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Chapter Text

September 1st, 1971

“James!”

The few heads at King's Cross Station that were not already turned by the sight of a boy, running at full tilt behind a rattling luggage trolley, turned now at the shrill sound of the boy’s harried-looking mother, who seemed undecided on whether the moment called for exasperation or amusement.

The boy, who had to have been the James in question, had been wrangled into wearing something smart—cuffed trousers and a large-collared button-up, paired with a plaid sleeveless jumper—but any attempt at smartness was quite undone by the smudged glasses that hung crooked on his face and the puff of unruly black hair on his head. The overburdened trolley was even more disheveled than the boy who shoved it along. Every trunk was full to straining, kept shut only thanks to the efforts of several mismatched belts. Perched precariously on top of it all was a covered cage, within which some alarmed creature seemed to be hooting with every jostle of the wheels.

James skidded to an abrupt halt to avoid colliding with a woman who dropped her handbag in terror, then careened around her as if she were a training obstacle placed there precisely to make his mad dash a more interesting challenge. “Keep up, Mum!”

Making much less of a scene but looking no less odd, the boy’s parents struggled to keep pace with their son through the crowd. The mother was wearing honest-to-goodness robes, and not the kind that were suitable to cover pyjamas. They were unseasonable, in floor-length green velvet and done all over in gold beadwork, but if she had any inkling that her attire was raising eyebrows, she did not show it. The father, a few paces behind, was at least in trousers and a tie, but that normalcy was combatted by the open and billowing navy robes he, too, was wearing. They both were huffing slightly, but with undeniably fond expressions on their faces.

The startled commuters watched the family as they passed by platform eight and neared platform nine, collectively wincing every time the boy bumped the hat from someone’s head or came close to squashing the toes of a porter. The boy seemed only delighted by the disturbance he caused. He looked back, grinning wildly at his mother and father, took on even more speed, and then…

And then, each member of the crowd in King’s Cross Station discovered something rather pressing they needed to look at, whether that was to tie a shoe, or to turn the page of a newspaper, or to watch the incoming train at platform four as it squealed to a slow roll and spewed smoke into the air. When they looked back, the boy and his parents were gone, and soon after, it became rather difficult to recall the chaos and the family that had caused it altogether. 

“And you’re positive we’re meant to just...walk right up into it?” Remus’s mother asked him apprehensively. She adjusted her grip on the modestly-sized trunk she held with one hand and tightened the hold she had on her son’s shoulder with the other.

Remus teetered from foot to foot, looking around King’s Cross Station. The barrier between platforms nine and ten looked particularly, and rather threateningly, solid.

“That’s what Da said, isn’t it?” Remus asked her, as if the letter he’d received from his father wasn’t stamped across his eyes after the number of times he’d read and reread it. In that letter, his father had also said that he would do his best to meet them at the station by ten A.M. The large station clock now read ten forty-five. There was nothing more to be done for it, it was clear that Lyall Lupin was not going to arrive.

Remus was not quite sure if he was relieved by this or bitterly disappointed. His mother, however, was clearly distressed. This was always her way when she was required to do something distinctly wizard without Remus’s father. If Remus pushed the limits of his memory, he could nearly remember a time where Hope Lupin had been delighted by the ongoings and oddities of magic, with Remus latched to her hand and Remus’s tall father surefooted at her side. 

Remus had a bright, long-ago memory of them all in Diagon Alley, filled with butterscotch ice cream and a dizzying excursion to the little Lupin vault under Gringotts Bank. His mother had lifted her hands as if she were on some fairground ride, then laughed herself silly while his father retrieved a modest sum of gold and silver. This is how you make a withdrawal? she’d asked. And here I thought the cash machine at Barclays was exciting! 

Remus could divide his life cleanly into the before and the after. That memory was a before one.

A few weeks ago, Remus’s father had offered to take Remus to Diagon Alley again, but an owl had arrived the morning of their planned excursion with a sachet of Floo Powder and a letter that detailed a half-attempted excuse for not showing. With no small amount of trepidation, Remus had used the Floo Network for the first time in his life to reach the Leaky Cauldron and done his shopping alone. His mother had stayed on the couch of their squashed sitting room, wringing her hands until a nauseous Remus had reappeared, arms filled with secondhand books and robes, feeling quite as green as the emerald flames he toppled out of.

With those books and robes now packed away in his trunk and a platform barrier in front of him, Remus could only hope that the passage to platform nine and three-quarters was not as head-spinning as the journey through the Floo. “Come on, Mam, let’s step through before I miss the train.”

His mother continued to hesitate. She’d dressed nicely, dark stockings and a coat that matched her dress. Remus tried not to wonder if it had been an effort to put up a good showing in front of his father. She should have known better; for the past four years or so, Lyall Lupin had scarcely kept appointments like these. There was only one time every month where Remus could rely on a visit from his father, and those were not particularly enjoyable.

Hope Lupin cleared her throat. “You don’t suppose it will stop me from going through, do you?” she asked her son. “You know. On account of the...muggle bit?”

Remus looked up at his mother’s worried face. It wasn’t a great distance above him; Hope Lupin was a small and slight woman. “You can hug me here, Mam. I’ll be fine going through alone.”

He was fairly certain that his mother could follow him without issue, but he imagined her in her nice muggle clothes, trying nervously to find her place among the brightly-clad witch and wizard parents, attempting not to look terrified and out of place as she waved him off. “I’ll just be getting straight on the train, anyway,” he added. “No use in crowding up the platform.”

Hope Lupin nodded slightly, then crouched down to take in the whole of her son. “My brave boy,” she said, her small smile growing watery. She smoothed down the front of his too-big jumper. “I’ll hug you so tight, you’ll still be able to feel it when you get wherever that train is flying you off to.”

Remus grinned back. “I think it’ll just be going on the tracks, Mam.”

His mother winked, a rare playful expression on her face. “I can never be sure, with you and your Da’s sort.” She pushed the hair off of his forehead, thumbing along a small scar there, and her smile fell slightly. “Remember that on Sunday—”

“I know, Mam.”

“Four days from today. Don’t get caught up with all of your new friends and forget.”

Remus scoffed. As if there was any forgetting. Anyways, he hadn’t managed a friend in eleven years, and he was sure he wasn’t bound to start now. Ahead of him was the tantalizing prospect of classes and books and magic that did not remind him of his father or fluster his mother. The alarming prospect of friends was the only thing about school that made him want to turn around and avoid that train altogether. Friends were not something boys like him could be trusted to have.

His mother seemed to read the fear in his face and attempted to assuage it. “On Sunday, you just go straight to that headmaster, Dundermore. Or...What was it…”

“Dumbledore,” Remus interjected helpfully. “I know, Mam. I promise.”

Hope Lupin let out a long breath, searching for something in Remus’s eyes before she abruptly pulled him into a bone-cracking hug. “Write to me first thing on Monday. And not just about...not just about that. I want to hear it all, Cariad.”

When Remus was finally relinquished from his mother’s grasp, he shouldered his bag and took the trunk his mother had been carrying. She was still crouched so that her eyes were just below his, but Remus felt suddenly quite small, and King’s Cross Station felt suddenly quite large. Rising to his full meager height, he manfully accepted his mother’s wet kiss on the cheek and strode forth, wincing as he prepared to jam nose-first into the barrier. But the firmness of the wall turned into something not firm at all as it swallowed him in. Hope Lupin and King’s Cross disappeared into darkness behind him, and Remus reemerged all at once into noise and light on his own, carrying the slightly battered and secondhand things that belonged to him.

Peter chewed on his bottom lip fretfully, pretending he couldn’t see his mother as she waved at him frantically through the train window. Platform nine and three-quarters was filled with fretting mothers. Children older and cooler than he could dream of being were accepting the doting of their parents with as much dignity as they could muster, but Peter Pettigrew could not afford the damage his mother might do to his reputation.

If the other children were to see him, a round-faced first year, with cheeks spackled in maroon lipstick kisses as his mother called him Petey and Duckie and all sorts of other saccharine endearments, he knew what was likely to happen. The older kids would call him sweet and ickle, and the other first years would keep their distance so as not to absorb his embarrassment by proxy. He’d be left alone, teased in class, tripped in the hall. No, if there was one thing that being small and soft had taught him, it was that it was far better to be the one doing the tripping.

Avoiding the eyes of his mother as she blew emphatic kisses in his direction, Peter scanned the platform for children of about his size. The platform below the train was a flurry of chaos. Friends were reuniting, trunks were tumbling open to spill out half-folded uniform robes, younger siblings were bawling, cats that had tried to make a dash from their owners were being pushed back through open compartment windows, feathers littered the pavement as indignant owls ruffled in their cages. Some children were staring open mouthed at the large scarlet steam engine as it belched smoke over them like a waiting dragon. Those, Peter reckoned, had to be the other first years. He scanned their faces.

One boy, Peter noted with satisfaction, was being absolutely mauled by a set of adoring parents. When he emerged from their devouring hugs, however, he was laughing, not red and ashamed. His hair seemed to be disastrously mussed by their affection, but as his mother smoothed it down behind his ears, it simply sprung back up into wild place again. He wore glasses, another cause for potential embarrassment, but he only prodded them up his nose as if they were the latest fashion. When he’d finally finished waving at his parents, two other boys had joined him to link arms and accompany him on the train, all laughing companionably.

Peter watched them hungrily but realized with no small degree of disappointment that this spectacled boy and his friends were not carrying bags. They must have already deposited their trunks in another compartment, and thus the chances of them joining him in this one were none.

Just as Peter was about to bemoan his bad luck, his compartment door slid open with a rattle. A boy stood there, appearing surprised to see him. The boy was plain and pale and freckled like Peter was, but he was frightfully skinny and his hair curled while Peter’s had a bad habit of sticking straight out like straw.

“Sorry,” the boy said, voice rough. He cleared his throat. “From the window I thought this compartment was empty.”

The boy was already leaving, but Peter scrambled to stop him. “That’s all right,” said Peter. “Plenty of room in here.”

The boy considered this for a moment, seeming to argue with himself in his mind. As Peter watched him, he noticed the bluish circles beneath this boy’s eyes. He had a white scar down his bottom lip, another one off the side of his forehead, and another small one up his jaw. For a moment, Peter tensed. Those scars were a sure sign that this boy had been the victim of some sort of beating or bullying, and that was the last thing Peter wanted to be near. But the boy didn’t have the hunted look of someone watching over their shoulder. Maybe, Peter thought hopefully, those scars just meant that this boy knew how to fight.

The boy finally seemed to have made a decision, but he did not look all too pleased. “All right,” he said softly. “Everywhere else is full, I suppose.” He slumped down into the far corner across from Peter, kicking his bag and trunk beneath him rather than hoisting them on the rack above. Peter noted with some guilty gladness that the boy’s trainers looked more ratted and worn than his own fairly worn ones.

This wasn’t a promising introduction, Peter thought glumly, but he leaned forward and held out his hand nonetheless. “Peter Pettigrew. It’s my first year.”

“Oh,” said the boy, looking at Peter’s hand warily. With a look of defeat, he reached out a hand and shook. “Mine, too. I’m Remus.”

Remus hadn’t included his surname, while Peter had, but Peter tried not to worry himself too much over this. He didn’t fuss too much over the idea of wizard surnames and muggleborns, but he did fuss over the idea of facing the scorn of those who did. Peter tried to navigate the subject tactfully, but the wringing of his hands might have given away his apprehension. “Any family at Hogwarts with you? Friends?”

Remus was busying himself with pulling an old and battered textbook out from his trunk. He sighed as he opened it. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Peter squeaked, feeling wrong footed. “Nice to come in with connections, that’s all.”

Remus didn’t glance up from his book. “I wouldn’t know.”

Peter swallowed. He’d been on the Hogwarts Express for all of ten minutes, and he’d managed to offend a boy who knew how to pick fights and had the facial scars to prove it. “Me either, I suppose,” Peter hastened to say. “Mum and Dad both went, of course, but I haven’t got any siblings. And then they waited ages to have me, so I haven’t even got any cousins here. I had a mate, Ian, but he was muggle, of course. There weren’t too many of our sort around where Mum and I live. Dad knew more families, I suppose, but he died when I was really young. Don't remember him at all. I hope—”

“Er, sorry,” said Remus, chewing his lip with a crooked canine tooth. “I’m just looking for a bit of quiet to read in.”

“Oh,” said Peter, doing a poor job of hiding the dejection in his voice. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Cheers,” said Remus, ducking back into his book.

With a huff of defeat, Peter returned to gloomily looking out the window. He finally turned to his mother, still sending him tearful kisses through the air, and he gifted her a small farewell wave at long last. It did not seem as if he were bound to skyrocket into popularity today. At least it was nice to see one friendly face, even if it was his mother’s.

Every part of Sirius itched, from the high neck of his robes to the pinched toes of his shoes. No sooner had he started tugging at the tight embroidered collar than his mother’s hand came to slap it away. “Don’t fidget, Sirius.”

“I’m not fidgeting,” Sirius argued without looking up at her. “I’m taking life-saving measures. This thing is trying to choke me to death.”

Freedom loomed in front of Sirius in the form of a black and scarlet steam engine, but the old prison of his mother’s grip remained on his shoulder. They stood in the shade of a rather ridiculous black lace parasol, somewhat removed from the rowdy crowd on the platform. His mother had bought the ratty parasol from some crackpot on Knockturn Alley before this excursion, buying into the man’s claim that it protected the wielder from having to suffer unseemly muggle stenches while out and about in London.

Sirius thought the parasol was the only thing nearby giving off an unseemly stench.

This morning, Sirius had already suffered the indignity of having his trunk ransacked by his parents, and he had been stripped of his jar of doxy eggs (what then, was the point of having a doxy infested attic?), his trimming of venomous tentacula (why were they growing it in their conservatory if not to propagate it?), and his miniscule vial of living death (which was hypocritical really, seeing that his family kept a healthy supply of it in the kitchen cupboard themselves in case a guest overstayed their welcome).

His stowed-away treasures had been replaced by unwanted gifts from Borgin and Burkes—a cameo brooch of some distant ancestor who would supposedly begin screaming if a muggleborn touched Sirius, and a severed centaur foot that was meant to ward off any halfbreeds who might come at him from the Forbidden Forest. Sirius looked forward to chucking those expensive artifacts out the train window as it rolled away. Perhaps he’d even manage to hit Reggie on the forehead with them on his way out.

Regulus was looking sour beside him, eyes darting nervously around the crowd. “Careful, Reg,” Sirius murmured from the corner of his mouth. His brother looked up at him apprehensively. “Don’t look too hard at a muggleborn, or you could catch gingivitis.”

Regulus flinched. “What’s gingivitis?” he asked, barely breathing.

“It’s a horrible muggle disease that starts with your fingers and toes ballooning up and falling off after three days. Then—”

“Don’t listen to him,” sniffed Narcissa, who had been taking pains to eavesdrop from her place beside Uncle Cygnus. She was looking rather pompous, already in her Slytherin school robes, new silver Prefect badge fastened on the front. “The mudbloods can’t hurt you.”

“They can try,” huffed Uncle Cygnus, looking down his stubby nose at the students and their families who seemed to be actually enjoying themselves. To his left, Sirius caught his cousin Andromeda’s grimace as she rolled her eyes. Thank Merlin for that. She was his only proof that one could cling to a molecule of humor and sanity in this family. Luckily, his oldest cousin, Bellatrix, had graduated from Hogwarts the year prior. If Sirius had been forced to face the prospect of going to Hogwarts with that hateful hag, he would have probably tossed himself down on the tracks in front of the train.

“Ah, Reg,” said Sirius gamely. “Scaring the wits out of you is probably the thing I’ll miss most.”

Regulus scowled, and his mother pinched Sirius hard on the ear. “At least when Regulus joins you next year, I’ll have some hope of being proud of a son at Hogwarts.”

Regulus straightened a bit at the praise, and Sirius subtly stomped on his foot.

Luckily, his mother didn’t notice his brother’s soft yelp of indignation as she kept on with her lamenting. There was a note of hysteria in her voice as she continued, “Mudbloods…muggle intermarriages everywhere you look. I’ve heard Dumbledore has some dirty urchin teaching Muggle Studies now.”

Sirius visibly brightened at this news, and his mother knocked him round the head.

“Oh no you don’t. I’ll be writing Horace Slughorn and the board of governors to get that off the curriculum. I’ll owl them daily. If they think they’re using the Black family donations to fund such filth, they’ll be thinking differently soon.”

The Black family donations were something of an empty threat, nowadays, but Sirius didn’t bother arguing. Their family’s gold stores were nothing to be scoffed at, but generations of buying overpriced dark artifacts and spitting down on half the wizard population had left them with little more than a dusty horde that reeked of moldering house elf heads, hidden away in a grimy bit of muggle London.

Regulus was attempting to squash Sirius’s foot in retaliation but was doing a poor job of it. He stopped his efforts abruptly, and looked at Sirius, earnest once again. “You’ll write to tell me what the Slytherin common room looks like? Cissy and Andy said they don’t want to spoil it for me.”

“Sure,” said Sirius agreeably. He and Regulus got on best like this, when one of them wanted something from the other and were willing to play nice in order to get it. “I doubt I’ll have anything else to do. It’s not as if me and all the other Slytherin bigots are going to be holding hands and sharing a cuddle.”

“Don’t sound so sure, little cousin,” Andromeda winked. “My arms are always open.”

“You’ll be busy with all your of-age seventh year friends,” Sirius said, trying and failing to not sound petulant. “Besides, Cissy says you’ve got some sort of secret bloke you’re snogging.”

Sirius regretted it as soon as he said it, watching Andy go pale. But then Andromeda turned with a a scowl to pull her sister’s neat plait, and Narcissa yowled dramatically, and Sirius found it hard to regret that development.

The fight was stopped from turning into an outright brawl as the train keened a high whistle, giving the lingering students their five-minute warning. At long last, his mother’s claw-like hand receded from Sirius's shoulder.

“Sounds as if it’s time to go. What a pity,” said Sirius without an ounce of sorrow. He hoisted his heavy, ancient trunk and stepped away to regard his family. “Mother, Reg, I’ll miss your sunny, smiling faces dearly, but the drudgery of academia beckons. Farewell!”

He’d turned and made it two steps before he felt a pair of thin arms grasping for him. He turned to see Regulus, big eyed and pitiful. There was only a year between them, but that gap felt larger now as Regulus fought for the words he wanted to say. “It’ll be boring without you,” he settled on at last.

Sirius grinned. “Reggie, you couldn’t have paid me a higher compliment.”

He accepted Regulus’s fleeting hug, but just as his brother released him, Reg stomped down on Sirius’s left foot, hard. Sirius stumbled back and looked at Regulus with affronted shock, foot throbbing. Regulus had the smallest of smiles playing at the corners of his mouth.

Sirius narrowed his eyes but was unable to stop his responding grin. “Hm. Maybe we are related after all.” He gave his brother a halfhearted shove, then turned and ran off before his mother’s scolding shriek could land. Any misbehavior exhibited by Regulus was Sirius’s fault, after all. Andromeda and Narcissa followed close after him, still bickering as they made their way into the train carriage.

Sirius shook them off quickly. Narcissa peeled off toward the front of the train to join the other prefects and Andromeda was hauled laughingly into a compartment by some older students Sirius didn't recognize. Still tugging at his too-tight collar, Sirius sighed a breath of relief when the train began to roll forward. Other students were scampering all to one side of the carriage in order to wave goodbye to their families before the station disappeared from view, but Sirius just ducked into the first compartment that wasn’t filled with screeching voices, yowling cats, or hooting owls.

He’d been expecting to find it empty, but two boys about his age were sitting quietly inside. The blonder and shorter of the two was pressed against the window, picking through a box of crisps. The taller one with curls was crouched over his textbook, but he looked up sharply as the compartment door slid open. Sirius considered them both for a moment, then shrugged. He kicked his trunk inside, closed the compartment door and began to tear off the hot, constrictive robes that buttoned up his throat.

“What are you…” the closer boy began to ask, but he shut his mouth and just stared, puzzled, as Sirius lifted the robes over his head, revealing a flared set of muggle jeans and a vest underneath. Balling up the expensive robes, Sirius kneed open his trunk and shoved them into a corner. Next, he toed off his tight shoes and rummaged through the trunk’s contents for the black and white trainers he’d stashed away after his other contraband had been seized. 

After he located a new shirt, did up half the buttons, and pushed the sleeves up his arms, Sirius finally glanced up. The boy near the window looked delighted by his intrusion, but the boy with the textbook looked decidedly less so. Neither of them had spoken again, and it didn’t seem as though they were going to. Sirius pulled out his new wand from the mess of his trunk and tucked it behind an ear. “Lively bunch, aren't you, lads?”

The smaller boy went pink and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but the taller boy looked unimpressed. He nodded to Sirius’s trunk. “What’s that?”

