his navel, opening his eyes to find himself once more down the side of the St Bartholomew’s church. Lily was at his side, clutching his arm: too tired, too distracted to apparate herself. To be honest, he felt nervous at the thought of leaving her with her family—she seemed too fragile, like even the slightest gust of wind would just lift her up, carry her away where no one could reach her. He’d always seen Lily as someone strong, chin high against life’s pain; ever since her mum became ill, he’d watched as that got slowly eroded. It was still there, or a semblance of it was. He just wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

Lily kept hold of his arm as they followed the group slowly, quietly, back into the church hall. The crowd had thinned out, but there were a few people around, deep in conversations—enough that he was fairly sure no one would have noticed their absence. Anyway, the cake was such a quality that most people, he decided, would be hard pressed to think about anything else.

(He made a mental note to slip another slice of lemon drizzle into his pocket before they left.)

They gathered near the door, exchanging hugs, and talk turned to their first official event of the summer: swimming/splashing about half-drunk in the river that flowed through Malmsmead. His mum had been more than happy to host his friends again—she said she found their youthful energy “invigorating”—and the weather was set to continue the stretch of warmth, which they had all decided they should take advantage of before it turned cold and wet again.

“You’ll come, right, Lil?” Marlene asked, holding her friend close. “Wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Lily closed her eyes, heaving a sigh too weighty for someone their age. “Maybe. I don’t want to ditch dad…”

In another lifetime—the lifetime of a year ago—James would’ve stood quietly, not wanting to weigh in for fear of tipping the scales in the wrong direction. Now, as Marlene released Lily from her embrace, he leaned in for a quick hug of his own, and added, “Of course you should spend time with your dad, Evans. But you should have time for yourself, too.”

She met his gaze as she pulled back, managing a faint smile. “I’ll think about it. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed.

But as he watched her hug the others, he wasn’t sure if she really would think about it. Whether she might take the chance to just hide away for the summer, to stew in her sadness. He wasn’t sure why that thought was so uncomfortable, why he felt a real and sudden urge to draw her back to him, to hold her shoulders and look into her eyes and tell her it’s okay, you’ll be okay, let us be there.

He didn’t, of course. But he wanted to.

Potter —

(thought about writing ‘James’ to start with, but it felt a bit strange. I’ll get there!)

I know you said it was all part of being a friend, but I wanted to write to say thank you again, for coming last week. It really meant a lot to me to have you all there.

I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye (remember when I called you a raging narcissist?) but I’m so glad things are better now. I really appreciate your friendship, James, and I hope you know that.

I thought about what you said and I think you’re right. I can’t just spend the summer in hibernation. Not least because I may end up murdering Petunia in her sleep. SO I have decided I will join you lot for these fun days out after all.

See you soon for swimming in the river at the bottom of your garden (still strange…)—bet I can outswim you.

Love, Evans

Cady,

I think we need to talk.

Can I come and visit you tomorrow? Midday?

J

Chapter Text

Sometimes, the English weather could be relied upon to be utterly unreliable. After the heatwave of the last summer, this one had been wildly unpredictable: stormy one day, cloudy the next. It didn’t much matter, in the great scheme of things (or at least, that was what James’ mother told him, trying to fend off any complaints from her son), as most activities could be adjusted for the weather with a bit of ingenuity and a can-do attitude. 

But as June turned to July, the Gryffindors’ first get-together approached, and if the sun didn’t shine, it would pretty well ruin things. Sure, they could probably just pile indoors and play games instead of swimming, but…that didn’t seem like a decent enough compromise.

“Why?” Sirius had asked, a few days before the event. He had arranged his face to seem as neutral as possible, but James recognised the hint of a smirk that threatened to tug at his lips; he recognised the glint of mischief in his friend’s eyes. “Why does it matter if we don’t get to swim?”

James was aware of what Sirius was hinting at, and he’d be damned if he was going to acknowledge it, because that would only give the bastard more ammunition. Besides, it wasn’t true: he didn’t want to swim just because it meant they’d all be in their swimming costumes. In, maybe, bikinis. For example.

No, he wasn’t that depraved—he wished his friend would give him more credit than that. It would just be nice, wouldn’t it, for the sun to shine on their day together? Life was hard enough at the moment without the weather ruining things too.

James woke with the birds on the day of their gathering, and took a cautious look out of his window, relief settling over him. The sky was a clear, bright blue, the sun already catching every ripple of the river that meandered lazily past the end of the garden. Malmsmead was, he had to admit, beautiful in the sunshine, even if it was about as boring as villages got. Hell, it wasn’t even really a village; a scattering of houses, a single pub, and a bridge did not a village make. If you wanted anything to happen, you had to go a bit further afield. But that was okay: James had always been able to make things interesting himself. 

There was no point in going back to sleep now—he was too wired, ready to get started on the day. Unsurprisingly, the house was quiet as he made his way downstairs; there was no one yet in the kitchen to stop him from making himself three rounds of toast and marmalade, or to make him clear away the butter knife or wipe up the crumbs; there was no one outside as he ventured out onto the lawn, making his way over to the shed that housed their brooms. It was perfect flying weather, and as long as he remembered a disillusionment charm, he could go where he liked. Burn off some of this strange energy that was pulsing through him.

Devon spread out below him as he soared higher, the air cool, crisp up there in a way it hadn’t been on the ground. If he swerved in one direction, he could find himself over Exmoor; in the other, he could see the Bristol Channel as it stretched out to the sea, waves catching the early morning light. There was a restlessness in him, a sense of anticipation for the day ahead of him, that left him not even able to commit to a direction to fly in. In the end, he looped around aimlessly for nearly an hour, not doing much but still enjoying the wind in his hair. 

By the time he made his way back into the house, his parents were in the kitchen: Fleamont, whistling as he fried up some bacon; Euphemia, flipping through a stack of post with a look of mild irritation. That irritation only seemed to grow when she caught sight of her son. “You know, my dearest boy,” she said, brandishing an envelope in his direction (Fleamont caught his eye briefly, trying to hide his smile), “I would so love it if you could leave a note when you go swanning off on your own—”

“Mum—” he sighed.

“So I don’t find an empty bed and no sign of you anywhere,” she carried on. “Imagining you dead in a ditch somewhere, or worse, fallen off your broom and with every bone broken somewhere in the middle of Exmoor…”

“Fallen off my broom,” he repeated with a snort; he moved to sit at the table next to her. “As if I’ve ever fallen off a broom in my life.”

“There’s a first time for everything, James,” Euphemia pointed out, trying to stay stern. It was clearly harder than she had anticipated. “It takes a matter of minutes to leave a note. Less, if you do it magically.”

“Alright, fine,” he held his hands up in supplication—just in time for Fleamont to deliver a plate of bacon and eggs. “If it’ll stop your worrying, I’ll leave a note from now on.”

“Good boy,” she patted his cheek fondly. “Sirius is still in bed, I did try to tempt him down with the promise of bacon but he chose to ignore me.”

Sirius had not yet got used to the relatively early starts in the Potter household, and James wondered if he ever would. Euphemia couldn’t understand wanting to sleep past nine, probably in part because James never had—there was always something more interesting to be doing. He could sleep when he was dead.

Sirius, on the other hand, didn’t believe in getting up before lunchtime in the holidays, and probably wouldn’t have done at all today if it weren’t for the fact that all their friends would be turning up mid-morning. It had been an on-going battle of wills since the start of the holidays, Sirius’ deep-set stubbornness proving to be a fine match for Euphemia’s strong will and determination to see things done her way. Fleamont and James had enjoyed listening in on the efforts of the matriarch each morning from the breakfast table, but she was on a losing streak and she knew it. She’d only managed to drag him out of bed before lunch once so far, and that was through rather more devious means than just offering him fried food: she had arranged for every poster in his room to start singing simultaneously, loudly and completely off-key, something which had been a nifty piece of magic, but which Fleamont had told her was taking her cause a step too far. (Hard to deny when the noise had sent Sirius, shrieking swear words, out into the hallway in nothing but his pants, frightening the house elf half to death.)

“He’ll get up when he’s ready,” Fleamont told his wife, joining them at the table with his own plate. “Let the boy sleep if he wants to.”

“Honestly,” Euphemia tsked, a familiar refrain. “Why anyone would want to waste such a beautiful day as this is beyond me…”

“When are your friends arriving?” Fleamont asked.

“Any time from eleven,” James replied through a mouthful of eggs (which earned him a look of disapproval from his mum, of course). “I should think most of them will come through the Floo. Mary and Lily are apparating in, I think.”

“Well, we’ll be heading off to your aunt’s not long after that,” Euphemia said. Her sister lived a few hours away, on the coast, and normally James would’ve happily joined them for a visit: his Aunt Isolde could always be relied on for entertaining anecdotes and a flawless carrot cake. But it didn’t hurt that his parents were clearing out for the day—less chance of one of them saying something embarrassing to someone he’d rather not be embarrassed in front of. “Make sure you don’t just get drunk and splash about all day. Eat some food and line your stomachs. There’s plenty in the fridge and the larder.”

James smirked. “So we can still get drunk?”

Euphemia rolled her eyes. “My darling boy, I am not so naive as to think you won’t be cracking into the liquor cabinet as soon as we’ve left the house.”

“Just don’t touch the expensive stuff,” Fleamont requested amiably. “You can have your run of the rest of it.”

“As long as it’s in moderation,” Euphemia added quickly, with a pointed look at her husband.

“Of course,” he agreed. “I thought that was implied.”

“It was,” James assured him with a grin.

“Good,” his mother nodded. “Alright. Eat up, and then you can try to raise Sirius from his slumber.”

That familiar, horrible compression feeling, and in a flash, the two girls found themselves in a winding country lane. Mary nodded, satisfied, and linked her arm through Lily’s as they started to walk. It was noticeably warmer here in Devon than it had been back in Cokeworth; it had been sunny, true, but the air didn’t have the same sticky quality to it, a warning that the day was only going to get hotter as time ticked by. “You know, I think I’m starting to get used to it,” Mary was saying, squinting in the sunshine. Her sunglasses, huge things which she had chosen because, she said, she’d seen a picture of Olivia Newton-John wearing a similar pair, sat ignored on the top of her head. “I haven’t been sick after apparating for months.”

Lily smiled faintly. “I still don’t like it.”

“Well, surely no one likes it,” Mary considered; they rounded a corner, and the tall hedgerows gave way to a set of open gates. A long stretch of cobblestoned path led the way up to the Potter house; she’d only been once before, for James’ birthday, but it already seemed familiar. “But it’s a necessary evil, isn’t it? Since we aren’t on the Floo network.”

In a way, Lily was glad to be talking about something as mundane as the transportation options open to them as muggleborn witches. It made life seem so normal, so utterly average, when it was clearly anything but. It also distracted her from the strange, slightly nervous sensation she felt as they got closer to the front door. She had no reason to be nervous. She was happy, to see her friends, to get away from the quiet sadness of the Evans home, a place which felt empty without her mother there. A place so full of reminders, everywhere she turned, that sometimes it hurt just to be there at all.

This was better. Being out and about. She wasn’t nervous.

“Maybe I should transfigure my swimwear into a one-piece,” she said; she could see Mary turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye, one eyebrow raised. It was easier to keep her own gaze straight ahead, at the quickly-approaching front door, painted a classic, postbox-red—a colour she so readily associated with James. Best not to overthink why that was, she decided. “It can’t be that difficult, can it? And it would be…you know…it would be more comfortable.”

“I have no idea how you’d even go about that,” Mary replied, and gave her arm a squeeze. “But of course you can, if you want to. Ask James, I bet he knows how.”

Somehow that idea was even worse than the thought of just wearing the bikini she had on under her clothes. She wasn’t sure why. Again, it seemed better not to overthink why. “I’ll leave it. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“It will,” Mary agreed; they came to a stop outside the front door, and Mary turned fully to face her. “I’m so glad you decided to come after all, Lil. You know we all love you and we’re here for whatever you need.”

She did know that: her friends had been nothing short of wonderful. Marlene had visited the week before, sitting with Lily in the garden of her tiny Cokeworth house as she cried over some old photos she’d found. Remus had been writing to her every day, gentle, nonsensical stuff about what he’d been up to, or a new variety of chocolate bar he’d discovered—each letter was like a breath of fresh air, a distraction from the darkness in her heart. Sirius was less prolific, but had sent her a worn, well-loved copy of Le Petit Prince, with a note saying how soothing he found it. Dorcas and Mary had taken turns phoning her, keeping her on the line for hours on end if she needed it, swapping jokes and telling diverting stories from their summers so far, like how Dor’s father was insistent that she do some work experience with him at the Ministry, and how he had been the epitome of unimpressed when she’d launched into a rant about all the corruption in their current government.

And then there was James. After she’d written to him, saying she would be joining them in their summer plans after all, he had taken a few days to reply—long enough that Lily had started to doubt whether her note had ever arrived at all. It had been mortifying, really, the level of relief she’d felt when an owl had swooped in through the kitchen window (startling Petunia—a happy bonus) to deliver his reply. After that, they’d written back and forth, rarely going a day without some kind of communication. Nothing of consequence, not really: James talked about the flying conditions that day, or something his mother had been scolding him over, or the absolute cheek of Professor Merryton giving them so much reading for the holidays; Lily talking about anything, really, that wasn’t connected to her mum. She kept each of his letters, bundled up in the top drawer of her bedside table, and she didn’t think it was just because she fancied him. Fancying someone was about how they looked, wasn’t it? About their smile, or their eyes, or their incredibly-toned arms that looked distractingly good when their shirt sleeves were rolled up. 

This was more. This was comfort, a warmth and a safety that she couldn’t explain away. It wasn’t as simple as friendship, or as base as a crush. It was a complicated, tangled up thing that wrapped itself around her heart and wouldn’t let go, even if she wanted it to. It was something in the sloping scrawl of his handwriting, the way it seemed so familiar; it was in the feeling she got, when she finished each missive, that feeling like all the emotions inside her wanted to come spilling out, something about him that made her feel split apart, but in the best, most insane possible way.

She had hated him, barely a year ago. And now, here she was. Holding onto his letters as if they might save her from drowning.

But this was lunacy, and she knew it. She found herself often having to repeat the reasons to herself, a mantra that needed to stick in her head lest she truly lose herself in all of this.

One, he was her friend. They had only become friends at all relatively recently. It was a tenuous enough situation without her complicating it all with these unbidden feelings.

Two, he saw her as a friend, and had done so for a long time now. Any tiny, passing crush he’d had on her in the past was long gone.

Three, he was in a relationship, and happily so, as far as she knew. Marlene liked to make little comments about Cadence being on borrowed time, but Lily was reluctant to get her hopes up. Those two had been together since Christmas, a long-term relationship by most of her peers’ standards, and especially so for James, who’d never had more than a string of dates before. He and Cadence were the picture-perfect pureblood couple, both gorgeous and kind and popular. She was a Dearborn, for Merlin’s sake. Practically Hogwarts royalty. Next year she’d probably be Head Girl, following in her brother’s footsteps, and with James as quidditch captain, they’d be the golden couple of Hogwarts.

Not that she held any bitterness, of course. It was just the bald truth of it.

And she could be friends. She could parcel up these feelings of hers, tuck them away and let them slowly fade away, back into the nothingness they had sprung from. She didn’t want to ruin anything. Not now, when there was something too lovely to be ruined.

She conjured up a smile for her friend’s benefit, and tugged her into a brief but heartfelt hug. “Thanks, Mare,” she said. “Come on. Let’s have some fun.”

After Euphemia had wandered in talking about bacon (he’d been mainly asleep, still, and so that word was the only one that had filtered through the haze), Sirius had fully intended to sleep just a little while longer and then get up. Just half an hour, he reasoned to himself, burying his head deeper into his pillowy cocoon; half an hour, then he would shower and show his face downstairs. 

Best laid plans, though. Half an hour slipped by all too easily, and he next came to consciousness aware of two things.

One: someone had opened the curtains, and bright sunshine was now spilling across his face.

Two: someone (probably the same someone) was sitting at the bottom of his bed—sitting, in fact, on his left foot, which was why he was starting to lose sensation in it. 

Without opening his eyes, he heaved a put-upon sigh and muttered, “Bugger off, Prongs, I will get up when I’m good and ready.”

A voice, one he wasn’t expecting, replied. “I think he’s given you up for dead.” Now his eyes flew open, and he saw Mary, smiling back at him. In shorts and a strappy top, she looked more tanned than he’d ever seen her. Then again, he’d never seen her in the holidays before. “So I offered to come up here and rouse you from your coma.”

Sirius couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, smirk ever ready. “Oh did you—”

“Rouse, Black,” she interrupted, although with a grin of her own. “Not arouse.”

“Shame.” He pulled his foot out from under her and himself into a sitting position, slouching back against the headboard with a lazy yawn. “You’re early. Keen to swim?”

“Early?” she repeated, with a roll of her eyes. “It’s almost half eleven, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Oh.” Well, these things happened. He’d obviously needed his sleep. “Is everyone here?”

“Lily and I came together,” she replied. “Peter’s here, and Marl and Dor. Just Remus to go and then we’ve got the set.”

That made sense: when it came to anything outside of his schooling commitments, Moony was usually either ridiculously early, or embarrassingly late. He seemed to work in his own little time zone (in fact, James had decided in fourth year that was the case, and named it Central Moony Time) and, frankly, it was a miracle he was ever on time for his lessons. And it wasn’t even as if he wanted to make a dramatic entrance, as Sirius sometimes did: Remus wasn’t exactly one for drawing attention to himself. He just got distracted doing other things, or lost track of the time, or read the clock wrong in a quick glance and assumed it was an hour later than it actually was. One of the many endearing qualities in their friend.

It only then occurred to Sirius that Remus might bring Owain, and it sank away any sense of happiness he had felt thinking about his friend. They hadn’t discussed it; James hadn’t invited Cadence, as far as he knew, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t an option. It wouldn’t be unreasonable, for Owain to come along; they all got on well with the Ravenclaw, and he was his boyfriend.

And it wasn’t as if he minded, one way or another. He just felt stupid for not realising it was a possibility. He would’ve liked to have had a bit more time to prepare himself.

Swallowing down these thoughts, and all the accompanying emotion, he swung his legs off the side of the bed. “I ‘spose I should get dressed, then.”

“Good idea,” Mary agreed, hopping off the bed and sending him a wink. “Make yourself pretty for us, Black. See you down there.”

A bracing shower, then, and a change of clothes, something suitable for what looked to be swiftly turning into a sweltering day. It had been strange, at first, to think that the Marauders would be willingly spending time with the Gryffindor girls—their relationships had been so up and down, changing with the swing of a pendulum, for so long that if anyone had asked him even a year ago, he would’ve said he was more likely to hang out with Filch for the holidays. 

Actually, that wasn’t entirely fair. They all knew that it was the James and Lily of it all that had kept them apart until now.

It was fascinating to watch them change, slowly bloom from something she would have probably claimed was close to hatred (denial was a powerful tool) into whatever they had going on at the moment. Sirius had observed them after the funeral, quiet gestures and words and touches that might have been innocuous, if it hadn’t been the two of them. James said he was over her, that he had long moved on from his ‘crush’, as he called it, or his ‘lovesick obsession’ as Sirius called it. Well, James was a dab hand at convincing himself that the sky was green and the grass was blue, and as far as he could tell, Lily wasn’t much better. 

She’d never said as much to him, but Sirius wasn’t thick. He’d noticed when the way Lily looked at James started to change—and the way she hadn’t looked at him. Most frustrating of all, of course, was that neither of them seemed to realise what the other was feeling.

Honestly. People could be so dense.

By the time he made it downstairs, the group had already spilled out of the kitchen, leaving the door ajar and a tell-tale trail of crumbs from the half-demolished chocolate flapjacks that Euphemia had left on the kitchen table for “if you get peckish”. He followed the sound of laughter and chatter outside, down the steps and onto the lawn. He paused, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight with his hand to watch his friends: James and Peter, sprawled out on the sloping banks of the river, grinning over some shared amusement; Marlene and Dorcas, already having waded in up to their shins and having what looked like a heated debate; and Lily and Mary, still standing, just a little way off from the others and murmuring—they had the look of a pair who didn’t want to be overheard. 

The sentimental part of him, the part he usually kept squashed down so that only a few people ever saw it, reared up inside his chest. 

Yeah, it was a change, them all together. But he could admit it was a good one.

His mother was officially fussing over him. Hope clucked her tongue, rifling through the larder cupboard. “I know it’s in here somewhere—”

“Mum,” Remus said, no hint of exasperation in his voice. It was difficult to be irritated when she just wanted him to enjoy himself. “Don’t worry. There’ll be food there.”

“Oh now, Re, I can’t send you to the Potters empty-handed!” Her expression cleared and she pulled her bounty out: a battered tin, lid fastened tight. “Ah ha! There you go, love. Welsh cakes, and I only made them yesterday.”

He accepted the tin with a smirk. “If you only made them yesterday, why were they so well hidden?”

Hope fixed him with a look which was probably supposed to be a reprimand. “You know very well why, Remus John Lupin—”

“You don’t have to hide them from me,” he laughed, and paused to step closer, to dot a kiss to her cheek. “Can I go now? I’m already late…”

“‘Course you can, love,” she patted his cheek fondly. “Give my love to your friends. Think you’ll be back for supper?”

Remus stuffed the tin of cakes into the canvas bag his mum had already weighed him down with (sun cream, a flask with some water, a spare t-shirt—honestly, he felt like a five year old being carted off for a day trip, it was a miracle she hadn’t included a sandwich and an apple). “Not sure.”

“Well, I’ll save you some, and you can always have it tomorrow for lunch if you don’t need it today.” She turned back to the table, where the newspaper sat, open to the crossword. “Off with you, then. Have fun!”

With a wave, he trooped out of the backdoor into the warmth of the morning. There were wards set up around their house—his dad’s paranoia at work—and so he had to head out through the garden gate and into the thick copse of trees that edged their property before he was far enough away to apparate. 

In a flash, he was no longer amongst the shade of the familiar oak trees but in an equally familiar country lane. He set off, not wanting to linger out here in the unrelenting heat—the tall hedges which loomed over him from either side of the road didn’t offer any relief, not quite tall enough to do anything but leave him feeling slightly claustrophobic. That hadn’t changed since the first time he’d apparated to James’ house, although that had been side-along with his father, which probably had contributed to the feeling a bit. 

It didn’t take long before he was unlatching the side gate (the front door had gone unanswered, not that he was particularly surprised, given how late he was) and ambling around the house, following the distant sound of laughter. It had taken him a while to feel like he belonged at Hogwarts—always waiting for his secret to come out, to be abandoned and shut out, and although that was still a possibility (and, realistically, always would be, no matter where he was), he had finally found his place with the Marauders. That sense of camaraderie, of genuine friendship—of brotherhood—was something that made it easier to open himself up to other things, too. To being friends with Lily, to not having to keep everyone else at arm’s length. To Owain.

Although…that was a complicated subject in itself.

He was pulled from that train of thought by an exuberant call from the bottom of the garden. “Moony!” James’ face was lit up with a grin, and he was waving with a slight air of the maniacal, as if he worried that Remus wouldn’t be able to see them. “Nice of you to join us!”

“My apologies,” he called back, crossing the lawn with long strides. They had all turned to look at him, something which, a few years ago, he would’ve found entirely intimidating. He didn’t love being the focus of attention now, but he could cope with it better. Hanging around with James and Sirius, who lived their lives naturally in the spotlight, he had to get used to it eventually. “Mum wouldn’t let me leave without half the house and some Welsh cakes.”

Pete leapt up from his reclined position on the grass. “Mrs Lupin, you absolute belter,” he grinned, moving closer to selflessly take the canvas bag from Remus’ shoulder. “I think we can forgive you, Moony.”

“And all it took was something covered with sugar,” James winked. “Easy crowd.”

Sirius had watched his approach, just like the others, but remained stationed between Mary and Lily, his hands in his pockets. Evidently, he felt he should say something. “No Ollerton today?”

Again…a complicated subject. Remus focused on kicking off his shoes and socks. “He’s gone to Norfolk for the week with his family,” he replied. “Then they’re going to France.”

“Iris is in Norfolk too!” Pete said, already prising open the cake tin. “But we’re Flooing every night. She misses me too much otherwise.”