Sirius looked down to see that his rummaging had unearthed the horrifying, shrunken centaur foot his mother had insisted on packing into his things. He shrugged, picking it up. “What do you mean? This mangy old thing is clearly meant to ward away dark creatures and halfbreeds.” He pushed it into the boy’s hands. “Here, why don’t you keep it?”

The boy looked down at his new gift in alarm, then frowned deeper. “I don’t think it works.”

“Have a little faith,” Sirius chided, closing his trunk back up. “My father paid some ignorant quack fifty galleons for that.” Straightening up, he looked between the two quiet boys for a moment before he picked his trunk up again. “Now, as thrilling as your company has been, I’m afraid I’m looking for something altogether more loud. I have a family to dishonor, you see.”

Chapter Text

September 1, 1971

James

James’s first ride upon the Hogwarts Express was going about as brilliantly as he could have hoped for, excusing the red-haired girl who seemed to be quietly crying in the corner. She made a somewhat tragic figure, sniffling softly into the crook of her arm against the window. James supposed that meant she had to be a first year like himself, already homesick barely five minutes out from the station.

He supposed he couldn’t blame her as he thought back to the suffocating squeeze he’d received from his mother, and when he remembered his father’s eyes, brimming with pride behind square glasses. He’d miss them like mad, but now was frankly too thrilling a time to linger on all that. If James had more faith in his capabilities, he might have tried to comfort the girl by telling her as much. But at eleven years old, James’s interactions with girls were limited to hair pulling, name calling, and general tormenting. He thought the girl was best left alone.

His attention was quickly snagged back by Duncan Abbott and Gene Macmillan as they emptied out two colorful paper bags onto the seat between them. “Order from good old Zonko’s came just in time,” Gene was saying happily. “A dozen dungbombs, six stink pellets, a few ink squirting quills…Mum found the Fanged Frisbees, or I would have had a few of them, too…”

James kicked up his feet on the seat across from him, displaying his gold and crimson socks, worn for luck today if he should need it. “You lads are going to need to dream bigger now that I’m here,” he told the two second years. “A dozen dungbombs won’t last us through the first night of school.”

Duncan snorted just as the compartment door opened, revealing a boy with haughty features and dark hair that was long enough to be shoved behind his ears. He looked to be about James’s age, but James did not recognize him. He was dressed in muggle clothes, however, so perhaps that fact was not so surprising.

Duncan and Gene hastened to cover their goods from the prank shop, but the boy’s narrowed eyes flew to the pile immediately. He broke out into a grin that James couldn’t help but be a little thrilled by.

“Zonko’s,” said the boy approvingly. He most likely wasn’t a muggleborn, then. “So this is where the action is.”

When it became clear that the boy intended to store his trunk and sit down, James hastily removed his feet from the seat across. “I’m James,” he said amiably. “This is Duncan. And Gene.”

Sensing that his stash was not about to be confiscated, Gene stopped trying to obscure it and gave the new boy a considering look instead. “Don’t recognize you,” he said. “Means you must be a first year, like James.”

“Yup, first year,” said the boy, plopping down into the seat James had left for him. He leaned back, as if a compartment full of strangers was the most natural and comfortable place for him to find himself. “I’m serious.”

“Well that’s good,” said James. “Would be a strange thing to joke about.”

The boy rolled his eyes, but it was somewhat fond. “No, I’m Sirius. It’s my name.”

James frowned. “That’s too bad.”

Sirius laughed properly at that. “If you pity me, you’d be absolutely devastated to meet the rest of my family,” he said easily. He nodded at the pile of Zonko’s goods. “What all do you have there?”

With some trepidation, Gene agreed to showcase his order, and James was delighted to hear Sirius agree that it wasn’t near enough. “Last time I used dungbombs,” said Sirius, “I went through a whole dozen in one go. It was my Aunt Elladora’s funeral. The pity was that no one even noticed. Her gnome-infested back garden really already smelled that bad.”

They squirreled away the Zonkos items before the trolley witch stopped by, and James purchased enough candy to make the four boys suitably sick. He bought a couple of Pumpkin Pasties as well, thinking with some embarrassment that he could offer one to the girl if ever she were to stop her weeping and look their way.

In the meantime, James amused himself, as well as Gene and Duncan, by tossing Bertie Bott’s beans into Sirius’s mouth. James had a good deal of experience with Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, and he knew how to sort the nasty flavors from the tolerable, so he was rewarded by Sirius’s grimace and dramatic retching every time he managed to catch a bean, while James helped himself to the pleasant flavors like candy floss and chamomile.

When the compartment door opened again, the frame was filled with yet another dark-haired boy who appeared to be about James’s age. Unlike Sirius, however, this boy was not dressed in muggle fashion—in fact, he’d already put on his school robes. And while Sirius’s longish hair made him look like a very young member of some sort of well-groomed rock band, this boy’s longish hair made him look badly in need of a haircut and perhaps a wash.

James lobbed a dirt clod flavored bean into Sirius’s mouth, and the new boy watched with priggish disdain. He entered the compartment, however, and went straight to the girl, so James tried not to pay him any mind. 

Sirius sputtered as he chewed and swallowed. “You’re sure those are Every Flavor Beans? You didn’t accidentally buy Bertie Bott’s Absolute Worst Flavor Beans?”

“Nah, mate,” said James, trying to look concerned and sympathetic. “Guess you're just having rotten luck.”

The unknown boy and girl were speaking now in hushed voices, the boy with a placating tone, which made the girl finally wipe away some tears and smile a little. James felt a foreign, unpleasant pang run through him. Why hadn’t he thought to do something like that? He tried to re-engage with Duncan and Gene, who were now trading Chocolate Frog cards, but the new boy was speaking a little louder now, bolstered by the girl’s improved mood.

“You’d better be in Slytherin,” he heard the boy tell her, and James let himself turn to them fully.

“Slytherin? Who wants to be in Slytherin?” he asked, alarmed and baffled. He looked to Sirius for support. “I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

For the first time since he’d entered their compartment, Sirius’s face fell, slightly. “My whole family have been in Slytherin.”

“Blimey,” said James, wondering how he’d found himself in enemy territory. He nudged Sirius’s muggle trainer with one of his own. “And I thought you seemed all right!”

Looking back up, Sirius managed one of his thrilling grins again. He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading if you’ve got the choice?”

It was no choice; it was plain and simple fact. James drew an invisible sword of Godric Gryffindor from an invisible scabbard at his side for Duncan and Gene’s benefit. The two Hufflepuff boys had already had their fill of James’s constant preemptive house pride this summer. “Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart! Like my dad.”

His mother had been in Ravenclaw, and while there were far worse places to end up, her open-minded Ravenclaw impartiality meant that she was always going on about how the beauty of the four houses was the connection that could be forged across their differences. James always patiently allowed his mother this lecture, while he and his father exchanged private looks that made it clear they were both worried for her sanity.

From the corner of the compartment, the sneering boy scoffed.

James turned his invisible sword on this new offender. “Got a problem with that?”

“No.” The boy rolled his eyes and made meaningful eye contact with the girl, who was beginning to frown at the entire exchange. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy.”

Sirius sat up a little straighter. “Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?”

James laughed, slumping back into the bench and finally relinquishing his imaginary weapon. Gene and Duncan rolled their eyes and went back to their Chocolate Frog cards, seemingly deciding they were one year too old for such antics.

The girl was looking far from teary now, in fact, she was pink with dislike as she looked between James and Sirius. She flipped her dark red hair behind her and stood. For one gut-wriggling moment, James thought he was about to receive a thorough scolding from this girl. Instead, she turned up her nose and simply said, “Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.”

James and Sirius exchanged glances at her tone, both grinning. “Ooo…”

Giving them both a look of rather unreasonable contempt, the boy, Severus, wiped his nose messily on the sleeve of his robe and stood to follow her. James stuck out his leg in a half attempt to trip him and at least forced him to maneuver awkwardly in his slightly too large robes. 

Sirius saluted the boy as he passed though the compartment door and slammed it shut. “See ya, Snivellus!”

Biting down on his smile, James nodded thoughtfully. “That’s rather good. I’ll be expecting my own embarrassing nickname, if we’re to remain friends.”

Sirius raised a brow. “And if I’m in Slytherin?”

“Don’t test me,” said James, raising an accusing finger. “I’ve always said I’d eat my hat before making nice with a Slytherin, and I’d really prefer not to digest all that wool.”

Sirius laughed, seemingly appeased. “Come on, give us a bean then. I’m finally feeling lucky.”

James rooted through the box and handed one over. “Think that one’s chocolate.”

Sirius’s resulting gag could likely be heard through the entire carriage.

“Hm,” said James, looking down to hide his grin. “Was it not? Here, let me find another…”

Peter

When a Ravenclaw prefect came by to tell them to put on their Hogwarts robes, Peter pulled down his trunk enthusiastically, glad to finally have something to do. Remus hadn’t spoken again for ages, but he finally cleared his throat as Peter pulled out his neatly mended school robes and school shirt and stripped out of his jumper. 

“Is this compartment some sort of dressing room, now?” Remus asked, sounding disturbed. 

Peter looked up from the hem of the jumper he was still half tangled in. “What d’you mean? I’ve still got my vest on under.”

Without responding, Remus sorted through his own trunk and pulled out a bundle of clothes. “Bathroom,” he said quietly, as he slipped out of the compartment. 

When he returned, he was in school robes a hair too short for him. He started to pull his textbook open again, but Peter was too excited to stay quiet any longer. “No use reading now,” he said enthusiastically. “The train’s slowing. We’re nearly there.”

It was true—the sun had slowly set over an endless stretch of pleasant green countryside, and then the night had grown misty and purple. Through the haze, Peter could just see the lights of what had to be Hogsmeade Station up ahead.

“I’ve never been to Hogsmeade, have you?” Peter asked. Without waiting for an answer he added, “I’ve been to Diagon Alley loads, of course, and Godric’s Hollow a few times, too. Mum always said that Hogsmeade was too small to make a visit worthwhile, but I would have liked to see it before anyway. We won’t see much now in the dark…”

He continued his idle chatter, and Remus didn’t stop him, seeming to concede that the textbook should be put away as a magically amplified voice announced their imminent arrival and instructed them to leave their luggage on the train. The engine at last whined to a stop, and the stamping of excited children could be heard up and down the corridor. Outside the compartment, Peter was soon swept up into a sea of children clad in black robes, only just managing to keep Remus in his sights. 

The platform they emerged onto was crowded, dark, and tiny, and when Peter jumped just a bit to see over the heads that surrounded him, he could spot a line of carriages without horses waiting up the road. Most students were bumping and jostling in that direction, but a loud, gruff voice boomed over the rest of the chatter.

“Firs’ years! All firs’ years to me, if yeh can manage it! Watch yer steps! Firs’ years!”

The voice was coming from a man illuminated by a glowing orange lamp, held up and swinging above his head. Peter paled a bit at the sight. The lamp looked minuscule in his frankly enormous hand, casting shadows over his broad face and alarmingly wild beard. The man stood so tall that many of the first years who had managed their way over to him measured barely to his hip. Peter very nearly didn’t want to go near him, but the fear of being left behind was greater.

When the enormous man seemed satisfied that the small crowd in front of him was complete, he beckoned them to follow him down a narrow path, lit only by his lamp in the front. “Name’s Hagrid,” he called over his shoulder, happily and perhaps too loudly for the group that had grown nervous and silent. “Yeh’ll see plenty of me ‘round Hogwarts, mindin’ the grounds an’ such. Jus’ a little further now ‘til yeh see the castle. Don’ slip now, careful.”

Peter did just that a few times, bumping roughly into the children in front of him as he struggled to keep pace with Remus. Remus seemed to have no such worry about Peter and walked quickly with his head tucked. The line of first years stopped at last, and the path emerged onto the flat bank of a large, glassy lake. Peter was still focused on his footing when he heard a loud “Holy Merlin!” and several gasps. The red-haired girl just in front of Peter clasped onto the arm of the lanky boy she was with, hopping up and down a bit, and the boy looked down at that hand on his arm rather than up at whatever she’d spotted. When Peter finally scooted over and stood tiptoe, he saw what all the commotion was about. Across the lake on a steep outcropping of rock was an enormous castle, an imposing jagged shape against the dark night sky, every turret and tower lit with warm pinpricks of light.

“Four to a boat, now!” Hagrid was calling out as the group of them set once more to tittering among themselves. “No more'n four to a boat!”

The assembly of first years began to split off into groups, and Peter looked around worriedly. Luckily, Remus stood on his own, equally unsure. Peter sidled up beside him. “Just need two more, then?” he asked, looking around. 

To his immense delight, there was another pair of boys who seemed more concerned with finding rocks to skip than completing their group. One was the boy who had entered their compartment, changed out of his nice-looking clothes, and abruptly left. The other was the spectacled boy who had seemed so popular on the platform. Both were now in their school robes. “Can we join your boat?” Peter called over to them eagerly.

The boy with the longer hair shrugged and waved them over, chucking a flat stone across the lake in five perfect leaping arcs. The spectacled boy shook his head at his companion in dismay, dropping his own lumpy stone rather than attempt to compete.

When everyone had settled into their rickety little boats—Hagrid with an entire boat to himself— the enormous, bearded man fastened his lamp to his bough, and the swarm of boats took off on their own, ripples fanning out behind them. The boy with the spectacles was leaning eagerly over the edge, causing their boat to sway precariously.

“Careful, mate,” said the longer haired boy. “My cousin says there’s a giant squid in there. If you topple us over, I’ll make sure it eats you first.”

The spectacled boy smiled in delight at this news and finally settled. He turned toward Peter. “Hiya. I’m James. This is Sirius.” He pointed to the longer haired boy.

“Peter,” said Peter quickly, wringing his hands. 

James and Sirius both waited for Remus to give his name, but Remus appeared not to notice this. He was still gazing up at the approaching castle, wide eyed.

“That’s Remus,” Peter provided for him.

“Peter and Remus,” James repeated, nodding. “Settle an argument for us. D’you figure a Gryffindor and Slytherin can be friends?”

“Don’t see why not,” said Peter.

James balked—this seemed to be the wrong answer.

“See?” said Sirius smugly. “There you go. You’ll just have to put up with me now, no matter what an old hat says.”

“Bit early to be deciding all that, isn’t it?” asked Peter. “We haven’t even been sorted.”

“Not for me,” said James. He pulled up his trouser leg beneath his robes to reveal gold and scarlet socks, glaringly bright against the black of his uniform. “I was born a Gryffindor, and I’ll die one, too.” To emphasize this, he shook the boat recklessly as the other boys groaned. “What say you, Remus?” James asked as the boat finally stabilized.

Remus, realizing he’d been called upon, only blinked at them, brow furrowed. “What d’you mean what an old hat says?”

Sirius

When the small boats dipped into a shallow, dripping cave beneath the castle, Sirius and James were some of the first to spring out of their boat and onto the rocky harbor. James, displaying a show of sympathy that Sirius frankly wanted to laugh at, held back to help Peter out of the boat when he nearly upended it. The four of them joined the rest of the students as they left the harbor and found themselves on a grassy path, then climbed a set of stone steps to the castle’s great wooden doors. Iron braziers along the steps lit their way, decorated with winged boars, snakes, badgers, eagles, or lions, all staring down at the stumbling group of children below them. 

At the top of the steps, a few students were huffing for breath; Sirius only continued to bounce eagerly from foot to foot. The giant man named Hagrid winked back at them all before knocking on the impressive doors thrice, and they swung open to reveal a glimmering entryway, filled with smooth stone and marble that bounced back the candlelight. At the threshold was a severe-looking woman in ruby robes with a sharp hat perched precisely on her head. For a moment, Sirius was reminded of his mother, what with this woman’s black hair and scouring gaze. But his own mother had a sort of twitchy, shrieking rage that would overcome her, and Sirius couldn’t for the life of him imagine this woman screaming until her face turned puce.

“Here they all are, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid happily. “Didn’t lose a one of ‘em to Grindylows this year.”

McGonagall allowed herself to look faintly amused before she turned to the students. “Welcome, first years, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Follow me please.” Without any further ado she turned heel and marched primly into the castle.

Inside, Sirius could hear the sounds of laughter and discussion, echoing around what sounded to be a very large room through another set of great doors, left open. Rather than turning into that room, however, Professor McGonagall led them into a cramped chamber to the side, lit by only a few sconces. They gathered there in the shadows, letting out an occasional giggle.

McGonagall turned to address them again. “Before your first Start-of-Term Feast, we will be conducting what is called the Sorting Ceremony. The Sorting will decide one of the most important parts of your time here at Hogwarts—your house. Your housemates will be the students you study with, repose with, play Quidditch with, and share dormitories with. They are there to ensure that Hogwarts becomes something of a home. Acts of valor or aptitude shall help you win points for your house, while any misdeeds and misbehaviors will lose your house points.”

James elbowed Sirius in the ribs. “Think you can get Slytherin in the negatives for me?” he whispered.

Sirius had to stifle a snort as McGonagall continued. “I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house, Transfiguration instructor, and Deputy Headmistress. The other houses are Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. You will find that each house has its own strengths and merits, and that our school is strongest when we work together amicably.”

Sirius did not have to turn his head to sense James’s eye roll in the corner of his vision. 

“For the sorting,” McGonagall continued, “you’ll be called upon by surname, so arrange yourselves accordingly as best as you are able.” She peered out of the chamber, then beckoned them back out. Sirius did not know James’s surname, but the boy didn't stray far from his side as they followed the professor back out and through the double doors.

Sirius had been dragged unwillingly to his fair share of pureblood festivities, but the hall they entered put even the Bulstrode and Malfoy ballrooms and banquet halls to shame. The ceiling high above them seemed to dissolve into the night sky, complete with cloud-obscured stars and a moon just a bit shy of being full. Candles floated in bobbing clusters over five long tables, four side by side and filled with students, one facing the rest upon a raised dais filled with adults—professors, Sirius figured. It was to this raised space that McGonagall led the first years and ushered them into an orderly group beside a low wooden stool and a pointed hat.

The hat was a sagging, ragged thing that reeked of old magic—the sort of thing he suspected his mother or father would have liked to waste their money on. That was, of course, provided only that the animating spirit of this dejected thing was dark, cruel, and fueled by spite. At Sirius’s side, James was looking at the hat with a deep frown.

 “What?” Sirius asked him. “Don’t tell me you’re nervy about the Sorting now.”

“Nah,” said James, looking at Sirius sorrowfully. “Just thinking about how awful you’ll look in green, is all.”

“Clean your glasses,” said Sirius, tossing his head. “You’ll discover that it’s impossible for me to look bad in anything.”

James opened his mouth to retort, but just then, the hat did a very strange thing.

It opened its mouth—it had a sort of mouth at the torn brim—and sang in a rough, raspy voice.

In times of old, when I was new,
And tales were not yet told,
Four mages wished to teach the young
Before they got too old.

And so they found a ragged rock
Beside an inky lake,
And built the castle where you stand
To suit the school they’d make.

The mages shared a vision, yes,
But differed in their creed.
They each believed that they knew best
What their students would need.

If it were up to Helga Hufflepuff,
They’d train the just and true,
To uphold utmost loyalty
With kindness through and through.

In the eyes of Godric Gryffindor,
Strength resided in the heart.
Students must learn to face their fears
If they’re to do their part.

For sharp Rowena Ravenclaw,
The might of magic’s in the mind.
Pupils should show aptitude
And cleverness combined.

And for Salazar Slytherin,
Power laid for those who take it.
Ambition fuels his scholars,
And magic’s what they make it.

So, while they might have bickered
Until they were bones and dust,
Their academic dreams prevailed
And forced them to adjust.

They called on students fresh and bright
And opened up the door,
Then picked their chosen from the lot
And split the school in four.

The founders are no longer here,
But left me in their stead.
I knew those mages well, indeed,
As if we shared a head.

So put me round your puny ears,
Hear what I have to say.
I’ll see into your minds and souls,
Then send you on your way.

I’ll keep your secrets safe, I swear,
Try not to feel chagrin.
You’ll find yourself where you belong.
Let the Sorting now begin!

The crowd of students, who had gone strangely reverent and silent considering that their entertainment was a mangy old hat, erupted into enthusiastic applause, tapping cutlery against their crystal goblets. 

The professors, too, clapped politely. The tallest of them sat at the center of the head table—a man with a smooth white beard that disappeared down below the table’s edge, half-moon spectacles over bright and merry eyes, and a deep sapphire hat, embroidered with beaded planets and constellations. Dumbledore, Sirius thought with awe. His parents and family members spent many a drunken evening berating the old headmaster, but anyone on a Chocolate Frog card was worthy of some admiration in Sirius’s book.

When the applause finally died down, McGonagall flicked her wand and a roll of parchment appeared, unfurling as it hovered in the air. The professor cleared her throat, then called out sharply, “Avery, Thaddeus!”