“Every night?” Dorcas repeated, a look close to disgust on her face. “That’s…”

“Very sweet,” Lily interjected. “That’s very sweet.”

“Yes, very sweet,” Sirius agreed. “Are we swimming, then? I’m starting to sweat out of my eyeballs over here.”

Nobody seemed to disagree, and clothes were flung aside in short order. Remus hung back: he didn’t like to bring more attention to himself, but if he took his t-shirt off, the girls would definitely have some follow-up questions. Quite aside from the scars that littered his torso and arms from transformations before his friends’ success becoming Animagi, there was also his original bite scar—a vicious, raised thing that wrapped around his left side, bracketing his ribs, a constant reminder of the night that changed his life, a reminder that could not be soothed away with any number of healing spells or creams or potions. It wasn’t the kind of thing he could easily explain away: it was so obviously a bite mark, the ridges from sharp teeth, the way it curved across his skin. 

It would give everything away. So, he had to hope that no one would ask him why he kept his top on.

James sidled over, already stripped down to his trunks. Another reason to prefer to keep his shirt on—Remus didn’t have the same quidditch-honed body that his friend had. Even Sirius, who, as far as he knew, did little to no exercise if he could avoid it, was toned, like he’d been carved from granite. Remus didn’t like to invite the comparisons if he didn’t have to.

“Don’t worry, mate.” Of course James would understand: he should’ve seen that one coming. The boy had a sixth sense for his friend’s discomfort. “If anyone says anything, I’ll create a distraction.”

Remus couldn’t help his smile. “Yeah? What, you’ll drown yourself?”

“Or just enough for someone to rescue me,” he grinned, casting his gaze around casually—and stopping, abruptly. 

Remus followed his gaze to where Lily had peeled off her t-shirt and shorts; she seemed self-conscious in her green bikini, although judging by James’ reaction alone, she had no reason to be. She stood still, statue-like, tense, as Mary rubbed copious amounts of sun cream into her pale back and shoulders. “Um…Prongs…?”

It took a clear of his throat before James remembered himself, looking back around guiltily. “Hmm?”

Remus raised a pointed eyebrow. “Cadence not coming today?”

James frowned, and raked his hand through his hair sheepishly. “Oh,” he replied. “No. We broke up.”

That was not what he had expected. “Wait…really?”

A shrug, as if the news was of little consequence. “Well, I broke up. She’s…a bit pissed off about it all, to be honest.”

“Bloody hell…” Remus frowned, studying his friend’s face. “I didn’t realise—”

“No, well,” James let his gaze wander, back over to their friends: Lily was now rubbing sun cream into her chest, and he quickly tore his eyes away again, back to Remus. “I haven’t made a big thing about it. Haven’t even told Pads yet.”

Remus paused. “You haven't told Sirius?” he asked. Given that the pair now lived under the same roof all year round, and given Sirius’ prodigious skill at getting information out of his friends, it was nothing short of bizarre that he didn’t know James’ news. “Why not?”

James tried to shrug it off, even as he seemed to realise within seconds that that response wouldn’t be enough. “He’ll…have his comments to make about why,” he replied, and sighed. “I thought I’d save myself the irritation for a while longer.”

“About…why?” Remus repeated, and this time it was his gaze that moved to Lily. “...ah.”

James shook his head. “Let’s not,” he said, an unusual tension in his voice. “Not today, yeah?”

“Right,” Remus agreed, and offered his friend a small, reassuring smile. If he could be relied upon for anything, surely it was keeping quiet. “C’mon, then. I can tell you’re dying to swing off the branch into the river before Sirius gets the chance to do it first.”

“That git,” James nodded quite cheerfully. “Acts like he wasn’t scared shitless to do it that first time.”

“Yes, yes,” Remus nudged him as they set off down the slope. “You’re terribly brave and impressive.”

“Piss off, Moony.” His friend shot him a grin, something like gratitude in his eyes. “But you’re right, I am.”

Lily watched as sunlight danced across the tumbling surface of the water, tickling her legs. It was cold, bordering on icy, but it made for a refreshing opposition to the sun, now high in the sky and showing no sign of relenting. It was peaceful here—would be more so, of course, without their group of rowdy teenagers—and it felt like you could go for miles before you would meet another soul. She was so used to the constant hum of living in a busy town, where she had to venture quite a long way from home before finding a patch of green larger than a postage stamp. In fact, the stretch by the river they had all trooped to after the funeral the other week was about the only countryside-adjacent area she’d ever visited around her hometown, unless you counted the run-down, weed-filled play area around the corner from her house, which she did not. She’d always wanted to live in the countryside—her imagination spurred on by Enid Blyton and Swallows and Amazons—and used to beg her parents to move them all away, to let them lead that perfect bucolic life.

Maybe her mum wouldn’t have got ill if they’d lived in a country cottage, away from the smog, the pollution of Cokeworth. Or maybe, even if she had become unwell, the treatment would’ve taken better, in a home away from the noise and stresses of the city. Maybe there would’ve been more they could have done; maybe a better quality of life would’ve given her body something to fight for.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. 

That seemed to be all she’d been doing for the past fortnight—the ‘what if’s just cycled round and round her head, all the ways she could have possibly stopped this from happening. And then there were the even more torturous thoughts, the ones with jagged edges like broken glass: the ways she could have been there more… if she hadn’t been away at school for so much of the year… if she had made the effort to go home for every holiday, instead of hiding away from Petunia and her pointed disdain… if McGonagall had found her even five minutes earlier…

She could have said goodbye. Could have hugged her mum, one more time.

She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, a swift, sharp movement. God, crying again. She was starting to wonder if the tears would ever dry up, if she was just locked, now, in this pattern of breaking down and getting by, over and over.

“You know what the problem is, don’t you?”

Lily looked around from her spot, hoping she didn’t look too much like she’d been about to sink into another bout of tears. Marlene, resplendent in a salmon-pink and white bikini, was in the process of tying her thick curls back from her face, squinting in the bright sunlight. “What’s that, Marl?”

“Well,” Marlene said, wading in until she was level with Lily; she tried to suppress a shiver, “even if the temperature is high today, it’s still England, isn’t it?”

Lily paused. “Um…yes?”

“And the water is bloody freezing,” Marlene added. Lily followed her friend’s gaze, over to where the boys were already splashing about up to their shoulders. “I didn’t realise that today would be the day that Pettigrew would see my nips.”

Lily couldn’t help a laugh at that. “I don’t think any of us realised that—”

“Through my top, obviously,” Marlene grinned, looking back at Lily. “I’m not advocating for skinny dipping.”

“Thank Christ for that,” Lily replied. “You’d frighten poor Peter to death, I think.”

“Obviously, Sirius has seen my tits,” Marlene continued, stretching her arms above her head—she brought to mind a cat, preening in the sunshine. “And I don’t know why, but I feel like Potter and Lupin don’t much care about my nipples. Pettigrew, though…”

Lily reached over to lace her fingers through Marlene’s, guiding them a few steps forward; the water now skimmed past their hips. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, Marl,” she said. “What makes you think the other two aren’t interested?”

Marlene shot her a dubious look. “Are you joking?”

Lily wasn’t sure why she felt mildly alarmed at her friend’s expression; she thought they were just having an idle, friendly conversation. “No…?”

Marlene sighed dramatically. “Lupin isn’t interested in women, is he,” she pointed out. “And James…”

Lily paused. Swallowed. “...has a girlfriend.”

Marlene gave her hand a squeeze. “Wasn’t what I was going to say,” she offered. “But okay.”

“Why are you talking about your nipples, McKinnon?” Sirius’ dulcet tones cut through the quiet around them; he had floated over towards them, a grin ready on his face.

Marlene just shrugged; she’d never been the type to be easily embarrassed. “Passes the time.”

Mary waded closer, shivering a little despite the sun. “Typical that you two would be talking about tits.”

“I resent that,” Sirius replied, although his voice sounded far from resentful. 

“Don’t be jealous, Mac,” James interjected. If Lily was more paranoid, she might have thought he was avoiding looking in her direction. “I’m sure he’ll talk about your tits, too, if you’d like.”

“Why should I be jealous?” Mary asked idly. “We broke up.”

A short silence followed, as the group of friends took this news in: Lily allowed herself a moment to meet Sirius’ eyes, to raise her eyebrows just slightly. He gave her a shrug and a grin in return. 

“When?” James demanded, hands on his hips. The sun caught on the droplets of water that trickled down his chest, and it wasn’t at all distracting, nor did it make Lily want to move closer to him, to feel the contrast of the warmth of the sun and the cool of the water on his skin. Not at all. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t a big to-do,” Sirius shrugged; he seemed to be trying not to look over at Remus, who had stilled on James’ other side, and was carefully watching as the water seeped higher up his t-shirt. “We didn’t want to make it a thing.”

Mary nodded her agreement. “Back to just friends, and all the happier for it.”

Marlene smirked, flicking some water at Sirius. “So you’re half way through the Gryffindor girls, then, Black.”

Sirius’ smile broadened. “Good point, McKinnon.” He cast his gaze around to find Dorcas. “What do you say, Meadowes? Get me to seventy-five percent?”

Dorcas didn’t lift her head from where she was floating in the shallows. “Even if I was interested in cocks, I wouldn’t choose yours,” she replied. “Thanks all the same.”

“Rude,” Sirius tutted. “Take pity—I won’t ever get the full one hundred percent—"

Although Lily did not disagree, she felt she should interject. “You won’t? Why not?”

She didn’t think she imagined that his gaze flickered, just for a second, over to James. “Oh, well, I don’t shag people who once called me a raging narcissist with smugness you could see from space.”

“Pretty sure I called you that once,” Marlene pointed out. 

“Okay, I don’t shag more than one person who’s called me that.” Lily laughed as he shot her a wink. “No offence, Evans.”

“None taken,” she assured him easily. “I’m not looking to shag you, either.”

“You tapped out at fifty percent,” Peter patted Sirius on the shoulder. “There’s no shame in that, Pads.”

Dorcas had floated closer, and now straightened up. “As fun as it is, discussing Black’s pathological need to lose himself in someone’s—”

“Alright,” Sirius held up his hands in supplication. “Thanks, Meadowes.”

“—when are we going to race?” Dor’s eyes glinted, that familiar look that had taken over her at the scavenger hunt once more turning her from reasonable teen to rapacious competitor. “One of us needs to show Potter that just because he’s got shoulders like a marble statue, doesn’t mean he’s the most athletic.”

There was a splutter of laughter from Remus, one Lily almost missed as her gaze drifted over to the shoulders in question. It was an objective truth, that was all. Even the now-fading scars that littered his back and crept up over his shoulder on the left side were appealing, in a rugged, battle-worn sort of way. 

She should’ve realised that coming here today would not help her in the ‘moving on’ stakes. She forced her gaze away just as quickly as it had landed on him. “What kind of races are you thinking, Dor?”

As Dorcas, Pete and Mary quickly fell into a debate about the best way to compete, Lily let herself sink lower into the water; the creeping cold was a shock, but a relief at the same time—it broke her from these unhelpful thoughts, from what could surely spiral into something embarrassing. In fact, with one last look around her—everyone focused on whether a straight swimming race was fair, or whether something more imaginative was required—she drew in a deep breath and plunged fully under the surface.

Sound deadened, stilled around her; the rays of sunshine filtering through the slight murkiness made even her friends’ legs, so close by, harder to see clearly. She let herself sink down, down, until her bum hit the stones of the riverbed, her fingers raking through the silt and algae, stirring the water further around her.

She used to love doing this, as a child, when they went swimming as a family. It fascinated her, the whole world melting away, the power of the burning that grew in her lungs the longer she could hold her breath, the sting of chlorine in her eyes and her nose until she finally would push, gasping, for the surface.

Alone, even surrounded by people she loved.

She waited again, a haze of red hair spreading around her, for that familiar pressure, for the moment when she would have to force herself up, back into the real world, back into her life. It probably wasn’t very long, her time down there; they were still arguing about how to compete, their focus away from her and her moment to herself under the water.

But as she surfaced, gulping in fresh air, brushing rivulets of water from her eyes, she realised that, actually, not everyone was focused away from her.

James had been watching the spot where she broke the surface; his gaze caught hers, and for a moment, he didn’t look away.

When he did, she felt breathless, and she wasn’t sure why.

After a bout of racing (which James, of course, won, although Remus came a close second and surprised just about everyone), the girls climbed out of the water, moving a little way up the bank to lay out on the grass. “What do girls so love about sunbathing?” Pete asked, bobbing in the water next to Sirius. “It’s just lying very still and cooking yourself, surely.”

Sirius followed his friend’s gaze. “Well, the warmth feels nice, doesn’t it,” he offered. “Not often we get that in this country.”

James seemed determined to keep his focus solely on his task, skimming pebbles across the river’s surface. “And some people don’t mind staying still.”

“I suppose a tan can be nice,” Pete considered thoughtfully. “Though it must be annoying to get the strap marks, I suppose.”

Remus grinned. “Dare you to go and say that to Marlene.”

James finally looked around, some of the strange tension in his shoulders easing as he laughed. “Moony, that’s unkind,” he said. “I don’t want to witness a drowning today.”

“What’s been on, then?” Pete asked, tearing his attention away from the four sunbathers. “Done anything interesting?”

“What, in the eight days since we last saw each other?” Sirius wondered. “Can’t say I have.”

“Sirius has mainly been asleep,” James told the other two.

“Well, apparently you had enough time to break up with Macdonald,” Pete noted. “You’re alright, aren’t you?”

Sirius took a moment to form an expression, one he hoped hit the right notes of wistful melancholy and stoic acceptance. “I’m okay. She was right, we’re better as friends.”

Pete shook his head, giving Sirius a comforting pat on the back. “For a moment there, we were all in a relationship,” he sighed. “Three out of four isn’t bad, I ‘spose.”

Sirius didn’t have to spend too long analysing the look Remus gave James, a fleeting glance which seemed to say a lot, because James let out a long-held breath and added, “Two out of four.”

Sirius frowned, as did Pete; Remus shifted in the water, letting the current ripple past his fingers. “What?”

James glanced back towards the riverbank, something that looked instinctual rather than a choice. “I broke up with Cadence.”

It wasn’t a shock, so much—Sirius had thought, frankly, that it was a long time coming. He’d sensed his friend was growing unhappy, uncomfortable almost, in his coupling even back before the SWEN attack. It was only Cadence’s resilient nature and unwillingness to see things for how they were that they had held on for so long. Well, that, and James’ reticence to be honest with himself. 

But although the break-up itself wasn’t a surprise, it was surprising that James hadn’t mentioned anything. He had slipped off through the Floo to the Dearborn’s house last week, a few days after Lily’s mum’s funeral, and at the time Sirius had thought his friend had seemed a bit more subdued than he usually did. But he’d returned, told them at dinner that he’d had a pleasant enough afternoon, and that was all he had said on the subject.

James had dumped Cadence that day, and said nothing.

It was possible that James could sense where Sirius’ thoughts were treading—he had a knack for it, after all, they both did; they might as well share a brain at this point. His expression twisted into a grimace, something apologetic and embarrassed. “I…didn’t really want to talk about it,” he explained. “No offence, mate…”

But Remus obviously had known, judging by the look on his face. So it wasn’t that James hadn’t wanted to talk about it: he hadn’t wanted to talk to Sirius about it. And that was hard not to take personally. “Right,” he agreed, voice a little clipped, just a touch shorter than it normally would be.

James sighed, shoving his hand into the mess of his hair. “I just…it was a last minute decision, really, and I didn’t want to get into the why of it all—”

At that, Sirius snorted a humourless laugh. “Oh, I think we all know why, Prongs—”

Pete’s gaze darted anxiously between James and Sirius; he never liked it when the two of them were even slightly at odds. James, meanwhile, had raised his eyes to the clear blue sky above them, as if seeking patience he did not currently possess. “This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.”

“You don’t have to rake it all over,” Remus said, his voice soothing, ever the peacemaker. “It’s fine, we understand.”

“Does Cady know why?” Sirius asked; maybe not the kindest question, but something about this whole situation made him want to draw a little blood. “Although I suppose she’s had her suspicions, hasn’t she—”

James’ interruption was heated, and yet cold, as cold as the water surrounding them. “Shut up, Padfoot,” he hissed. “Merlin’s balls, just let it go for one fucking afternoon, would you? You can take the piss out of me and whatever else you want to do later.”

He didn’t say exactly what he was trying to keep it all quiet now for, but he didn’t have to, either: his gaze flickered nervously towards the girls, towards one girl in particular. Ugh, it was exhausting. 

“Sort yourself out, yeah, James?” Sirius said, sinking back into the water; he let himself start to drift away from his friends. “You’re a mess, mate.”

It wasn’t until he had swum lazily to the opposite bank, to where the riverbed started to rise again, that he noticed Remus had followed him. He cast a gaze in his direction, eyebrow raised. “I’m not going to apologise.”

Remus just sighed, the roll of his eyes the only signal that he cared one way or the other. “I wasn’t about to tell you to,” he replied. “Can’t a bloke swim across a river without an ulterior motive?”

Sirius snorted, brushing a damp lock of hair out of his face. “You have your ‘I have to intervene in the nonsense of my emotionally-constipated friends’ look.”

“Surely that’s always my look.”

A more genuine smile, this time. “Smart-arse.”

There was a pause; Sirius tipped his head back, watching a singular cloud make its way idly across the sky through the branches of the tree above them. When Remus spoke again, his voice was calm, as reasonable as ever. “You didn’t tell Prongs about your break-up.”

“That’s different,” Sirius argued with a frown. “That wasn’t—”

Luckily, his friend cut him off before he could drop himself onto a landmine of his own making. “It’s not different,” Remus replied. “Obviously you both didn’t really want to have the heart-to-heart that you knew would come, talking about it when it was just the two of you there. It’s safer, isn’t it, opening up about this stuff in a group?” Sirius shot him a look; Remus wasn’t even looking at him, was just staring a little way up the river, his mind apparently elsewhere. “Less vulnerable.”

“I suppose.” He sighed. “Whatever. It’s fine.”

Remus finally looked at him, a small, sympathetic smile on his face. “You two’ll make up,” he said. “In fact, it’ll happen annoyingly quickly, and with no real resolution at all.”

Sirius couldn’t help but grin. “That is our way, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Remus agreed. “‘Emotionally-constipated’, didn't you say?”

“Someone has to be the strong, silent type,” he joked. “Unfortunately it comes with a wealth of debilitating emotional issues.”

“Well,” Remus said, and there was a hint of caution there, something which made Sirius turn his whole body to face his friend, to try and understand what had shifted. “I’m always here, if you want to talk.”

And it was selfish of Sirius to want more, wasn’t it? It hadn’t been all that long ago that he had wondered if Remus would ever really talk to him again, would ever be able to look him in the eye and hold a meaningful conversation. He’d come so close to ruining everything. He didn’t want to go through all that again. “I know,” he said, and managed a smile. “Thanks, Moony.”

Remus nodded, a short, tense movement; he looked away, back over to the others. James and Pete were climbing out of the water, pausing to cast drying charms over themselves. “Any time, Pads.”

“Fuck’s sake,” James muttered, tossing a brown-paper wrapped loaf of bread over his shoulder; it didn’t make finding anything in the chaotic larder cupboard any easier, but he felt better for it. He sometimes wondered if his mother made it this messy on purpose, to make sure he didn’t eat everything in sight just because it was impossible to find a bloody thing. “Where the fuck—”

A small sound behind him, the clearing of a throat, made him still; he didn’t need to turn around to somehow know exactly who it was. “I was sent in to help,” Lily spoke up. “And not a moment too soon, apparently.”

He turned around, gathering all the strength he could not to let his gaze wander away from her face. Normally, that wasn’t difficult: she had, well, a lovely face. But then normally, he wasn’t looking at her when she was also wearing a bikini. It felt like a Herculean challenge to keep his eyes on hers. “What makes you think I need help?” he asked, voice playfully prim.

“Well, you just threw a loaf of bread at me,” she replied, holding up the offending parcel. “And you seem to be swearing at a cupboard.”

“I’m trying to find my mum’s stash of cake,” he admitted. “The cupboard is interfering in the process.”

Lily’s smile could have powered the whole house—hell, the whole county. “Here,” she passed him the bread and moved closer, turning to edge past him into the cupboard; her body brushed against his, warm, bare skin against warm, bare skin, and he held his breath, waiting for mercy. “Let me look. My mum always used to say that blokes never look for things properly.”

He moved back a little, giving her more space, and she flashed him a grateful smile before she turned to face the chaos of the cupboard. “She said that? About a whole gender?”

“Yep,” Lily confirmed, moving boxes and tins to the side as she set about on her task. “And she wasn’t wrong.” She didn’t even give him the chance to argue the point, because she had already turned, a triumphant smile on her face as she held a large container aloft. “Is this what you were looking for?”

He couldn’t even find the energy to feel disgruntled; it was hard to care, when she smiled the way she did, when her hair, curly from drying in the sun, fell across her eyes. “Alright, well, obviously I moved things around for you,” he replied, reaching out for the cakes. “So, if you think about it, it was a team effort.”

She gave a laugh, moving to squeeze past him again; this time, she gave his chest a sympathetic pat as she went, and it was all he could do not to loop his arm around her tiny waist, to finally get to experience how it might feel to have her pressed up against him with purpose. “Whatever your ego needs, James.”

James. James. That still took some getting used to, and it was absurd, really, given that it was his name, but it was far more affecting than he ever let on. 

Cadence saying his name never had that kind of impact. Perhaps that should’ve been his first clue that their relationship had an expiration date. Even if Lily wasn’t interested in him—and he thought that, despite her friendliness, she probably wasn’t, given their history—he couldn’t settle for something that felt less than this. 

“You’re too kind,” he winked, shutting the larder and moving to the table. “So, we have cakes…think people will want sandwiches, too?”

“Probably,” she mused, looking around her. “Swimming is hungry work. Not that I’ve done much actual swimming.”

“It’s something about being in the water,” he agreed; with a flick of his wand, a knife lifted from the table and started to slice the bread, while butter and cheese flew out of the fridge. “We shouldn’t starve ourselves.”

She laughed, looking up from where she was neatly arranging the cakes on a platter—without magic. Again, something that shouldn’t have been as pure and lovely as it was. “You know, I think we’ll survive.”

“Probably,” he agreed with a grin. As the sandwiches assembled themselves, he gathered glasses on a tray, poured out a jug of homemade (by his mum, of course) lemonade. “I’m glad you decided to come, Lil.”

Was he imagining the hint of a blush at her cheeks? “Lil?” she asked, her voice light but her gaze kept firmly down. “That’s a new one.”

He was going to have to style this one out. “Would you prefer…Lilster?” he asked. “Lilibet? Lillifer?”

Now she looked up at him, trying and failing to hold back a laugh. “Piss off.”

“Okay, Lils it is,” he smiled, meeting her gaze. The way her eyes lit up when she laughed…it was distracting. “But I’ll keep the others in my back pocket, in case you change your mind.”

“Good of you,” she rolled her eyes, looking back down at the table. “This looks like enough…are we taking it out there or getting them all in?”

He considered it a moment. “Out there,” he decided. “At least there’s a hint of a breeze. And then we can just roll Pads into the river when he’s eaten too much cake.”

It was a joint effort, levitating the trays of food and drink across the lawn and back to their friends, and more effort probably than usual for James since he found it challenging to concentrate when walking alongside Lily. At one point, her arm brushed against his and he almost sent the platter of sandwiches into a nearby rosebush. Pull yourself together, he chastised himself, and pointedly avoided Sirius’ gaze as they reached their group again. “Grub’s up, help yourselves…”

The only space left in the circle was facing the river, and they sat down together, knees bumping as they settled on the grass; Lily murmured a “sorry”, cheeks looking pink again even in the setting sun. Gods, she had nothing to be sorry for. It was him who needed to sort out his train of thought—good thing none of them were any good at Legilimency, because they’d have called him out for the kind of thinking that was highly inappropriate when it came to someone who was supposed to be a friend.

Luckily, they were all too busy tucking into what felt like a well-earned meal to notice that his heart was racing from the slightest touch. Marlene only spoke once she was dusting crumbs from her hands. “Thanks for inviting us over, Potter,” she smiled. “This summer might not actually be a waste of time.”

“Ah, McKinnon,” he winked, “you say the nicest things.”

“What’s next?” Dorcas asked. “Ice cream tasting, or pub?”

“Why not both?” Pete suggested. “If we’ll be at Fortescue’s anyway…”

They spent a happy five minutes discussing which day would be best for their ice cream gorging session, having to fit around Mary’s dentist appointment, Marlene’s dad’s birthday and a Potter family gathering, but eventually they found a day they could all do. “Next Tuesday, then,” James nodded. “Don’t eat too big a breakfast, because we don’t leave Fortescue’s until every flavour has been sampled.”

“Christ,” Lily smiled faintly. “I’ll bring my sick bucket.”

“That’s not the right fighting spirit, Lils,” he pointed out with a grin. “It’s mind over matter. You’ll be fine.”

If any of them picked up on the new nickname, no one commented on it. He thought he caught Marlene and Mary exchanging a smile, but it was gone the next second, so he shook it off. Friends gave friends nicknames, anyway, so what did it matter? It was no big deal.

For whatever reason, he was first to venture back into the river after the food had all gone. He just needed to cool off. That was all.

The sun had disappeared completely, stars taking its place in the inky sky, by the time they started to disperse. Marlene and Dorcas headed off first, soon followed by Pete, whose mother gave him quite a strict curfew even in the holidays. Next, Lily and Mary said their goodbyes, shorts and t-shirts back on over their damp swimming costumes; Remus watched, trying not to feel too amused, as Lily and James said an awkward farewell, looking like they were almost—but not quite—ready to hug each other. 

Once they had gone, the three remaining boys made their way inside; James cast some cooling charms in the living room and they collapsed onto the sofas. “A pretty good day, I’d say,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling.

“I wonder what you liked best about it, Prongs,” Sirius replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Predictably enough, the two of them seemed to have got past their earlier tiff without even really dealing with it properly. It was infuriating, but it seemed to work for them. “I can’t think of a reason…”

James didn’t rise to the bait. “Mum and dad’ll be back soon,” he said. “They usually bring fish and chips with them. Shall I Floo them, ask them to bring you a portion, Moony?”

The thought was an appealing one, even though they’d eaten barely an hour or two ago. But… “I should get back too,” he sighed. “Mum set aside some dinner for me, anyway.”

“Mrs Lupin’s cooking,” Sirius nodded in understanding. “Fair.”

It took him several minutes to even pull himself off the sofa. “I’ll see you Tuesday, then?”

Sirius sat up, too, then stood up. “I’ll walk with you to the lane,” he offered. Remus blinked, surprised. “It’s dark out there, Moony,” he explained patiently. “Don’t want you getting mauled by a passing sheep.”

James snorted, but didn’t shift from his prone position spread out across the cushions. “They can be vicious blighters.”

“Alright,” Remus agreed, nodding towards the door. “See you, Prongs.”

James’ call of “bye, Moony-mine!” followed them out of the living room and towards the front door; they headed out into the darkness, falling easily into step with one another. Malmsmead wasn’t unlike Remus’ home, so cut off from civilisation that as soon as the sun went down, you could barely see a few inches in front of you. He cast a quiet lumos, letting the dim light of his wand help them navigate the cobblestone path that led down to the place he could apparate from. The silence between them was remarkably comfortable, something he didn’t take for granted with Sirius, not anymore. He glanced his way briefly, taking in the shadowed contours of his friend’s face. “Kind of you to walk me.”

“Well,” Sirius said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “What can I say? I’m kind.”

Remus wasn’t sure what to say. There seemed to be so much he could say, and all of it overwhelming, even out here in the dark where secrets shared could just sink into the night that surrounded them. “You and Prongs have made up, then.”

Sirius smirked. “Didn’t you catch it?” he asked lightly. “I grunted a sorry, he grunted a sorry, done and dusted.”

“Ah,” he smiled, a faint thing, like the new moon that hung in the sky. “Of course. Very healthy.”

Sirius just shrugged, looking over at him. “Gets the job done.”

“Right.” They reached the gate, moving out of the apparition wards; he was so used to the minute waves and shimmers of the magic surrounding the Potter house, he sometimes didn’t even notice the change, back out into the real world. He stopped: in the dark, it didn’t matter if he just apparated from there. “Well. See you next week…”

Sirius watched him in the near-pitch black, a strange sort of look on his face. It was one that Remus both did and really didn’t want to analyse. “Yeah. Next week,” he agreed quietly.

The twist in his stomach came from more than just apparating away: it followed him back to that familiar copse of trees behind his house, up the path through the back garden, in through the back door and into the dimly-lit kitchen.

His father sat at the table, newspaper open in front of him, but clearly not paying the slightest attention to a word of it. Remus swallowed, closing the door behind him—quiet, still, and not just so he didn’t disturb his mum, probably already in bed. 

Lyall Lupin cast an appraising gaze over him. “I hear you’ve been swimming.” His voice was soft, unassuming. “Did you—”

Remus didn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence to know where this was going. “I kept my t-shirt on,” he said, placing his canvas bag on the table. “I’m not daft, dad.”

A sigh, weary and worn, and his father stood up. “I never said you were.” Lyall fussed tucking his chair in, tidying the newspaper into a neater pile; he didn’t look up, didn’t meet his son’s eyes. “Well. Good night.”

He wasn’t sure why such a short conversation could carry such a sting. This was the most his father had said to him all holidays, after all. Shouldn’t he be glad for that? “Good night,” he echoed.

Almost free, and then Lyall paused in the doorway. “Oh, an owl came for you,” he said, still not quite able to look him in the eye. “From the Ollertons.”

Ah. Remus was suddenly quite grateful for the lack of eye contact. “Okay. Thanks.”

Lyall gave a short nod, before slipping out of the door; Remus stayed still, listening to the sound of those familiar footsteps up the stairs, the quiet click of his parents’ bedroom door. He turned, then, to the kitchen table again, soon spotting an envelope with his name scrawled across it, the familiar tilt of Owain’s handwriting. 

He paused. Drew in a breath.

He’d read it tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

Tuesday 19th July 1977

He tapped the glass case thoughtfully. “It’s tricky.”

Inside Fortescue’s, it was possible not to be aware of the climate outside: behind the counter, a young witch bedecked in pastel pinstripes shivered while she watched, with evident resentment, the discussion that was unfolding on the other side of the glass. James had thought she seemed a miserable sort as soon as he and Lily—sent ahead to scout the flavours while Sirius and Mary claimed a table outside, waiting for the others to join them—stepped into the shop. The witch had watched them with an air of suspicion and deep mistrust, a mood which James couldn’t help but feel was at odds with her role in customer service. Somehow, he sensed she wouldn’t welcome that feedback.

Still, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lily Evans was there with him; that Lily Evans had met them at their meeting point outside the Leaky Cauldron, seeming a bit subdued and weary, but within five minutes of their foursome strolling down Diagon, Sirius chatting merrily about his grand plans to buy a muggle motorbike, her smile had emerged—it was as if the old Lily was back, able to step out of her grief for a while. It soothed his heart, to see that glimpse of happiness on her face again.

As it would’ve done for any of his friends, of course.

Lily shot him a glance—he could see her reflected in the cabinet, trying not to smile. The sort of expression that he had to try not to let twist his stomach up in knots. “What’s tricky?”

“How to formulate our plan of attack,” he replied. It wasn’t weird to look at the person you were talking to; it wasn’t strange for his gaze to be drawn back to hers. All perfectly above board. “There are so many options…”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “For…eating ice cream?” she asked. “Surely we just dive in and see what happens.”

“Absolutely, if chaos is your flavour of choice,” he waved a hand airily. “We could work our way through the cabinets left to right. Or in a pincer movement, one from each end until we meet in the middle. Then there’s the alphabetical approach, although that leaves arguably the most boring flavour until the end.”

She smirked. “You don’t like vanilla?”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged, looking back at the display case. “But it’s no ‘Caramel Chocolate Carnage’, is it?”

“Trust you to like a flavour with the word ‘carnage’ in the name,” she teased.

He winked. “Have to stick to my brand, Evans.”

“Are you going to order?” the witch behind the counter interrupted testily. “It’s not an art gallery, you know.”

“No, really?” James shot her a pleasant smile. “Gosh, don’t I feel foolish.”

“We’ll come back to order in a few minutes,” Lily interjected, presumably before he could annoy the witch any further, not that he cared, really, because she had rested her hand on his arm as she spoke to the woman, just for a moment—a calming gesture, a silent don’t start. Whatever it meant, it shouldn’t have sent such shivers down his spine. “Thanks.”

She grabbed his sleeve and tugged him back towards the door, out into the muggy summer’s day. Sirius and Mary had found a big enough table under the canopy, so at least there was shade, not that it seemed to help take the edge off the oppressive heat. There wasn’t even a breeze to lift things. They’d definitely need this ice cream.

“James has already upset the staff,” Lily told their friends as they moved to sit down. “We’d better watch her to make sure she doesn’t spit in our food in retaliation.”

James hmphed in displeasure. “All we were doing was browsing,” he pointed out. “You’d think she’d be used to people doing that.”

“James Potter, making friends everywhere he goes,” Mary teased. “Don’t ruin the ice cream for us, okay? Marlene would never forgive you.”

“If she ever turns up.” Lily glanced at her watch. “We did say two, right?”

“How else do you think we all came at two?” Sirius asked. “Apparently only us four care about punctuality.”

“We are a beacon,” James sighed. “A light to guide our wayward peers to better habits.”

“Well, some of us are, anyway,” Mary agreed. She paused. “I’m going to nip over to Primpernelle’s, apparently she’s got a new face lotion that makes you look radiant. Want to come, Lil?”

James knew it was a bit pathetic to be disappointed as Lily stood with a nod. They were going to be spending plenty of time together today: surely he didn’t begrudge her a wander round Madam Primpernelle’s Beautifying Potions, if she wanted to go. Not that she needed a jar of something to make her look radiant—surely she knew that? Probably best not to point that out for now, though.

Lily tucked her chair neatly back under the table, moving to link arms with Mary. “Marl said it makes her skin look ‘dewy’.”

Sirius scrunched up his nose. “And that’s a good thing?”

The girls cast him a look of mild disdain before heading off into the sunshine together. James watched them go, then returned his attention to the table—the table where Sirius was staring at him, eyebrow raised. He raised an eyebrow in return. “...what?”

Sirius lounged back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair for a moment. When James did that, he ended up looking like he’d been in an electrical storm; Sirius just looked rakishly handsome. The git. “When did we abandon the pretence that we aren’t obsessed with Evans?”

James rolled his eyes. “When did we start speaking in the third person?”

“Probably around the same time we decided not to hide the fact that we want to watch every move Evans makes.”

“Fuck’s sake, Pads,” James sighed, glancing around them—luckily, the girls hadn’t reappeared. “Give it a rest. I’m not watching her every move.”

“Every other move?”

“I’m serious,” James said, and held his hand up quickly as Sirius opened his mouth to interject. “No, no, don’t you fucking dare—”

“You left yourself open to that one, mate,” Sirius pointed out. “But fine.”

James paused, again looking over in the direction that Lily and Mary had wandered. “Nothing’s changed, really.”

Sirius frowned. “You mean, apart from the fact that her mum died, and you dumped Cadence?” he asked. “You’re right, that’s nothing.”

‘Dumped’ was a brutal word, but probably, James thought, quite accurate. He’d tried his best, in the weeks since, not to think too much about the look on Cadence’s face when he had told her he wanted to end their relationship, the way her eyes had filled with tears; he tried not to feel guilty thinking of the way she had asked, quietly, if it was something she did wrong, what she could do to make things right. He could hardly tell her that the only thing that would help would be if she could change who she was, could he? He’d just said something empty, meaningless, about always being her friend, and caring about her, and wanting the best for her. It was all true, but it didn’t do a fucking thing to ease the hurt on her face, or to ease the guilt he felt in his gut.

Still. These things needed to be done. 

He still hadn’t found a way to tell Lily (or any of the other girls, but they were less important, in this instance). There didn’t seem to be a way to bring it up without it seeming like he was trying to make a statement with this break up. She’d even asked him, as they’d wandered down Diagon towards Fortescue’s, whether Cadence was joining them today. Surely that had been the ideal opportunity to say something: as easy as, ‘no, because we’re not together anymore’.

And yet those words had dried up in his throat, and he was aware that Mary was listening in, so the only thing that he managed to say was, “no, she couldn’t make it”.

He did seem to have a bit of a habit for making a mess of these things.

Sirius’ voice broke him from his reverie again. “I’m just saying, Prongs…maybe it’s time to be honest with yourself.”

James was quiet for a moment. “Like you said…her mum just died,” he said at last. “She’s grieving. She doesn’t need…all that, too.”

His friend just frowned. “Mate—”

“Really, Pads.” He shook his head. “Just leave it. We’re going to spend a few hours eating our body weight in ice cream, hopefully distract our friend from the horrible pain she’s in, and then we’ll go home and you can berate me all you like.”

Sirius pursed his lips. “Pretty sure I can berate you wherever and whenever I like,” he replied, although his voice was lighter, like he was forcing himself to brighten the duller mood that had settled over the table. 

James allowed him a nod. “Maybe so,” he said; he caught sight of a group approaching them in the sunshine. “Here come the others—drop this for now, okay?” He glanced over to catch and hold Sirius’ eyes, doing his best to look pleading. “Be a mate?”

Sirius heaved a sigh. “Fine, fine,” he waved a hand. “Calm down, I won’t let everyone know you’re agonising over your feelings yet again for—” He broke off as Remus, Pete, Marlene and Dorcas reached the table. “You made it! Took your fucking time!”

“Hello to you, too, Black,” Dorcas rolled her eyes, shifting into the seat next to him. “Far be it for any of us to make you wait a measly extra few minutes for ice cream.”

“A few minutes? The brass balls on this one!” Sirius turned to James for support. “Waltzes in here forty minutes past our agreed meeting time…”

There was something comforting about the bickering. Even with other things changing, one thing could always be relied on: when he needed Sirius to cause a diversion—be it for a prank, an escape, or to cover wayward feelings—his friend would always come through. 

He just needed to pull himself together, or it would be a very long summer.

Sunday 31st July 1977

The sun was high in the sky, a fearsome level of heat given that Sirius was wearing his leather jacket. It had seemed like the right move back in Malmsmead, where it had been a bit overcast, the hint of rain to come hanging in the air. Euphemia often lectured the boys about not catching pneumonia, as if it were an illness that would leap upon them if they so much as shed a layer at just the wrong moment. It was usually easier to just go along with what she wanted (“save the arguments for when it really matters,” James had advised sagely). 

Here in the wilds of Herefordshire, though, the day was much brighter, actually looking like the summer it was supposed to be. He had apparated to a spot on the lane that wound its way up the hill, only about a fifteen minute walk from Remus’ house—they often apparated to the woods behind the house, but that was when they were expected, and he was very much not expected today—and within four minutes of the walk, he was shrugging off his jacket and squinting in the sunlight.

Arriving a bit further away gave him some time to think, too. It had been quite spur of the moment, the decision to visit his friend; James didn’t even know he’d gone, having been busy helping his dad with something in the garden. But Sirius had slept poorly, woken early, and knew there was only one thing that was going to soothe the worries that had taken root in his mind.

It was no secret that Remus’ transformations in the summer holidays were harder going than the ones at Hogwarts. His parents had to make do with the set-up they had always used: a dark, dank cellar that could not be unlocked from the inside. Remus didn’t like to talk about it very much, unsurprisingly, but he had let slip, one post-moon morning when he was exhausted and addled with painkilling potions, that he was often chained up for the full moons at home. “Safer, that way,” he had mumbled, and Sirius and Pete had shared an anxious glance at the thought. 

And so Sirius had spent yesterday feeling particularly antsy, watching as the sun made its slow trek across the sky and sank below the horizon; as the full moon found its place in the blackened sky, he had sat on the kitchen step, stomach in knots as he smoked his way through two packs of cigarettes. In the end, he’d gone up to bed, but it had been difficult to switch his brain off—too busy thinking about Remus, about him being chained up in the dark on his own, about how scared and lonely and monstrous he must have felt. When he did sleep, it was with dreams of long, dark corridors, searching for someone but never quite finding them, no matter how many corners he turned.

An easy decision, then, to bolt down a quick slice of toast and tell Euphemia he was just “nipping out for a bit”. He just needed to make sure that Remus was okay. 

That was a perfectly normal, friendly thing to do, he thought. The fact that he hadn’t told James had just been about striking while the iron was hot. That was all.

Eventually, he crested the hill, sweat starting to gather at the nape of his neck and across his forehead. He knew it didn’t matter, that he’d probably still look a darn sight better than Moony would, but he paused anyway in the shade of an apple tree to dab at his face with his sleeve. From there, he could see the Lupins’ front gate and the tall hedges that blocked the house from view on either side. Being a Sunday, he knew it was likely that both Remus’ parents would be home. He’d always liked Hope, so very much like her son, if not even quieter, but with the same wicked sense of humour. Lyall was a different story, and Sirius wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but he had always tried to steer clear of the man if he could. Remus’ father had obviously heard plenty of stories about the Black family before he met his son’s new friend at the end of their first year at Hogwarts, judging by the mistrustful look he had cast his way, and nothing Sirius did seemed to sway him from his opinions. He could only hope that Remus hadn’t told his father the full truth of what had happened back in October; it would hardly have mended his reputation in Lyall’s eyes. He probably hadn’t said anything, though—they didn’t have that sort of relationship, from what Sirius could gather.

Feeling about as put together as he thought was possible in the circumstances, he stepped out of the shade and walked the last stretch of the lane to his friend’s front gate. It opened with a rusty creaaaaaak, and Sirius thought he spotted movement through the net curtains in the window, a twitch of fabric as someone perhaps peered out to look. Sure enough, moments later, the front door swung open, and Hope Lupin stepped into the light.

She looked exhausted, he thought, even behind the warm smile she offered him as he walked up the path. Remus was tall, taller than Sirius, but that all clearly came from his dad’s genes, because Hope was a tiny slip of a thing, buried in a thick woollen cardigan even in the summer heat. Even with the height advantage of standing on the front step, she still only came up to his shoulders. “Sirius! What a lovely surprise!”

“Hi, Mrs L,” he replied, coming to a halt in front of her. “I hope it’s okay I just turned up…”

“Of course, you’re always welcome,” she assured him, patting his arm before moving back so he could step into the cool of the house. The old stone walls clearly did a decent job of keeping the heat out. “Remus is—well, a little under the weather—”

“Yes,” he nodded quickly. “That’s why I came. Just wanted to see how he was feeling.”

“You’re a good friend,” she smiled softly. “He’s upstairs, go on up.”

Sirius slipped past her, down the narrow corridor towards the stairs. As he passed the living room door, he glanced in: Lyall Lupin sat in an armchair by the unlit fire, a newspaper in his hands. The man stared back at him, his face shuttered of emotion—uncomfortable enough that Sirius just gave him a quick nod before hurrying on and up the stairs. 

He’d been in the house enough times to know the layout well, not that it was exactly labyrinthine. It rather made the Potter home look like a mansion in that regard. The floorboards squeaked as they always did, and he paused outside the door at the end of the hall—the door with a small, wooden name plate, carved carefully with ‘RJL’, crafted by his maternal grandfather, if Sirius recalled the story correctly—drawing in a fortifying breath before he knocked.

A pause, and then a mumbled, “come in”, and he opened the door, stepping inside.

The room was quiet and cool, the curtains drawn so that it was largely dark apart from a sliver of sunlight which had crept through a gap on the far left side of the window. This was enough light to allow Sirius a good view of the space: of the typically tidy desk, the neat stack of books on the bedside table—and, of course, his friend, bundled up under the covers.

Remus’ eyes were still closed, and as Sirius moved closer, he could see his skin was pale, the bags under his eyes showing in particular contrast. A bruise bloomed out from his temple, curling around his right eye in vicious purple; his wrists, from what he could see sticking out of the duvet, were red-raw, like scarlet bracelets. Sirius swallowed, hard, suddenly wondering if this had been such a good idea.

That ship had sailed, though, as Remus blearily opened his eyes—and started in surprise at the sight of him. “Pads,” he said, struggling into a sitting position. “Sorry, I—I thought you were my mum…”

Sirius offered him a faint grin. “Easy mistake to make,” he replied. “I take it as a compliment.”

Remus blinked, pausing to wipe the sleep from his eyes—taking extra care, naturally, around the bruise—before he flopped back against the headboard. “You’re…here.”

“Yes.” Sirius hesitated; might as well just commit, at this point, right? He grabbed the desk chair and swung it around to sit facing the bed, depositing his leather jacket on the floor. “Hope that’s okay. I—I wanted to make sure you were alright. After…you know. The moon and all that.”

Remus was quiet a moment, studying him carefully; it was very difficult to read his expression, to work out whether he was pleased to see his friend or not. Usually the exhaustion of being post-moon made him easier to read, less cautious with his emotions. Maybe being at home changed all that… “Thanks,” he said at last, voice still scratchy and worn; he cleared his throat and reached for a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. “That’s—really nice of you, Pads.”

Sirius shrugged, finding himself now suddenly unwilling to accept such praise. This was just a normal, friendly thing to do. That was all. “How was it?” he asked. “Do you…remember much?”

Remus shook his head, watching the ripples that chased across his glass at the movement. “Not really,” he replied. “Dad had to set some bones this morning, but otherwise…could’ve been worse.”

Sirius tried not to outwardly wince: Remus never made broken bones seem like more than a paper cut, but they all knew how painful they were, and resetting them was no picnic, either. Still, he knew it had been far worse in the past. That had to count for something. “Nice shiner,” he nodded to the bruise; Remus’ hand moved to it instinctually, fingertips brushing the edge of the purple almost without thinking. “Didn’t want to use any balm on it?”

“We save the small stuff till later,” Remus shrugged. “Just deal with the big issues, then get some sleep. Bruises can wait.” As if willed into being by the mention of sleep, he paused to fight a huge yawn. “Where’s Prongs today?”

He had no reason to feel awkward. That was what he told himself, anyway. “Working on a garden project with Fleamont,” he replied. “They’re never happier than when doing something practical, the Potters.”

Remus smirked, a faint, tired thing, but a smirk nonetheless. “That shocks me,” he said. “James is normally such a quiet, shy and retiring type.”

Sirius snorted. “He’s already making plans for our group trip to the pub, and to the cinema,” he added. “Never thought I’d see the day when he became an event planner.”

“I think he likes having things to do,” Remus considered. “And…he wants to keep Lily occupied, too. As much as possible.”

That was putting it mildly. Exactly what James wanted for Lily, with Lily, was not particularly clear—the boy didn’t want to talk about it, which was frankly galling after five years of near non-stop chatter about all things Evans—but she did seem to factor into most of his considerations lately. Just the other day, as James had sat at the kitchen table, scouring through a muggle newspaper for the film listings, he had muttered about what movie choice might be least upsetting for Lily, whether something with a bit of action might be suitably diverting. Euphemia had said nothing, but raised her eyebrows in Sirius’ direction; he had merely shrugged in return. When James was ready to talk about it, he would talk about it. 

“Have you heard much from her?” Sirius asked. “I owled her last week, just saying hi, and she never wrote back.”

“I had a letter…Monday, I think,” Remus replied. His eyes had drifted shut, and it seemed he wasn’t even aware of that fact as he kept talking. “She was upset, her sister had made some comment about her clothes and that if their mum could see her she’d think she was ‘looking at some common slut’.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Merlin. She’s a piece of work.”

Remus nodded grimly. “Bad enough to say that about her clothes, but to bring their mum into it too…” He sighed. “Anyway. I think she’s been laying low since then.”

“Can’t say I blame her, if that’s what she’s dealing with,” Sirius shook his head. “Hopefully she’ll still come along to our various outings. Sounds like she could do with getting away.”

Remus opened his eyes again. “I’m sure Mary’ll convince her to come.” He paused, and at first Sirius couldn’t work out the expression that drifted across his face. At least, not until he spoke again. “Things okay with you two still? Since…the break up?”

Right. The break up. “Yeah, fine,” he shrugged. “It wasn’t like it was anything serious.”

Remus nodded, looking down at the glass of water again. “Right. Good.”