A long-faced boy to Sirius’s right stepped forward, and McGonagall lifted the hat by its tip so that he could be seated in its place. He looked out at the crowd with a rather off-putting grimace before McGonagall lowered the hat once more and it fell past his ears and over his eyes.

It took the hat only a second before its brim opened, and it hollered out, “SLYTHERIN!”

The room broke into cheers and applause at the first Sorting of the night, and Sirius watched the boy trudge ungracefully over to the table on the far end of the hall. Near the table’s front, he spotted his cousin Narcissa with her fellow Slytherin prefect Lucius Malfoy. The horribly smug Malfoy boy had been introduced as a potential match for her early last summer, and unfortunately the two got on rather well and were making for a quite intolerable duo. 

Cissy and Lucius had kept the front of the Slytherin table clear for incoming first years, and Thaddeus Avery slumped onto the bench, looking as though he’d just done something particularly nasty and was quite proud of it. So this boy would be Sirius’s dorm mate, then. Exquisite.

Sirius should have expected it, but he still flinched as McGonagall called next, “Black, Sirius!”

Sirius received a hard thump on the back from James as he strode forward, making his best effort not to show the nerves that squeezed his gut. He kept his eyes on the Slytherin table as he took his seat on the stool. He was calmed somewhat by the sight of Andromeda, barely visible as she leaned across the table to give him a thumbs up. But then she was obscured by a ghost who rose suddenly through the golden dishes to hover halfway through the tabletop. The ghost looked back at Sirius with a scowl that reminded him of his father, but the resemblance was marred a bit by the severe amount of silvery blood that covered his ghostly front. That would be the Bloody Baron, then, Sirius figured. Another delightful companion in his future house. 

Just before the hat dropped over his eyes, Sirius turned to glance at James, and his broad grin was the last thing he saw before his sight was obscured by old, smelly cloth.

Aha, said the reedy voice of the hat, whispering through his mind. Another Black, then? I suppose we know where you ought to go.

I suppose, thought Sirius glumly.

None too enthused, are you? asked the hat. It sounded slightly amused. Have any ideas? I confess, it’s been a long while since I’ve had to be creative with a Black. What is it you’re hoping for, if not Slytherin? 

Sirius gripped the seat of the stool beneath him hard enough that he might have left nail marks in the wood. He thought of the dusty shadows of his home on Grimmauld Place, the sneering pureblood faces he’d been allowed to talk to on the few occasions his family left their crypt to socialize. 

He thought of a warm compartment in stolen muggle clothes, the levity of being a boy trying to catch sweets as they were chucked at his face. He thought about James, who he’d only known for the length of an afternoon.

Something different, Sirius thought. He’d never considered a future for himself at Hogwarts that didn’t involve cool greens and silvers, so he was slightly surprised by his own nerve as he shut his eyes tight and desperately thought, I’m hoping for something different.

The hat made a sound that might have been a low chuckle. Oh, what a lot of fun this will be, then. I suppose you’d better go to…

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat was pulled abruptly up over Sirius’s eyes, and Sirius was confronted both by the sudden brightness of the candlelight and the outbreak of stifled whispers that followed the hat’s announcement. He continued to sit there, a bit shocked, his mind trying to catch up to the consequences of what he had just done. For he had done quite a number this time, hadn’t he? The hat, if he had heard it right, had said Gryffindor. 

A few students who hadn’t the foggiest what Sirius’s surname meant—probably muggleborns, Merlin bless them—were clapping slowly to break the strange hush, but then— 

“YES!”

It was James who exclaimed with such force that he had quite literally jumped into the air, and then suddenly the nearby Gryffindor table was thundering with cheers. Sirius was being nudged into standing by McGonagall, and so, with little else to do, he made his way over to the rest of Gryffindor house. Many of them were standing up to welcome him as he became the first new student to join their ranks.

More names were being called, but Sirius barely registered them. He stared at the empty platters in front of him, at the ghost whose head kept toppling sideways off his neck every time he laughed too jovially with the other Gryffindor students. Sirius knew what he would see if he looked across the hall to the Slytherin table—Andromeda’s worried face and Narcissa’s murderous one—so he didn’t bother. He received a few hearty pats on the shoulder and a welcome from a round-faced boy in a gold and scarlet prefect badge, and Sirius did his shellshocked best to smile and nod at each of them in turn.

Sirius continued in his daze until the table around him erupted in violent cheers once more—another student had been sorted into Gryffindor. Sirius looked back up at the dais to see the red-haired girl who had gotten huffy with them on the train flounce over. Their spat with her lanky friend had been for nothing then; it seemed Slytherin was as lost to her as it was to him, now.

Sirius tried to summon his wits as he slid further down the bench to make room for her near the front. He’d missed her name, but he supposed he ought to make nice with someone if he didn’t want the entire school turning on him for his latest and most shocking family scandal. 

The girl spotted the empty seat beside him, then looked up to see who was offering it. Judging by the growing crease between her brows, it was clear she recognized him from the train. With a toss of her head, she marched past him and elbowed her way into a spot further down the table. Sirius shrugged. He’d have to make nice with someone else, then.

It wasn’t until McGonagall reached the L’s that the Gryffindor table had cause to cheer and stamp their feet again. “Lupin, Remus!” had been called up to the stool, and the hat flopped over his mop of curls and wide eyes. It took a moment, perhaps the same length of time that Sirius’s Sorting had taken, but when the hat brim opened, it shouted “GRYFFINDOR!” quite clearly. This time, Sirius managed to cheer.

Remus didn’t have the same reservations about sitting near Sirius as the red-haired girl, but neither did he quite seem to notice as Sirius waved him over. Remus plopped into a seat across from him looking altogether dizzy in a way Sirius could relate to. He leaned over to ask Remus if he’d been expecting any differently, but then McGonagall started on the M’s and Gryffindor immediately received two girls in a row: “Macdonald, Mary!” and then “McKinnon, Marlene!” 

The two girls fell into a giggling heap beside Sirius, ecstatic and pink cheeked, the way a first year should be after their sorting. One of the girls, the blonde one, Marlene, Sirius was pretty sure, lifted a fork and pointed it at him once she’d regained her breath.

“Black, McGonagall said, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” said Sirius, looking her up and down. “I’m a Black. At least, that’s what my parents have always tried to tell me. But I’ve got my suspicions about being left on their doorstep by a pack of wolves.”

Marlene erupted into a pleasant bout of laughter again. “I know about your family,” she said, not unkindly. “You’re not supposed to be at this table.”

The other girl, Mary, with dark skin, darker eyes, and shiny curls, knocked Marlene on the shoulder. “What a thing to say!” She winked at Sirius, which caused Marlene to break out giggling again. “I think you’re right where you’re supposed to be, with us.”

Sirius regarded her with his head propped up on his fist. He was feeling more himself, as if the blood that had vacated his fingers and toes leaving him cold and numb was finally deciding to rush back in. “Quite right,” he agreed, grinning fully. “Couldn’t let twelve generations of family tradition keep me from your fine company.”

There was a spluttering cough from across the table, and Sirius looked over to see Remus rolling his eyes as he struggled to keep down his pumpkin juice. This pleased Sirius; he’d rather thought the boy was some sort of impenetrable fortress of indifference.

It wasn’t long before “Pettigrew, Peter!” was subjected to the hat, and the students grew antsy as the hat stayed on a fidgeting Peter for what had to be over five minutes. “Get on with it!” someone at the Hufflepuff table called, but the hat would not be rushed.

When the hat finally called out, “GRYFFINDOR!” Peter re-emerged from the brim looking pink in the face and shocked by his luck. He ran over to the Gryffindor table and slid in beside Remus, then acted as if every pat on the back and cheers he received was a prestigious honor being awarded to him personally.

Directly after Peter was James, and Sirius realized with a jolt that the boy’s surname was Potter. He’d heard of the Potters from his mother. More specifically, he’d heard of them while his mother tore pages from the archive of pureblood families kept in their library and tossed them into the fire, wailing “Blood traitors! Muggle lovers! Wallowers in filth and mud!”

Ah, well. Sirius was in Gryffindor now, it seemed. In for a penny, in for a pound.

The hat had barely touched James’s head before it boomed “GRYFFINDOR!” once again. James nearly didn’t wait for the hat to be removed before he sprang up and strode over to the cheering Gryffindors, smile blinding and glasses fogged from excitement.

“Budge over,” he told Mary and Marlene, making room for himself by Sirius’s side. The girls grumbled, but James was not to be deterred. “Can you believe it?” he asked Sirius, Peter, and Remus, slapping his palms on the table so that his flatware rattled. “All of us together! My lucky socks worked!”

Before Sirius could inquire about the socks in question and their lucky properties, James rounded on him, still beaming. “And you! In Gryffindor! You didn’t tell me you were a bloody Black!”

“Sorry,” said Sirius. “Ought I to carry a warning sign everywhere I go? Something like Beware, son and heir to the ancient and most noble house of lunatics?”

“Probably,” agreed James. 

The shock of the evening had left Sirius starved, but apparently there was one more matter to be taken care of before they could eat. Dumbledore had risen from his seat at the head table, and the hall immediately hushed. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome, students!” He smiled at them all from beneath the impressive length of his mustache. “Welcome, to those just beginning their journey at Hogwarts, bright eyed and curious, and welcome, to those who have sat through this fanfare many times and would quite like me to shut my mouth and be done with it so that dinner can commence!”

There was some laughter, and Sirius found himself smiling.

“To the former, I say that great adventures await you within these walls! And to the latter, I say I quite agree, this old windbag has kept you from your supper long enough! Tuck in!”

Remus

Remus sat on the edge of his new four poster bed with his pyjamas folded in his lap, warily regarding the chaos that had quickly become of the room. All their trunks had been waiting for them in the dormitory, alongside a set of gold and scarlet ties, jumpers, scarves, socks, and wooly hats. Remus sighed in relief at the sight of them—he’d thought he’d have to put in some sort of order and ask for more money from his mam. His mother always had a near-impossible time of converting muggle money into galleons, sickles, and knuts.

The feast had consisted of more food than Remus had ever seen, appearing suddenly in ludicrous amounts on the shining golden platters while the students gasped and cheered. Remus had stopped eating only when James asked if he had some sort of extension charm on his stomach.

Remus had never seen ghosts before, but there were lots of them floating about the hall. It seemed that the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick the other children called him, made for excellent company as he shared stories of past Gryffindor student bravery and/or reckless stupidity. He chatted with the first years while standing directly in the middle of a poor second year, who looked very discomforted by the situation she found herself in as she tried to enjoy her pumpkin juice.

After the dinner, the fifth-year prefect named Frank Longbottom had led the Gryffindor first years up an endless number of stairs, allowing them to pause only when a staircase was leading the wrong direction, waiting until it swiveled to another landing with a sound of grinding stone before they proceeded. The portraits that lined the corridors shouted out fond congratulations to the younger students, wishing them well. Remus felt quite overwhelmed by the time Frank stopped in front of a portrait of a woman with a pile of curling hair and an impressive bosom.

“This is the Fat Lady,” Frank had told them, and Remus wondered if the woman enjoyed being called that. “She’s the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Password’s Phoenix Feather, got that? It changes every month, so keep your wits about you.”

The portrait swung open to reveal a circular entrance that had to be crawled through in a crouch. On the other side, they were met with cheers from the few Gryffindors who had beat them there from the feast.

The common room was a circular room in one of the high towers, judging by the number of steps they’d climbed. Remus looked around at the squashed couches and armchairs that surrounded the large hearth, the desks and tables crammed into candlelit alcoves, the cats that napped on window seats, and owls that flew through the high ceilings, seeking their owners with packages containing the things they’d forgotten to pack. The carpets and wall tapestries were done all in red and gold.

Remus had loved the sight of it, but his reaction was nothing compared to James, whose eyes had nearly welled up with tears. James had brushed the evidence away while Sirius teased him relentlessly.

They’d wasted very little time scrambling up another set of narrow stairs to reach the first-year boy’s dormitory and had made quick work of making themselves at home.

It was not as if Remus was particularly helping the state of the room; he’d never been prone to neatness, and the floor around him was a mess of textbooks, threadbare jumpers, and beaten trainers after he’d rooted through his small trunk for the flannel pyjama trousers and t-shirt he was looking for. Still, he was no match for the likes of Potter and Black.

James had already tacked up several Quidditch posters wherein the players were grinning out at them cheekily before zooming about the pitch, and Sirius had pulled out every dark and expensive item of wizard clothing he seemed to own and was debating whether or not he should shove them into the room’s little furnace. James and Peter were both against it. Peter was worried about overheating the furnace, while James was more concerned about the meagerness of his remaining wardrobe.

“What on earth will you wear?” James asked. “There are weekends, you know, where you don’t have to be in uniform. Do you plan on parading around in the nude?”

Sirius pulled another heavy, silk-lined, dark green cloak out of his trunk. “Dream on, Potter,” he huffed. “I can send an owl and order more through post. Besides, I shook off Kreacher and stole some muggle clothes from a department store in London this summer. Probably wouldn’t have managed it if it weren’t for some accidental magic. When the muggle lady working the door searched me, all the clothes I’d shoved beneath my robes had disappeared and reappeared in my room later that afternoon.”

Remus wondered who on earth a Kreacher was, but he did not ask, he only continued to stare down at his tartan pyjama trousers.

“You’re lucky,” said James. He was putting on every single piece of Gryffindor apparel that had been left for him and was concentrating now on the tie that he definitely did not know how to knot. “My accidental magic’s never been that useful. Once, though, I made the neighbor’s cat fly. The old thing looked like it was having the most brilliant time of its life, swatting at birds.” He gave up on the tie and left it looped around his neck. “What about you, Remus?”

Remus looked up. “Oh, er…”

He thought back to the time he’d made their entire apartment shake as he wailed in pain from within a cramped cage the morning after a full moon. They’d had to move house shortly after that to avoid questions from the neighbors. Then there was the time he’d sent his father flying across the room in a fit of rage the evening before a transformation. His father had been trying to introduce silver chains into the routine.

“Nah,” said Remus, quietly. “Nothing interesting.”

“One time,” Peter interjected, “on a birthday, Mum took me to an ice cream shop and I asked for a dozen scoops. The man behind the counter said they could only do two, but when he went to serve me, he couldn’t seem to stop adding ice cream to the cone. He kept on hollering about company policy while the ice cream kept piling up. Mum had to help him eventually.”

Sirius and James burst into laughter. “Yours would involve ice cream, Pete,” said James fondly. “I saw how seriously you took pudding tonight.”

Peter went happily pink, and Remus was glad for the distraction.

The best he could hope for was to bore these boys into barely noticing he was there at all. It might not be hard, considering how interesting they managed to be on their own. Somehow, foolishly, Remus hadn’t even considered the fact that he would be sharing a room with other students—students that would expect to see him in his bed before they went to sleep, and expect to see him still there when they woke up. His father’s letter hadn’t given him any advice about that. His father’s letter hadn’t given him advice about anything, really.

Unfortunately, Remus still seemed plenty visible to James, who strode over and picked something out of Remus’s open trunk. “Interesting decor you have here, mate.” He had on two Gryffindor hats at once, and they nearly toppled off as he held out the wrinkled, balding centaur foot Sirius had shoved into Remus’s lap earlier that day.

“S’not mine,” said Remus quickly. “Black gave it to me, on the train.”

“Yes,” said Sirius, “And Lupin still hasn’t offered me a token of his affection in return.”

“Is that what this was?” asked Remus before he could help himself. “I thought you were using it to put a curse on me or something.”

“And you kept it?” asked Sirius, brow raised. “Why not chuck it out the train window?”

“Looked expensive,” said Remus. “Thought I could sell it on some sort of wizard black market. If I’m going to be cursed, might as well get some spending money from it.”

Peter and James laughed, and Sirius grinned broadly. Remus looked down again. He hadn’t meant to do that.

“Now there’s an idea,” said Sirius. “Why would I burn this stuff when I could get some pureblood nutter to buy relics from the ancient and most noble house of Black?”

“Won’t you want any of it?” Peter asked. “It’s nice to have some things that remind you of family, isn’t it?”

“Soon as my mother finds out I’m here in this dorm,” said Sirius a bit darkly, “I’ll be torn from the family bible and burned off the family tapestry. So nah, Pettigrew. I’m not hankering for any reminders.”

The room was momentarily quiet, but then Sirius brightened. “Hey, speaking of reminders.” He rooted through the remnants of his trunk until he surfaced with a cameo brooch, featuring a scowling woman in profile. He put it on, then strode over, and to Remus’s alarm, grasped his arm. Sirius stood there for a moment, as if expecting something to happen. “Hm,” he said after a bit. “Not a muggleborn, then?”

“No,” Remus stammered out. “Da’s a wizard, Mam’s a muggle.”

“Oh,” said Sirius. “That’s too bad. I was hoping I’d share a room with at least one. Just figured, since you didn’t know about the Sorting Hat.”

“Yeah, well,” Remus managed to get out. “Da and I don’t speak much. Least not about this stuff. I live with my Mam.”

It was entirely too much information, but Sirius was still holding his arm and looking at him curiously. Sirius finally let go and went to take the centaur foot from James, adding it to his discard pile.

“Cheer up, Black,” said James. “I overheard Marlene and Mary at dinner. Apparently Macdonald’s a muggleborn, and so’s that girl from the train, Lily Evans.” James threw an arm over Sirius’s shoulder and waggled his brows. “Maybe you can dishonor your family by—”

The brooch Sirius was still wearing began abruptly screaming, shrilly, and at the top of its tiny lungs. 

James covered his ears. “What is that thing?!”

“It’s s’posed to holler if I touch a mu—a muggleborn,” said Sirius, frowning down at it.

“But I’m pureblood!” said James incredulously.

“Must not work,” said Sirius, shrugging. “Most of that nonsense stuff from Borgin and Burkes doesn’t, anyway. The witch on it is supposedly my great aunt Grimmelda. She must just not like the mangy look of you.” 

Sirius began chasing James around the room, trying to touch him and set the brooch to screaming again. Peter made a game of dodging them, or else helping James by trying to trip Sirius. Remus took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom with his pyjamas.

As he changed, he avoided looking at himself in the little mirror. He knew what he’d see, nicks and scars of varying severity over his arms and back and legs. It was warm in the first-year boy’s dormitory with the blazing furnace, but Remus pulled his jumper over The Rolling Stones shirt his Mam had gifted him before he left for school.

When he re-emerged, Sirius and James were both huffing on the floor while Peter assaulted them with a pillow—he seemed to be on no one’s side in this game but his own, now. As subtly as he could, Remus grabbed a book and slipped into his already rumpled bed and began to pull shut the hangings.

“Turning in already, Lupin?” James asked.

“Think so,” said Remus, trying not to look apologetic. “You all keep at it, though, I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“Alright, mate,” said James cheerfully. “Sweet dreams.”

“Oh Merlin,” said Sirius. “Sweet dreams. You sound like a mother. Not my mother, mind you—”

The other boys continued talking as Remus closed his bed hangings fully, heart sinking a bit. Just being near boys his own age was more exciting and exhausting than anything he could remember. He thought he’d had a good understanding of his challenges at Hogwarts before he’d even boarded the train. Now, it seemed he had a challenge he didn’t anticipate, and one that would be more difficult than he was prepared for: keeping these boys at a healthy and necessary distance.

Chapter Text

September 5, 1971

Lily

Dear Tuney,

I’m so so so sorry, you don’t even have a clue how sorry I am. It’s only that you left the letter from Dumbledore sort of in the den, and I use that room, too, so it wasn’t quite as if we were snooping, it was more that I wasn’t sure what a bit of parchment was doing there and I took it out to the front garden and Severus started reading before I realized, and anyways I’m sorry.

And if you wanted to apologize for what you said on the platform, I suppose I’d forgive you, so perhaps you should forgive me— 

Lily stopped, exasperated, in the middle of her letter. Pleading never worked with Petunia unless it was coupled with some sort of gift like the little coin purse she wanted or the hat she’d circled from the Littlewoods catalog. Lily didn’t have a Littlewoods catalog here, and she doubted very much that Petunia would want anything from the Be-Witching Wardrobe owl-order catalog Marlene McKinnon had brought with her.

Lily had been trying to approach this letter for several days now. She really was sorry that she and Severus had opened the letter from Dumbledore, but she was still a little hurt, too. After all, Petunia had been the one to write to Professor Dumbledore and beg for admission to Hogwarts according to that letter, and Lily had only wanted to help. And Lily hadn’t been the one to call her sister a freak right before they were to be separated for an entire term.

Lily was in the dormitory she shared with Mary Macdonald and Marlene McKinnon, and it was a space she enjoyed immensely. Marlene was the only one of them who had grown up around witches and wizards, and as a result, she was the only one with funny moving posters and pictures posted up all over her wall. The largest was a poster for the band Hexnight, where a frontwoman with a lot of dark eye makeup was blinking at them menacingly but coolly, or else holding up her guitar and sticking out her tongue.

Mary had brought quite a lot of clothes, quite a lot of makeup, and a cat named Claude, who she insisted was French. To Lily’s delight, Mary was more than willing to share the clothes, the makeup, and the cat with her dorm mates. This came as a pleasant surprise to Lily, who had grown up with Petunia who was quite unwilling to share anything.

Lily had brought some unmoving photos of her family, of course, and a few posters of her own, for muggle musicians like The Who and George Harrison. She’d felt a little embarrassed by the idea of pinning them up, but Mary, also muggleborn, had crooned over them and asked about Lily’s records at home, and Marlene had laughed while Mary began belting Pinball Wizard at the top of her lungs, so Lily had gone ahead and hung them. She’d tried playing a few muggle songs for Severus over the summer, but Sev had only grimaced as if she were pouring cement into his ears. Lily had figured that perhaps most witches and wizards were like that, but Marlene only danced a bit to Mary’s off tune covers.

Marlene had an older sister at Hogwarts who captained the quidditch team for Hufflepuff, while Mary had three little brothers that went to muggle schools in London. The two of them were spending the pleasant Sunday afternoon at the lakeside looking for signs of Merpeople, which Mary didn’t believe existed, giving Lily her first bit of privacy in four days. 

With a sigh, Lily kicked her feet behind her and discarded the beginnings of her letter off the side of her bed. She took out a new sheet of parchment, dipped her quill in the inkpot, and tried again.

Dear Petunia,

I’m writing to tell you that Hogwarts really isn’t all that. Everything’s old and ugly and the people are horrid and I have to share a dorm— 

Lily gave up quickly on this letter, too. It wouldn’t do to lie to her sister. Hogwarts was beyond her wildest imaginings; even Severus hadn’t managed to convey how astounding it was, and she didn’t feel like pretending any differently. 

Since term had started on a Wednesday, the remaining two weekdays had mainly been introductory. Her largest concern was how behind she was bound to be as a muggleborn, but so far, it seemed those who were born to witch and wizard families hadn’t taken any real advantage of their leg up. In fact, they frequently knew less than she did, since she at least had skimmed through A History of Magic and The Standard Book of Spells, Year One.

After receiving their class schedules during their first breakfast in the Great Hall, Lily was thrilled to find that Gryffindor had two classes with the Slytherins: Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. She was the only one in her house that considered this good news. Even Mary, who knew very little about the supposed house rivalry, had groaned when she read through the timetable, although Lily suspected she was only trying to agree with James Potter and Sirius Black. 

Annoyingly, everyone seemed to be making an effort to agree with James Potter and Sirius Black about everything. Even worse, Potter and Black passed notes and snickered through every class orientation, but each time Potter was called on, he looked up, half interested, and managed to give the correct answer before he turned back to whatever he and Black were doing. Remus Lupin was the only other one who kept a respectable distance from their antics, but Lily herself hadn’t quite managed to make an alliance with him, either.

Herbology would be with the Hufflepuffs, as would be History of Magic. Charms and Transfiguration would be with the Ravenclaws, and Lily looked forward to the challenge of keeping up with them. The Sorting Hat had very nearly put her in Ravenclaw, prodding her mind to see what she thought of it. Lily had only squeezed her eyes shut tight and decided that no matter where she was put, she’d give them all a run for their money. The hat had chuckled in her ear, and before she knew it she was being ushered over to a table full of red and gold.

As she had watched the rest of the sorting, surrounded by a group of third years, she had spotted Severus’s shattered expression up on the dais. When he was called, she’d let herself hope for one moment, but the hat had barely brushed the top of his head before it called out, SLYTHERIN!

Lily found the whole house feud rather ridiculous and irrelevant, and she’d expected Severus to feel the same. And yet, on Friday morning when she’d resolved to just trot over to the Slytherin table and take a seat next to Sev like she wanted to, the table had gone very quiet and Severus had gone red around the ears. 

“I don’t think it’s allowed, Lily,” said Severus quietly.

“And?” Lily asked. “I don’t see any professors marching over here to drag me away. You heard what McGonagall said—the houses are better together.”

“Sure,” said Severus, looking down at his porridge. “But it’s just easier if we eat breakfast where we ought to.”

“Why?” Lily asked defiantly. “I think it’s plenty easy to eat breakfast right here.”

“Look,” said Severus, voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “I’ll find you after, alright? We’ve both got a period free this morning. We can go explore the library if you’d like.”

With a scowl, Lily had stood and stomped back to the Gryffindor table, where Mary and Marlene were watching her apprehensively. It had taken Severus all of Friday and Saturday to apologize to her, but last night he had waited for her after dinner and gifted her a total of six books from the library that really did look interesting and really would help her get ahead in Charms.

Lily crumpled the poor attempt at a second letter and pulled out a third sheet of parchment.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I miss you both like mad, but Hogwarts is probably the very best thing to ever happen to me and I only wish you both could see the castle. Mum, I think you’d probably even cry, it’s so beautiful.

As for my classes, it’s only been two days and the first years all took a tour of the classrooms and met the professors before we really get started tomorrow. Astronomy sounds like it’ll be a bit of a toss up since it’s mostly squinting into the sky and trying to copy down star charts and you know how rubbish I am at drawing. Still, it’s up in a tower and it’s at nighttime so it’s rather exciting.

Herbology in the greenhouses sounds like it’ll be great. Dad, you’d love to have some of these things in our back garden. There are also some things you’d definitely not like to have in our back garden.

Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts both look like they’re going to be quite tricky, one because you have to be calm and quick, the other because the idea of turning a feather into a field mouse sounds rather impossible.

There’s History, of course, but it’s going to be nothing like the history I learned in primary. The class is taught by an actual dead ghost, but it seems like that’s the only exciting thing about him.

My favorites are bound to be Charms and Potions, Charms because it’s just so interesting and cool, Potions because I’ll be able to partner with Severus, you know, the boy from Spinner’s End. Severus and I were sorted into different houses, not that you know what that means, but it means I see him a little less than I’d like, I suppose.

My friend Marlene says that there are all sorts of wizarding neighborhoods around the countryside and apparently a big one right in London that she says muggle families can visit. Everything is so much bigger and more strange than we thought, it seems.

I promise to write again soon. Sending lots and lots of love.

Yours, Lily

P.S. Please tell Tuney that I send her all my love and that I’m enormously sorry and that I miss her. If you’d like, you can tell her that Hogwarts is absolutely no fun and that I’m positively miserable. It might help.

Remus

Remus thought he’d done an admirable job over the last three days. When James, Peter, and Sirius had started a rowdy game of Gobstones in front of the common room fireplace, he had stayed away and kept to his copy of Hogwarts: A History in a tucked away corner chair. When they lingered in the halls practicing their jinxes on Peeves, the fiendish school poltergeist, while he pelted them in return with stolen stink pellets, Remus kept his head down and went straight to the common room. When they debated how their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Spatz, had gotten her scars at supper, Remus pulled the sleeves down over his own scars and tucked into his food. And when the other boys shouted about the Wimbourne Wasps or the Chudley Cannons or Puddlemere United (all quidditch teams that Remus had not known about four days ago and now could not possibly escape), Remus pulled together his bed hangings and pretended he was asleep.

Nights were usually the worst bits, when the dormitory was warm and cozy and rowdy before bed. James and Sirius imitated Professor Flitwick all that second evening in earnest, squeaking voices (Oh, absolutely whizzing, my good fellow Mister Potter! My most fortuitous gratitude, my illustrious Mister Black!). Last night, they attempted to shrink all of Peter’s socks with their limited knowledge of Charms while he was in the toilet. Both times, Remus had to pretend he wasn’t interested or that he wasn’t holding back a laugh as he shoved his head under his pillow. 

Yes, Remus felt that he’d done a good job of staying away, apart, and other, but when he stood up from his lunch on Sunday and said, “I’m not feeling too well. Think I might go visit the hospital wing,” both Sirius and James stood, too.

“We’ll go with you, mate,” said James happily. Peter looked at the other two boys, then regretfully set down his fork and stood as well.

“No,” said Remus quickly. He cleared his throat. “Don’t bother.”

“It’s not a bother,” said Sirius easily. “I heard that some fourth year Slytherin oaf, Parkinson, I think, got a stinging hex to the face today. Maybe if we go with you, we can catch a glimpse of his swollen purple mug.”

“Really,” said Remus, starting to sweat. “There’s no need.” He should have murmured something about the toilets and just slipped away, but he figured a long, unexplained absence would be more suspicious. “It’s a bad headache,” he added quickly. “Happens sometimes. Makes loud noises painful. I prefer to be alone when it happens. The quiet helps.”

None of it was quite a lie. His head really was pounding. Everything in him seemed to pulse, pound, and thump in the days right before the transformation.

James looked worried, but he finally sat back down. “Oh. All right.”

“Think you’ll miss supper?” asked Peter, already back to his lunch. “Should we bring you anything?”

“No,” said Remus, a little louder and a little harder than he’d meant to be. “Just leave it. I’m fine.”

The harsher tone worked, however; the other boys closed their mouths and exchanged somewhat affronted glances. Remus turned and left the Great Hall before he could feel too miserable about it. 

One of the few things Remus’s father had described in his letter was directions to the Headmaster’s office through Hogwarts. The directions had been written with references to some castle landmarks, but Remus rather wished he had a true map while he made his way through the corridors. His father had said to turn right at the portrait of the lady in the green lace ruff, but the portraits had a tricky habit of leaving their frames and meandering into others. At last Remus found the statue of Hilda the Happily Hideous that he was looking for, or at least Remus assumed it was her from the very warty, but smiling, bronze face. Past the statue, he was meant to go up a staircase that would take him to the castle’s highest floors. 

With only a few additional wrong turns, Remus found himself face to face with a large stone gargoyle, its impervious marble eyes gazing out somewhere above Remus’s head. He looked up at the beast and cleared his throat. “Er, Cockroach Clusters,” he told it, feeling a bit ridiculous.

He staggered back as the gargoyle shook its monstrous head with the fluidity of a living creature, then stepped aside, revealing a narrow, arched doorway through which Remus could see a spiraling staircase. He took the steps, heart thumping in his ears, and ended up before a carved door. Just when he was about to raise his fist to knock, a soft but clear voice called out, “Come in!”

Remus pushed open the door to find himself in a circular room like the Gryffindor common room, although this one was a little smaller. The wall before him was covered in imposing portraits, some of whom were snoozing, others that seemed to be in lively muttered debate with each other. Shelves lined the other walls, filled with instruments with purposes Remus couldn’t imagine. In the near-center of the room was a large desk, behind which Professor Dumbledore sat. He was dressed all in purple today, glittering swirls all over the extraordinarily long sleeves of his cloak. On anyone else, the outfit would have been quite funny indeed. On Dumbledore it seemed rather subdued.

“Mr. Lupin,” said Dumbledore. “How glad I am to see you, and how much I’ve anticipated your visit!” He sounded very happy, as if Remus had come round for tea rather than to transform into a bloodthirsty Werewolf in a school full of children.

Remus cleared his throat again, not yet taking a step closer. “I hope I’m not early, Professor. My da—my father said to come well before sundown. I wasn’t sure when that meant.”

“You’re precisely when and where you’re meant to be,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “Please, come, sit. I’ve got an entire box of Caramel Cauldrons here, but perhaps we should enjoy them after we chat. They are delicious, but they are quite good at gluing one’s teeth shut and effectively ending conversation.”

Hesitantly, Remus came forward and took the spindly chair across from Dumbledore’s desk. He noticed a gilded cage upon the desk, and trotting back and forth on the perch within was what seemed to be a bird. It was tiny and wrinkly and mostly featherless, with just a few tufts of down erupting from the top of its head. It clicked its tiny beak at Remus a few times. Remus watched the helpless thing, puzzled.

“This is Fawkes,” said Dumbledore fondly. “I know he is none too much to look at now, but there is magnificence within that hideous, bony body.”

Remus blinked a few times. It seemed like Dumbledore wanted him to respond, so he decided to ask, “Is that your owl? Can he fly yet? How does he send your letters?”

Dumbledore laughed merrily, and Remus was glad he had not offended. “No, Fawkes is not my owl, although he does a good job of conveying my messages in his own way. Fawkes is a Phoenix. You’ve caught him at an awkward stage of adolescence, although Hogwarts is a place where such stages are fostered and encouraged in both bird and wizardkind.”

“You mean he does the whole bit?” Remus asked, thinking about what he'd learned of Phoenixes from the course books. “Erupts into flame and all?”

“He does,” agreed Dumbledore. “Like you, Fawkes is a creature of rebirth and transformation.”

Remus swallowed. He was not sure how he felt being compared to such a gangly little bird, but he supposed this was the more pressing topic they were here to discuss. “My Da said that he wrote to you. I’m not sure what all he said to convince you to allow someone like me, but you should know, Sir, that I’m sorry he insisted, even if I’m really grateful—”

“Your father,” Dumbledore interjected with a small smile, “simply had to let us know about your condition so that we might best prepare for you. The privilege of having a bright and willing student like yourself is entirely ours.”

Remus blinked again rather rapidly, feeling something strange in his chest aside from the usual hammering heart and nausea that came the day before a full moon. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled on, “You don’t know I’m bright. I could be the worst student this school’s ever had.”

Dumbledore nodded as though Remus had said something very wise. “We all make assumptions of those we first meet, Mr. Lupin,” he said at last. “I’ve found that making the very best assumptions does a lot more good than making the very worst.” 

He gave Remus a wink, then twined his long fingers together atop his desk. “Now, when it comes to your time here at Hogwarts, my priority is and will remain to be your comfort and confidence as a pupil. Your head of house, Professor McGonagall, is entirely aware of your circumstances, and the other professors know what they must. They know to expect occasional absences and to not deduct house points for late work each month.

“As for your transformations, our school healer, Madam Pomfrey, has taken every step available to her in order to assist you. She is well equipped to heal what can be healed, soothe what can be soothed, and administer the ministrations you might need. It is Madam Pomfrey you can go to before future full moons, and it is she that will take you to your secure location for the night. And, of course, she will be waiting for you at sunrise to help you settle back into yourself comfortably.”

He paused here, seeming to sense the questions that Remus was attempting to hold in. When Remus realized he was allowed to speak, he asked, “What do you mean, secure location?”

Dumbledore’s returning smile was perhaps a little tight. “While many ideas were explored, your father was insistent that transformations must occur off school grounds, for the safety of other students as well as for your own peace of mind. There is a house in the nearby village of Hogsmeade that has been quite abandoned for some time, isolated on a hill. Of course, the boundaries of Hogwarts are very well protected, and it would be difficult to take you through the gates every full moon without arousing unwanted suspicion. Thus, we have constructed a passageway to that house that begins on the nearby grounds. To stop any curious students from wandering along it, your Herbology professor, Professor Sprout, has secured us a rare willow sapling that is taking quite well to its new home at the mouth of that passageway.”

Unable to contain his next question, Remus asked, “How’s a tree going to stop students from following me down there?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “The tree,” he said, “is surprisingly effective. I promise you.” 

Confused but somewhat pacified, Remus just nodded, and so Dumbledore continued.

“Mr. Lupin, having corresponded with your father, I must emphasize that there is nothing about you or your condition that should make you feel unwelcome at this school. With the proper precautions, you are just like any other student, aside from the fact that you must carry the burden of pain and a secret. It is my dearest hope that someday your circumstances will be something you do not have to hide. I do understand, however, that a disappointing few join me in that hope. I am aware that discretion is needed with prejudices what they are in our world. Every staff member here at Hogwarts will treat this responsibility with the delicacy it merits.”

Remus took a shocked moment to absorb these words, and when he did, he was horrified to find his eyes burning and growing wet. “Sorry,” he said, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Sorry. It’s just…that’s nice of you to say, I suppose. But—” Remus wiped frantically to prevent any proof of tears. His head really was pounding, and his skin seemed to itch all over. He always felt a bit unpredictable before a moon, and it seemed to grow worse each month. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “But I’m a dark creature.”

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, running a hand over the vast expanse of his beard. “You are a creature, Remus, that much is true. As am I, and as is Fawkes here. But our darkness is something we have the exquisite privilege of deciding for ourselves.”

Dumbledore seemed to understand that Remus was struggling with a rather large lump in his throat and was in no position to respond. “Unless you have any other questions for me, Mr. Lupin,” said Dumbledore jovially, “I invite you to sit in enjoyable silence with me while we fasten our jaws together with these rather delicious Caramel Cauldrons.” He opened a silver-wrapped box from upon his desk, revealing a neat assembly of treats. “Madam Pomfrey will be here quite soon to supply you with true pain remedies, but in the meantime, sugar is often the universal antidote for what ails us.”

The caramels were as delicious as they looked and as difficult to chew as Dumbledore had promised. Remus thought it might be awkward, sitting there and smacking on sweets with his ancient-looking headmaster, but Dumbledore kept himself busy with a large stack of correspondence and nodded in agreement when Remus indicated that he’d like to look at some of the odd things on the shelves. Occasionally, Dumbledore finished reading a letter and turned for advice to one of the portraits behind him—previous headmasters if Remus was guessing right—but the portraits all had very different opinions, apparently, and doing so usually sent them into bickering. Remus began to suspect that Dumbledore was doing this to amuse himself rather than to get any real input.

At last, when the afternoon was further underway, the office door swung open and a witch walked through wearing a starched apron and nurse’s cap. In Remus’s opinion, this woman looked quite young, but she held herself with the severity of a much older woman.

“Good afternoon, Poppy,” called Dumbledore happily, although his voice was rather distorted by the caramel he sucked on. 

“Albus,” the woman nodded in acknowledgement, but her eyes quickly fastened onto Remus, who had been shoving cracker crumbs through the bars of Fawkes’s cage. She marched over quickly and rested a hand on Remus’s slightly sweaty fringe. Remus nearly flinched away from being touched, but the witch’s cool hand felt nice. “You should have called me up sooner,” Madam Pomfrey said to the headmaster. “I didn’t know the boy had already arrived. I could have been giving him cooling potions for his aches hours ago.”

“I’m alright,” Remus insisted. In truth, he felt awful, but it was the kind of feeling he was accustomed to after more than five years. 

“Apologies, Poppy,” said Dumbledore, sounding remorseful. “I’m afraid I wanted someone to help me through my stash of sweets before I finished them all myself.”

Madam Pomfrey snorted, brushing Remus’s hair back and behind his ears soothingly. Remus was not used to being touched like this by anyone but his mother, but the fever was beginning to rise in him, making his mind fuzzy enough that he leaned into her hand.

“You must be Remus Lupin,” said Madam Pomfrey, ducking down to get a good look at him. “Poor thing. A fever and shakes, just like all the books said.” From within her apron, she pulled out a vial of something mint green and pressed it into his hand. The glass was frosty and cold to the touch. “Drink that whole thing down, there you go. Next time, if you come to me earlier, I can give you a sleeping draught. I’m tempted to do it now, but the effects might last too long, and we’ll need you awake soon enough.” She tutted and clasped Remus by the hand, standing straight again. “I’ll take him to the hospital wing now, if that's fine by you, Albus.”

Dumbledore made a sound of assent; it seemed his mouth had been effectively sealed by the latest Caramel Cauldron. 

Remus was in a half daze as he followed Madam Pomfrey through unoccupied corridors in the castle, back down stairs that made his joints throb, and up to a large set of doors that opened grandly with a flick of Madam Pomfrey’s wand. The room she led him into was quite large and bright, with windows all along the far wall. The ceilings were high and arched, giving it the look of a muggle cathedral, but instead of pews, there were rows of hospital beds sectioned off by clean white curtains.

It was entirely unoccupied aside from one bed, which held a moaning boy in Slytherin robes with a large burgundy burn across his face, swelling one eye shut. That had to be Parkinson, the boy Sirius had mentioned. He really did look rather atrocious, and a fever-addled Remus thought remorsefully about how much Sirius would have enjoyed the sight of him.

Madam Pomfrey led him to one of the beds in the back, closest to the window, and pulled out the curtain to separate them from the rest of the ward. The grounds beyond were golden with late afternoon light, and Remus could spot the black surface of the lake and some of the circular hoops that must have marked the Quidditch pitch, judging by what he’d gleaned from James’s posters. Remus was quickly given a large assortment of potions for pain, for easy mind, for fortification, and another cooling potion that made him shiver pleasantly.

“I’m not sure what will be effective,” said Madam Pomfrey quietly. “Your kind quite rarely seek medical help, so it’s difficult to know. Still, we ought to try a bit of everything and see.”

Remus grimaced through a sudden tight cramp all through his chest. “Sorry, but what d’you mean?” he managed to get out. “Why don’t they? Seek medical help, that is.”

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, considering. “There’s a good amount of distrust on both sides, I suppose. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve gathered from what I’ve read.”

“Are there many things to read?” Remus asked in a hush.