“Onwards and upwards,” Sirius said, desperately wanting to change the subject. He glanced at the stack of books that nearly towered over the lamp on his bedside table. “I’m worried you haven’t got enough to read, Moony.”

Remus huffed a laugh, following his gaze. “I’m not reading them all at once.”

“No, of course, because that would be patently insane,” Sirius agreed, leaning forward to pick the top one off the pile. “Maurice. Odd title for a book.” He flipped the book to read the back. “I remember you reading a Forster book last year—something to do with Howard?”

“Howards End,” Remus replied; when Sirius glanced up at him, he noticed his cheeks had tinged just slightly pink. He reached for the next book on the pile and held it out. “This one’s good too.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, accepting the book. “This is clearly for children, Moony.”

“Yes,” Remus replied patiently. “But no less excellent for it. My cousin Ang read it at school and said I’d enjoy it.”

Sirius nodded, pausing to read the blurb for Fantastic Mr Fox; when he looked back up again, Remus’ eyes were closed once more. “I can go, you know—”

“No, it’s okay,” Remus murmured, and paused. His voice was even softer when he spoke again. “It’s…nice to have company.”

Sirius hesitated, but accepted it with a nod. “Alright. If you’re sure…” He looked back down at the book. “Well, you keep your eyes closed, and I’ll read you some of this, shall I?”

Remus snorted quietly. “You don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” Sirius dismissed. “Everyone likes having stories read to them.” He paused, and cleared his throat. “Down in the valley there were three farms. The owners of these farms had done well. They were rich men. They were also nasty men…”

And by the time he got to the end of the second chapter, Remus was asleep.

Thursday 4th August 1977

It was hot, barely a breeze to take the edge off the sun set high in the azure sky. That morning, Remus’ mum had suggested—gently, knowing it was pointless—that he could wear a t-shirt, that he didn’t need to hide behind long sleeves, that his cousins wouldn’t ask about his scars. He knew that they probably wouldn’t (forewarned, he would guess, by his aunt and under threat of a right telling off if they mentioned anything), but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with the idea anyway. Even if no one said anything, he’d be hyper-aware of every passing glance. It was more stress than it was worth; if he had to slowly roast in the Welsh sunshine, then so be it. Better that than the alternative.

So here he was. A chargrilled Remus Lupin, in long sleeves and his mind feeling not unlike some kind of treacle, something which he couldn’t blame entirely on the heat. The truth of the matter was that he was absolutely bloody exhausted. Not even a week out from the full, and he still felt like he was in recovery mode. He’d slept like a log on the Sunday—the day Sirius had visited—but for whatever reason, since then, he hadn’t been able to settle. Fulls at home were always harder to recover from, anyway, and he’d felt as if his brain was still muddled, churned up by the spinning wheel of his thoughts, never quite landing on anything long enough for it to make sense. 

Much easier to try not to think at all; to just steadily bake in the sun, and wait for his body to catch up with itself.

“You alright, Re?”

He forced his eyes open, glancing up from where he was sprawled out on the grass, blinking in the sunlight. His cousin stood over him, giving some relief from the brightness with her shadow, her hands on her hips. “Hmm?”

“You alright?” Bethan repeated. “You look bloody exhausted—no offence.”

Good to know that he looked about as rough as he felt. Hope had tried to rearrange their holiday to Wales, their annual visit to the Howell family, seeing what a state he was still in, but between her work commitments and the Howell’s much anticipated trip to France for most of the month of August, there wasn’t really another time that would work. And he knew how much his mum loved these weeks with her sister—he wasn’t about to let a bit of exhaustion and some creaking muscles get in the way of that.

All this meant that his cousin, staring down at him now with a look of concern, was seeing a side of him he usually managed to keep carefully under wraps from the extended family.

“No offence taken,” he replied, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “I just…wasn’t very well, last week. It’s taking a while to shift.”

Bethan raised an eyebrow, pausing before flopping onto the grass next to him. “You should’ve said,” she chided him. “Maybe we could’ve avoided this whole excursion entirely.”

He allowed a smirk at that, glancing behind them at the remains of Llantrisant Castle. “And break Uncle Meirion’s heart? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She twisted around to catch sight of her father, stood with Angharad and gazing up at the ruins in quiet awe. “I don’t understand his obsession,” she sighed. “It’s not like it’s even a whole castle anymore.”

Remus shrugged. “He likes the history of it.” 

“I ‘spose.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t think you were down at breakfast yet when he was talking about castles again. That Wales has more castles than any other country.” She snorted. “You’d think he built the bloody things.”

Remus glanced over at his uncle; it was hard to view the man with anything other than fondness, really. Meirion had always been unfailingly kind, a firm but fair figure in his life; given Remus’ strained relations with his own father, he’d often watched with a distant sense of envy his uncle’s interactions with his daughters. Bethan had no idea how lucky she was, that liking castles was the only quirk her dad had. 

“Maybe he did,” he suggested lightly. “Maybe he’s a time traveller.”

Bethan raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Now there’s a thought,” she said. “He does get baffled by technology…”

“And he thinks chips are ‘new fangled’,” Remus added.

“God, I can’t believe I never noticed until now,” she breathed with a bright grin; she always was good at playing along, at seeing the fun in things. “He’s from olden times!”

“Fair play to him,” Remus nodded. “No wonder he likes castles so much.”

“Because he used to live in one,” she laughed. “Now it all makes sense!”

“It all falls into place,” he agreed with a smirk.

Silence fell, but only for a few moments; Bethan had never been very good at staying quiet for long. “Re…can I…” She hesitated. “Can I ask you a question?”

‘You just did,’ leapt into his mind, unbidden—the sort of thing Sirius would say. Judging by the expression that flickered across Bethan’s face, and by the fact that they rarely talked about things that could be considered particularly personal, he decided not to say that, though. “‘Course you can,” he replied, the benevolent older cousin; surely the fact he was two years and four months older than her meant he had some kind of wisdom to offer. “What’s on?”

Bethan was lounged back, propped up on her elbows and trying to look nonchalant, an effort which wasn’t quite working somehow. “I was wondering,” she said, and there was an edge of strain to her voice, a kind of forced casualness that hid something larger. “And…obviously you don’t have to tell me—”

“Tell you what?” he prompted.

She sighed softly. “Just…do you have a girlfriend?”

His gaze flickered over to his cousin—she had focused her attention on scraping a bit of nail varnish off the skin around her thumb: it seemed like it was important to her.  “No,” he replied. “No girlfriend.”

She paused, meeting his eyes for just a flash before she looked back over to her dad and sister. “...a boyfriend?” she asked, voice even quieter now.

A moment of hesitation, and Remus wasn’t sure why. He didn’t talk about Owain with anyone outside of Hogwarts, apart from his mum, and even that was only surface level, Hope never wanting to pry or force him to talk about things that made him uncomfortable. He knew, knew all too well, that he kept most of his feelings, his highs and lows and dizzying, persistent desires, locked away; that only a few people even got a glimpse of them, and that no one knew the depths of it all. Sometimes he thought he would rather lose every friend he had than open himself up in that way—to be so vulnerable, to crack open his chest and declare “this is me”, nothing to protect himself with. 

But that was a lonely place to be. And, watching his cousin now, he hated the thought that she might be feeling that level of loneliness too. 

“Yeah,” he said, and cleared his throat; tried to sound steadier. Tried to sound like his brain wasn’t a mangled mess still trying to recover from the after-effects of the full moon a few days prior. “Owain.”

Bethan seemed to have to force herself to look at him again; she was biting her lip. “Was it…” She paused. Swallowed, hard enough that he could hear it. “Were you frightened? To, um…like another boy?”

Remus sat up, raking his hand briefly through his hair. This seemed too important to be laying down on the grass for. “I was,” he confirmed quietly. “Or—not frightened, for me, exactly. But for…what others would think.”

Bethan nodded, sitting up too; she tugged at the sun-scorched grass in front of her. “You said ‘was’,” and she cast him a quick glance. Her blue eyes seemed suddenly more vivid amongst their bleached surroundings. She seemed so much younger, and so much older, all at once. “You’re not anymore?”

He paused. “Not as much,” he admitted. “It gets…easier. And anyone worth being friends with doesn’t care.”

She nodded again; chewed on her lower lip, again. A pause, as she glanced back towards her father. “Do your parents know?”

“Mum does,” he replied. “Dad…doesn’t.”

A faint smile, something like sad understanding, tugged at her lips. “Aunty Hope is the best.”

“Your mum is too,” he pointed out, gently. “And your dad. They love you.”

Her eyes widened with something like panic. “Oh, I’m—I wasn’t—”

“Beth.” He tried to sound as reassuring as he could. “I wasn’t saying anything. Just…that your family is supportive, you know…if and when you need them to be.”

If she chewed any harder on her lip, she was bound to draw blood. He’d never seen his normally-relaxed cousin look so anxious before. “Right, well,” she leapt up, brushing her shorts free of grass. “Anyway. Sorry to have—you know. Pried.” She couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t seem to still herself. “I reckon it’s time to find ice cream, don’t you?”

She had already headed for her dad before Remus could even haul himself from the ground, his joints aching in protest at the movement. He stood there a moment, watching Bethan as she painted on a bright smile, as she playfully nudged her sister and gestured wildly with her hands. It was as if the quiet, cautious girl who’d just been sitting next to him had vanished, leaving the old Beth in her wake.

“C’mon, then, Re,” Ang shouted over. “Time to cool off!”

“Okay!” he called back.

There was nothing else to do, for now. 

Saturday 13th August 1977

It was Marlene who had suggested The Troll’s Burden as the venue for their pub night. “It’s not full of old people like the Leaky,” she had said, her tone making it crystal clear what she thought of that prospect. “And we go to the ‘Sticks all ruddy year. Let’s live a little!”

Sirius had seconded the motion, and the rest of them had no strong opinions either way (the only other place Lily knew even remotely well was her dad’s local in Cokeworth, The King’s Arms, which Petunia disdainfully called ‘an old man’s boozer’ and which was far too muggle for the likes of her friends besides), and so they gathered at a bustling pub in Richmond, right by the river. The proprietors had put up enough charms to make it look dilapidated and abandoned to any passing muggles—and maybe they wondered to themselves why such a prime piece of real estate hadn’t been snatched up by now—but once through the wards, it was a bustling, welcoming place. Lily, Mary, Dorcas and Remus arrived together, picking their way through the tables and out into the busy beer garden that looked out over the Thames. It didn’t take long to spot their friends, already at least one drink in and having commandeered a picnic table near the water: Sirius’ voice carried, telling some raucous story or other as they crossed the lawn to join them.

“At last!” Marlene called, standing to fling her arms around Lily, being the one in easy reach. “These three have been talking nothing but boy nonsense, I feared I would drown in testosterone before you lot could get here!”

“Bullshit,” Sirius insisted. “You told us a fifteen minute story about your first time shopping for bras.”

Mary laughed. “That is a good story.”

They all squeezed onto the benches; Lily found herself opposite James, who gave her a friendly grin. “Alright, Evans?”

She smiled in return and nodded. It was easier just to do that, rather than get into the truth of the matter—surely none of them had come to the pub to listen to her talk about how sad and exhausting it was, existing in her family home without her mother; how painful it felt, watching her dad try to put on a front, to pretend he was coping when he really, really wasn’t. For whatever reason, she had found it difficult to get out of bed the past few days: yesterday, it had been after lunch before she made it downstairs, her dad making a weak joke about teenagers and their sleeping habits, as if they didn’t both know that she never slept so late in the holidays, preferring to make the most of her free time. She had only really got herself up and ready today because she knew she was going out for the evening—a chance to get away, not just from her father and his cloaked grief, or from the shadow of her mother which lingered in every inch of that house, but from herself. To get out, and have a few drinks, and be someone else for a while—a Lily who wasn’t mourning, who wasn’t broken and struggling to put herself together again. 

She knew it was probably not a healthy solution, but she just wanted to get pissed and enjoy the time with her friends. 

“Alright, Potter,” she replied. “Not drunk yet? Poor effort, don’t you think?”

He laughed. “Sorry to have let you down.”

A drink was placed in front of her, and she took a long gulp, aware that James was watching her, a tiny furrow in his brow. She was glad that he didn’t have the chance to ask her any follow-up questions: they were soon drawn into a conversation about the drawbacks of owl post—”it flew right through a tiny window,” Pete said to gasping laughter from his audience, “made my gran drop her mug of Bovril in shock!”; “See, you don’t get those kinds of surprises from the muggle postman,” Mary pointed out. After the topic changed many more times, and she’d drained the pint of Gorgon’s Best cider that Dorcas had procured for her, and the second pint and chaser of firewhiskey that Sirius had bought, and a shot of something strong and sweet that Pete had got in for them all, she heaved herself up (legs feeling only slightly unsteady) and declared, “my round—what’s everyone having?”

Orders memorised, she made her way back into the pub. It was still busy, so she leaned against the bar to wait for the barman to make all their drinks, glancing around as she did so. Marl had been right: it was a much younger crowd than typically frequented the Leaky Cauldron. In fact, there were a few faces that she thought she recognised from years past at school. And wasn’t that—?

It was. Ama Okaeme was sitting at a table by the window, chatting animatedly with her companions. Lily hadn’t seen the Ravenclaw since before the end of the school year—she had missed the seventh years’ last days, of course, being home for the funeral—and it was a bit jarring to see her out of school like this. How was it fair that someone could look so effortlessly gorgeous both in stuffy school uniform and elegant casualwear?

It only occurred to her, a moment too late, that Ama was not alone, and that Lily recognised some of the others at the table, and that meant that it was possible that…

A soft clearing of the throat, and she turned around to find Rafe Thicknesse, leaning nonchalantly against the bar. “Fancy seeing you here…”

She had stopped hating Rafe a long time ago. Within days, really. The overriding feeling, after discovering that she had just been used to make his ex jealous and to ensnare her back into his arms, had been humiliation, and even that had faded after too long. Yes, she had kept hold of the opinion that he was a bastard, but she didn’t despise him. That was growth, wasn’t it?

“Hello,” she greeted him evenly. The barman slid Pete’s shot of Elvish Liquor in front of her and she didn’t think before picking it up and downing it in one. She gave herself a moment for her head to stop swirling, like a ship tossed on the waves of a stormy sea. “How are you?”

Rafe let his gaze coast down her body (she had chosen her outfit knowing, in the back of her mind, that she’d be in close proximity to James, going for a pair of almost criminally-tiny denim shorts and a loose blouse that she had unbuttoned one lower than she would at home—something she sort of hated herself for, because he had a girlfriend for goodness’ sake); there was interest there in his eyes, and he wasn’t even bothering to hide it. “Great, thanks,” he replied. “You…are looking very well.”

She rolled her eyes, catching the eye of the barman again and nodding to the shot glass. “I suppose you are, too.” It was, annoyingly, true: he had always been far too good looking. Perhaps that should have been her first warning, that anyone as effortlessly handsome as him would be interested in her. Interested in anyone other than himself.

“You’re too kind.” He finally allowed his gaze to reach hers again. “Looking forward to your last year at Hogwarts?”

“Of course,” she replied, and reached for another drink. This was going to be expensive, at this rate. “Top of the school.”

He smirked. “Your rightful place.”

A sigh, and she watched him over the rim of what would have been Marlene’s Gillywater. “How’s Aoife?”

He gave a playful sort of cringe, looking briefly away before his eyes found hers again. “Back in Belfast, I should think.”

It was fun to dig the knife in a little. Took the edge off her own discomfort. “You’re not keeping in touch?”

“Lily,” he tsked fondly, “were you always this feisty?”

“Yes,” she replied. “You just didn’t notice because you were too busy watching your ex’s reactions.”

At that, he laughed, edging a little closer. “We always did have fun, though, didn’t we?”

She shrugged, draining her glass. The buzz was delicious, just what she needed. “I suppose we did.”

Rafe grinned. “You know, we could have fun now.”

If she hadn’t already been at best, tipsy, and at worst, well on her way to drunk, she knew there was no way on earth she would’ve even considered the proposition. He was a prick, he’d hurt her and embarrassed her. She certainly didn’t have feelings for him, unless disdain counted. But…she knew he was a reliably great kisser, and maybe to lose herself in a good old-fashioned snogging would be just as good a distraction from her grief as alcohol was. 

She found herself reaching to pat his chest—as if that was something she did, as if she didn’t know the message it sent. “Could we?”

“Lily the Legs!” A voice cut across the conversation, like a bucket of cold water, and they both looked over, finding Sirius, hands in pockets and eyebrow arched, watching on from a few steps away. “Wondered where you’d got to…”

“Lily the Legs,” she repeated, ignoring his pointed stare. “Since when was that my nickname?”

“Since you got those pins out all summer,” Sirius replied, switching his focus to Rafe. “Thicknesse.”

“Black,” Rafe nodded, no change to his expression.

“What a treat for us to bump into you here,” Sirius said, voice light as a feather. “Lucky us.”

“It’s a small world,” Rafe agreed evenly.

“Need help with the drinks?” Sirius asked Lily, eyeing the empty glasses that now sat alongside the full ones.

She gestured to what was there. “Take those, I’ll just wait for the replacements.”

“Don’t worry, Black,” Rafe smiled. “I’ll keep her company.”

Lily stopped herself from rolling her eyes, but she also avoided catching Sirius’ gaze as he leaned past her to grab the drinks that were ready. She didn’t need Rafe doing whatever he was doing, but she also didn’t need her friend to act the white knight. It was exhausting enough looking after herself, let alone trying to manage other people’s expectations.

“Right, well…” Sirius paused, expertly cradling five full glasses in his hands. “Shout if you need me, Evans.”

She finally glanced over at him; he had the hint of something in his eyes, a question unasked that warmed her heart just a little. It was, admittedly, nice to be reminded that people cared—even if she didn’t need him to. “Will do.”

Sirius left, clearly reluctant to do so, and Rafe gestured to the barman to refill the empty glasses. “Where were we…?” he asked, reaching now to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Christ, this was a mess. It would be so easy to take that last little step that would have her pressed against him, to let him kiss her until her mind was blank and her heart numb. Too easy, probably. But now she was thinking about the fact that Sirius had gone back to the table, and was probably telling the others what he had witnessed…

It was that thought that made her force up a smile. “You were going to pay for my round, as an act of contrition,” she replied, “and then I was going to rejoin my friends.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his stupidly attractive face, but still fished out the requisite galleons to cover the costs. “I’ll help you carry them,” he offered.

“No need,” she assured him, deftly picking up the remaining drinks. “Thanks, Rafe. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

His gaze dropped to her lips a moment. “Maybe you will.”

Back outside, the air was a little cooler than it had been inside the stifling pub, and she paused a moment on the steps to gather her thoughts. This was daft, wasn’t it? Opening up an old wound that should have just been ignored. And what, in the name of oblivion? Was it even worth it?

With a sigh, she pressed on across the lawn, back to her friends; she was all too aware of their watchful gazes as she reached the table and handed out the last few drinks. “Sorry for the delay,” she said, sliding back onto the bench. “Bit mad in there.”

Dorcas gave her a searching look. “Black said—”

“It’s fine, Dor,” Lily interrupted. She didn’t like how James watched her now, concern and something harder to parse on his face. “Honestly. I made him pay for our drinks, so…”

Dorcas just snorted. “The fucking least he could do,” she pointed out. “Entitled bellend.”

Lily shot Sirius an exasperated look. “Why did you bring it up?” she asked, as brightly as she could. “Dor will be on one now for at least the next ten minutes.”

“Maybe I enjoy winding Meadowes up and watching her eviscerate someone who isn’t me for a change,” Sirius replied airily. “And, you know. I was looking out for my friend.”

“I don’t need protection from Rafe Thicknesse,” Lily insisted. She held her glass tight, tight enough for her knuckles to go white, and took a quick gulp. “Thanks ever so.”

“Maybe not protection from him,” Sirius responded, and his voice had taken on that blunt edge that came when he was losing patience. “But protection from yourse—”

“Alright, enough,” James interjected quickly. Lily felt her heart thud painfully in her chest, and she looked away, down at the scratches on the surface of the table as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. “Let’s change the subject, shall we? To something less…contentious?”

“Good idea,” Mary agreed, lacing her arm through Lily’s. Lily drew in a shuddering breath, suddenly feeling like she might cry. Fuck, she really didn’t want to do that. “What film are we going to see? Surely this is something we should have a loud and pointless debate over.”

It was a blessing, really, for the conversation to turn to film choices: it gave her cover to regain her composure, blinking away the urge to break down with every sip of her drink. At one point, she glanced up, and caught Sirius’ eye—he was watching her, remorse clear in his gaze. He mouthed the word ‘sorry’, something so simple that almost set her back to tears again, but she forced up a small smile and a shrug, something to show it was all fine, that it meant nothing. 

She was stronger than all this; she had to be.

By the end of the evening, a film had been chosen, a rather merry Pete had had to be stopped from wading into the river, and Lily had managed to avoid any bad decisions. Well, apart from continuing to drink, but that surely didn’t count. At one point, maybe an hour or so after their interaction at the bar, Rafe and his friends had wandered outside; they’d sat a few tables away, and she had been aware of his gaze drifting back over to her, and just as aware of her friends all noticing it, too. But he hadn’t approached her, and she had stayed firmly in her seat, even after offering to pay for a round since she technically hadn’t paid for anything at all. When she’d said that, James had leapt up, somehow galvanised to foot the bill himself. Perhaps he didn’t want her going up to the bar again. Perhaps that was just the sort of friend he was.

Rafe and his mates were gone by the time the Gryffindors staggered out of the pub, far too drunk to apparate. The Knight Bus was a blessing and a curse, a decidedly unsmooth ride for someone like Lily who felt certain she was about to vomit every second they were on board. When it reached Cokeworth, and she staggered palely to her feet, James stood up, too. “I’ll walk you back to yours,” he said, and she just blinked at him dimly, not noticing the looks exchanged by their friends behind them.

James, it turned out, was far less drunk than any of them—he barely seemed tipsy, in fact. Out in the cool night air, he walked alongside her without saying a word, down the silent high street and along the circuitous route that would have led them to Spinner’s End, if they kept walking past her own home.

“Snape lives around here,” she said, her voice faint in the quiet; the night air was cooling her, sending her mood spiralling back down again, back down where she desperately didn’t want it to go. She wasn’t sure why she had even brought Snape up. The words had just tumbled out. 

James looked over at her, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked surprised. “I didn’t realise you were from the same town.”

“Yeah.” She tried to fight a shiver, something he noticed, as he moved to drape his own jacket over her shoulders. It didn’t help, did it, when he was so bloody thoughtful. “We knew each other before Hogwarts.”

“I didn’t realise,” he said again, quietly. James glanced around, as if expecting the boy in question to come looming out of the shadows. “Do you…bump into him?”

“Not really,” she replied. She tipped her head back as she walked, taking in the clear night sky above them. “He helped me understand my magic,” she murmured. “It was—I didn’t know why I was different, and my sister…” She drew in a shuddering breath; had to return her focus to the path in front of her, her head feeling light. “He’s the only reason I knew anything about Hogwarts, about the world I was going into.”

He was silent for a moment, taking in what she had said. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, and his voice sounded strained, sad. She looked over at him, a confused frown on her face. “For what happened by the lake last year—”

“James,” her frown deepened. “I’ve accepted your apology, you don’t need to—”

“I know I hastened the end of a friendship you cared about,” he shook his head. He couldn’t seem to look over at her, as if he wasn’t sure what he would find there. “By being a thoughtless prick—”

“Stop.” She halted in her tracks, and he had to, too, finally making himself meet her gaze. She hoped he saw the truth in her eyes. “Maybe you…didn’t handle it well. But he—” Her breath caught a moment, and she smiled, a bleak, pale smile that took up more energy than it should have. “He was lost to me long before that day. I just…wouldn’t face up to it.”

He nodded, looking like he was trying to force the meaning of her words to sink in. “Still. I’m sorry.”

She held his gaze for a long moment. “I know you are,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

It was James that started walking again, and she fell into step with him once more, wondering what exactly she could say now. Her mind still felt muddied by the alcohol, as well as by the fact that she was alone with him. It was pathetic, how much he seemed to overwhelm her senses—this foolish crush, sweeping her away from herself, from her logic and understanding of right and wrong. It was just hard to focus, this close to him. Even his jacket, draped around her, protecting her from the bite of the night air, smelled like him; it was distracting. Distracting enough that she almost didn’t notice that they’d reached her house. “Oh. This is mine...”