“Goodness, of course!” said Madam Pomfrey. “They told me your father is a wizard. Didn’t he help you understand any of this?”

Remus only closed his eyes tightly through another tug of pain. At last, he murmured, “I think he thought that I ought to be kept as far away from my sort as possible. Even from knowing too much about them.”

“Hm,” Madam Pomfrey responded, her tone indiscernible. She rooted through a nearby cart and pulled out a pungent-smelling salve. “Any localized pain?” she asked him. “This should help with that.”

Remus opened his eyes hesitantly, considering the witch. He did not want to answer her honestly, but the cooling potions had helped quite a bit with the fever. Finally, going a bit red, he began to push his trousers down over his hip. “A bit,” he confessed. “Just here.”

He watched Madam Pomfrey for a reaction, but she showed none on her face as he revealed the large, jagged, narrow crescent shape of his bite wound. The scar was silver and smooth now, but had never grown less stark and ragged over the years. Madam Pomfrey only tutted and said, “A nasty bit of work, that. Poor dear.”

She smoothed her salve over it, and Remus immediately felt its warming, numbing effects. The bite did not often hurt, but in the hours before the transformation, it sometimes seared as if it were new. 

When Madam Pomfrey was confident that Remus was resting in as much comfort as was possible for him given the circumstance, she allowed him to lay alone in the quiet.

Remus looked out over the grounds. From his da, he knew that a bite in childhood was often a death sentence and that it was a miracle that his small body had managed to piece itself together again after his first full moon. From his da, he knew that other wizards, bitten like him, roamed dark woods in packs, stalking out under moonlit nights to hunt and turn. From his da, he knew that cages had to be magically reinforced to stop him, wild and thrashing, from breaking free and violently ripping into the first bit of flesh he found. From his da, he’d never heard that there were medial studies and tensions on both sides.

When the sun was low in the sky, and the shadows in the hospital wing were long, Madam Pomfrey roused him from his thoughts and helped him to standing. 

“Stay here and keep applying that ointment, Mr. Parkinson,” she told the other boy in his bed before they left. “And for Merlin’s sake, stop scratching at it, you’ll only make it worse.”

With an arm around his shoulder, Madam Pomfrey led Remus through the halls quickly and without drawing any attention. The rest of the students had to be preparing to head down for dinner soon, thought Remus wistfully. It was just as well, he could rarely keep down food before his transformations, although he always made up for that fact with his ravenous appetite in the days after. 

He and Madam Pomfrey exited the great front doors of the castle and followed the stone steps down near the lake. At the edge of the grounds was a dense tree line of thick forest—the Forbidden Forest it was called, as Remus had learned from Hogwarts: A History. There was a little stone cottage emitting a trickle of smoke and a broad garden that seemed to be growing pumpkins just down the way, but Madam Pomfrey steered them aside, to where a lush willow created a bit of peaceful shade.

She looked at the willow apprehensively, and Remus tried to see precisely what danger she saw in its stately trunk and long, drooping boughs.

His answer came soon enough, as a red squirrel scampered out from the edge of the forest and made its way toward them across the lawn. All was fine, until the squirrel attempted to scurry up the broad trunk. At once, the tree rustled and seized as if it were having some sort of fit, and then the branches began to swing about wildly, snapping through the air like a great many whips. The squirrel let out a terrified, high pitched noise as it retreated, narrowly avoiding the leaves and branches that attempted to curl around it and catch it. With a burst of speed, the squirrel took off back into the forest, and the tree continued swaying for a few agitated moments.

Remus gawked. “That's not a normal willow,” he finally managed to say.

“Indeed it's not,” said Madam Pomfrey, scowling at it. “It's called the Whomping Willow. While I understand its necessity, I shudder to think what stupidity the students will get up to with it here. First, they insist upon playing a sport that bucks them about hundreds of feet up in the air. Next, they’ll want to try picnicking in the shade of a tree determined to kill them.” 

“So how do we get near it?” Remus asked.

“Pomona, your Herbology professor, showed me the trick,” said Madam Pomfrey. She took her wand out from her apron, then levitated a small pebble from the ground beside them. “You’ll learn this spell soon in Charms, and then you’ll be able to do this yourself, if you ever need,” she told him. She sent the pebble out ahead of them until it seemed to press into a notch at the tree’s base. The willow, which had still been twitching and swaying, suddenly froze rigidly. “Should be safe, now,” Madam Pomfrey declared.

Remus was still hesitant to approach, but when Madam Pomfrey strode forward with no reaction from the tree, he followed. Near the notch that had frozen it, there was a sort of grassy chute leading down into the earth, wide enough to easily fit through, but only visible from this proximity. 

“After you, Mr. Lupin,” Madam Pomfrey offered. She was looking at the passageway unhappily, as if she dreaded what it might do to her pressed white apron and blouse. 

Remus shrugged and lowered himself into the tunnel. It was a bit of a slide, but he landed comfortably enough on his feet and found himself in an earthen tunnel that was tall enough to stand in. 

A moment later, there was the sound of Madam Pomfrey following his descent, and then she straightened out beside him, brushing off dirt. “Onward, if you please Mr. Lupin,” she told him, summoning a bright point of light from the tip of her wand.

They continued through the passageway for some time in silence, Remus flinching as his pain grew more sharp. The path led down, then eventually up again, and finally ended in what seemed to be a broken slat of wall. Prodding his way through it, Remus found himself in what appeared to be a very dark and very dusty basement. Wordlessly, he looked around. There was a set of splintering steps that led up, and Madam Pomfrey indicated that they should take them. Upstairs, the house had very little by way of furnishings, and with every door and window boarded over, it let in no light. There was what must have once been a sitting room with a single sagging couch, a bathroom missing all its fixtures, and a bedroom with a dusty canopy bed.

“I know,” Madam Pomfrey began, “that the atmosphere here is severely lacking. I had wished to equip the place better, but all my research pointed to the fact that you would be inclined to destroy anything available to you, and could risk hurting yourself on any splintered wood or—”

“No, it’s great,” Remus interrupted earnestly. He sat down on the bed, for he no longer felt quite capable of staying upright. His body was buzzing all over uncomfortably. “It’s brilliant. At home, I’ve just got a cage.”

Madam Pomfrey had proved herself a difficult witch to ruffle, but in the light of her wand, she visibly paled. She blinked quickly and cleared her throat a few times. “The walls of this house have been magically reinforced by Dumbledore himself, so don’t worry about that,” she managed to say at last. “In your wolf form, you might be able to go downstairs and perhaps explore the passageway, but there will not be much in terms of interesting smells to lure you in there. Besides, you will not be able to access the notch to freeze the tree with paws your size. And the tree is quite capable of sensing and deterring a creature as big as you will be, so you shall be quite contained.”

Laying back on the bed, Remus blinked up at the ragged canopy. “Why not fasten a door there and lock me in?” he asked, breaking into a full fever and a fresh set of chills. There were no cooling potions strong enough in the world to help him now.

Again, Madam Pomfrey was silent for a long time. “Because then, you’d be a little boy, locked in a shack, with no way to escape should something deter me or if help was needed.”

“I won’t be a little boy,” Remus said bitterly. The pain was crashing in waves upon him now, and the witch needed to leave. An unsettling part of him realized he could hear her heartbeat. “I’ll be a murderous monster.”

Madam Pomfrey approached, and laid a cool hand on his forehead, now beaded with sweat. “No, Remus. You’ll be a little boy.”

Remus did not register Madam Pomfrey leaving, but she must have, for he could no longer smell her, no longer hear the blood thrumming in her nearby veins. There were only his own groans now, his own shivers, the sharp scent of his own sweat and fear. In the darkened room, Remus could not see the moon, but he could feel it all around and within him, pulling him savagely, tugging at his mind.

The groans became louder, and then became ragged screams, and there were bones cracking and skin shifting, a lance of pain, and then Remus was gone and the wolf was there, and he was howling, howling, howling.

Chapter Text

September 6, 1971

Sirius

“I’m just saying,” said James through a large mouthful of eggs. “He had to stay all night? You’d think he’d get a headache remedy and be back to the dormitory in a jiff.”

Sirius just buttered his toast, carefully to all four corners, and shrugged. Remus had been looking poorly over the last few days. “Maybe he just wanted proper rest," said Sirius. "We can be a bit loud, I s’pose.”

“Maybe…” said James, swallowing without properly chewing. “But the food in the Hospital Wing can’t be anything good. We should bring him breakfast.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “James, mate, you’ve got to know when you’re not wanted.”

James tilted his head before shoveling his mouth full again. “What d’you mean?”

It wasn’t as if Sirius didn’t care where Remus had gone off to all last night—he found the mystery just as interesting to ponder as the other two boys—but he had considerably more experience with being told to stay away from someone in a foul mood. That very thing defined much of his relationship with his father, mother, and oftentimes brother.

“I mean,” said Sirius, “sometimes a person makes it very clear that they want to be left well alone, and they don’t secretly mean that they’d actually like James Potter to be there.” He was aiming for gentleness with his tone, but he wasn’t sure how well he was doing; it was not a skill he’d ever practiced.

James narrowed his eyes. “Nah, that doesn’t sound right.”

“Trust me,” said Sirius, loosening his new Gryffindor tie in the hopes of making it appear more casual. “Lupin’ll just bite your head off. It seems like he’s right on the verge of deciding he hates us all, but if you want to push him over the edge, be my guest.”

“He’s not very sociable is he?” Mary asked from where she’d been listening by Sirius’s side. “It’s too bad. I can't imagine not getting along with one of my dorm mates.”

“S’not as if you can talk,” said Sirius, shouldering his book bag. “Evans over there won’t even say a friendly word. She seems a downright menace.”

The fiery-haired Lily Evans was far down the table, breakfasting alone near a group of fifth years that did not seem to know she existed.

“Not to us she’s not,” Mary sniffed. “She’s absolutely wonderful. She just hates you lot.”

“She does?” James asked, looking startled. “Why?”

“Probably because we insulted that git she was cozied up with on the train,” said Sirius.

“I didn’t do that,” said James indignantly. “You did.”

“You tried to trip him,” Sirius pointed out.

“Oh,” said James, smiling fondly at the memory. “That’s right.”

“Anyway,” said Mary, pushing away her plate and gathering her things. “That boy Snape is some sort of old friend to her; I guess they were neighbors or something. He’s a bit odd, but he’s not hurting anybody.”

“Not yet,” James pointed out. “But I’ve got an eye on all the snakes in this school.”

“Thank goodness for you, Jamie,” said Sirius breezily. “You’ll keep ‘em all in check. Now, are you quite finished choking down your unchewed breakfast? We ought to get going.”

Their first full class of term was Potions with the Slytherins, to everyone’s great dismay. Peter and James had taken great pains during the first couple of days to learn the locations of all of their classrooms, James because he was convinced there were secret passageways hidden through the castle if you knew where to look, Peter because he was convinced he’d get lost in the halls and never be seen again. Sirius was happy to follow them as they debated their way down to the dungeons, having to turn around and go the other way only twice.

According to his cousins, the Slytherin common room was somewhere off the dungeons as well, and Sirius could see why the rest of his family felt quite at home down here—it was as stark and unwelcoming as they were. The chill of damp stone seeped through the air and the lights gave off a dim greenish hue along the twisted corridors.

At last they reached the Potons classroom, a space that Professor Slughorn had tried to cozy up as much as he was able with black and green velvet hangings that swooped from the curved ceilings and a vibrant fire in the hearth with color-changing flames. Glass cabinets lined the walls, filled with vials of multicolored potions and jars of ingredients. Some of the jars were none too exciting, like powdered lacewing flies or goopy slug skin. Behind Slughorn’s desk, however, were the more stomach-turning things, like eyes floating suspended in pale green liquid and a collection of fearsome teeth that had to have been pulled from the jaw of something like a dragon. Each desk was set for two, burners already lit and awaiting their cauldrons.

“Welcome, first years!” said Professor Slughorn happily, ushering them in from where he stood by the door. The potion master was a great, round man with a thick thatch of silver hair and an imposing moustache that dominated the lower half of his face. “I’ve a treat for you today!” he boomed, bouncing excitedly while students streamed in. “Get out your cauldrons and kits, of course, and sort yourself into pairs. We’ll be calling attendance shortly!”

Without need for any consideration, James and Sirius dashed to claim a desk near the back, competing immediately for who got the seat tucked into the room’s corner, further from Slughorn’s eye-line. After a brief struggle that involved Sirius walloping James with his school bag and stealing his glasses, Sirius was sitting in the corner triumphantly and James was shoving his glasses back onto his face with a huff. Marlene and Mary took the desk beside them with much less hubbub. Peter still stood in the room’s center aisle, looking hopefully at the remaining Gryffindor, Lily Evans, but Evans had already grabbed Snape’s arm and taken a desk in front of James and Sirius. The only other student left without a partner was the ghoulish Avery at the front, and Peter cast them both a very mournful look before he took the empty chair beside him.

“Sorry, Peter,” called James. “But really, it’s Lupin’s fault for not showing.”

With a frown, Sirius looked around. He’d half expected Lupin to meet them here and brave whatever headache was keeping him under the weather. It was the first real day of lessons, after all.

Slughorn had taken his spot at the front of his class, and he beamed at them all as they quieted down. At least, Sirius thought he was beaming. His eyes crinkled quite a bit at the corners, but his mouth was somewhat impossible to see beneath his thick moustache. “What an exciting year we have ahead of us, first years!” said Slughorn when he’d gathered their attention. “This classroom is where we will learn how to bottle talent and unstopper potential! Our first order of business, of course, is to see what bright stars we have among us.”

With a flick of his wand, Slughorn summoned a sheet of parchment from his desk that held a list in a neat scrawl. Clearing his throat, he read out, “Thaddeus Avery!” He looked up and scanned the students’ faces before he spotted the slack-jawed Slytherin in front of him. “Of course, of course! You look quite like your brother, young Thaddeus. Had him in my house some years ago, as well as a few more of your kin if I’m not much mistaken. Tell me, do you still speak with your uncle on your mother’s side? An esteemed cursebreaker working over on the continent if I remember correctly?”

Avery snorted, but Sirius wasn’t sure if the sound was derisive or if that was simply the sound Avery made when he breathed. “My uncle Hammond?” he asked. “Nah. Went horribly mad, apparently.”

Slughorn frowned and turned back to his list. “Too bad, too bad. A promising student; I would have liked to have had some correspondence with him. Who’s next, let’s see…Aha, Sirius Black!”

Even though Sirius sunk down in his seat in the corner, it did not take Slughorn long at all to locate him. “Quite an upset you caused me, m’boy!” said Slughorn, but his tone remained cheerful. “Had the entire Black set, until you came along and turned it topsy turvy! Nearly had it out with Professor McGonagall to see you resorted,” he said with a wink. Sirius only slunk lower.

“A very old family indeed, well connected and always showing talent,” Slughorn continued. “Your cousin Narcissa is top of her class, of course, and I’ll be expecting much the same of you, Mr. Black! No need to ask after your family, your mother wrote to me just yesterday, insisting that I keep you out of trouble. It pained me to write back and tell her that such a responsibility falls to the head of Gryffindor house, now!”

“You what?!” Sirius exclaimed, jolting upright.

Slughorn, who had been chuckling, cut himself off, taken aback by the reaction. “I owled your mother back, of course. She’s an insistent witch, from my experience. A positive attribute to be sure! Not to worry, m’boy, I explained that the Sorting can be a bit of a lark and that there are no hard feelings from my end.” He went back to his list. “Ah, let’s see here, Harriet Crowe, another in my own house. Are you familiar with the Crowes of Salem, in America?”

Sirius, who had felt all the blood drain from his face, lowered his head into his arms miserably.

James prodded him, whispering, “What did you think was going to happen, mate? Your family was going to find out sometime.”

“She’ll kill me,” said Sirius, tugging at his hair. “I always thought she might. But now she’ll really do it. She’ll barge her way into the castle and find Gryffindor tower and throw me off it. She might do you all in, too. Get rid of the witnesses.”

“What about that cousin you've got here?” asked James. “The blonde one? She probably already wrote and told your mum anyway.”

“Oh no she wouldn’t,” said Sirius fervently. “My mother would kill Narcissa, too, for watching the whole thing and failing to take me down before I could ruin the family.”

“What were you going to do when you went home for Christmas holidays?” James asked.

Sirius looked up, running a hand down his face. “Dunno. Probably stow away in a broom cupboard and refuse to go.”

“What about summer holiday?”

“Look,” said Sirius, “The old bat hates me already. I s’pose I thought she might not even bother asking how school was. She might’ve just told me how pleasant the house is without me and leave it at that.”

James considered this. “Maybe it’s not so—”

“Will you shut it?” asked a voice from in front of them. Snape had turned around in his seat, face stormy. Evans, too, was frowning at them by his side. “There’s a lesson on, if you two babbling buffoons hadn’t noticed.”

“Sorry, Snivellus,” said James, flicking a bit of frogspawn at Snape from his unpacked ingredients kit. “You’re right, wouldn’t want to miss the vital education that comes from class attendance.”

Snape hastened to wipe the frogspawn from his face and seemed about to retort, but Slughorn had finally gotten to Lily Evans, who turned around again and raised her hand when he looked questioningly out at the class.

“Evans,” said Slughorn, taking her in thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t perhaps be a relation to—”

“I very much doubt it, Professor,” said Evans primly. “I’m muggleborn.”

“Ah!” said Slughorn. “No shame in that my dear, none at all. I look forward to testing your mettle in my class!”

“Of course there’s no shame in it,” said James to Sirius, rolling his eyes. “No one said there was. Mum told me that Sluggy’s a bit—”

“Shh!”

Evans had turned around once more to hush them, then whipped forward again, setting her long plait swinging.

“Merlin’s beard,” said James, looking like he wanted to flick some frogspawn at her, too. “I was only defending her.”

“Next time, don’t waste your breath,” said Sirius helpfully. “Say, what do you think Slughorn will say when he gets to our friend Snivellus there?”

James held his quill over his top lip to create a feathery moustache and loudly whispered, “Ah, Snivellus Snape! You look familiar m’boy! Any relation to the greasy mountain trolls of the southeast?”

Sirius covered his mouth to contain his laughter, and Snape swiveled around, his sallow face gone red and his wand gripped in his shaking hand.

“You shut your foul mouth, Potter, or I’ll—”

What exactly Snape was prepared to do was never revealed, for at that moment the heavy door opened with a loud creak, and Lupin entered the room at last.

It was immediately apparent that Remus looked terrible, with dark purple shadows beneath his eyes and a plaster on his jaw. He looked as though he hadn't slept a bit and had instead run about forty laps across the Quidditch pitch last night. He stood blinking in the doorway with his bag half-slipped on his shoulder while the door creaked closed again behind him. If he had gone to the Hospital Wing in search of a remedy for his headache, it was clear he had not found it.

Slughorn paused in his reading and regarded the newcomer happily. “Is this the young Mr. Remus Lupin before us, then?” he asked.

Remus nodded slowly, and even that movement looked like it hurt him.

“Excellent!” said Slughorn. “You look just like your father did at your age, of course. Talented wizard, although I was disappointed not to have him in my NEWT-level courses; you must tell him as much! If I remember, he had his sights set on the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, did he not?”

“Er…” said Remus quietly. “Yeah.”

“I’m well aware that the Ministry of Magic focuses upon exam scores for Care of Magical Creatures in that department, but being a dab hand at Potions wouldn’t have hurt, in my opinion! I had heard from Poppy Pomfrey that you might not make it to our lesson this morning, Mr. Lupin, but your appearance is well-timed! It seems we’ve an uneven number after pairing off, so join any table that interests you, m’boy.”

James enthusiastically waved Remus over, and Remus conceded to take an extra chair to the end of their desk, although Sirius thought this was mostly because their desk was the closest and Remus looked like another step might have done him in.

“All right, Lupin?” James asked him as he dropped his bag to the floor.

“Yeah,” said Remus lowly, knuckling his eyes. “Just brilliant.”

Sirius snorted at the obvious lie, watching Lupin while Slughorn continued with his pompous call of attendance. Slughorn lingered on James for a while, apparently wishing to establish a connection with James’s father, Fleamont, who had graduated from Hogwarts only a year before Slughorn came on as potion master.

“My predecessor said your father experimented with the beginnings of his Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion right here in this classroom!” said Slughorn, bouncing up and down a bit. “And now, of course, it’s a staple in every good wizard’s bathroom cupboard! I had two years of instructing your mother Euphemia, a delightful witch, though rather more fond of charmwork than potions…”

“Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion?” Sirius asked, grinning, when Slughorn at last moved on. “If your father invented Sleekeazy’s, then why’s your hair such a pitiful mess?”

James rucked his hand through his hair so that it stood even more on end. He was a little pink beneath his dark tan. “Because the stuff makes me look like a real prat.”