He stopped, looking up at the house. She wasn’t sure what to make of the look on his face. “Right,” he nodded, then met her gaze again. “Well…sleep well. Drink plenty of water.”

She smiled slightly, rolling her eyes. “Yes, alright.” She paused. “How are you getting home now…?”

“I can apparate,” he shrugged. “I stopped drinking a while before the rest of you lushes.”

Lily gasped in theatrical offence, poking him in the bicep for good measure. “How dare you…”

“When the cap fits, Evans,” he winked. There was a pause, a silence falling between them that felt strangely charged; he stared down at her as if he was about to say something, do something, and was convincing himself to just go ahead and do it. She held her breath as well as his gaze, feeling as if he could surely hear the way her pulse thundered in her ears, every shallow breath she took.

But whatever it was, the moment passed, and he gave her a small smile. “Night, Lily,” he said, stepping back. She managed to not look as disappointed, or confused, or desolate as she felt. “See you at the cinema?”

“Right,” she agreed haltingly. She turned to head into the house. “Night…”

She heard his footsteps fade, but didn’t watch him go. She didn’t understand why she felt the way she did, but besides, her head felt heavy with alcohol and tiredness, and it was probably for the best that she didn’t linger on the doorstep like some desperate fool. 

No, instead she made her way upstairs, only realising she was still wearing his jacket as she went to take it off, and if her thoughts were where they shouldn’t be as she drifted off to sleep, well…there wasn’t much she could do about that.

Friday 19th August 1977

Outside had been another sweltering summer day, the sort that seemed to be begging for hours spent by the sea or a pool so one could cool off at a moment’s notice. Remus had not been particularly looking forward to spending over two hours in a cinema in Streatham, instead of lounging and bathing to take the edge off the heat, no matter how keen he was to see the film in question. 

However, they’d filed into an empty theatre—everyone else clearly too sensible, or, more likely, working, to be out watching films in the middle of the day—and James had cast a quick glance around before muttering a few swift cooling charms. After that, the whole experience became a lot more tolerable. 

Of course, Lily, Mary and Remus were seasoned cinema-goers, but Marlene and Dorcas had never been before. Pete, James and Sirius had gone for the first time over a year ago, accompanied by Remus to ensure they didn’t freak out any muggles; as far as he could tell, the excitement and awe of the experience hadn’t worn off for any of them yet. As soon as the lights went down, James—a boy who had never met a silence he hadn’t wanted to fill—fell quiet, slumping in his seat as he dug into his popcorn. Remus tried not to sneak too many glances at Sirius in the seat next to his, his face tilted up and bathed in the glow of the cinema screen, a sweet sort of innocence that was so unusual for his friend these days: an innocence in the wideness of his eyes, the way he was lit up with delight with each image that passed before him. Every now and then, he would nudge Remus with a sharp elbow, not tearing his eyes from the screen but muttering, “Moony, look!”, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

It was surprisingly endearing, and entirely distracting—Remus caught maybe half of the film. He thought, all things considered, that was pretty good going.

“Fuck me that was cool,” was Sirius’ review as they emerged from the darkened theatre and back out into the sunshine a few hours later. “Forget curse breaking—I want to be James Bond when I grow up.”

“If you grow up,” Marlene teased, linking her arm through his. “But in fairness, Black, you’d look great in the tuxedo.”

“My first name is James,” James pointed out, unnecessarily. “I’m already halfway there. If anyone should be Bond, it should be me.”

“Potter,” Mary called out teasingly from where she walked alongside Lily. “James Potter. Licence to twat about.”

“I’ve found you don’t need a licence for such things, actually, Mac,” he responded cheerfully.

“And that song,” Sirius continued, as if no one else had said a thing. “D’you reckon there’s a record shop around here? I need to own that song.”

“I think we passed one on the way here,” Dorcas replied, glancing up and down the high street. 

“My mum was obsessed with You’re So Vain when it came out,” Mary noted. “I don’t think I heard anything else all summer after first year.”

Sirius swung himself across the pavement, an imaginary microphone held to his lips as he crooned. “Noooobody does it betterrrrrrr… ”

“—a point that could be argued, I reckon, Pads,” James piped up.

Remus had to swallow down his own response. That here, in the sunshine, the heat rippling around them, the sky blue—his hair pulled back, for once, presumably to counteract the warmth, his dark grey t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, that glint in his eye—

Well. Nobody could do it better, could they?

“Can you shop another time?” Marlene asked. “It’s too hot, I already feel like I’m sweating out my elbows here—”

“Attractive,” Sirius halted his performance (shame, Remus thought idly) to shoot Marlene a smirk.

“Oh, because my very mission in life is to be attractive for you,” she shot back, but with the sort of knowing grin that made Remus look away; the sort of grin that he’d seen them share before, back in fifth year. “But my point remains, it’s boiling.”

“Back to mine?” James suggested. “My parents won’t mind, we can splash about for a bit.”

“None of us have our swimming things, Potter,” Dorcas pointed out. “And I am not going skinny dipping with you perverts.”

“Are we not capable wixen a mere year from finishing school?” James retorted with a grin. “Are we not highly proficient—nay, skilled—in drying charms by now? Problem solved!”

It seemed easier to just agree—as tempting as it was to stand there on the pavement in the baking sun and watch Dorcas, James and Sirius bicker—and they set off en masse to an apparition point nearby. Remus hung back, letting the others go first, not least because he had noticed that Lily was hanging back, too.

She’d been so up and down this summer—unsurprisingly, of course. Sometimes she seemed like her usual self, joking and laughing and chatting freely like the seventeen year old she was. Other times it was as if she retreated into herself, pasted on a smile to keep people happy when she was clearly anything but. Today, she seemed somewhere in the middle—not quite cheerful, not quite sad. Like she was unsure of how to feel from moment to moment. 

Remus could identify with that sensation.

As another pop of apparition sounded—Pete, bringing Dorcas along with him—Remus glanced over at Lily. They’d found an alleyway, somewhere tucked away from passing muggles, where, if the worst came to the worst and they were seen, they’d just look like a cluster of ne’er-do-well teens hanging around and talking. It was narrow, with red-brick buildings looming on either side of the path, casting much-needed shadows. And in that dim light, he thought his friend looked like she was in another world.

“Lily,” he said, and she started, turning to look at him. She didn’t seem to have noticed that everyone else had gone ahead by then, that it was just the two of them remaining. “You okay?”

“Oh,” she said, and nodded. “Sorry, I was…lost in thought.”

He raised an eyebrow, offering her a small smile. “The good kind?”

“The ‘could be worse’ kind,” she replied, matching his smile. She paused. “I know I’m not great company lately…”

He held out his hand to her; she took it, sidling closer as he gave her a squeeze. “That’s not true, and if it were, it would be perfectly understandable.”

Lily looked up at him, something held back in her green eyes—like she was considering her words too carefully. “I was sort of wondering,” she admitted, quietly, glancing away, “if anyone would notice if I just…went home.”

Remus squeezed her hand again. “They would definitely notice.” James, he thought, would notice in a heartbeat. His friend was probably already wondering where they were. “But if you want to go home…I can tell the others.”

She shrugged. “I do and I don’t.” She made herself lift her chin, meet his eyes again. “C’mon. We can’t stand here all day, somebody will think we’re about to shag.” She paused, considering their surroundings. “Or do drugs, perhaps.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced that she wanted to rejoin their friends, but nodded nonetheless, shifting her hand so it rested in the crook of his arm. “Alright. Allow me…”

That now-familiar tug behind his navel, the world contracting and then expanding, and they landed at a stumble in bright sunshine, just along the lane from James’ house. They exchanged a smile, a shared relief and understanding, before they started to walk, her arm still tucked in his.

“Doesn’t feel as hot here,” Remus remarked, more to have something to say than because it was worth saying. It was true, though: a breeze lifted the leaves on the towering hedges on either side of the lane, and the sun didn’t seem quite as intense as it had back in London. Plus, being British, he knew very well how reliable a topic of conversation the weather could be. 

“I’m sure that hasn’t stopped Sirius from stripping down to his undies and flinging himself into the river,” Lily replied, and he felt aware, then, of her gaze on him. “Good thing he’s nice to look at, eh?”

Remus shot her a half-hearted glare, unwilling to acknowledge the flush that he could feel creeping up his neck. “Tempted to join the Black harem, Lil?” he asked, as lightly as he could.

She rolled her eyes. “Not even the slightest amount,” she replied. There was a curious, almost defensive stance to her, an edge to her voice that intrigued him. “I think I’m better off steering clear of any boy for the time being.”

“Oh?” he prompted as they moved through the wards around the Potter house; already, in the distance, he could hear the laughter and shrieks of their friends. “Swearing off blokes for the summer?”

Lily smiled, something wistful and sad, almost. “Some things are just…more hassle than they’re worth.”

They stopped at the side of the house, in the shade provided by the building itself, as if a silent agreement had passed between them to not yet rejoin their mates. “You don’t seem all that convinced,” he pointed out. 

She bobbed her head in acknowledgement. “Maybe not.”

He watched her, taking in the way she fiddled with the loose thread at the hem of her shirt. “Did you see Rafe again?” he asked, trying not to sound too accusatory. Frankly, Remus thought the bloke had been lucky not to get pushed into the river, and he hadn’t even seen it all play out by the bar like Sirius had. True, Sirius was an impressive storyteller, but he didn’t usually veer too far from the truth of a situation, and especially not when it was about something as serious as their friend’s honour, or whatever he had said at the time. So Sirius’ description was probably accurate, and that alone was a sign that Lily wasn’t quite herself this summer, if she was letting Rafe get as close to her as that. 

She was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the cluster of bodies by the river. “No,” she said, and it sounded resigned. “Not since the pub.”

“Good.” She looked up at him then, and a small smile cracked through at the tone of his voice. “He’s an arse, Lily. You deserve better than him.”

“I know,” she sighed, and at his raised eyebrows, added, “I do know that. I just…sometimes a distraction sounds rather nice, that’s all.”

“There are better distractions to have out there,” Remus reminded her. “Nicer distractions, ones who didn’t treat you like shit.”

“Yes, alright,” she agreed with a huff of a laugh. “I get the picture.”

“Good.” He slung his arm around her shoulder. “I’ll keep reminding you, if you need me to.”

“Thanks,” she said, a small smile to match his; she fell quiet, and he was just about to suggest they join their friends when she spoke again. “How are things with Owain?” He blinked at the change of subject. “You haven’t mentioned him much this summer…”

That was true. They hadn’t seen each other at all since just before the end of term, when Remus had left early to attend Lily’s mum’s funeral; Owain had written a few times, inviting him to Aberystwyth, or suggesting they meet up at Diagon. Each time it just hadn’t worked out, other plans or the full moon making it impossible for their diaries to match up. At least, that was what he told himself.

“I…don’t know,” he admitted, and realised how true it was. “I think—it’s becoming clearer to me, that…”

“That what?” she prompted gently, when he hadn’t spoken again for a few moments. 

He forced up a smile, something strained and a bit sad. “That there’s an end date to our relationship.”

She frowned. “What? Why?”

He glanced around them, just to be sure—the others were still at the bottom of the garden, well out of earshot. “Either I tell him about…” Even though she knew, he still didn’t want to say the words out loud. He swallowed, hard. “And I don’t know how he’ll react. Or…I break up with him.”

“Oh, Re,” she breathed, and reached for his hand. “You don’t think he’d…take it well?”

“Would you? If the bloke you’d been seeing for months, turned around and told you he’d been lying to you, that he was a—” He cut himself off, surprised to find his voice hoarse, his eyes stinging a little. “It’s a risk, telling him—if he doesn’t take it well, he could tell everyone—I could be kicked out of school, or—”

She frowned. “But that’s not his personality,” she pointed out. “He’s not that kind of person.”

She was right: Owain wasn’t malicious, wasn’t reactionary, wasn’t brutal. And in a way, he wished it was as simple as only being about his boyfriend’s potential response to the news of his lycanthropy. “I just…I think it will be easier, for both of us,” he said at last. He knew she could hear the finality in his voice; her frown deepened. “To just…draw a line under it. Move on.”

“Remus, that’s—”

 “Oi!” Sirius’ voice cut through the air, and they both turned to look towards the river; the boy in question was standing on the bank, hands on his hips (and, yes, stripped down to his shorts) and staring in their direction. “Are you two quite finished arranging your secret affair?”

Lily’s frown faded, and she rolled her eyes before shouting back, “Just a few more details to iron out, Black!” She turned back to Remus, surveying him thoughtfully. “Is this all—is it about more than just—”

Now really didn’t seem like the time to talk about that, and especially not now that Sirius had successfully brought the others’ attention to them as well. He could see James, hands in pockets and clearly trying not to look too interested; knowing his friend, he’d probably leap on Remus as soon as he joined them, trying to find out what they’d been talking about. 

“Another time,” he cut her off, and started walking across the lawn; she fell into step beside him. “Let’s just…cool off, shall we?”

She didn’t have the opportunity to press him further: everyone’s focus was drawn by Marlene giving James a hearty shove so that he toppled into the shallows, emerging spluttering and drenched and ready for vengeance. It was under cover of the chaos that Lily moved off to help her friend in the impromptu water fight, and Remus kicked off his shoes, glancing up to see that Sirius had sidled over to him. 

“Alright, Moony?” Sirius asked. His tone seemed light, airy, but there was something in his eyes that Remus couldn’t quite figure out. 

Something else he couldn’t wrap his mind around. He just nodded, and smiled. “Yep. All fine.”

It was mostly true.

Thursday 25th August 1977

“Aurelia Wiggins?” Everyone in the waiting area glanced up, over at the exhausted-looking healer clutching a clipboard by the clinic door. Quite why they had to wear lime green robes—a colour which suited almost nobody and managed to bring out the tiredness in every wearer—was beyond James. He had asked his mum once, a long time ago (it might’ve been the time he’d tried to master the power of flight without a broomstick, aged eight, throwing himself majestically off of the garden room roof. He hadn’t mastered the power of flight but he had broken his arm in two places). Anyway, his mum had answered with some niche bit of history about Mungo himself which had not been the sort of exciting story young James had been looking for. 

“Aurelia—” the healer started again, and finally an old woman sitting a few seats away from him hauled herself to her feet. Well, he thought, glancing briefly at his mother reading the newspaper at his side, maybe the woman was about her age. Which he didn’t like to think of as old. 

“Alright, alright, I heard you the first time,” the older witch muttered, and followed the healer through the doors. 

James tipped his head back against the wall and heaved a sigh. There were no windows in this room, but he knew without a shadow of doubt that the sun was blazing outside, a slight breeze to take the edge off—perfect flying conditions. When he’d been free to fly yesterday, it had been cloudy and cool. Bloody typical. 

The healers had wanted to see him again, to check the wounds on his back and run a few tests. “Standard follow-up,” the letter had said. Why these things fell in the holidays instead of during school time, when a day in the hospital would be a pleasant break from studying, was typical of his luck. When he’d shown his parents the letter, Euphemia had insisted she go with him, as if seventeen was far too young to be doing such things alone. “You’re my little boy,” she had said, quite matter of factly. “That won’t change no matter how old you are, dear.”

Well, now that he had sat there in the waiting room for a blisteringly tedious forty minutes, he was rather glad for the company. Of course, his mum had no time for claims of boredom (“didn’t you bring a book?” “I will pretend you didn’t ask me that, mother”) but at least it was someone to talk to whenever he felt like his brain was about to calcify. He’d suggested to Sirius that he come along; the response he’d received was one he would never repeat in polite company. 

He sighed again, and at his side, Euphemia tutted softly. “What?” he asked, sotto voce. He didn’t want every ruddy wix in the room to eavesdrop. “Why are you tutting?”

“Why are you sighing?” she replied, not looking up from the paper. “You sound like a deflating balloon, darling.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m—“ He paused. If he said the word bored, she’d have no mercy. “I’m…tired. Of waiting.”

“Yes, well,” she turned the page of the paper neatly, “that is rather the way these things go.”

“But the letter said noon,” he frowned. “Don’t say a time if it’s not going to be that time.”

“Welcome to non-emergency healthcare, dear.” This time, she glanced up at him; he could tell she was fighting a smile. “Think of it as character building.”

“My character is fine.” He shifted in his seat again. “This is pointless. My back’s been okay, the pain is all gone, I’m not a grumpy sod anymore—”

“Oh?” Euphemia interrupted. 

“This doesn’t count,” James insisted. “They’re just going to say I’m fine, which we already know, and I’ll have lost precious hours of my life to this windowless tomb.”

The wizard sat opposite them looked up with some alarm—evidently James’ volume control had taken a turn. His mother gave the man a polite smile before looking back at her son. “Darling, I’m sure in the great scheme of things, a few hours here will be but the merest blip in a long and productive life.”

He sighed again and slumped down in his chair. “Hmm.”

A silence fell, and he occupied himself with once more counting the ceiling tiles, when Euphemia tutted again. He looked over with some irritation. “I didn’t sigh!”

She shook her head, holding the newspaper at a slight angle so he could see the headline: ‘WEREWOLF REGISTRATION ACT PASSES WIZENGAMOT WITH LANDSLIDE VOTE’. He swallowed, sitting up straighter. “These people,” his mother murmured, frowning. “The things they don’t realise…”

James tried not to let his concern paint too vividly across his face. His parents didn’t know about Remus’ furry little problem—he thought they probably wouldn’t be unkind, or want him to not be friends with Remus, but it didn’t feel right, sharing a secret that wasn’t his. “I thought…I thought it’d been voted down ages ago.” He remembered Moony coming back from Hogsmeade, Valentine's weekend, sharing everything Moody and Merryton had said to him; how it was possible he’d soon have an even more difficult time getting a job, having any kind of life outside school. Moody had seemed dismissive of it going through, and James had looked out for any news of it in the Prophet for the next month or so. He’d assumed, naively, that the silence on the matter meant it was all done and dusted, written off as a bad idea. “How did it…”

Euphemia continued to read. “Evidently the little opposition it had in the first round wasn’t enough to hold it back any longer. I know Dumbledore was against it, I imagine he was one of the—” She paused to check, and sighed. “Five nay votes. Gracious. This will only serve to marginalise lycanthropes further, nobody will want to register…”

James chewed on his lower lip, thinking of his friend, quietly living his life off in Herefordshire. In a way, he hoped that Remus hadn’t seen the news yet, although he knew it was unlikely. Mr Lupin seemed to make a point of bringing any werewolf-related news to his son, as if he thought he might forget his condition. “It’s bullshit,” he murmured.

Normally, any drift into swearing was swiftly chastised by his mum; she was quite old-fashioned, in that regard. This time, though, she just nodded with a grim expression, and turned the page of the newspaper. “Ah, now, the Minister wants to up the funding for the DMLE—about time, frankly…”

Something James was less interested in. He shifted his focus back to the ceiling tiles, his mind wandering once more. Perhaps he should write to Moony, see if he fancied a visitor. He was fairly sure that Sirius would want to join him. Perhaps Pete would be free too. Spending time with the girls was great, obviously—more than great, if he was honest—but it would be good to have some Marauder time, too. 

They ended up waiting just over an hour for what ended up being a fifteen minute appointment: as James had predicted, Healer Robbins declared that he was healing well, that the cursed glass didn’t seem to have had any lasting effect. He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and just said a polite ‘thank you’ before his mum hurried him out the door, down the stairs and back into the main entrance hall of the hospital. “Right,” Euphemia nodded, checking the time on the elegant silver watch that braceleted her wrist. “Straight back home? Or do you need anything from Diagon while we’re here?”

It was tempting to suggest a quick visit to Quality Quidditch Supplies (his mum could usually be convinced to drop a few galleons), but, for whatever reason, he just wanted to go home. Even if it was just to go wading into the river with Sirius, or sneak in a quick fly before dinner. “Home,” he said. “Make sure dad hasn’t eaten all of that lemon drizzle cake you made.”

“Ever the optimist,” she said fondly, patting his arm. She nodded to the queue for the Floo. “Let’s go.”

A short wait, and then they were tumbling through the fireplace into the living room, the house eerily silent. “I’ve always suspected the worst when it’s quiet,” Euphemia told James as she dusted off her robes. “Especially when it comes to you.”

“Charming,” James replied, albeit with a smirk. He nodded towards the back of the house. “They’re probably outside.”

Sure enough, they descended the kitchen steps into the garden to find Fleamont sitting with his eyes closed in the shade of the apple trees, newspaper discarded in his lap and glasses balanced rather precariously on the end of his nose. Nearby, Sirius was lounging on the grass, the pale skin of his chest bared to the heat of the afternoon sun. Perhaps he thought he might get a tan—James thought it unlikely. He’d never seen his best mate anything other than a borderline-ghostly, pasty white.

“Here you are!” Euphemia smiled, and her husband’s eyes opened, his own smile already matching hers. It was very sweet, the way they lit up when they were around each other, James could admit now (although only a few years ago, it had felt utterly mortifying). “Gentlemen of leisure, are we?”

“So it would seem,” Fleamont agreed, tilting his face up to receive his wife’s kiss hello. He looked over at James. “They didn’t need to cart you off to the Ward for Mysterious Magical Ailments, then?”

James dropped to the grass next to Sirius. “Not this time, anyway.”

Euphemia, with a wordless wave of her wand, conjured a chair to sit alongside her husband. “He put up with the wait about as well as you might expect.”

James frowned. “Hey—”

“He does take after you in that respect, dear,” Euphemia continued; Fleamont shot his son a wink. “But it’s all fine, and that’s what matters.”

“Good,” his dad nodded, and paused, something of a strangely knowing smile on his face. “Well, while you were gone…”

At this, Sirius sat up, suddenly grinning. “Ooh, yes, Monty—the anticipation’s been killing me.”

James glanced between them, baffled, eyebrows raised. “Oh, Merlin…what have you done now…?”

“Nothing,” Sirius insisted, eyes twinkling. “Hogwarts letters came.”

“Right,” James nodded, still not sure what was happening. “Great. Any exciting additions to the reading list?”

“Dunno, haven’t looked,” Sirius replied cheerily.

He could only sigh. “What—”

His father took pity on him, pulling a thick envelope from his pocket. “Yours…is a little heavier than Sirius’ was.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Euphemia; James looked at her briefly, then back to his dad, who held out the envelope with an expectant grin. “Okay…?”

Sirius leaned forward, classically impatient, to snatch the letter and toss it into James’ lap. “For Merlin’s sake, Prongs, just open the damn thing.”

It was true, the envelope was heavier than the usual missive. He wondered, as he carefully opened the parchment, whether they had redesigned the quidditch captain badge—he hoped not, the other one was his pride and joy. 

The letter unfurled, and there, instead of McGonagall’s usual, careful cursive, was a different handwriting altogether. He blinked, not really taking in the words just yet, but rather, the name at the bottom. 

Albus Dumbledore.

It was only then that he realised that whatever had been weighing the envelope down had now fallen into the grass, and he paused, reaching down to retrieve it.

“... what,” was all he managed to murmur, staring down at the badge in absolute bewilderment. 

“Oh, James,” Euphemia was up and out of her seat, moving towards him; she crouched to fling her arms around him in a strange sort of sideways hug. He could tell she was trying not to cry. “I’m so proud of you—my darling boy—”

Fleamont stayed sitting, but was beaming, joy in every line and pore of his face. James looked up at him, the badge still clutched in his hand, the letter—unread, ignored—in his lap, and tried to understand what was happening. “A very fine choice indeed,” his dad agreed, emotion tugging at each word. “Dumbledore is an excellent judge of character.”

“Bloody hell, Prongs.” James looked to his right, now, taking in Sirius’ grin, the slightly awed look in his eyes. “Head Boy…?”

Something about those words made him look back down at the letter, blinking still, dumbfounded. “Is it possible,” he asked distantly, “that they sent the owl to the wrong house…?”

“Ohh James,” his mother tutted, pulling out of her hug to press a kiss to his temple. She extended a finger, pointing to the top of the parchment. “Look—James Fleamont Potter. That’s you.”

He tried his best to take in the words that followed. Something about courage, about leadership skills, about maturity…it wasn’t really sinking in. That was, until…

“Does it say who the Head Girl is?” Sirius asked, edging closer to peer over his shoulder.

They both scanned through the letter, and found the information at the same time—James knew that was the case, because Sirius’ grin practically radiated off of him, his laughter shaking his whole body as he flopped back against the grass. “Oh, this is brilliant…”

Fleamont raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Someone you don’t like?”

“Quite the opposite,” Sirius replied, before James could even jump-start his brain into forming words. He seemed to be enjoying himself far too much for James’ liking.

“Well, go one then,” Euphemia said, hands on her hips. “Who is it?”

James finally looked up, from Sirius, to his dad, to his mum. He wasn’t sure why his mouth had gone dry. 

“It’s Lily.”

Wednesday 31st August 1977

Just under twenty-four hours until the Hogwarts Express would be leaving King’s Cross, and Lily hadn’t even opened her trunk.

It wasn’t like her to be so disorganised. She liked to get things done in good time, in case a small crisis occurred that delayed her: she was notorious amongst her friends for always aiming to finish her essays at least two days before they were due (something which, to her, only made sense—how else would she have enough time to thoroughly edit and revise her work?). This time last year she had already packed, ticking each item methodically off the list she kept in a notebook in her bedside table for use each September. She had been able to spend the rest of the day lounging in the garden, chatting with her parents, reading and painting her nails—enjoying the last few hours of summer, basically.

This year, that wasn’t happening. She was too distracted: distracted with worry for her father. 

Anthony Evans was usually a broad-shouldered, wiry sort—a hangover from his days playing scrum-half for his school’s rugby team. Lily couldn’t remember a time in her life when he had looked anything other than healthy, vital, full of energy.

That had started slipping away when her mum became ill, and now, two months after her death, he was a shadow of the man he’d once been. He’d lost weight, his cheeks taking on a hollowed-out quality; he always looked deeply, deeply weary. Lily knew he didn’t sleep well: she often heard him moving around downstairs during the night. Any time she tried to talk to him about it, he brushed it to the side, made an attempt at light-heartedness by saying it was his job to look after her, not the other way around. Petunia was clearly worried too, not that she said anything about it—always one to let things fester, especially if it didn’t impact her too much.

It all meant that Lily was even more worried about going back to school than she might have otherwise been. Her being there, in that house, was the only semblance of control she still had; her presence might have been the only thing that kept her father eating regular meals, drinking water, at least trying to go to sleep, even if he didn’t always succeed. Thinking about leaving him here on his own—with Lily hours and hours away, unable to help—made her feel sick with anxiety.

She had tried to broach the subject with him, back in July, tentatively suggesting she could study somewhere closer to home. She didn’t want to do it, but she would—she felt, in her soul, in her guts, that she would do just about anything to keep her dad ticking along. 

(And that was what it came down to, in the end: a very real, entrenched fear that she would lose him, too—that she would lose him, and be left behind with nothing, no one who loved her, who cared in the way that parents just did.)

Her father had pointed out that the schools local to Cokeworth could hardly help her with her “potioning”, and that she’d already missed half the curriculum for A Levels, so it made no sense for her to leave Hogwarts. He’d said it all as if it was merely a joke, a gentle thing they shared because it was funny and not because she was terrified to step out of his line of sight. 

Still, she had nodded, and smiled something half hearted, an attempt at their old playfulness which never seemed to come quite as easily lately. And she knew her dad was a grown man, capable of looking after himself; that maybe he didn’t need his teenage daughter lurking in the background, crowding out his grief with her own all the time. 

So she was going. Under duress, and with a hefty dose of apprehension. 

None of this made her feel more inclined to pack. She just sat there on her bed, staring at her trunk on the floor, and trying to gather the energy to do something. 

It wasn’t like she didn’t have plenty to look forward to. The seventh year syllabus was brutal but also, crucially, fascinating—she knew, just from skimming through the books recently purchased from Diagon Alley, that they would get to tackle a lot of interesting, challenging magic this year.

And then, of course, there was her shiny new badge, glinting at her out of the corner of her eye from atop the bedside table. 

She had never assumed she would be made Head Girl: there were plenty of candidates among their year group, just as clever and focused as she was. She was hardly unique in that regard. But evidently, Dumbledore saw something in her that would make her ‘ideally suited to the role’. She wasn’t entirely sure what that was, but she looked forward to finding out.

She had felt a strange mixture of surprise and, conversely, total non-surprise at the sight of James’ name on her letter from Dumbledore. Like the options for Head Girl, the field for Head Boy was not exactly sparse—she could list maybe ten lads in their year who could’ve fit the bill. She had hoped (but, she knew, pointlessly) that it would be Remus, and she had prayed that it wouldn’t be Severus. She thought it unlikely, but he was a prefect, and Dumbledore could be unpredictable. 

Lily had to admit to herself that James had not been on her mental list of candidates, but once she stopped to think about it, it made sense. He’d shown a lot of maturity and growth over the last year: he’d grown up, there was no denying it. And his leadership through SWEN had been a bright light amongst an awful lot of darkness, even if he wouldn’t admit as much himself. It was odd, in a way, the things he could be humble about. She knew he wasn’t perfect—he still had a mouth on him; he could still be arrogant; he still took quidditch so seriously that it could ruin his mood for days. But then, she supposed, she was hardly perfect either: she was self-aware enough to recognise that she could be too proud, too closed-off; that she could hold a grudge like very few could. “There’s no such thing as a perfect teenager,” her dad had said when she’d aired these thoughts after the letter arrived. “Or a perfect person, really. All we can do is strive to do our best by ourselves and by the people around us.” He’d wrapped his arm around her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I know I’m biased, but I think your Dumbledore made just the right choice for the job.”

So she wasn’t perfect, and neither was James. They could be imperfect together.

That it would mean more time in close proximity with James was perhaps both a blessing and a curse. Her crush, the one she had been quietly trying to tamp down, to douse the flames before they became too intense, didn’t seem to have gone anywhere this summer. If anything, it had only got stronger with every interaction. It was ridiculous, she knew; insanity, frankly, to feel this fluttery way about a boy who was her friend, a boy with a serious girlfriend and plenty of other things to deal with other than Lily and her strange feelings. 

She could only hope that dealing with him as co-heads would just cement their friendship, wear away the newness and flickering heat of her crush on him until it was gone completely. 

The sound of a cleared throat from the doorway drew her from her thoughts, and she looked up to find her dad standing there, watching her. He wore a small, almost sad smile, as if he knew the path her thoughts had trodden down. “You alright, Lil?”

She forced up a smile of her own. “Yeah,” she replied. “Just…thinking about thinking about packing.”

“A vital step in the process.” He leaned against the door frame. “Need any help?”

She tried not to let that question sink her. Each year since she’d turned eleven, her mum had been the one to assist with packing—even in more recent times, when Lily had not needed the help. They’d chat as they folded clothes and arranged books so everything fit inside; Rose would ask questions, excited for her daughter and genuinely interested in the life that Lily led when she was at school. Doing this without her, now, was just another reason for her to feel like something that had been broken, beyond repair, but which someone had tried and tried and tried to fix anyway. Piece back together, even if shards were missing. Even if it meant the picture no longer resembled anything she recognised. 

“No, it’s okay,” she promised. “I’ve got it down to a fine art by now.”

He nodded, pausing a moment as if not quite sure what to do next. Sometimes, this summer, she could tell that he wanted to speak, to say something that might alleviate both their pain. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t find the words—nobody would be able to. It just didn’t seem possible. “I was thinking bacon and egg baps for lunch,” he said at last. “One last hurrah before you trundle off to the frozen north.”

She swallowed, nodding too, suddenly finding herself feeling quite overwhelmed. “That sounds lovely,” she agreed; her voice was hoarse, like she’d been shouting. “Need any help?”

“No, you pack, love,” he said, pushing off the door frame to turn around, make his way back into the hallway. “I’ll give you a shout when it’s ready.”

She found herself standing, picking her way past clothes and spell books in a sudden rush. “Dad—”

Anthony stopped; turned back to face her, his eyebrows raised in friendly inquisition. “Yes, love?”

Lily once again found herself without words, words that might cover how grateful she was to have him, how sad she was for how sad he was, how heartbroken she felt whenever she noticed the empty space in the house around them. Instead, she pushed herself forward, tucking her head under his chin as she wrapped her arms around his waist; he instinctively pulled her in closer, one hand rubbing gentle circles on her back as his chin rested on the top of her head. 

Neither of them said anything. Moments passed, and then she felt her father tilt his head to press a soft kiss into her hair, like he always had done ever since she could remember. Her vision blurred for a moment, tears that she was determined not to shed, and she gave him a squeeze. A tightening of her embrace that she hoped said what she couldn’t seem to say out loud: that she loved him, that she was sorry. For what, she wasn’t sure; she just knew that she was.

Finally, she pulled back, giving him a small but genuine smile. “Thanks.”

He smiled back at her, clear emotion on his face—she worked hard not to let that affect her, too. “You know I’m always here for a hug, my little Lilibet,” he told her. 

A stronger smile, then, at his favoured pet name for her, and she turned back to her room. “I promise to be half packed by the time you’re finished burning the bacon.”

Her father tsked fondly behind her, and she listened as his footsteps carried him down the hall, towards the stairs. “As if I have ever burned anything in my life…”

She stared down at her trunk for a moment longer, until she heard the clanging of pans in the kitchen, and then nodded. 

Time to get ready.

Thursday 1st September 1977

Sirius couldn’t sleep.

He had tried: really tried. He’d laid there in his bed, in the dark, forcing his eyes closed and trying to quiet the various thoughts that skittered, uninvited, through his head. But it seemed as if no time would pass at all before he realised that his eyes were open again, and he was just staring up at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by, closer and closer to the point where he’d have to get up.

It was absurd. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts—of course he did. He was looking forward to kicking off their final year in style; looking forward to seeing his mates; looking forward to watching Prongs take on his new role. Fuck, he was even looking forward to lessons, in a strange sort of way.

He couldn’t put his finger on why he felt like this. He just knew that he did.

In the end, he hauled back the covers and reached for his wand, casting a quiet lumos that gave his bedroom an eerie glow but that meant he didn’t trip over the various discarded clothes or textbooks that still lay scattered on their way to his trunk. The door opened with its customary creak, but that was the only sound as he made his way along the hallway and down the stairs: the house around him was still, silent, everyone fast asleep.

Or so he thought.

“Oh,” he said, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. Fleamont looked up from where was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of firewhisky in one hand and a tattered old paperback novel in the other. “Sorry, I—thought everyone was in bed.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Fleamont replied with a gentle smile, and nodded to the chair nearby. “Can’t sleep either, eh?”

Sirius sank into the chair with a tired nod. “Not a wink.”

Fleamont nodded, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “I’ve never been one who can fall straight to sleep,” he said. “Not like Jamie. I’m envious of his skills.”

Sirius managed a wan smile, something undefined and blurred. Something like how his head felt at that moment. “He’s a lucky git.”

The older man laughed softly. “True.” He paused, fingers drumming idly on the table. “So you couldn’t even drift off…?”

“Dunno why,” Sirius sighed. “It’s not for want of trying.” He stared down at his hands, noticing again the scar that bisected the base of his thumb. He tried to ignore it, usually. Scars like that could easily be healed; there were enough potions and spells that would’ve done it. But it had been a curse from his mother, when he was nine and apparently not holding his cutlery in a way befitting a Black. She had no interest in healing the ridge of scar that had remained, an angry red, after the altercation. Walburga was of the opinion that a child who had a reminder of the punishment was less likely to commit such a crime again. 

Never had worked with Sirius, though.

He hadn’t even realised that he had traced his finger along the raised white line—it was a habit, at this point. “We had a nanny who used to tell us to count sheep when we couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, lost in that memory for a moment. “...of course, she was fired once Mother realised she said sheep and not hippogriffs.” He looked up, embarrassed. “Don’t know what made me think of that…”

Fleamont watched him, a look of quiet understanding on his face. He was quiet in general, Mr Potter, happy to let his wife and son fill up a room with noise and nonsense. Quiet, but warm, and perceptive as anything—Sirius had always felt that James’ dad saw far more of him than any other adult ever had. It was both comforting and alarming at the same time.

“The night before the school year starts is always a strange one,” Fleamont offered; he set his book down, and with a wave of his wand, another glass appeared, filling with just an inch of firewhisky, which he slid over to Sirius. “And this is different enough, isn’t it?” At Sirius’ slight look of confusion, Fleamont continued: “I know you were with us last year at the end of the summer, but…those were different circumstances. You were in a very dark place.”

Sirius looked down at his glass, more to have somewhere else to look than anything else. When he thought back to that time, he felt a mixture of emotions, but one that stood out strongly—especially in regard to how he had been to the Potters, who had taken him in and made him part of the family—was shame. Shame that he had been so caught in his own anger, his own bitterness and pain, that he couldn’t see the people around him who cared for him. “Yeah…”

He felt a hand on his, and he forced himself to look up. Fleamont held his gaze, steady and reassuring, a shelter in a storm. “As anyone would’ve been.” He squeezed Sirius’ hand. “This time, you’re a fully-fledged part of the family,” he added. “I’m afraid there’s no getting rid of us now, my boy.”

My boy. The words made his throat ache, a sudden onset of emotion that he didn’t quite know what to do with. They could have just let him live in the spare room; they could have just been friendly but distant, the parents of a friend and nothing more. But they had immediately and without a second thought taken him on as if he were their second son—like he was a vital organ in the body of this family, as if they would not, could not, get by without him. 

If he ever let himself think about it too much, it could easily break him down.

He swallowed against this flood of emotion. “It’s…the last year of school.”

Fleamont nodded, patient, again understanding so much more than was said. “True.”

“And then I’m…I’ll be an adult…”

A small smile; he looked so much like James at that moment. “Even adults need their family,” he said, voice gentle, a balm to a bruise that Sirius hadn’t even noticed was there. “School coming to an end doesn’t change that.”

He blinked fiercely, trying to hold himself together. “You and Phie—”

“Will always be here for you,” Fleamont nodded. “As I said, Sirius: there’s no getting rid of us.” His smile strengthened. “You and James will be desperate to live your lives and be grown up, but I'm afraid you’ll have no peace unless you regularly return to see us. You know how your mother is.”

Sirius’ gaze flashed up to meet Fleamont’s; they both knew that he wasn’t talking about Walburga. His eyes stung and he drew in a deep breath. “Don’t worry,” he said, because anything more serious felt as if it would destroy him completely. “We’ll keep coming back, it’s not like we can feed ourselves, is it?”

Fleamont laughed fondly, patting his hand before he went to pick up his glass again. “Remind me to teach you two some basic recipes over the holidays.”

Sirius smirked in spite of the urge to just put his head down on the table and cry. “Think Phie will mind us burning the house down…?”

“My boy,” Fleamont smiled, “that is what aguamenti is for.”

They talked for a while, Fleamont recalling his school days with a grin, or telling stories of how he had fared when he had first moved out of his parents’ home. Sirius listened, sipping his firewhisky and feeling a wash of contentment seep into every pore. The itchy, uncertain feeling that had felt as if it lingered under his skin previously was gone; he found himself suddenly ready to go to bed, to start his seventh year, to earn some of these experiences for himself.

“We’d better try to get some sleep, I think,” Fleamont decided, glancing at the kitchen clock. “We have to be up and out in seven hours.”

Sirius nodded, standing, hesitating as Fleamont stood, too. “Thanks…for, y’know.”

The man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that familiar way, and he reached out to briefly cup his cheek, to hold his gaze a moment. “Any time,” he assured him. “I mean it. Okay?”

Sirius could only nod, once more fighting back the emotions that could have brought him to his knees if he let them. “Okay,” he agreed quietly.

Fleamont nodded towards the stairs. “Onwards to bed,” he said. “You’ll sleep okay?”

He knew he would, now. It felt inevitable; as inevitable as the sun rising, as inevitable as the world turning. As inevitable as the way he had been folded into this family, loved, one of their own. 

“Yeah,” he replied, and now he couldn’t fight a smile, too. “I’ll sleep okay.”

Chapter Text

Four Interludes On The Train, or: Start As We Mean To Go On

i. Lily

King’s Cross was as busy as ever on the cool but bright morning of 1st September: busy enough for Anthony Evans to stick his hazard lights on, haul Lily’s trunk out of the boot, give his daughter a tight hug before clambering back into his car and disappearing into the London traffic with a wave. Lily didn’t blame him—he usually did this seeing-her-off routine with his wife, and she knew they both felt that absence quite acutely this morning. 

She also felt a touch relieved, if she were honest. If her dad had seen her on to the platform, she might’ve succumbed to her emotions, shed a few tears, and she didn’t want to broadcast any kind of entertainment for her fellow students. Far better to be stoic and cool, if at all possible.

Luckily, she didn’t have to be stoic and cool alone: she bumped into Mary almost immediately, her friend flinging her arms around her with a joyful grin. “It's my favourite Head Girl!” Mary crowed. “Ready for our final year?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Lily couldn’t help but laugh. 

After standing around by the departures board for five minutes (Mary having a lot to share about what she’d been up to the last week of the holidays), they decided they should probably try to make their way through the melee. Easier said than done, with the frustrating combination of their luggage and the sheer volume of people in the station. 

“Surely,” Mary was saying as they made their way around a bickering family, “the fact that there’s a platform nine and three quarters implies there’s a nine and a half, and a nine and one quarter…”

Lily was only half listening. (“Hmm, yeah, suppose so…” had been her insightful reply.) Yes, a part of her was more focused on not falling over someone’s suitcase than on what her friend was talking about…but, if she were truthful, she could admit to herself that she was preoccupied with something else, too; she could only pray that Mary hadn’t picked up on it, because she was bound to ask lots of questions as to why—questions Lily wasn’t sure she could answer. 

The other reason for her distraction? The scrap of parchment that had arrived bright and early that morning, a stately owl tapping at her windowpane just after seven. The missive had only been a few lines long, but somehow it had taken up residence in her brain to the point where she couldn’t even pay attention to her surroundings as they navigated King’s Cross. It was pathetic, Lily knew, to clutch onto a piece of parchment in her jacket pocket. It would be even more pathetic if she let it be the reason she tripped over a commuter.

The message had been simple, really. It was more about who the message was from.

L — congrats! Not that it’s a surprise to anyone with a brain. (unlike my appointment…) See you in the prefects' carriage a few mins before our first big meeting? — J

He wanted to meet her before their meeting on the train—maybe he wanted to congratulate her in person. Maybe he wanted to ask for his jacket back (which would be tough luck for him, because she’d left it hanging on the back of her desk chair in her bedroom at home, maybe just slightly on purpose so she didn’t have to give it back to him yet). Maybe he wanted her to know that he’d been thinking about her as much as she’d been thinking about him. Maybe…maybe he just wanted to find out what on earth actually happened at prefect meetings.

She was definitely reading far too much into the note. 

“And then does that mean that all the other platforms have hidden quarter platforms too? Or do the fractions vary? Is there a platform three and two thirds?” Mary was cheerfully continuing, having led them successfully to the right section of wall between platforms nine and ten; they had to wait a few moments behind a cluster of nervous looking first years and their parents, loaded down with trunks and owls and one particularly slimy looking toad. “Maybe I’ll write to the Transport department, demand some answers.”

“You do that, Mare,” Lily nodded, glancing around them. She wasn’t looking out for anyone specific, of course. It was just interesting to see who was around, that was all.

“I will,” Mary nodded too, looking pleased with herself. “And by the way, Head Girl, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re barely listening to a word I’m saying.”

“I’m listening!” Lily protested; they moved forward, finally at the front of the queue for the barrier, and cast a quick glance around themselves before sidling through. She waited until they were through the familiar billow of steam before she continued. “You were wondering about platform fractions.”

“I hope you’re not worrying about your new role,” Mary told her. They side-stepped a group of gossiping sixth years who seemed unwilling to stand anywhere but right in the middle of the concourse. “You know you’ll be brilliant at it. The cleverest, kindest, most beautiful Head Girl Hogwarts has ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes, but felt that familiar surge of affection and warmth at her friend’s words anyway. Even when Lily didn’t have faith in herself, she knew she could rely on Mary to believe in her. “I’m not sure my beauty has much to do with it,” she replied, giving Mary’s arm a fond squeeze. “But thank you.”

“I agree that you don’t have to be beautiful to be a good Head Girl,” Mary allowed with a nod. “You just happen to be beautiful too, it’s an added bonus, isn’t it?” She caught sight of something. “Oh, look! Marl’s found us a compartment!”

Mary just about gave Lily a second to see what she had spotted too—Marlene through a nearby carriage window, waving and making some choice obscene gestures—before she yanked her through the crowd towards the carriage doors. Although Mary was petite, looking rather sweet and tiny and as if butter wouldn’t melt, she was actually much stronger and fiercer than she seemed; she elbowed her way through the crowd, parting a group of second years with ease (“sorry, sorry,” Lily told them as she was pulled along in Mary’s wake, ever the people-pleaser), and hauled them both, trunks and all, onto the train.

Marlene stood up to greet them, pulling them both into a group hug. “At last! I was beginning to wonder if you two had decided to drop out.”

“As if,” Mary smirked, falling into the nearest seat. “Lil’s got a school to run.”

“I rather think that’s Dumbledore’s job, don’t you?” Lily asked.

“He’s getting old, it’s time for him to pass the torch—”

“Oh, speaking of our illustrious Head students,” Marlene interrupted with a grin, flopping into her seat on the other side of the compartment; Lily sat down opposite her. “I came through the barrier behind Lucy and Lambeth, stood in the queue waiting right behind them, they didn’t even notice I was there, self-absorbed cows—anyway, you’ll never guess what they were talking about.”

“You’re right,” Mary agreed, “we’ll never guess.”

“Lucy was bitching and moaning about how miserable and boring Cadence has been—” and at this point, Marlene leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “—ever since Potter dumped her.”

Lily’s head snapped up from where she’d been idling through the contents of her bag, the reaction quite out of her control. Dumped?!

“Wait, what?” Mary’s eyes widened dramatically. “When did that happen?”

“Right at the start of the hols.” Marlene looked over at Lily, clearly expecting a reaction; trouble was, Lily was too busy feeling shell-shocked to do any reacting. She felt as if a strong breeze might knock her down. The start of the holidays…? That meant… “Our boy Potter has been single all summer.”

He’d been single…single when they’d been swimming; single at the pub; single at the cinema. Single when he’d walked her home and she’d thought she’d felt a strange electricity in the air between them. And yet…

“Why didn’t he say anything?” Mary wondered with a frown. “Or any of the other lads. It’s not like them to keep their mouths shut…”

He didn’t say anything, Lily thought, and swallowed, hard. Because he doesn’t care if you know or not.

“Lil?” Marlene’s voice cut through the fog, and she refocused her attention on her friend. Both her companions looked concerned. “You okay? I thought this would be…y’know, good news…”

Lily tried to push down the burgeoning feeling of embarrassment that was blooming inside her; embarrassment at being seen and understood so completely, embarrassment at the obvious truth of the matter. Maybe this would’ve been good news—if he thought of her as anything other than a friend. “I’m fine,” she dismissed. “What difference does it make to us, anyway?”

She didn’t fail to notice the look Mary and Marlene shared, not that they were trying particularly strenuously to hide it from her. “Where’s Dor?” she asked instead; yes, it was a blatant change of subject, but that was better than leaving room for them to question her further. “We didn’t see her on the platform.”

Marlene pursed her lips, but sighed, apparently giving in to the redirection of their conversation. “She was in here when I arrived but she went off about five minutes ago with a copy of The Daily Prophet and muttering something about teachers…”

“How very mysterious of her,” Mary remarked. 

“Terribly,” Marlene agreed. “She’ll return eventually, you know what she’s like—she’s probably got distracted talking to someone from Runes Club.”

Lily nodded, sinking back into her seat as Mary changed the subject again to—well, Lily didn’t know, because she had once again stopped listening. Her mind was whirring now, raking over every interaction she’d shared with James since the end of sixth year, as if she could pinpoint the time when he’d gone from attached and unobtainable to single and…apparently still unobtainable. 