Snape turned in his chair, sneering. “I don’t think it’s the hair potion that does that, Potter.”

Lily Evans took Snape by the arm, turning him forward again. “Don’t engage with them, Sev,” she hissed.

“I’ve got a hair potion for you, Snivellus,” said Sirius, leaning back in his chair. “It’s called shampoo. You ought to try it.”

To James’s side, Remus let out a loud, somewhat hysterical giggle before he clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Something funny in that back corner, Mr. Lupin?” Slughorn called over to them.

“Sorry,” said Remus, looking flustered. “S’nothing.” He slouched down in his chair as if it might help him disappear. Lily Evans was looking at Remus with great disapproval, as if his laughing at Snape’s expense was a greater offense than Sirius’s jab.

“Don’t feel bad, Lupin,” said Sirius easily. “Not your fault you’ve got a sense of humor somewhere deep down inside.”

Remus only looked more flustered, staring down at his trainers with a frown.

With attendance finally finished, and half an hour of lessons effectively wasted, Slughorn set them to making a cure for hiccups, a relatively easy brew from the first few pages of their textbook. They had to work quite quickly if they wanted any chance of finishing in time.

“Here, Lupin,” said Sirius, passing his board and knives to Remus. “You look dead on your feet. Be a good lad and just sit and chop the salamander tails.”

Remus took the board and sat down gratefully, but then he stared at the sharp set of engraved silver knives without picking them up. “It’s fine,” he said, reaching into his bag. “I’ll just use my own knives.”

“Why?” asked Sirius. James had added an overzealous amount of moly root, and he was trying to counteract the effects with frequent stirring. “Mine are sharp.”

Remus didn’t respond, only pulled out his own set of chipped, dull bronze tools, clearly second hand. He carefully used the tip of one knife to push Sirius’s own away from him, then got to slowly chopping the tails. Sirius frowned, noticing a long, scabbed-over cut that started at Remus’s wrist and continued up the sleeve of his robe.

At the end of the lesson, Slughorn strode from desk to desk, examining the contents of each cauldron, doling out praise or criticism before having students bottle their solution and head to the back to clean their equipment in the washing basin. To Sirius’s extreme disappointment, Slughorn exclaimed loudly over Evans and Snape, encouraging the other students to come and take a look at the perfect, water-clear brew. When he reached James, Sirius, and Remus at last, Slughorn dipped a finger in the potion, considering.

“Nearly there, boys,” he said encouragingly. “You’re just missing the salamander tails, it seems.”

With a grumble of annoyance, Sirius turned to glare at Lupin. But Remus did not have the propriety to look ashamed for forgetting his only task, since he was sound asleep with his cheek mashed against the board, uncut tails scattered on the desk around him.

The morning proceeded with Charms, where they practiced the light summoning spell, Lumos. James and Sirius had it on their second try and spent the rest of the lesson casting obscene hand shadows by wand light on the wall behind them while Peter beseeched them for help. After lunch was double History of Magic, where the thin, droning ghost, Professor Binns, seemed to already be mid-lecture when they arrived, and did not stop in his lecture when class finally ended and the students got up to leave.

Remus, despite what seemed like his best efforts, half-slept through every lesson. He was only truly roused when the time came for lunch, where he forked half of the serving dish of Cornish hen onto his own plate and ate so quickly Sirius feared he might choke on a bone.

Remus had just finished putting on a similar show at dinner and was now attempting to nap with his head on the table. The first years had Astronomy on Monday nights, and Mary and Marlene were urging them to begin the long climb so that they wouldn’t all be late.

“Just skive off the lesson tonight, Lupin,” Sirius told Remus.

“Yeah, mate,” agreed James. “No one’ll blame you. We’ll even take notes for you if you’d like.”

“Wish I could skip out and go to bed early, too,” said Peter, nodding quickly. “I’m knackered after today. Can’t believe we have to go and do it all again tomorrow.”

“And the next day, and the next,” pointed out Sirius. “For seven more years.”

Remus only moaned into his napkin. “Can’t. I’ll fall behind.”

“Better to fall behind than to fall asleep at your telescope and tumble off the tower,” said Sirius.

In the end, Remus acquiesced and stumbled up to Gryffindor tower while the rest of them veered off for the astronomy tower with its broad balconies open to the night air. Professor Vega had them identify stars and constellations that unhappily reminded Sirius of his own family and their outlandish naming conventions. He pointed them out to Peter, James, Mary, and Marlene without much difficulty. The stars were clear above the dark countryside, but dim compared to the bright moon that was only a sliver under full.

James, Sirius, and Peter were all still chatting happily when they approached their dormitory, but Sirius remembered to quiet them before they entered. He probably needn’t have bothered. Remus had fallen asleep atop the covers with his robes still on, forgetting to close the bed hangings around him. He had kept them shut tight every night before this one, and Sirius had grown to expect that the boy slept very fastidiously, as rigid and contained as he was in his waking hours. Sirius was glad to see that this wasn’t the case—Remus was as much of a catastrophe while he slept as the rest of them, sprawled out, mouth slightly open, face mashed into the sheets, and hair askew.

Lupin looked marginally better the next morning at breakfast, copying over the Astronomy notes James had taken for him. He probably ought to take a look at the notes for Charms and History of Magic, too, Sirius reasoned, since he hadn’t had the facilities to take notes in those classes, either. Sirius was about to reach into his bag and offer them up when the morning post arrived with a flurry of owl wings, and a bird soared toward him, coming to a neat halt by the bacon.

Sirius recognized the bird, Aeolus, his family’s Great Horned Owl. The bird looked at him savagely, as if Sirius were a bit of rat pellet he’d had a difficult time coughing up. As the heir of a supposedly powerful pureblood family, Sirius had held up hope that Aeolus would be gifted to him when it came time for him to go to Hogwarts, or that he might receive his own owl for his correspondence. That dream had been effectively squashed last summer when his father had discovered Sirius in the midst of sending Aeolus out with gold and a written order for a Niffler from the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley.

“I think it wants you to take that,” said Peter, gulping. He nodded to the leg that Aeolus had outstretched, bound to a vivid red envelope that was starting to smoke at the seams.

Sirius’s stomach turned. “Nah, Pete, I don’t think I’m going to,” he said, aiming for indifference.

“It’s addressed to you,” said Remus, head tilted in confusion. “Don’t you want it?”

“No,” said James, leaning as far away from the bird as he was able. “I don't think he does.”

They’d caught the attention of Marlene, who leaned across her plate to look. “Merlin,” she said, gaping at Sirius. “On only the second day of lessons. You have to have set some sort of record, Black.”

“What is it?” asked Mary, craning her head to take a look.

The envelope was positively hissing now, vibrating with such force that Aeolus screeched unhappily. The bird hopped forward to bite Sirius on the knuckle, and Sirius hissed with pain before he finally relieved him of his burden. Aeolus took off at once with a great flap, and Sirius dropped the steaming envelope on the table before it could burn him.

“A Howler,” said Marlene sympathetically.

“What’s it do?”

“You’re about to find out,” James told Mary.

Like a kettle that had reached its boiling point, the envelope began to squeal, before it finally burst open and the shrill, hysterical tones of his mother screamed through the Great Hall.

“BESMIRCHED! RUINED! TAINTED! DEFILED! DESECRATED! DISHONORED!”

“Quite a vocabulary she’s got there,” said James, wide eyed.

“CONSORTING WITH BLOOD TRAITORS! FROLICKING WITH MUDBLOODS!”

“I’ve never seen you frolic,” James interjected again.

“COZYING UP WITH MUGGLE LOVERS AND HALF-BLOOD SCUM!” his mother wailed. “YOU RUINOUS, TRAITOROUS, TREASONOUS PROGENY OF MINE! MAY YOU ROT WITH THE SHAME OF THE HAVOC YOU’VE WREAKED UPON THIS FAMILY!”

“Bit harsh,” said James, taking a gulp of his juice.

“LEAVING YOUR POOR MOTHER HUMILIATED! YOUR FATHER DESPONDENT! YOUR ANCESTORS DISGUSTED!” his mother moaned. The rest of the hall had gone very quiet and turned to watch the scene. Sirius put his hand over the letter that had burst open, but his efforts did nothing to muffle his mother’s closing words. “WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE TO DESERVE AN EMBARRASSMENT SUCH AS YOU, SIRIUS BLACK?!”

At long last, the red envelope and screaming letter within burst into a puff of flame and heat, nearly taking Sirius’s eyebrows with it. When there was only a bit of ash on the table and the resounding quiet of the Great Hall left, James turned to Mary. “That’s what a Howler is.”

Peter looked like he was on the brink of tears, Mary had gone quite rigid, Marlene was staring at Sirius slack-jawed, and James was doing his very best to eat as though the whole thing had never happened. Remus, however, was looking at Sirius with a furrowed brow and unmasked concern. For some reason, Sirius found it was this which annoyed him the most.

“Well,” he said, sweeping the ash from the Howler off the table with his hand. “That was actually a rather touching missive from Mummy. I was so hoping she’d write.”

There was a clatter from the other side of the hall, and Sirius turned to see Narcissa standing up abruptly, sprinting from the hall with her face covered. Lucius Malfoy bounded up from the table, too, and cast Sirius a nasty glare before chasing after her. Further up the Slytherin table, Andromeda had gone very pale, gaze flickering from Sirius to the great doorway where her sister had disappeared.

“What’s her issue?” asked James. The hall was slowly starting to grow noisy with chatter again, likely due to the number of people who wanted to discuss what they’d just heard.

“Probably furious with me for sharing a last name with her,” said Sirius, shrugging and turning away from the Slytherins. “Cissy likely thinks this whole thing is my dastardly plot, made specifically to humiliate her.”

“If it were,” said Marlene, “that would take some admirable commitment.”

“Admirable commitment, that’s me, alright,” said Sirius, a tad darkly. “The picture of patience and discipline.” He stood up, desperately wanting to be out of this hall, away from their alarmed and pitying stares, even if that meant showing up early to Transfiguration.

September 10, 1971

James

A week of lessons had passed, each more of a breeze than the last, but when Friday came round, it brought about the only lesson James had truly been itching for—first year flying lessons.

“Signed on with the Hollyhead Harpies at seventeen, of course,” James was saying, practically vibrating by Peter’s side as they left the castle. “Retired only five years ago after a nasty knock off her broom. Still, she was one of the most top-rate beaters they ever had; no one’s quite managed to match her on that team, yet. I couldn’t believe it when Dad told me she was coming on to instruct at Hogwarts. Rolanda Hooch! Here!”

Peter nodded enthusiastically, attentive to James’s every word. This was the nice thing about Peter; unlike Sirius he was quite willing to let James ramble on at length, and unlike Remus he was quite unlikely to stare off into the distance or turn around and leave mid conversation.

“It’s only a shame that we’ll be on school brooms,” James continued. “Back at home, I’ve got Dad’s old Nimbus 1001, fly’s a treat. You’ve got to come over next summer, Pete, and try it out.”

Peter looked absolutely delighted by this idea, then his face fell slightly. “If I can even get up off the ground, I s’pose.”

“Course you will, Petey,” said James easily. “That’s what the flying lessons are for. Besides, we’re allowed to do extra practice if we reserve time on the pitch. I’ll help you, if you want.”

“You trying out next year, Potter?” Marlene asked, trotting up to join them.

“Of course,” said James, grinning at her. “You?”

“Think I might,” said Marlene mischievously. “Imagine if we both got on. It’s really rare for a team to have one second year, let alone two.”

“They need all the fresh blood they can get,” James decided, shouldering Marlene. “I don’t know how long it’s been since Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup. Dad can’t even talk about it.”

“Hufflepuff has taken it three years in a row now,” said Marlene, nodding. “My sister is so smug about it. It’d be nice to give them a run for their Galleons.”

They continued along the side of the lake toward the pitch, and James was delighted to find himself with someone as enthused about the topic as he was. Sirius and Peter knew the national leagues well enough, but Marlene had opinions on players and formations she’d seen at the World Cup two summers ago. When they arrived on the ovular field with its springy green grass and circular hoops looming on either side, it was to find an orderly line of brooms laying in wait, and an expectant woman standing in front of them.

“Come now, first years! Don’t be afraid! Don’t dawdle!” The witch wore her hair shorn short and choppy, with a set of goggles pushed up her forehead. She was wearing a neat black quidditch kit and a dark purple robe, holding her own well-tended broom in hand. Immediately, James felt weak kneed.

He turned to Marlene. “Did you know that Hooch was—”

“The best beater the Hollyhead Harpies have ever seen?” Marlene finished. “Yeah.”

Madam Hooch had the large array of students each choose a broom to stand by. Flying lessons were not divided by house, so Hooch had to speak quite loudly to be heard by the entire group of them. “Welcome to your first flying lesson, students! I am Madam Hooch, flying instructor. Even if you choose not to continue with these lessons, which are optional after today, you will see quite a bit of me during Quidditch matches, making calls and ensuring student safety. Before you,” she continued, pacing across the lawn, “are school brooms that have been modified to ensure you do not fly too high off school grounds or take off too quickly.”

James groaned under his breath.

“Quidditch, you’ll find, can be as dangerous as it is exhilarating, so I ask you all to exercise utmost caution until you begin to feel more comfortable in the air. To start, we shall be familiarizing ourselves with our brooms and allowing them to respond to our commands,” said Hooch. “Hold your wand arm over the broom in front of you, and simply command, UP!”

Without saying a word, James’s broom flew up into his hand. He turned behind him to grin at Marlene, who was standing attentively with her broom already in her grip as well.

“Smug idiot,” sighed Sirius from beside him. He looked down at his broom, frowned at it and said, “Up!”

It flew with an excess of gusto into his palm.

Remus, on James’s other side, was barely whispering his command at the broomstick on the ground beside him.

“Try saying it like you’d actually like to get on the thing, Lupin,” James suggested.

“But I don’t want to get on it,” said Remus.

“It can sense fear,” said James.

“Good,” said Remus. “That means at least one of us is having the correct response to the idea of flying up into the air on a wooden stick.”

After some time, during which more than one student surreptitiously leaned down and grabbed their broom themselves when they thought no one would notice, Hooch nodded at them approvingly.

“The next step,” she called out, “Is to mount, and to rise!”

With only some fumbling, the first years managed to straddle their brooms, and Hooch strode among them, correcting their grips as she went. By the time she called out that they could attempt a bit of upward ascent, James was already two inches off the ground, itching to go higher. He tilted his handle up and let the cooling autumn afternoon air wash over him in a rush as he tested the broom’s speed. From this height, he could see the tops of everyone’s heads like they were little pebbles below. He was making his third smooth arc through the air by the time Marlene and then Sirius and then a few other Ravenclaws, Slytherins, and Hufflepuffs joined him.

Madam Hooch had also taken to her broom and soared up to meet them. She gave a hawkish smile to James.

“Excellent flying, there, Mr…?”

“James Potter,” said James, flushing under the praise.

“James Potter,” she repeated. “I look forward to seeing you at tryouts next year, I hope! Gryffindor could do with a bit of a leg up.”

James did several self-satisfied loops as Hooch flew down to help the still-grounded students, savoring the thrilling feeling as his stomach dropped and caught itself again.

When most were airborne, Hooch instructed them to move on to laps around the pitch. “Slow and careful!” she called out.

Feeling charitable, James waited for Sirius to catch up. “What are you, Potter?” Sirius asked, tossing hair out of his face as he soared alongside him. “Part pixie?”

James circled him like a shark, just to annoy him. “You’re not to bad yourself, Black.” Sirius was managing quite well, even if doing so required him to stay focused.

“Yeah, well, that’s Reggie’s fault,” Sirius grumbled. “Regulus,” he corrected himself after a moment. “My brother.”

With a start, James realized that he’d not heard Sirius’s brother’s name before this moment. He felt like a rather foul friend for not asking earlier. “Yeah?” asked James. “He any good?”

“He’s a menace like you,” said Sirius, trying a few loops himself, now that he was getting settled. “Just smaller and less prone to loudly boasting.”

“Maybe we can pull him over to Gryffindor, too,” said James. “Get him on the team in a couple of years.”

Sirius leaned forward to pick up speed. “You’re talking like you’re already captain, you prat,” he said. “Besides, fat chance. He’s mummy’s perfect little cherub.”

James looked around and spotted Marlene. She seemed quite comfortable on her broom, but rather than attempting to lap them all, she stayed near the ground with Mary and Lily Evans. She was allowing Evans to hold onto her broom tail, and Mary in turn to hold onto Evans's, and was carting them all around happily. James could hear them laughing from up here.

The sight of it made him look for Peter and Remus. Peter was deep in focus, surrounded by a flustered-looking group of Ravenclaws that were teetering slightly and listening to Madam Hooch for instruction. Remus had made only a little progress across the pitch, with the toes of his trainers skimming the grass.

With a grin thrown to Sirius, James doubled back and took as risky a dive as the modified school brooms would allow him, skidding into a halt before Remus. “Wotcher there, Lupin.”

“Don’t,” said Remus gravely. “I’m trying not to die.”

“Don’t know how you’d manage that, seeing as you could stand if you just extended your legs out.”

Remus only kept at his steady, careful task. “Don’t you have some Quiffle to chase? Or whack with a bat?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Quaffle, Remus,” James said with exasperation. “And you don’t hit it with a bat, those are the Bludgers. And it’s the Golden Snitch you chase, even though the people with the Quaffle are called Chasers. Never thought about that actually…”

“With muggle football,” said Remus, forcing himself to lift an inch higher toward James, “there’s one ball. Just one. And it doesn’t fly around or try to knock you in the head.”

“How dull,” said James. “So, this muggle football, you’re good at that, then?”

Remus looked up, his expression dark. “No.”

Sirius had swooped down to join them. “Leave the poor boy alone, Jamie,” Sirius reprimanded. "Not everyone can be whipped into fighting shape for your new Gryffindor Quidditch team.” He studied the sweating Remus with a small smile. “It’s too bad flying can’t be learned from one of those textbooks you never look up from, Lupin. Otherwise I’m sure you’d have it down.”

“Then how on earth can it be learned?” Remus asked. Some of his frustration was making him forget to ignore the other two boys as adamantly as he usually did, James thought.

“Through pure animal instinct,” said James.

Remus choked on a laugh as though he had found something very funny.

“Here,” said James. “It’s painful to watch you holding the handle that way. Relax your grip and sit more upright. That way you’ll at least see where you’re going.”

With James’s insistent prodding, they managed to get Remus a good forty feet off the ground, although Sirius had to keep reminding him not to shut his eyes. Eventually Peter circled back to join them, looking vaguely nauseous as his broom kept bucking reactively every time he flinched. James extended his advice to Peter, too, flying backward to watch them. Unfortunately, Remus’s progress meant that they had caught up with Snape, who was hardly faring any better than Remus had been.

“Need some pointers, Snivellus?” Sirius called as he dipped his broom up and down. “Potter’s giving out free lessons for the aerodynamically troubled.”

With a bony-knuckled grip on his broom handle, Snape managed to say through gritted teeth, “Potter just doesn’t have to worry about falling like the rest of us. His skull’s too thick and the only thing in it is a load of hot air.”

James flew a loop around Snape and pulled up by his side. “Y’know, Snivelly, you already move around like a great ugly bat on the ground. I don’t see why you’re so bad at it up here.”

Snape only turned a blotchy shade of red, and James considered the matter settled. He took on some speed and lifted his broom up to catch up to Peter, when he heard Snape mutter “Flipendo!” behind him. James suddenly felt a hard blow to his shoulder, shoving him forward off the end of his broom. With his mind a blur of surprise, he managed to grab the very tip of his broomstick in the air above him and let his momentum carry him head over feet with the broom slowing his descent. On his second summersault he tucked his legs and managed to tug the broom back down between them, pulling up again about ten feet off the ground.

“Excellent recovery there, Mr. Potter!” Hooch called out from halfway across the pitch. “Well done in keeping your cool after a slip!”

James pulled his broom around, hard, facing Snape again and huffing for breath. It hadn’t been a slip, and he was about to tell the flying instructor as much, but in taking his hands off his broom for his wand, Snape had lost control and was now scrabbling for purchase as he slipped sideways off the handle.

For a moment James only watched, and then the broom rolled under Snape's weight and the greasy git was falling down toward the grass.

“Merlin and Morgana,” James swore, rolling his eyes. He surged forward, diving for Snape’s flailing form, and managed to grab onto his ankle with one hand. Snape's weight wrenched at his shoulder—the one Snape had just hit with a jinx—but with James pulling up on his broom as hard as he could, he managed to stop the fall just before Snape’s face collided with the lawn. For a moment they stayed there, James’s heart pounding.

“Let me down, you oaf!” Snape huffed, and James finally looked down at him and realized Snape’s school robes were beginning to slide up over his socks and along alarmingly bare legs as he dangled there.

“Gladly,” said James, dropping Snape in a heap.