What was worse was how much she cared. God, a mere year ago she would not have given two hoots if James Potter was single, dating or had joined a monastery in the Himalayas. Somehow, without quite meaning to, she’d become his friend over the past twelve months, had seen a side of him she never expected to see. He’d changed a bit, it was true, but at some point she’d realised that maybe she’d not been looking at him fairly, that she’d been viewing him through a biased lens—whatever the opposite of rose-tinted glasses were. When she had stripped that all away, she found herself left with a boy who was, yes, infuriating and rash and sometimes a bit of an idiot, but who was also kind, and thoughtful, and funny; a boy who had been there all along, only she’d been too busy hating him to notice. 

Well, she’d finally noticed—noticed a lot, if she were honest—and he no longer noticed her. If he’d still thought of her as he had back in fifth year, then he would’ve told her he’d split up with Cadence; he would’ve brought it up on one of the many, many occasions when the opportunity arose. Hell, she’d asked about Cadence a few times over the summer (in that self-flagellating way, trying to be nonchalant) and he’d not said a word. 

Sometimes silence could speak volumes. 

Dorcas returned as the train started to move, and Lily stood with greater reluctance than she’d expected to feel. “Right, well,” she said, and the others looked up at her, Mary and Marlene a bit too knowing. “Off I go to the prefects’ meeting. See you all in a bit.”

“Good luck, not that you need it,” Dorcas smiled, squeezing Lily’s hand as she passed by. “Show those prefects who’s boss.”

“You!” Mary piped up in a stage whisper. “You’re boss!”

Lily couldn’t hold back a laugh, despite the strange mix of nerves and dread percolating in her stomach. “Thanks for the reminder,” she replied.

The corridor was still busy, students finding their friends or a free compartment; she weaved her way down the train towards the front, where a section was always set aside for the prefects’ meeting. She was nearly there—could see a shadow behind the glass door—when she stepped aside to let someone pass and found herself face to face with Cadence Dearborn. 

The girl just stared at Lily for a moment, as if she had been about to say something but it had dropped from her head at the sight of her. Then she blinked, and forced up something like a smile. “Hi, Lily.”

There was no reason for this to be weird. No reason at all. “Hi,” she echoed, managing a small smile of her own. “Here we are again…”

Cadence let out a soft sound, one that might’ve been a laugh. “Indeed,” she said. “Good summer?”

“Um…” Lily glanced off towards the prefects’ carriage again. “Well—”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Cadence cringed; she looked genuinely embarrassed. “Sorry, I—I forgot about—um, just ignore me, yeah?” She sighed. “My head’s a bit…all over the place.”

“It’s fine,” Lily promised her softly. “No harm done.” She hesitated. “How was…your summer?”

“Terrible,” Cadence replied, and met her gaze again. “I suppose you heard about—”

“Cady!” A voice cut through their conversation, and they both looked to their left where Lambeth had appeared, looking irritated. “Are you coming or not?”

Cadence rolled her eyes, shooting Lily another faint smile. “Apparently I’m needed,” she said. “See you later…”

Lily watched as the other girl slipped away towards her friend, truthfully a bit relieved that they had been interrupted. She didn’t know why she had felt so nervous just to see Cadence—it wasn’t like she had done anything wrong. She’d only just found out about the break-up; she could hardly be accused of anything untoward. But she also knew that she’d spent far longer than she cared to admit hoping for exactly this outcome. 

She could only pray that no one else had picked up on that, least of all Cadence.

She shook off that thought, turning back towards the prefects’ carriage: she couldn’t put it off any longer. She squeezed past a few chatting students, reached for the door handle and drew in a steadying breath. 

But the door opened before she had the chance to do anything, and she found herself face to face with James. He looked no different (unsurprisingly) than he had when she’d last seen him just a few weeks ago; the main difference, as far as she could tell, was that he’d had a bit of a hair cut—something which had done nothing to calm the wildness of his tresses. He wore a slightly nervy grin, his hazel eyes bright behind those familiar specs, and he looked at her as if he half expected her to shout at him. “Alright, Evans?”

She wasn’t going to shout at him. It was all she could do not to fling herself into his arms. “Alright, Potter,” she beamed in return, a smile she couldn’t quash despite it all. “Ready to rule the school?”

His laughter warmed her right down to her toes. “Never been more ready.”

This was fine. It would all be fine.

ii. Remus

The journey to London had felt particularly long today. 

Hope Lupin had spent, by Remus’ count, at least half of the trip along the M4 asking what could only be taken as leading questions. They’d set off in good time, as they always did, their battered car somehow still holding on despite the fact that half the chassis was rusting off. Lyall had turned on the radio, finding some inoffensive station to fill any silences that usually descended on journeys such as this—but Hope, for whatever reason, had decided that silence wasn’t on the cards today. 

It had started innocently enough: what was he looking forward to, did seventh years get any perks that others didn’t. But it hadn’t been long before his mum started talking about the Howell cousins, and Bethan specifically. “Her mum’s just a bit worried about her, is all,” Hope said, angling her body so she could turn around and look her son in the eye; Remus did his best not to look like he had something to hide. “And I know you two get on, she looks up to you…”

Acutely aware of his father’s attention in the rear view mirror, Remus had just adopted an expression of polite befuddlement (something he’d perfected over the years when confronted by a teacher about the Marauders’ antics). “She seemed fine to me,” he replied, and felt a twinge of guilt as his mum nodded in disappointment, turning herself back to face the road. 

Poor Bethan. She was obviously not coping with whatever she was going through as well as she thought, if the Hope-Faith worry line had opened up. 

Still, after that, the rest of the journey went by peacefully, and it wasn’t long before he was hauling his trunk onto the train. 

It was odd, Remus thought; odd, and a bit melancholy, that this was the last September he would board the Hogwarts Express, the last September that he would share the long and slightly awkward drive up to London with his parents. The last September that he would hug them goodbye on the platform. 

But it didn’t do to be melancholy, he decided, as he waved them goodbye from the train door. There was a lot to look forward to; plenty to be happy about. Seeing his friends again, for one, even if they’d only seen each other a few weeks ago at most. 

“Lupin!”

Remus turned, narrowly avoiding elbowing a third-year in the face as he did so; these carriages were not built for sudden movements. He’d been on his way to the Marauders’ usual compartment—Sirius, for all his rebellious tendencies, certainly liked consistency more than most would suspect—trying to keep his head down and steer clear of too many interactions. Evidently that had been unsuccessful.

Dorcas Meadowes was squeezing through the crowded train corridor, pushing her way to his side with a look of determination on her face that he was all too familiar with. She looked something like she had when given a particularly tricky Runes translation block, or mid-contest during the scavenger hunt. He couldn’t help but feel that didn’t bode well. 

“Alright?” he asked as she reached his side; they weren’t exactly best friends, so it was something of a surprise that she was seeking him out, but maybe the summer of interactions had endeared him to her. “Here we are again, eh…”

“Yes,” she agreed, somewhat impatiently, and raised her hand—her hand, which was clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. “Have you seen this?”

He blinked. “The paper? Um, not today’s—my dad likes to read it with his porridge in the morning—”

Dorcas thrust the newspaper into his hands, and he suppressed a sigh, stepping back as much as he could to let others go by. Evidently she was not going to rest until she had made him read today’s edition, even if it was in the middle of the pre-eleven-am rush. “Page seven.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, but dutifully opened the paper, flipping through until he found the page in question. “Okay…”

SPATE OF DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUES — DMLE IN DISARRAY

Officials at the Ministry have admitted that a prominent pro-Muggle teacher has gone missing, the tenth missing persons case in the past two months alone. Although a spokeswitch told the Daily Prophet that “it is standard practice not to widely publicise such cases”, many feel that the cover-up is yet further evidence of a government in chaos, with sources at the Ministry saying that the overstretched DMLE has “no clue what is going on or why”.

Serena Merryton, Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and widow of renowned Auror Cassius Merryton, was reported missing from her home in Ipswich a month ago, but the disappearance has been kept under wraps: according to sources inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, those working the case have been given strict instructions to keep the disappearances quiet. “It’s come straight from the top,” said one source, a worker in the Auror Office who wished to remain anonymous; “Minchum is embarrassed that these high-profile wixen vanish and nobody’s got any idea where they’ve gone.”

Bartemius Crouch, head of the DMLE, stated that this was “another in a series of disappearances under suspicious circumstances” that the department is actively investigating. Merryton has been a vocal opponent to the renewed focus on blood purity in politics, however, Crouch refused to draw a connection between her outspoken views and her disappearance: “there is no evidence to suggest anything of the sort.”

Meanwhile, in Carmarthenshire, a new investigation has begun into…

His stomach had dropped so much it might have hit the tracks. “Fucking hell…”

“My sentiments exactly,” Dorcas agreed darkly; she took the paper back, folding it carefully. “I mean, I know that people joke about the DADA job curse, but this is something else…”

He thought of Merryton, of her fierce competence, her lightning-quick reflexes. For someone to have got the better of her… “She was involved with that resistance group, the Order of the Phoenix,” he told her, lowering his voice; no one around them seemed interested in what they were saying, beyond a basic irritation that they were in the way, but it seemed important to not attract any further attention. “I wonder if…”

Meadowes paused, holding his gaze with a frown of her own, before nodding. “Shit.” She tucked the paper under her arm. “I hate feeling helpless like this. If even our hard-as-bloody-nails teacher gets snatched out from under Dumbledore…”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a heavy sigh. 

She patted him on the shoulder, a gesture which was well-meant if not still incredibly awkward. “Well,” she said. “The revolution starts here, eh?”

He thought of Alastor Moody, sitting across the table from him at the Hog’s Head; at his talk of difficult times, but of fighting back, of standing up for what was right... “Too right, Meadowes,” he agreed.

Dorcas glanced at her watch. “We’re about to leave. Sorry, I just had to talk to someone about this, and—I know she had a weird bond with you, or something…”

‘Weird bond’ seemed like an apt, if uncomfortable way of putting it. “No, it’s fine,” he replied. “Thanks for…letting me know.”

“You’re welcome?” she smirked. “Enjoy the prefects’ meeting—is Potter pissing his pants in fear?”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” he admitted. “But I doubt it.”

They parted ways, Dorcas heading back to where her friends had gathered and Remus making his way onwards to their usual compartment. Most of the crowd had dissipated, students having found somewhere to pass the long journey by now, which meant that he no longer had the kind of cover he needed.

The embarrassing fact was that he was trying not to bump into his boyfriend.

Owain had written to him a few times in the past week, always sweet, asking how he was, what he had been up to. Each letter seemed to bring with it a mountain of guilt; ever since his conversation with Lily the other week, he’d been steeling himself to have a difficult conversation.

Because what could he say, really, as a decent excuse for breaking up? It wasn’t as if they fought like cats and dogs; it was hardly like Owain was cruel, or a cheater, or thoughtless. Remus wasn’t about to say “we have to break up because actually, I’m a werewolf”, which was ultimately the truth of the matter. 

He’d tried playing out the conversation in his head several times over the past few days, usually when he was trying (and failing) to get to sleep. Platitudes like ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ just seemed empty. If he didn’t give any reason, that would surely invite more questions, more focus, focus that he could not afford to draw on himself. Frankly, it was a miracle that Owain hadn’t yet cottoned on to the truth of Remus’ lycanthropy: he didn’t need his soon-to-be ex and his brainbox Ravenclaw friends picking apart his life, trying to work out why this had happened and inevitably stumbling across the truth in the process.

But it wasn’t as if they could stay together. There was only so long he could drag out the pretence that he was normal, that he was just like other boys. And if Owain found out—

Well. It was a thought that cowed him; that scared him far more than he cared to admit. 

He was probably too far in his own thoughts, in his worry about what if’s and could be’s: that was why he didn’t notice the figure striding towards him—didn’t notice until James was right in front of him, waving his hand in front of his face. “Oh! Hi!”

“Blimey, Moony,” James grinned, leaning against the nearest compartment door in a way that was effortlessly casual, something Remus often struggled to be. “Is this how you greet one of your best friends? Pretending he doesn’t exist?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I was just distracted, that’s all,” he replied. “You have my sincerest apologies.”

“Sounds like your most sarcastic apologies, but fine,” James smirked. “Everything okay? Something on my Moony’s mind?”

That all seemed too big a subject to unravel here in the middle of the corridor, not least because James seemed to be on his way somewhere—hardly available for a long, detailed chat about the quiet disaster that was Remus’ love life. “No, no, all fine,” he assured him. “Where you off to? Fed up with Sirius already?”

James laughed, glancing over his shoulder. “No, he hasn’t been too egregious so far,” he replied. “I said I’d meet Evans a few minutes before the prefects’ meeting—you know, get the lay of the land…”

“...find out what you actually have to do?” Remus teased fondly. “Sounds very sensible, Prongs.”

“I have my moments,” James admitted; he paused, and Remus watched as his friend drew in a breath, clearly considering whether to say what he was about to say. “You’re not…annoyed about that, are you? Me being Head Boy, I mean…”

Remus blinked in surprise—he hadn’t been expecting that, of all things. It hadn’t even occurred to him to be annoyed, or jealous, or whatever else James was worried about him feeling. Should he have been? “Eh?”

“Well, you know,” James said, his expression painfully earnest, “you’ve actually been a prefect, and you are definitely in McGonagall’s top three list of sensible Gryffindor boys—of course, she doesn’t know you like we do, but still—” He broke off, and sighed. “I just…wouldn’t blame you if you thought it should’ve been you.”

Remus let out a laugh, something which managed to ease the stress that seemed to be painted across his friend’s face. “That’s—honestly, very nice of you to say, but really,” he said firmly, “don’t worry about it.”

James twisted his face into something, a cross between a frown, a grimace and a smile. “Sure? Because—”

“I’m sure,” Remus assured him. “I never expected to be Head Boy. I never wanted to be Head Boy.” He paused; gave his friend a grin. “Not sure I can think of many things worse, actually.”

James allowed him a smile, letting out an apparently long-held sigh. “Okay. Fair enough.”

“You ready for your first meeting?” Remus asked, keen to shift the focus on to something less awkward. “Assert your dominance and so on? Have you been practising looking powerful?”

That brought on a smirk, the truest sign that James had let go of the previous subject. “Mate, I’m a living example of power—no need to practise,” he replied, then shrugged. “I know I’m a bit behind on how these things work, but…it’ll be fine. Evans’ll lead the way while I learn the way of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Remus smiled, that smile only growing as James rolled his eyes. “You two, both single, huddled together in the Heads’ office—”

“Merlin, your imagination, Moony,” James cut him off, cuffing his head quite gently, all things considered. “Have you been at your mum’s romance novels again? They’re a bad influence, I tell you.”

Now it was Remus’ turn to roll his eyes. “If you say so, Prongs.”

James grinned, and turned to walk off again—but paused. “We’re definitely okay?”

He gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’re fine, mate.” He nodded down the corridor. “I’ll see you in there.”

A smirk, and that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “I expect you front and centre, Lupin,” he told him, his voice faux-prim. “And not a minute late.”

“Yes, sir,” Remus laughed, giving James a shove as he started off down the carriage again. Only a few more doors to pass, and then he found—

“Remus Lupin, as I live and breathe!” Sirius declared from his position, slouched nonchalantly across one of the compartment benches. Remus didn’t think he was reading too much into the clear delight on his friend’s face. “I was starting to wonder if you’d picked up some new mates for your final year.”

Remus sank into a seat opposite, next to Pete, who was thumbing idly through a quidditch magazine. “I considered it, but it didn’t seem worth the effort,” he replied, before giving Peter a nudge. “Alright Wormtail? Have you been tanning?”

Pete set down the magazine with a pleased smile, holding out his bronzed arms indicatively. “Not on purpose, Moony, but I think it lends me a certain something, don’t you?”

“Far more attractive than your usual pasty pallor,” was Sirius’ input. 

“He’s just jealous,” Remus told Pete with a grin, “because his skin always verges on vampiric.”

Sirius sniffed, tilting his chin up in what could only be described as a move of great haughtiness. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that hurtful thing,” he said. “If only because James has already ditched us to be a bloody square and now we’re down to three.”

Remus winced slightly, glancing at his watch. “I’ll have to go and be a bloody square too, in a few.”

“Half the Marauders, neutered by responsibility,” Sirius sighed, shooting Pete a baleful look. “Seems like it’s just you and me carrying the heavy burden of wallying about, Peter my old chum.”

Pete rested his hand solemnly over his heart. “As Helga is my witness.”

“Well, you two seem to be off to a good start this year,” Remus remarked with a smirk, fishing a few items out of his bag—it seemed unlikely that he would need to take notes in this meeting, but you never knew. “Will you two be alright until I get back? Not too much wallying?”

“We make no such promises,” Sirius said, hauling himself into a sitting position. “Go on, sod off to your big meeting. Tell Prongs to deduct ten house points from every Slytherin who even looks his way.”

“I think he’ll consider that a bit at odds with his new role,” Remus replied as he stood up. “But I’ll suggest it.”

He picked his way across Sirius and Pete’s outstretched legs, pausing in the doorway to look back at his friends. He felt a surge of fondness, affection for these boys: yes, things were changing. Yes, there was plenty to worry about. But he could always rely on his brothers in arms, that much he could be sure of. 

“Right,” he said, before he could succumb to any more soppiness. “See you two later. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

Sirius’ call of “as if we could!” followed him down the corridor, and Remus found he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. 

iii. James

There weren’t many people who believed a good day could start at five in the morning, and depending on his mood, James was only sometimes one of them. He’d enjoyed a fair few lazy starts over the holidays, making the most of the opportunities while he had them, but usually he woke up with the birds and found it too difficult to switch his brain off in order to go back to sleep.

The dawning of 1st September had been no exception: he’d leapt out of bed while the rest of the house slumbered around him, took a quick, rousing shower, and spent a mildly embarrassing twenty minutes in front of his wardrobe, trying to find an outfit that seemed Head-ly. Admittedly, most of that time was spent berating himself for caring so much, but still. It was far longer than he’d ever spent on such an endeavour before, and far longer than he ever wished to spend in the future. Thank fuck Sirius was still asleep at that point, or he’d have ripped the piss out of him with absolutely no mercy, and honestly, James would’ve deserved it.

Just before the clock ticked over to seven, he got the bright idea to send a message to Lily. Something casual, he thought; a perfectly normal thing to do with one’s fellow head student. Never mind the fact that if, in some bizarre alternate universe that didn’t bear thinking about, he had been Head Boy but someone else had been Head Girl, he’d have been highly unlikely to send anything at all—best not to dwell on that. She was his friend; he’d put off sending her congratulations for this long; surely it would just be weird if he didn’t send anything at all, right? And his window of time for such a task was rapidly closing.

Of course, this meant that he spent most of the intervening time—and between seven and eleven was more than enough intervening time, thank you—thinking about whether he should’ve just left it, or said something slightly different, or—

Overthinking was a skill: one that by now, James felt, he had perfected.

Sirius was frustratingly good at reading his best friend, which meant that most of the rest of the morning was a test of endurance, trying not to let himself get too riled up or provoked into a reaction. At one point, as they stood around waiting for Fleamont to finish chatting with an old colleague in The Leaky Cauldron, Euphemia had cast a beady eye on the pair of them, James being in the process of trying to jab Sirius in the ribs with his elbow. “You two are in your last year of school,” she had said, voice stern and clearly trying not to smile. “I wonder when you will act like it?”

(James’ response of “he started it” did not help matters.)

It wasn’t long before they reached the station, bade a fond farewell to their parents, and managed to snatch their usual compartment out from the grasps of some foolish Hufflepuffs. It was nice to catch up with Pete, and with Remus, who he bumped into in the corridor, but James found it difficult to truly focus on much more other than his watch ticking ever closer to the time when he was due to meet up with Lily. 

He knew that it was complicated, the way he felt this morning: a mixture of nerves about seeing her again; happiness at seeing his mates, at starting a new year; apprehension at starting his final year. But the thing that seemed to weigh the heaviest, the thing he had talked about the least, was his worry about being Head Boy.

‘Worry’ maybe wasn’t quite the right word for it. As far as he understood the job, James felt sure he was capable of doing it—schedules, detentions, bossing people around and giving out wise, sage advice where necessary. Easy enough, even in spite of his years at Hogwarts taking a more relaxed approach to the rules. 

It was more about everything else that came with the role; for most, the Head students were a role model, setting the tone for how the rest of the pupils carried themselves. And with the way of the world around them all, a maelstrom of blood prejudice, fear, hatred and anger that tried to hide itself behind a presentable facade…the fact that nervous, impressionable students might look to him for guidance…

Well, it felt like a lot of pressure. He wondered if Lily felt it, too. If asking her wouldn’t just make her think he wasn’t ready for the job.

Again, he really did have overthinking down to a fine art.

They only had a few minutes to catch up (if you could call it that) before prefects started arriving—Remus parked himself right in the middle of the bench opposite, arms folded neatly across his chest and what James knew was his most smug attentive expression on his face, the supportive git—and then the meeting itself was something of a blur. He definitely said some things, although if pushed, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to remember what they were. He knew that most of the gathered crowd had seemed to appreciate his thoughts, Slytherins aside, so it can’t have been too bad.

Truthfully, there weren’t many better ways to spend time than watching someone clever, passionate and articulate in their absolute element: it was like watching the best Seeker in the league catch the snitch, or Dumbledore perform complex, dangerous magic as if he were doing something that any three-year-old could do.

James decided that, even if he didn’t…feel the way he felt, he’d still have been impressed watching Lily in that meeting. Merlin, she knew her way with a crowd; she sounded like she’d been head girl for years, like she’d slipped into a second skin. And yes, fine, she got the sweetest earnest look on her face when she explained the rota system, and a little crease in her brow—one he wanted to reach out and brush carefully with his thumb—when she pointedly reminded the group that points could not be deducted just because a pupil was a bit irritating. 

(Something James would be sure to remind himself of when he was interacting with particular swathes of the school population.)

He could think she was beautiful; that didn’t change the fact that he also thought she was some level of genius, as well as being a bit terrifying (in a nice way) and kinder than most of their peers would ever imagine. 

As long as he kept it all to himself, it was fine, anyway.

The meeting came to an end—there was only so much to say, after all, before the year had even properly begun—and the compartment began to empty. Remus, the last prefect left behind and helpfulness personified, shot him a smirk before sidling off too, issuing a, “see you later, Lily!” over his shoulder.

And then there were two.

“Well,” he turned to her, hands stuck firmly in his pockets for fear of raking them through his hair and reminding her of his past persona. “I suppose I should reinstate those fifty points I took off Crouch Jr on my way through the station earlier.”

Lily faltered for only a moment before she laughed, rolling her eyes. “You barely know who Crouch Jr is.”

“True,” he admitted. “I’ve been saving my first points-off for someone who really deserves it, anyway.”

She held his gaze easily; he tried not to get too distracted in the twinkle of her eyes. “So Sirius, then?”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pausing for a moment. “Sorry I didn’t—you know, contribute much today. I’ll catch up quickly, I promise.”

Lily actually looked a bit surprised. “Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “I thought you did well.”

He offered her a smile, feeling more relieved than he had expected. “I’m not sure I did much of anything,” he replied. “But thanks.”

“You weren’t a prefect before,” she reminded him; she had that tone of voice, again, the one that was sweetly caring, the one that made him want to stay in her presence for as long as he could get away with. “You’ll soon get used to the way things run.”

“I will,” he agreed, watching her as she tore her eyes from his, suddenly finding her fingernails remarkably interesting. There was something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. It was like she was holding something back, but he was damned if he knew what it was—surely not enough time had passed since the start of the school year for him to have fucked up already. “And like I said…I promise I won’t make you do all the heavy lifting for too long.”

Lily gave him a smile; held his gaze, across the compartment. “I know you won’t,” she assured him. “Seriously, James—you’re doing fine.”

It was as if her using his first name was a catalyst for him: he moved forward, closing the gap between them; he drew in a deep, calming breath; he rocked, almost nervously, on his heels. “Lily,” he started. “I, um—I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something—”

The sound that cut him off was relatively quiet, a gentle thud, really; not something that should have caused them both to look around in alarm. But they did, both heads turning towards the glass in the compartment door. There was a piece of parchment there, on the other side, held against the pane as if by an invisible hand. They both stepped forward to get close enough to read it; his shoulder brushed hers as they took the words in, silently, as if as one.

Go home, filthy MUDBLOOD!

No mudblood whore is OUR Head Girl!

He could tell, to the millisecond, when Lily had taken in the words: her whole body was tense next to him, suddenly, unsettlingly still. He heard her draw in a slow, steadying breath; watched as she set her shoulders; blinked; turned to face him. “Well,” she said, as if she had to say something. “That’s original.”

That strange stillness was gone in an instant, James moving to wrench the door open, but whatever spell had made the parchment appear made it disappear just as swiftly. The corridor was empty. Silent, but for the sound of the train on the tracks below them. “Cowardly little shits,” he muttered, turning back to her.

He wanted to reach for her hand, to tell her it was okay, but somehow, he couldn’t seem to move, pinned in place by her blank expression, a look which seemed to say ‘this is nothing new’. That she might have become used to this shit was devastating in itself, and he felt an intense urge to make it okay, to ease that burden from her shoulders if he possibly could. “Lily, you—you can’t give it the space in your head—they’re not worth even a square inch of you,” he told her, stepping closer again. He hoped she couldn’t hear the edge of desperation in his voice. “I’m sorry…” 

She looked up at him, as if she’d only just remembered he was there, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how she’d respond; it seemed like it could go either way. Bend, or break. All he knew was that it was horrible standing there, helpless and useless in his anger, too busy wondering if it was okay to hug her—whether that would be overdoing it—to ever just get on with the action and step closer. 

He watched as she took in another, deeper breath, and forced up a smile—it was wavering, and unconvincing, but it was a smile. “I’ve been called worse,” she said, and glanced away towards the door as his frown dipped further into concern. “It’s fine.”

“Lily—”

“Really,” she said, and met his gaze again. She seemed suddenly tired, like the experience had drained her of all that mesmerising kinetic energy he’d so enjoyed lighting up the room barely ten minutes ago. “I’ll—I’ll tell Professor McGonagall, if it’ll make you feel better, but…”

James felt absolutely no better for her words. “...but?” he asked, somehow knowing, anyway, what was coming.

She smiled, something entirely without humour. “But it won’t make any difference,” she finished, and he nodded heavily. She paused, then reached out to briefly press her hand to his—a passing movement, something which shouldn’t have felt so much like all the best non-verbal, wandless magic in the world bundled up into a few square inches of skin. They both looked down at where their hands met, and it seemed as if she was as surprised at the action as he was. “Seriously, James. You did well,” she added, her smile starting to resemble something genuine, at least. “Better get back to the girls. See you later…”

And as he watched her walk away, steadying herself against the sway of the train’s perambulations onwards to Scotland, he wondered how many times he would do this very thing—watch her leave, and try to unpick all the things he wished he had said.

iv. Sirius

The start of their seventh year, their final year, was not exactly as thrilling as Sirius had envisioned.

He’d pictured laughter, carousing, catching up with the lads, chatting with the girls, the countryside flying past as they all reflected on how terribly grown up and mature they all were now. Lofty ideas, true, but it could’ve happened.

What happened instead was James disappearing before the train had even left King’s Cross, murmuring something about a pre-meeting meeting, Remus tucking himself in at the window and looking nervously at the door every few minutes, and Pete explaining, as London crept past the windows, how his mum had found one of Iris’ letters to him and the traumatising conversation about birth control that had followed.

“She said things,” Pete intoned, voice flat and eyes staring emptily into the distance. “Things I’ll never be able to forget, no matter how long I live.”

Not quite the auspicious start he had expected, but what could be done?

It wasn’t long after that when Remus headed off for his prefects’ meeting, and Sirius and Pete settled in for a game of Exploding Snap. Technically the game had been banned from the train at the end of fifth year by McGonagall—not impressed at being called down to Hogsmeade station to extinguish several small fires before they’d even managed to leave for the summer—but Sirius decided that needs must. Surely she would’ve forgotten about that by now, anyway, and besides, they were terribly sensible seventh years now. What was the worst that could happen?

“Think this year will be strange?” Peter asked, surveying his cards.

“Strange how?” Sirius asked in reply. 

“Well…Prongs in a position of power,” Pete considered. “Us all having to buckle down for our exams. Gearing up for everything to change again…”

Sirius didn’t particularly want to think about that element. “Plenty’ll be the same, though,” he pointed out. “As sure as the sun rises in the east, there’ll be a weird hat song at the feast tonight, we’ll trounce Slytherin at quidditch and Moony will manage to blow up his cauldron in Potions.”

“I hope so,” Pete murmured, and for a moment, Sirius thought he hadn’t seen his friend look quite so vulnerable before. It was unsettling. “I don’t like change.”

“Well, no one does, mate,” Sirius offered, as if he himself hadn’t been having an existential crisis about the future less than twelve hours ago. “But it’ll be okay—we’re together. That’s all that matters, eh?”

Pete seemed reassured by these rather empty words, and apparently his moment of vulnerability had distracted him sufficiently that Sirius was able to win the game easily in only four more moves. They settled in for a rematch, the conversation moving on to less emotional fare.

Just on the other side of Cambridge, Pete having disappeared a while ago to find Iris, Remus only just back from the prefect meeting and no sign of James, Sirius declared himself “bored beyond measure” and suggested they go in search of the trolley witch. He wasn’t actually all that hungry; just fed up, after sitting on his own, with his own thoughts, for the best part of twenty minutes.

“Alright,” Remus agreed, amiably enough. “I am in want of train chocolate.”

Sirius led the way out into the corridor, stepping round a cluster of sixth years gossiping about something or other. “You can’t have finished your stash already…?”

Remus shrugged. “We got to King’s Cross early. What was I supposed to do?”

Sirius shook his head. “Poor Moony. It’s not easy, is it?” They stepped to one side to let a nervous looking first year go by, clutching on to his owl cage as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. “How was the meeting?” Sirius asked as they started walking again. “Did Prongs look like he was going to shit himself?”

Remus shot him a disapproving look. “Not at all,” he replied. “He was his usual calm self. Born for that sort of role, really, wasn’t he?”

“Hmm.” Sirius wasn’t fully on board with his best friend becoming a member of the establishment, although he could admit that having rule enforcement on his side could prove handy… “Did he manage to get through the meeting without staring at Evans the whole time?”

“He did,” Remus nodded; they reached the back of a queue of students, waiting to place their order with the trolley witch. Sirius could already tell that his friend’s mind was on other things: probably whether there were enough chocolate frogs available. “He was the picture of restraint.”

“Shame,” Sirius grinned, “but I suppose there’s plenty of time for that to change.”

That was when two things happened in quick succession: he noticed Remus’ eyes alight on something in the distance down the corridor, and mere moments later, Remus had shoved him unceremoniously in through the nearest door, squeezing himself in and pulling said door shut behind him.

“Erm—” Sirius frowned, glancing first at his friend, then around them at the cramped surroundings. “Say, Moony, why are we in the loo…?”

Remus still had Sirius’ t-shirt clutched in his fist; he didn’t seem to have noticed. Instead, his gaze was fixed firmly on the door as if he expected it to come flying open any moment. “Pads,” was his simple response, voice low; it had more of an effect on Sirius than he was willing to confront. “Be quiet.”

Sirius paused, trying to decide whether he should feel aggrieved, but ultimately found he couldn’t be bothered. It was hard to feel much of anything else when he was crammed into a space about half the size of the standard broom closet, with Remus’ hand still bunched at his chest. He could feel every breath that Remus took. It was distracting.

At least a minute passed before Remus seemed to notice what he was doing: his grip on Sirius’ shirt loosened, his hand dropping to his side and an expression crossing his face that was a wonderfully intriguing mixture of embarrassment and something warmer. “Sorry,” he said, his voice still at a whisper. “For, um…manhandling you.”

Sirius shrugged, giving his friend an easy smile. “Can’t say I’m not a bit confused, Moony,” he replied, “but I also can’t say this is the strangest thing that’s happened to me on the train, so…”

Remus nodded, his gaze shifting to the closed door again. “I saw Owain,” he said. “Coming out of a compartment.”

Sirius paused, trying to understand the look on his friend’s face now. If only he was as easy to read as James, who was an open book; if Remus was a book, he was a closed one, and half the pages were written in a language Sirius didn’t understand. “Owain,” Sirius repeated, as gently as he could. “Your…boyfriend, Owain?”

Remus did at least have the decency to look a bit ashamed. He cleared his throat, pushed his fingers through his hair: top notch delaying tactics, Sirius thought. “Yes, well…”

“Have you had a falling out?” Sirius wondered. Nobody had said anything about such a thing the last time they’d all been together, the day of the cinema trip, but then it was possible that Remus had turned to someone more emotionally-cogent than Sirius for advice. “He hasn’t hurt you, has he? Do I need to introduce him to my fists?”

“No, no,” came Remus’ swift reply. “Everything’s…fine. We haven’t seen each other since before Lily’s mum’s funeral, but…” Sirius watched as he swallowed, hard. “I need to break up with him and I don’t want to do it on the train, and if we see each other I’ll have to pretend everything’s fine, and—”

This was a lot of information to take on board. And, of course, his interest in the subject matter was purely as a friend. His heartbeat wasn’t thumping more erratically at hearing this news. “Oh,” Sirius said, with great profundity. “Right. Well—shall I see if the coast is clear? Only I don’t fancy spending the whole journey in the loo…”

Remus once more looked embarrassed, but nodded, a short, blunt movement, as if it would dispel the flush rising in his cheeks. “Yeah—thanks.”

Manoeuvring so he could open the door wasn’t straightforward (it involved rather more things brushing against other things than was probably decent), but he managed it, creaking it open and sticking his head out into the train corridor. The coast was clear—well, apart from a third-year Hufflepuff wandering past, who gave Sirius a confused glance before continuing on her way. “No sign of him,” he reported, opening the door fully so they could both step out. “We should probably get back to our compartment before we get stuck in there again, though.”

Remus followed him out, shutting the toilet door behind him; they fell into step together, heading back in the direction of their usual spot. “Thanks, Pads,” he said eventually. “Not my finest moment of Gryffindor bravery, I ‘spose…”

Sirius felt this moment, too heavy around them; there was no way he could peel these feelings open any more than they already were. Too complicated—too messy. “Maybe it’s brave to hide in the loo,” he offered, as lightly as he could. “Maybe we’re setting a new standard for the new cohort.”

Remus snorted, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

James still wasn’t back as they sloped back into their compartment, and neither was Pete, but a few loose pieces of parchment were placed—neatly, clearly determinedly—on the seats. Sirius frowned, stepping closer to pick one up and read the carefully-printed words.

Tired of too much change? Find yourself missing the way things used to be? Do you feel the stability of the wizarding world being steadily eroded from beneath your feet?

We have created the Society for the Preservation of Magical Ideals for just these reasons. If you’re interested in joining us, in talking to like-minded individuals, you can find us after lessons on the lawn by the quidditch pitch on Friday 2nd September. We look forward to seeing you there!

“What,” Sirius murmured, “the fuck?”

He glanced up to see Remus holding another of the fliers, a similarly concerned frown on his face. “The ‘Society for the Preservation of Magical Ideals’...?”

“Seems like a long walk just to say ‘purebloods only’.” Sirius looked over towards the door, as if the person who had distributed the leaflets might be standing there. “This is—”

“Brazen,” Remus said, with a shake of his head. His knuckles were white where he was holding onto the parchment still. “They’re just…out in the open. How is this allowed…?”

Sirius sat down heavily, trying to get his head around all of it. It was all set out so calmly, so placidly, as if every word wasn’t ringed with poison; as if the very idea behind it all wasn’t jagged, designed to rip open the throat of anyone who dared not to conform with their view on ‘magical ideals’. For him to feel so shaken by it…he could only imagine how it would feel for anyone muggleborn, or half-blood. Like the floor had just opened up beneath their feet.

Although, he considered grimly, they probably always felt like that.

Footsteps brought his attention up to the door, and moments later James appeared, looking weary. “Merlin, you won’t believe what some absolute raging cu—” He stopped, frowning at the sight of his friends. “What’s on?”

Remus didn’t say anything, just held out the parchment, which James accepted warily. His frown only deepened as he read it. “What the…”

“Just what I said,” Sirius agreed.

“Is this…can they actually do this?” Remus asked; it seemed to Sirius as if he knew the answer already, but wanted desperately to be told he was wrong. “It’s blood warfare, right?”

“Well, yes, but… it’s all very coded, isn’t it,” James sighed, raking his hand through his hair. He was reading it again, perhaps hoping for something that would make any of it make sense. “They’re being very careful not to use any inflammatory language, anything that’ll get them shut down.”

“They make it sound like…like fucking SWEN!” Sirius muttered, crumpling his leaflet into a ball and lobbing it uselessly at the window.

James blanched at that comparison, but nodded slowly. “That’s probably how they’ll get around any complaints. Fair’s fair, and all that.”

Sirius didn’t like the quiet response his best mate was having to this: where was his anger, his quick mind working at a plan to rip these twats to shreds? Another casualty of the head boy badge. “Well, I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow after lessons,” he decided. “Watching on and making a fucking list of any prick who—”

“Pads,” James frowned. “You can’t just sit there with a quill and jot down names. They’ll be over to a teacher for harassment before you can put your ink away.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Sirius shrugged his words off. “They want to be out in the open? There are fucking consequences.”

“But there aren’t, are there?” Remus’ voice was quiet, but hard; both Sirius and James looked over at him, surprised to hear such a tone from their usually reasoned friend. “There never are. Look what happened to Charlie last year—no investigation, nothing done, the person who imperiused her is probably sitting on this train now, happy as Larry, planning the next attack that they’ll inevitably get away with—”

“Moony,” Sirius frowned. “We won’t let them get away with—”

“We will, because that’s what always happens.” Remus turned to James. “You were already swearing up a storm when you came back a minute ago, something else happened, didn’t it?”

James cast Sirius a glance, one that seemed to say, this isn’t going to help matters. “Well…yeah,” he admitted. “Some prick left a message for Lily, we don’t know who…”

“A message?” Sirius leaned forward. “What message?”

A moment of quiet, James shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Let’s just say there were words none of us would dream of using.”

“So these people obviously feel they can do what they like, leave vile messages for—for the fucking Head Girl, and get away with it!” Remus moved to the door, wrenching it open again. “I’m going for a walk.”

He was gone in a flash, and Sirius glanced back over at James, a heavy, uncomfortable feeling in his gut. “Well,” he murmured, “this year’s off to a good start, isn’t it?”

James didn’t have a reply for him.

Chapter Text

James had experienced some interesting starts to the school year in his time at Hogwarts. There was fourth year, when they’d managed to mess with the Slytherin dungeons password enough that the wall flatly (as, in fairness, walls often were) refused to let anyone through who didn’t have the letter X in their first name. Fine for Xavier Yaxley—that stupid sod had an X in both names, perhaps to make up for his lack of discernable braincells—but not for the rest of the student population. Then there was first year, when the Black heir being sorted into Gryffindor had resulted in an extremely angry, frightened-but-pretending-not-to-be Sirius informing his brand new dorm mates that he didn’t much care what they thought of him or his family, an anxious Peter squeaking in reply, “why, who are your family?”, and Sirius accidentally setting the wardrobe on fire in response. 

That was all ancient history, of course. And besides, seventh year had those beat, even if there was a lack of arson or pranks all around.

The note Lily had received still lingering in his mind, he hadn’t been in much of a cheerful mood when they’d all trooped into the Great Hall for the welcoming feast, and that mood hadn’t much improved when Dumbledore announced who the new Heads were, making them stand up and everything, and James got to enjoy the heartening sensation of what felt like roughly half of the school staring over at him in open disbelief, confusion and/or derision. He’d forced up a tight smile and sat down again as soon as it was polite.

Later, after he and Lily had helped the first years get settled, he brought up the subject in the dorm, but his mates weren’t having any of it.

“It was not half the school,” Sirius told him, lounging on his bed, not having yet changed out of his uniform. “It was maybe the Slytherins, but who fucking cares what they think anyway?”

“And Cadence’s mates,” Peter added, not quite as helpfully as he probably intended. “But that’s about solidarity, isn’t it.”

Merlin, he hadn’t even noticed his ex-girlfriend’s cronies glaring at him: something else to look forward to. “Right…”

“You’re overthinking it,” Remus piped up from where he was steadily, neatly, unpacking his trunk. “You’re the right choice for Head Boy. Don’t let anyone get in your head about it.”

Never one to be told what to do (depending, of course, on who was doing the telling), James spent what felt like most of the night awake, staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster and wondering whether there’d ever been a Head Boy removed from post during their tenure, and whether he would be the first to be bestowed such an honour, and how disappointed his parents would feel when it happened.

True, when thought about in comparison to fire and angry Slytherins, it didn’t sound like much. But sometimes that was the way of things, wasn’t it? “A bee may be small,” his grandmother would say, wisely, “but its sting will still hurt.”

(He wasn’t sure if that was relevant to his situation, but then again, he was very tired.)

He’d struggled through breakfast and then dove into the first day of classes, which at least gave him the chance to be thoroughly distracted. Distracted by the near constant talk of NEWTs from their teachers; distracted by his mates, who had decided to try to cheer him up by telling a series of increasingly nonsensical knock-knock jokes; distracted by Lily and, well, her mere existence. 

And her mere existence was there most of the day, for they shared Charms, Herbology and Transfiguration, and only parted at three o’clock for the last lesson of the day—her off to Arithmancy, him off to Divination. It was at the end of Divination, in fact, as they packed away their belongings, that he was reminded of his other current concern. 

“—meeting on the lawn,” he overheard Iris say to her friend Barbara, who looked as scandalised as Iris did. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw the flyer on the train! What is wrong with people?”

“Oh, don’t get me started,” Barbara replied darkly, which James took as good a time as any to get away before she did get started.

He made his way briskly down the silver stepladder,  along the winding corridor and to the stairs, knowing—as surely as he knew that the sky was blue and the grass was green—that Sirius would already be out there, and probably angling to cause trouble. It wasn’t that James didn’t think this particular group deserved trouble, but Sirius was on thin ice enough as it was after everything that had happened last year, and riling up and/or engaging in duels with a group that technically hadn’t done anything wrong (yet, his brain added) would probably not help his situation.

As predicted, he found his best mate sprawled out on the grass, no more than twenty feet away from a cluster of people he assumed to be the Society for the Preservation of Whatever the Fuck Terms They Couched Their Hatred In. Calliope Greengrass and Augustus Carrow seemed to be in charge, each clutching a notebook and looking far too smug and pleased with themselves. The group were getting a fair bit of attention, not just from Sirius and his palpable sense of anger; other students had decided to ‘take the air’ today too, gathered in small groups and watching on with open interest.

This was going to be a challenge.

He crossed the lawn, coming to a stop next to his friend. “Sirius.”

The boy didn’t even bother looking up. “James,” he replied, as if they were greeting each other at afternoon tea. “Long time no see.”

James shoved his hands in his pockets. “Fancy a fly?”

“At this hour?” Sirius asked. “Sun’s too low, Prongs, it’d be carnage.”

Another quick glance at the group nearby; Calliope had noticed him there, and was watching him with a cold, almost challenging expression. “Chess in the common room, then? No fear of the low sun there.”

“And waste the precious daylight hours?” Sirius smiled pleasantly. “I could never.”

“Look,” James started, but wasn’t sure where to go next. It wasn’t as if Sirius was actually going to listen to what he had to say: when his best mate got a bee in his bonnet, it was very difficult to talk him out of it. Sirius said it was a sign of his strong principles; James thought it was more a sign of his pig-headed stubbornness. “You can’t just sit here and watch them all afternoon.”

Sirius tilted his head, eyebrow raised. “Well, I can,” he replied. “This grass is as much mine as it is yours as it is theirs, Prongs.”

He couldn’t hold back his heavy sigh. “I meant, don’t you have more interesting things to do?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Sirius lounged back, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked the picture of louche nonchalance. “Sit down or bugger off, mate, you’re blocking my sun.”

With the heavy sigh of someone who knew he had lost, James sank onto the grass next to him. He didn’t intend to stay out there long—Merlin knew he had better things to be doing with his time—but he could spare a few minutes to keep Sirius in line. Or close to the line. In the general vicinity of the line.

“Sef Selwyn.” Sirius watched the seventh year Slytherin approach the group, greeting them with her typical level of energy. She wasn’t one for displays of emotion. “Should’ve known.”

James raised an eyebrow. “I thought she was ‘one of the half-decent ones’,” he said. “Isn’t that the reasoning you used when you were snogging her in fifth year?”

“A lot can change in two years,” Sirius replied. “And I was largely in it to piss off my dear mother.”

Most mothers wouldn’t have been all that bothered by a pairing with Persephone ‘Sef’ Selwyn, by all accounts a hard-working student and at least not openly awful about blood purity. But evidently Walburga had taken against the Selwyn matriarch for some reason or another—Sirius had explained it at the time with great relish, but James had trouble concentrating when it came to Sacred Twenty-Eight drama and hadn’t taken in any of the finer details—and so sticking his tongue down Seffy’s throat, the daughter of that ‘awful woman’, was another way for Sirius to exercise some rebellion.

They both watched as the girl smoothed her long, dark hair over one shoulder and gracefully sat down alongside Alexander Travers. “Shame,” Sirius said, not sounding particularly bothered. “She used to keep her head below the parapet.”

“Maybe she feels emboldened,” James considered, “now that her, what, great-uncle or whatever is working here?”

The Slytherins had seemed worryingly smug when the new Defence professor was announced at the feast last night: James was of the opinion that anyone who met with the approval of that lot probably wasn’t someone he wanted to know. Although Eliphas Selwyn had not yet arrived (some vague excuse from Dumbledore about ‘prior commitments’), the man was already proving to be a topic of conversation for most of the student body as they speculated about what he would be like.

“Maybe,” Sirius agreed. There was a hint of a shadow to his words. “Which probably isn’t a good sign, is it?”

“No...” James looked away, back towards his friend. “How was Muggle Studies? Shale still worshipping the ground you walk on?”

“Naturally.” Sirius sent him a smirk. “Can you blame him?”

“He’s only human,” James agreed.

“Smaller class, though.” Sirius’ grin had faded, and his gaze drifted back towards the group nearby. “Seems like a few people didn’t come back this year…”

James nodded glumly. “Denise Loughton wasn’t in Divination,” he said. “Fenwick said she sent a postcard over the holidays, saying her parents think it’s safer for her not to come back to school.”

Sirius let out a grunt, his stare hardening. “And yet these fuckers swan around as safe as you like.”

James pushed a hand through his hair, trying not to look too concerned. The more obvious he was, the more Sirius would push back against him. And it was going to be hard enough as it was—he wasn’t exactly used to exerting power over his best mate. Not officially, anyway. “Look, I know it’s—it’s bloody awful, we all know that, but technically they haven’t done anything wrong—”

“Yet,” Sirius interrupted with an ominous glint in his eye.

“Yet,” James allowed. “So you can’t just sit here glaring at them, trying to intimidate them.”

“Can’t I?” Sirius glanced his way. “It’s a free country, isn’t it?”

“Padfoot—”

“Well,” came a familiar voice, and a shadow fell over him as he looked up to see Lily: she was standing there in front of him, the sun distant and bright behind her, the light pooling in a way that made her look angelic and heavenly, like she was glowing, and all sorts of things he thought were probably inappropriate for him to think and feel. Tricky to remember, when she was smiling that lovely soft smile of hers, and gazing down at him. “You two look relaxed.”

“At least one of us is relaxed,” Sirius replied. “The other has a stick up his arse about not being seen to be ‘intimidating other students’.”

Lily shot Sirius a quick glance, eyebrows raised, before returning that smile to James again; he felt the stress of the previous conversation already starting to ebb, as if he was calmer just being in her presence. Merlin, he was a mess. “He’s right, you know,” she told Sirius without looking at him. “Not that you seem particularly intimidating, if I’m honest.”

“Hurtful, Evans,” Sirius sniffed. “Hurtful and untrue. I’m terrifying.”

“But perhaps not for the reasons you think,” she replied brightly, and shifted her bag onto her other shoulder. Her focus was still on James. “We should go, McGonagall—”

“Right, yes,” James hopped up, brushing grass from his trousers. “Can’t be late for Minnie.”

Sirius stayed where he was, looking up at them with an expression of bored indifference—one James knew he was faking, it was probably killing him not to be in on something that had potential to be interesting. “You two off to perform your blood pact? Is it two drops or three these days?”