Madam Hooch and the rest of the first years were hurrying down to land around them, looking alarmed.

“Severus!” shrieked Evans, tumbling nimbly off her broom and running toward them at a sprint across the pitch. “Sev! Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Snape grumbled.

“You!” said Evans, wheeling on James quite suddenly. “You think that’s funny do you? Making someone tumble off their broom when they’re already terrified?”

“Hey now,” said James, touching down upon the grass himself. “I caught him! He fell all on his own!”

“Only because you goaded him, I’m sure,” said Evans hotly. “Only because you made him try to compete with you when you’re such a good flier—”

“Think I’m a good flier, do you?” asked James, running a hand through his hair.

Evans, who already had a great deal of color in her cheeks, grew even pinker with rage as she opened and closed her mouth, apparently wordless in her fury.

“Children!” called Madam Hooch, arriving at last. “Calm yourselves, children! Everyone all right?”

She looked over Snape, who was staring resolutely at the ground. Deeming him uninjured, she sighed with relief. “You’re fine, boy, absolutely fine thanks to Mr. Potter, here.” She turned to James. “What in the heavens happened?”

For just a moment, Snape chanced a glance up, his hateful dark eyes meeting James’s defiantly.

James stared back evenly. “Nothing, ma’am. Sniv—Severus here just has incredibly sweaty palms and lost his grip.”

Snape's eyes flickered back down, some unhappy emotion playing across his face.

Madam Hooch declared the lesson over for this afternoon and passed around a sheet for those that were interested in joining in on the biweekly practices for first years. James, Sirius, and Peter signed on; Remus did not, despite how much he was cajoled to do so. Of the girls, only Marlene put down her name.

“If I never get on one of those things again, it’ll be too soon,” said Mary as they made their way back to the castle. “Remus here has the right of it.” She grabbed onto Remus’s arm, a development that Remus seemed utterly shocked by and none too pleased by. He did not, however, do anything to shake her off. “He’s the only one of you with a care for self preservation.”

“I might have gotten Lily to sign up,” Marlene lamented, “But with that Snape debacle, now she’ll stay far away from flying in solidarity.”

“Was she any good?” James asked, a new tragic thought occurring to him. Had he—had Snape—just lost Gryffindor the potential of a talented player?

“Don’t make that face, you nut,” said Marlene laughing. “She wasn’t going to be a Quidditch player, but she seemed to enjoy it. She’s got a lot of nerve.”

“Sure,” said Sirius. “Anyone’s got to have a lot of nerve if they’re spending all their time with the Slime Ball.”

“Why can’t you boys all be more like Remus?” Mary demanded, still arm in arm with the boy in question. “He doesn’t go around squabbling with Slytherins. He’s kind to everybody.”

Remus scoffed, looking down at Mary. “I don’t like Snape, either. He's a nasty git.”

“Remus!” Mary chided, but Peter laughed heartily and Sirius thumped Remus on the back, saying, “Knew we could count on you, Lupin.”

Remus only looked over to James. “I saw him try to hex you off your broom with your back turned.”

James shrugged, then winced. He’d have a nasty bruise on that shoulder. “Yeah, well. I found out this afternoon that Snivellus doesn’t wear any muggle trousers beneath his robes, like some old-fashioned pureblood prig. So I figure we’re about even.”

Chapter Text

October 5, 1971

Remus

Remus woke up with a jolt of pain, shivering on the rough floor beside the old bed of the dilapidated house. He’d done quite a number on the bed, whether that was last night or the moon before, he couldn’t be sure. The canopy hung shredded and loose, and the whole thing bent badly in the middle from where Remus had broken the supporting slats.

Taking a moment to savor the stillness and the dark, Remus stretched out, letting pain ebb as his bones settled back into place. His throat was as raw as it always was, as if he’d been screaming on hours for end. Which, Remus supposed, he had been. Sitting up, he realized that his wand hand was a bloody mess—he must have been chewing on his foot. From another sharp sting of pain, it seemed like there was a rather bad gash across his back. Remus shut his eyes tight, dreading the moment when he’d have to see that injury. His back so far was one of the only places on him that was mostly unmarked, at least compared to his chest. As he got older, however, the wolf was marking him up more and more. It was growing more powerful, and as it grew more powerful, it also seemed to grow angrier. The rage the wolf felt each moon was exhausting, leaving Remus drained the next morning, unable to summon much emotion about anything, even the horrible state his other form had left him in. If it had been less painful, Remus might have even said it was somewhat cathartic.

There was the sound of heeled footsteps downstairs, and Remus tugged some of the bedclothes he could reach down over him for decency’s sake. Only a few moments later, Madam Pomfrey hurried through the doorway and came to crouch by his side.

“You didn’t wait for me too long, did you Remus, dear?” she asked him. After that first full moon, he had no longer been Mr. Lupin; the witch hadn’t seemed able to keep up any formalities with him while she scooped him off the floor, bleeding and battered and naked. “I tried to time it right, but it’s difficult to tell,” she said fretfully.

“Nah,” said Remus hoarsely. “I’d rather wait a bit than have you risk anything.”

Madam Pomfrey only tutted as she leaned him forward to examine his back. “Ah, a deep one here, it looks like. Nothing a bit of Dittany can’t close up, but it will scar, I’m afraid. How was last night?”

“Good,” Remus rasped out. “Good, I think.”

Pomfrey held him at arms length, taking him in. “No, it wasn’t, you daft, brave thing. Come along. Let’s get you into a bed.” She summoned a neat stack of stripey pyjamas and turned to give him some privacy while he tugged on the trousers. He attempted to do the shirt himself as well, but she batted his hands away and helped him do up the buttons. With an arm slung over her crouched shoulder, Remus got to his feet and let her help him downstairs and through the passageway, then out from under the Whomping Willow, which she froze with a jab from her wand. As they approached the castle, dawn glowed rosy and pink across the lake and created long, misty shadows within the forest. Remus, trying not to flinch with each step, watched as a long, undulous shape rose out of the deep water and splashed back down, creating ripples. He remembered Sirius saying something about a giant squid. He hadn’t believed him.

It was growing steadily colder, which Remus was glad of. He’d spent most of the early, fair-weather days of this term cooped up in the library, or else his dormitory. But through the castle’s many large windows, he watched students meander the grounds on weekends and during free periods. He’d been horrified to watch from Gryffindor Tower as a group of students gathered around the Whomping Willow far below, shoving each other as they got as close as they dared before the branches began lashing about agitatedly. In Herbology, Professor Sprout had been showing them a rare potted Devil’s Snare, explaining that it was one of the most dangerous classified plants on the grounds, to which Hufflepuff Lydia Bones helpfully raised her hand to supply that the Whomping Willow was technically in a danger class above.

The colder days meant that students might stop lazing about the lake, stop skirting around the tree’s periphery, and perhaps might begin to forget about the new installment to the grounds altogether.

Back in the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey guided Remus to a bed with an array of potions already arranged neatly by its side. Remus collapsed into its blankets gratefully, drinking down a potion for pain while Pomfrey applied Dittany and a bandage to his back, then did the same to his raw, red hand. No sooner had she let him lay back and smoothed a hand over his hair than he was asleep.

When he blinked groggily awake again, he reasoned that an hour or two had passed. The sun was a bit higher in the sky, and the Hospital Wing was bright and warm. He could hear voices at the entrance to the ward speaking quickly, and with his stiff back needing stretching, he leaned a bit past the bed curtains to see who it was.

Madam Pomfrey was standing at the door, sounding a bit harried as she said, “I’m afraid it’s not quite the moment—Mr. Lupin is resting—”

“No he’s not,” said Sirius indignantly, pointing to where Remus’s head had just appeared past the curtains. Remus quickly ducked back behind the hangings, breathing hard. “Lupin, mate,” Sirius called out. “We’re just asking if you want to come with us for Transfig or if you’d like the notes.”

“I brought breakfast,” came James’s voice.

“I would have told him not to, but you really did seem starved when you were recovering last time,” Sirius yelled, as if they were having a private aside rather than conversing from across the considerable distance of the Hospital Wing.

“Really!” huffed Madam Pomfrey. “If I tell you that you cannot come in, you cannot just holler from the doorway. If there were other students resting in here—”

“But there’s not!” Peter’s voice, this time, insisted.

“Yes, but if there were—it is inconsequential, I am not arguing the point with you, Mr. Pettigrew! Mr. Lupin must rest up. He will join you in your lessons when he is able, and I suggest that you leave him be so that that time can come sooner rather than later!”

There was some general grumbling and Remus felt rather cowardly from his place behind the curtain. Clearing his scratchy throat he called, “Leave the food, James!”

“See?” said James smugly. “Lupin needs a proper feast to heal up, not that hospital slop.”

At last, there was the sound of the large doors closing, and then Pomfrey’s clacking steps as she approached Remus, bearing a set of plates covered with a napkin. She set the food down by his bedside, giving Remus a disapproving look, but not a harsh one.

“Sorry,” said Remus sheepishly. “The food here is great, but I really do get starved. I feel like I could eat ten times as much.”

“Then simply tell me so, Remus,” said Madam Pomfrey, pouring him another healing draught. “No need to set the big-eyed, pleading Gryffindor first years upon me.”

“I didn't tell them to come,” Remus insisted. “They just won’t leave me well alone. I don’t know what their problem is.”

“I think their problem is called friendship,” said Madam Pomfrey, handing the potion over, smiling just a bit. “Now drink this and eat that food before it gets any colder.”

Remus did as he was told, inhaling the food in the hopes that he could get dressed and go to Transfiguration before his dorm mates could kick up too much of a fuss and draw too much attention to his absence. He wondered if Madam Pomfrey was right. The monster he’d been last night did not have friends—could not have friends. But the part of him that wasn’t quite monster, the part that was very glad to be eating the enormous plate of bacon James had brought, that part wondered if friendship was something that was happening to him whether he wanted it or not.

October 21, 1971

Peter

Peter stared at the sheet of parchment and the measly two and a half sentences he’d written so far: Non-living object to non-living object is the easiest form of Transfiguration a mage can perform. Non-living matter lends itself well to other non-living matter. This is because

He then stared at the remaining twelve inches he was expected to fill.

“Can’t you just let me see yours for a moment,” he asked Sirius. If James were not up at the Owlery sending one of his long missives to his parents, Peter would have had the essay done by now; James would have let him copy or at least have told him the answers.

“Sod off and do your own work, Pete,” said Sirius, rolling up his completed essay happily. They were sprawled out in a mess of discarded parchment and quills on the rug near a window seat. Peter much preferred the armchairs near the large, warm hearth, but Sirius had settled here, and so Peter had done the same. He suspected that Sirius had chosen this spot because it was the favorite reading spot of one particularly elusive dorm mate. Sirius acted as though they all ought to leave Remus to his own unsociable ways, but that did not seem to stop him from dropping into a seat beside the boy at every mealtime or following him down to the common room on weekend mornings with a book of his own. Peter had never seen Sirius earnestly read on his own.

“At least look mine over then,” Peter pleaded.

With a sigh, Sirius looked over Peter’s shoulder and analyzed the feeble beginnings of his Transfiguration essay. “Mate,” said Sirius, “All you’ve written is McGonagall’s prompt, word for word.”

“Well,” insisted Peter, “have I at least gotten that part right?”

Sirius only rolled his eyes and pulled his deck of Exploding Snap out from his bag, laying out to entertain himself while Peter kept working. Peter had scratched out three attempts by the time the portrait hole swung open and Remus came through, appearing to be burdened with an armful of extra reading.

“There, Pete,” said Sirius, looking up from the tower of cards he was attempting to construct before it inevitably exploded. “Now you can ask our resident swot.”

Remus did't look up from the title of one of his books as he meandered his way through the common room toward the window seat. When he finally did glance up, he stiffened, surprised to find the space occupied.

“Sorry,” said Remus, taking a step back. “I’ll just…er—”

“Remus, thank Merlin,” Peter interjected. “Please tell me why non-living object to non-living object is the easiest form of transfiguration a mage can perform.”

Remus hesitated, seeming to debate something within himself. “It’s all there in the textbook,” he said at last.

Peter sat upright, scrabbling for A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. “But where? I searched all through the first three chapters. It talks about object-to-object transfiguration, but it doesn't say why it’s simplest.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Remus sighed, then to Peter’s surprise came over and sat between him and Sirius with his back against the cushions. “It’s in a later chapter,” he said. “You have to read ahead a bit and get to the chunk about conjuring the animating spirit. Once you know why that’s so tricky, you can explain why the other sort of transfiguration is easier.”

“Cheers, Remus!” said Peter, grinning broadly. “Mind if I skim over yours? It’d be a lot easier than trying to read all that.”

Remus half laughed. “Aren’t you at least going to give it a go?”

“Nah,” said Peter, putting on his best pleading eyes. “Not if I don’t have to.”

With a huff, Remus pulled his own roll of parchment out from where it was squashed deep in his bag and handed it to Peter.

“You’re too soft with the boy,” said Sirius in the tone of a chastising father. With a loud SNAP, the top card of his tower flipped over and set off a chain reaction until the cards had all scattered to the floor.

“Christ,” said Remus, hand over his heart. Sirius and Peter both grinned at the muggle swear. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I didn’t do it,” said Sirius, puzzled. “That’s just how the cards work.”

Remus laughed again. “Why on earth do the cards work like that, then?”

Sirius shrugged. “Makes them more interesting.”

For a while there was amicable silence, while Remus opened one of the books he’d brought, Sirius reconstructed his tower, and Peter did his best to copy over the parts of Remus’s essay that made sense to him. He took care to swap around phrases and sentences, so that he ended up with an essay that was rather difficult to read but still had all the important bits.

When Sirius’s construction had toppled for a third time, he sighed loudly and turned his attention to one of the books sprawled across Remus’s lap. “Lupin,” he began, after assessing the text for a moment. “Where did you get these? They’re all muggle books.”

“Huh?” Remus asked, looking up from the text he’d been absorbed in. “Oh, er, the Muggle Studies professor. Madam Pince said Professor Thomas has a collection for anyone interested.”

“So there really is a Muggle Studies, then?” Sirius asked. “Blimey, I thought my mother was just being a paranoid nutter.”

“Students can take it on in their third year,” said Remus, thumbing his place in his book. “But it’s really difficult to find Professor Thomas’s office. It’s shoved way up in the attics.”

“Attics?” Peter asked. “I didn’t even know there were attics.”

“Sure,” said Remus. “Divination’s up there somewhere, too.”

“How do you know where everything is?” Peter asked, giving up on reworking his mangled essay. “I can barely find my way to the loos half the time.”

Remus just shrugged. “Loads of it is in Hogwarts: A History.” He pulled the enormous text out from his bag, where it landed heavily in his lap.

“No wonder you look like you can barely stand sometimes,” said Sirius. “You’ve been lugging these massive tomes around.”

Remus ignored him, flipping open the pages until he found a thick fold of parchment squashed between the pages. “The descriptions in here work alright, but—” he hesitated with his hand on the folded parchment, as if he’d overstepped.

“But what?” pressed Sirius. “For once, we’re interested in your swotty ways, Lupin. Don’t clam up on us now.”

“Er—” said Remus. “Well, I sort of tried to draw it out. I thought it might help.” He carefully unfolded the parchment until it spread out large enough to obscure the book beneath. “It’s pretty much impossible, since the stairs lead to different things at different times, but—”

“This is incredible!” Peter squealed, upending an ink pot as he moved beside Remus to better see. “Look, you’ve got all the classes on there. Now if you could just mark down the loos…”

“Forget the loos!” said a voice from above them, making them all jump. They’d been too focused to notice James coming in from the portrait hole, back from sending his owl. “Lupin, you beauty! I’ve been telling you all. This castle’s meant to have heaps of secret rooms and passageways. They’ll be loads easier to find if we can mark them down!”

James clambered onto the window seat behind Remus so that he could take in the map, but Remus folded the parchment in half, frowning. “Why do you want to find all the secret passageways?”

James looked at Remus as if he were a lunatic. “Because they’re secret.”

“Yes,” said Remus, a bit uncomfortably. “But what if they’re secret for a reason?”

“Of course they’re secret for a reason,” said James. “The reason being so that we can find out about them and be the only ones who know and lord the information over everyone else’s heads.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s how secrets work.”

Sirius reached over, unfolding the parchment again. “This is rather good,” he pointed out. “How long did this take you?”

Remus chewed his lip. “I’ve had time.”

“Time spent avoiding us all, you mean,” said Sirius, smiling wryly.

Remus didn’t answer.

“You’ve got to let me use this for Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow,” Peter insisted. He’d arrived twenty minutes late for their lesson the other day when he’d stayed later than the other boys for lunch and then confused the east wing with the west one.

Remus sighed, folding the map back up and handing it to Peter. Peter pocketed it gleefully.

“Then me,” said James. “I think I’ve scoured most of the first floor to no avail, but you’ve got a whole hall on there I haven't checked.”

“No secret passageways,” said Remus quickly. “If you want to mark those down, make your own map.” He got up rather quickly, looking flushed, and gathered his books. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”

With a pile of books in his arms that Peter doubted he could see over, Remus made his way up to the dormitory, leaving the other boys to exchange wary glances.

“No chance of that,” said James, when Remus had disappeared up the stairs. “I’m pants at drawing. But Pete will give me the map afterward, wont you, Peter?”

“All right,” Peter grumbled. “But don’t mark anything down for Remus to see. Otherwise, he’ll take it back, and then I really won’t be able to mark down any of the boy’s loos."

October 31, 1971

Lily

The library really was one of Lily’s favorite bits of the castle, aside from the Gryffindor common room, but she couldn’t exactly tell Severus that, nor could she invite him to study with her in the cozy armchairs beneath the warm red tapestries ad candlelight.

So, the library it was, with its dozens of wood-paneled alcoves, long rows of desks, two-story shelves full of books that flew up and rearranged themselves when they’d been misplaced, and shaded lamps that brightened when they thought you might be straining your eyes.

The librarian, Madam Pince, was the only deterrent, with her owlish gaze that was always scanning for wayward ink blots or creased pages or quill scratches on the desks. Luckily, Lily and Sev had stayed on the witch’s good side, and she usually only passed them by with an approving sort of hum.

Currently, Lily was perched beside Severus with her legs tucked up while he scoured the contents of a third-year potions textbook. “It doesn’t look that tricky,” said Severus. “We’re learning the cure to boils this year anyway. This potion’s simply the reverse.”

Lily huffed, adding the finishing touches to her Astronomy chart, labeling the last couple of constellations according to the best of her memory. “But why would you want a potion that gives you boils anyway?” she asked, half-listening.

“I wouldn’t be the one drinking it, obviously,” said Sev.

Lily snapped her head up, gaze narrowed. “Severus…” she said warningly.

“What?” Sev asked, ears turning pink. He was always like this, intense in his gaze until the moment she gazed back. Then, he always softened, relented a little bit. It was nice for Lily, who had always been the younger sister, to feel like here was someone who respected her at least a little bit.

Severus looked back at the textbook, smiling a small smile. “Don’t tell me Potter wouldn’t look much improved with face filled with pockmarks and puss.”

“Potter would look much improved with his mouth shut tight,” said Lily, elbowing Severus in the ribs. “So just find a potion that can do that.”

“Doubt there’s a potion,” said Severus, rubbing his chin and smearing some ink there. “But a jinx, perhaps. Something defensive against verbal spells that could be adapted, maybe.”

“Look at you,” said Lily, “plotting out your revenge like some sort of evil genius. You just need a white cat to stroke.”

Severus looked puzzled. “Why would I need a cat? I’m allergic.”

Lily laughed, earning a frown from Madam Pince. “It’s a muggle film from a few years ago. James Bond, you know, the handsome bloke in the suit.”

Severus only frowned deeply, likely at the mention of James and handsome in the same sentence. “Never seen it,” he said after a moment.

“Really?” Lily asked, rolling up her star chart. “Goodness, Sev, sometimes it’s hard to believe you were half raised by a muggle.”

Severus looked around, startled, to see if anyone had overheard her, and Lily pursed her lips.

“What?” she asked, a hint of challenge to her voice. “I thought you told me that sort of thing didn’t matter.”

Sev straightened out, staring at her for a moment before he turned back to his book. “It doesn’t,” he finally said. “Not when you’ve got as much magic as you clearly do. You’re already loads better than any of the purebloods in our year.”

Lily sat back in her chair, somewhat pacified. “You nearly done? We’ve got the Halloween feast tonight. I can’t wait, the Great Hall is supposed to look just astounding.”

“Yeah,” said Severus, smiling and picturing it with her. “I’m about finished. You finished with your work for the week, then?”

“I wish,” Lily sighed. “I’ve still got to practice for Transfiguration with the girls, but we aren’t tackling that until Tuesday.”

Severus shut his book, a little tight in the jaw again. “You’d probably have it down if you weren’t trying to focus with those giggling—”

“Don’t you dare start on Mary and Marlene,” said Lily bluntly.

“I’m just saying…” Severus backpedaled, looking reprimanded. “You’re brilliant, and you ought not to let people hold you back. I’ll practice with you if you’d like.”

“They're not holding me back,” Lily scoffed. “They’re good mates.”

“They’re awfully fond of Potter and Black,” Sev muttered.

“If I held that against everyone in the castle, I wouldn’t have any friends but you, Severus,” Lily pointed out, exasperated.

Severus shrugged, getting up to return his book. “What’s wrong with that?”

Lily only sighed, getting up to follow him. “I can’t spend all my time in the library, Sev. Tonight, Gryffindor is throwing a Halloween party. Imagine how miserable I’d be if I just sat there not talking to a soul.”

Having returned his book, Severus only said, “Parties aren’t allowed, though.”

“I know,” said Lily, poking Severus in the side. “But if you tattle, I’ll know it was you, and I’ll never ever forgive you until my dying breath.”

“Alright, alright,” Severus said, starting to smile a bit even as he dodged her continued pokes. “I won’t tell. I just wish you’d find someone tolerable in that whole horrid house to spend time with instead.”

“That horrid house is my house,” said Lily, face stony. “And they say much the same about you and the Slytherins. I suppose you’re lucky I don’t let anyone tell me who my friends ought to be.”

Severus’s face burned a light shade of pink and he stayed rather quiet the rest of the way to the Great Hall.

Inside, Lily gasped up at the enchanted ceiling above them as it swirled with constellations that shifted into shapes like pumpkins and witch hats. Live bats fluttered between the invisible rafters, and the floating candles had been replaced with bobbing jack o’ lanterns that grinned at the students below with jagged teeth.

With a farewell to Severus, Lily made her way to her own table, scanning for an empty spot on the benches. Toward the middle of the table, Potter, Black, and Pettigrew were attempting to mold their combined mashed yams into some sort of ghoulish sculpture. Lupin, although not exactly partaking, occasionally offered a roasted vegetable from his own plate that might make for a good arm or hairpiece for their creation. Marlene and Mary beside them were struggling to get down their own food, howling with laughter.

With a sigh and a savage little pull of envy in gut, Lily walked over to them, taking a seat beside Marlene with what she hoped was minimal fuss.

The group of them went quiet. Mary and Marlene were looking at each other with pleased surprise, while Black had his eyes narrowed suspiciously and Potter wore a look of open-mouthed shock.

“Close your mouth before a bat flies in, Potter,” she advised.

Potter's mouth closed, but his expression did not otherwise change.

“For goodness's sake,” she said rolling her eyes and gesturing to the sagging pile of mash in front of them. “You have horrors to create. Don’t let me stop you.”

The meal proceeded with some caution on everyone’s part, but by the time pudding had been brought out, Mary and Marlene were chatting with her as if she’d always taken her mealtimes with them.

The Gryffindors attempted not to look suspicious as they hastened to get up from their supper, but Lily suspected that the Halloween party was one of the school’s worst kept secrets, seeing that older students from other houses appeared rather done up in their festive finery and were whispering and watching the Gryffindors excitedly. Lily forced herself not to look over at Severus as Mary and Marlene each grabbed her arm and toted her back up to Gryffindor Tower.

In their dormitory, Mary was throwing an endless pile of muggle clothes their way while Marlene tried each thing on in turn. Currently, she had on a dress with large yellow buttons and a ruffled pink blouse on underneath. Marlene stared down at herself gawking. “Look at all of my legs! No really, Mary, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much of my legs! They’re horrifying!”

“No they’re not, they’re lovely,” Mary tutted, chucking a pair of matching pink stockings at her. “Here, put those on if you’re so afraid of them.”

“I don’t even have a pair of robes that aren’t for school,” Lily lamented, laying back on her bed. Claude hopped up to join her and she gratefully stroked the cat’s white fur. “McGonagall had everything on the school list delivered to me and Mary and the rest of the muggleborns. I didn’t think to ask to order anything else. Not that I would have known what to order anyway.”

Lily could have asked Severus, she supposed, but somehow she doubted that he would have been the best resource on witches’ fashion.

“That’s fine,” Marlene insisted, tripping over the stockings that were only half on. “Loads of students opt for muggle clothes, now, anyway. Besides, next year, now that you’ve got a wand, you can go to Diagon Alley and get whatever you’d like from Madam Malkin’s.”

“Not me,” said Mary. “You won’t be catching me in any of those baggy robes unless I’m forced.” She lobbed some very colorful knitwear at Lily, which made Claude leap up, meowing and disturbed. Holding up the garment, Lily decided it was actually rather nice and pulled it on. When she stepped into the cramped bathroom to admire herself in the little mirror, Mary moaned. “Lily will you please let all of that long lovely hair out of your plait. Just looking at it gives me a headache.”

When the girls finally descended into the common room, there was already a great deal of noise and chaos. Someone had enchanted a set of brass horns to bounce about near the ceiling, playing a rowdy and slightly pitchy cover of what sounded to be Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones. Lily grinned up at them.

Any study materials had been shoved off the desks so that they could be covered instead with bottles of Butterbeer and a great cauldron of pumpkin juice, as well as platters of Pumpkin Pasties and cauldron cakes. Marlene was correct, most students were wearing muggle clothes, though a few had pulled out their wizard finery—fantastic robes embellished with gold and silver thread and tall hats being worn slightly askew. There were indeed students from other houses, although notably no Slytherins, and Nearly Headless Nick swooped through and around the students.

Marlene ran off to grab them Butterbeers while Marry threw herself dramatically into a chair that Lily perched on the arm of. Mary glared up at the horns that were getting a little carried away with their rendition. “You’d think that with the ability to do magic, they’d figure out how to play new music,” Mary sighed.

“Muggle technology doesn’t work in Hogwarts, apparently,” said Lily, echoing something Severus had told her when she had bitterly wished she could telephone her parents. “Besides, I like The Rolling Stones.”

“So do I,” assented Mary. “I just like their songs with a little less blaring horn.”

When Marlene returned with three bottles and an enormous grin, she said, “Can’t wait for you two to try. Someone had to smuggle these in from Hogsmeade, apparently. They're not real ale, obviously, sort of like muggle sodie pip…”

“Soda pop,” Lily corrected.

“Right,” agreed Marlene, “but they’re really delicious.” She waited for Lily and Mary’s reaction, nodding at their enthusiastic praise.

It wasn’t long until Mary spotted Sirius Black over by the cauldron cakes and waved him over. “I wish you wouldn't,” muttered Lily.

“Why not?” Mary whispered back as Black approached, pushing the hair from his face. “He’s proper handsome.”

Him being proper handsome was part of the problem in Lily’s book. He was good looking and he knew it, and he knew everyone else knew it, too. What with him also having loads of gold apparently and a well-known family to boot, Lily couldn’t understand why someone like that, why someone like Potter, too, would want to torment someone who had very little like Severus. Of course, there was the Howler incident from several weeks ago, but Black had looked like he’d found that to be just a bit of a laugh.

“Fine ladies of Gryffindor Tower,” said Black, sweeping into a low bow. He was holding a book in his hand and Lily tilted her head to read the title. “How are we this fine evening?”

“All the better for your company,” said Mary, sticking out her hand to be kissed. Black batted it away without obliging.

“Is that the Chronicles of Prydain?” Lily asked looking up at Black with a frown. He was holding a copy of The Black Cauldron, which she herself had at home.

Black looked down at the book as if surprised to see it in his hands. “Er…yes? I knicked the first one off of Lupin, and he was nice enough to nab me the next when I’d finished. I haven’t had time to put it away.”

“But it’s muggle,” Lily pointed out.

“And what a hoot it is,” said Black, admiring the cover. “Full of absolute nonsense. Is this really what muggles think we get up to?”

“I don’t know,” said Lily thoughtfully. “After a few classes of History of Magic, it seems as if Lloyd Alexander wasn’t far off.”

“That explains it then,” said Black, nodding. “I don’t listen to a word Professor Binns says. Perhaps in my next essay I’ll try writing about the horrible Horned-King and see if he notices.”

With Lily begrudgingly tailing behind, they joined the rest of the boys where they had gathered around the fifth year Gryffindor prefect, Frank Longbottom. Frank had a guitar on his lap that he was strumming with skill, and he had gathered a rather large number of girls, including fourth year Alice Fortescue, who Mary reckoned he fancied.

Potter leaned over to Black with a very puzzled look on his face. “Is Frank…cool?”

“Of course he is,” scoffed Lily glaring at him. Frank began on a cover of Lay Lady Lay that made her rather want to blush.

“But he’s a Prefect,” James pointed out.

Lily rolled her eyes. “There are ways of being cool that don’t include bunking off lessons and playing Quidditch.”

She’d meant the words as an insult, but James only considered them, nodding. “Who knew?”

As the party neared its later hours, Lily could not help but notice that older students were beginning to dance closer, or that there was one pair of seventh years that seemed rather involved with each other in the back corner.

“Alright, first years, second years,” called Hestia Jones, a seventh year, over the noise and music. “Off to bed with you, pronto!” She was pouring a rather large bottle of some amber liquid into the cauldron of pumpkin juice. “I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you now that it’s after hours. If McGonagall ever finds out that we didn’t send you straight to bed, it’ll be our heads.” She pointed to where Potter and Black were sidling to the side, attempting to hide behind some taller students. “I’m speaking directly to you two,” she told them. “And third years, if you stay, you’d better behave yourselves. No touching the cauldron, you hear? Fab, Gid,” she added pointing to two red-haired third years. “You’re on thin ice.”

With rather a lot of complaints, Lily followed the rest of the first and second years back up to the dormitories. From the stairwell, they could hear the music growing louder and continued laughter.

“Not fair,” Mary sighed, collapsing back into her bed and clutching Claude to her. “It was just getting fun.”

Marlene pushed some of Mary’s many clothes off her bed so that she, too could collapse. “Ah, well. We’ll have loads and loads of Halloweens, won’t we?”

“S’pose,” yawned Lily, kicking her shoes off in a wide arc that smacked agains the bathroom door. “Can’t wait ‘til then.”

Chapter Text

November 3, 1971

Sirius

Lupin had apparently spent the night in the Hospital Wing yet again, and this time, he hadn’t shown up for any of Wednesday’s classes. Along with James and Peter, Sirius had gone by the Hospital Wing before History of Magic, but Madam Pomfrey anticipated them this time and was waiting in the doorway with a strained look. “He is sleeping,” she hissed, looking behind her at the obscured bed toward the back of the wing. “I mean it this time, boys.”

Sirius went through classes glumly, considering Remus’s condition. He went through long stretches seeming perfectly fine, if not a bit grumbly and distant. But the signs of his habitual sickness would come without fail, driving him to longer hours of keeping his bed curtains closed. In the days before he really got ill, he almost always refused to speak to any of them, taking meals at odd times. This time he had to be really poorly; he’d never missed more than a bit of his morning classes before.

When dinner came round and there was still no sign of Remus, Sirius picked through is food listlessly. He was barely paying attention even to James as he argued with Marlene and Peter about some Quidditch match that had been covered in that morning’s Daily Prophet, nor Mary and Evans as they discussed joining the school’s choir, something he normally would have very much liked to tease them about. He was still pondering the strangeness of Remus Lupin when a bird landed before him on the carafe of pumpkin juice.

It was, unfortunately, Aeolus, looking as unhappy to be there as ever.

“Merlin’s saggy Y-fronts,” groaned Sirius. “Not today, please.”

His family owl, however, was not carrying a Howler this time, but a small parcel and scrap of parchment. With some trepidation, Sirius unbound the delivery from Aeolus’s leg. “All right, off with you, you big grump,” he said, shooing the thing back into the air.

The others had paused to see what he’d gotten, so he hastened with opening the letter first.

Sirius,

This is what mother allowed me to send when I inquired about a gift for you. Hoping you are well, or as well as can be expected when surrounded by hare-brained Gryffindors.

R. A. B.

Sirius snorted and turned toward the small parcel. After tearing through the paper, Sirius was disgusted to find what looked like a fleshy, gray lump, as hard as a stone, with a jagged yellow toenail attached. “Eugh,” he groaned, dropping it quickly. There was another scrap of parchment within, written in Regulus’s hand, which read, It’s an ogre toe. Meant to stop the holder from being tripped, I suppose.

James was using his spoon to flip the toe over with a look of fascinated horror, as if he had found something dead in the wood and could not help prodding it with a stick.

Mary shrieked, scrambling back nearly into Evans's lap. “What is that?”

“It’s my birthday present, I suppose,” said Sirius. He looked at his remaining supper and realized he had quite lost his appetite.

James ceased in his toe-prodding, looking for all the world as if he had just been struck by lightning. “What do you mean birthday present?”

“I mean it’s a present from my family,” said Sirius, “on my birthday.”

“You can’t mean that today is your birthday?” asked Peter. “You didn’t tell us!”

Sirius shrugged. “I’ve never liked celebrating it.”

“I wonder why,” said Marlene pointedly, glancing at the toe.

“This is ludicrous!” James declared. “You’re twelve years old today! Nearly a man! It must be celebrated!” He pounded his fist on the table for emphasis, rattling the silverware.

Sirius frowned, considering. “I suppose it would be nice to have some sort of ceremony to acknowledge how much I’ve matured.”

“Matured?” asked Evans, pouring herself more pumpkin juice. “Dare we hope that in your twelfth year of life, Black, you’ve outgrown shooting spitballs at the ceiling with temporary sticking charms?”

“Of course,” said Sirius, nodding gravely. “Now that I am twelve, I’ll be figuring out how to do a permanent sticking charm.”

Evans sighed, but nodded. “Good. That way, at least, they’ll stop falling on my head in the middle of lessons.”

On their way into the common room, James continued to press the matter. “Anything you want to do, Black, name it and we’ll do it. Anything at all. That’s my solemn birthday promise.”

“But it’s nearly after hours,” Peter pointed out.

“After hours mean nothing to a twelve-year-old, Pete!” James nearly shouted.

“All right, but you and I aren’t twelve,” mumbled Peter.

James pretended not to hear him. “Well, Black? What’ll it be?”

Sirius sighed and shrugged, slumping into his usual seat by the fire. He might’ve been inclined toward a rousing game of Gobstones, but Gobstones were mostly fun when Remus agreed to a game and inevitably forgot to lean away from his marbles before they sprayed their viscous liquid at him. “I dunno,” said Sirius, lolling his head back. “I suppose I’d like to meet the Giant Squid. Can you arrange that for me, James?”

“Done!” said James, leaping up. “It’s settled. Tonight, we find the Giant Squid.”

Sirius lifted his head again, interest piqued. “Really?”

He met James’s eye and saw the bright determination there. Sirius allowed himself to mirror the smile on his friend's face.

Peter looked between the two of them, going very pale. “Oh no. Please, let’s not.”

“Shut it, Petey,” said Sirius, standing again and dusting off his robes. “I’m finally going to have a birthday worth remembering.”

Remus

“No loitering in the halls,” said Madam Pomfrey, pressing the permission slip she’d written into Remus’s hand. “Go straight to your dormitory, then straight to bed.” She hesitated with a hand on Remus’s shoulder. “Are you quite sure that you wouldn’t like to spend another night here? It’s already after hours and—”

“I’m fine, really,” Remus insisted. He still felt rather beaten from the particularly difficult moon, but a full day of rest had done him some good. Two nights away from the dormitory would only encourage his already incorrigible dorm mates to speculate on his continued illness even more than they already did. The wolf had done a number to his back again, and he’d awoken with a sprained wrist that hadn’t quite snapped back into place correctly, but Madam Pomfrey had set him right as best as she was able.

“Alright, Remus. Be careful with that wrist, now. Come back if it twinges.”

Remus waved her farewell, permission slip in his fist, and began making his way toward Gryffindor Tower on the other side of the castle. He suspected that Madam Pomfrey might have liked to escort him, but a few of the fourth years had agitated a nasty swarm of bowtruckles in their Care of Magical Creatures class that afternoon and were currently still having their scratches and punctures healed. The castle was strange and lonely at night, with the sconces dimmed low and the portraits mostly asleep. Remus cast a Lumos to see his way more clearly, startling when a ghost cut silently through the walls before him. He had just started his way through the second-floor corridor when he heard the sounds of scrabbling footsteps down the hall. He paused, holding his wand higher in order to see.

All at once from around the corner came the forms of James, Sirius, and Peter, looking breathless as they ran toward him at full speed. He had very little time to be shocked by their appearances, as they collided with him and swept him into their frenzy, pushing him back down along the corridor he’d just come from, and then into an empty classroom.

“What—” Remus began, attempting to catch his breath, but—

“SHH!” James, Sirius, and Peter hissed at the same time. They were in what might have been the Arithmancy classroom, judging by the number charts tacked up all over the walls and the strange equations on the chalkboard.

Sirius hurried over to a back cupboard, which he found locked. “Alohamora!” he whispered, wand pointed at the handle. The door swung open, and before Remus had a moment to wonder what on earth was happening, Sirius had grabbed his arm and tugged him inside. James and Peter followed and shut the door behind them, leaving them in darkness aside from Remus’s still-lit wand tip.

“Put that out!” Sirius hissed.

“Why—”

“Just do it!” James begged.

Remus frowned at them but said, “Nox,” and they were submerged in full shadow. The cupboard they were in was quite small and seemed to be filled with scrolls; the only light came from the seam around the door. If Remus pressed his face against it, he could just see a sliver of the classroom beyond. One of the boys was pressed rather uncomfortably against Remus’s still-healing back.

Just when Remus was about to turn and demand more information from the lot of them, there was the sound of the classroom door opening from the hall, and a great square of light spread across the ground outside the cupboard where they hid. Remus spotted a pointy-eared shadow cross it, and then the larger shadow of a tall but hunched man, creeping in after. Remus held his breath as what had to be Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, and his cat, Mrs. Norris, entered the room.

“Smell anything, my sweet?” Filch asked the cat. “Little firsties are hiding in the shadows somewhere, waiting to be punished,” he crooned, sounding like Christmas had come early.

The cat yowled, marching dutifully along the perimeter of the classroom while Filch looked in corners and underneath desks, holding up a dim lantern to see by. Mrs. Norris sniffed at the air, seeming to sense something amiss, and Remus worried desperately that she could smell something of him, something animal. Her bright eyes swiveled slowly, at last fixing on the cupboard door behind which they crouched.

Angling his wand through the small crack in the door, Remus spotted an ancient-looking paperweight upon the instructor’s desk nearest them. With the softest breath he could manage, he whispered “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The paperweight teetered a bit, then lifted into the air. Gathering all his concentration, Remus flicked his wand to the right, short and sharp, and the paperweight followed his momentum, sailing out the classroom door and smashing against the opposite wall in the corridor.

“There they go, Mrs. Norris!” Filch howled, jumping up from where he’d been crouched behind a desk and thumping his head loudly. “After them! After them!”

Filch scrambled out of the classroom and down the hallway, his footsteps and shouts growing farther and farther away.

Mrs. Norris blinked at the cupboard skeptically and with apparent disappointment, before slinking at last after her owner.

Remus opened the cupboard door, and the four boys tumbled out, falling on top of one another due to the fact that they were all leaning against it in the hopes of seeing or hearing what had been going on.

“Brilliant, Lupin,” said James, clutching his heart has he rolled on the floor. “Thank goodness for you. Thought we were goners.”

Remus rubbed at his sore back and relit his wand, pointing it accusingly at each of them. “Why on earth did you go dragging me into all that?” he asked. “What are you up to anyway?”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, sitting up. “We had to! Filch was on our tails; He would have seen you.”

“You didn’t have to do anything,” Remus grumbled, holding up his crinkled permission slip. “I was heading up because I had a note. I would have been perfectly fine.”

Sirius groaned. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Having you with us would have been a great excuse.”

“You didn’t give me much of a chance to catch up and chat,” said Remus, rolling his eyes. “Where are you going at this hour, anyway?”

“Come along and find out,” said Sirius waggling his brow.

Remus looked at all of them suspiciously. “I have a feeling I really shouldn’t.”

“What if Sirius told you it was his birthday wish?” asked James, doe-eyed. He had a rather bulky pouch clutched to his chest.

“I’d tell Sirius that he could cash that wish in once it’s actually his birthday,” said Remus, doing his best not to be swayed.

“Excellent news, then, Lupin,” said Sirius. “I’m cashing in my wish.”

Remus hesitated, pointing his wand light at Black. “Is it really? You didn’t say.”

Sirius shrugged. “I’m a very private person. I whither under too much attention.”

Remus snorted with laughter, lowering his wand. “Are you going to tell me what you’re up to, or do I have to find out by following you?”

“Second option sounds more fun,” James decided, springing to his feet. “Think the coast is clear?”

They exited back into the dim corridor, Remus bringing up the rear. “Filch can be avoided if you’re careful,” Sirius whispered, “but it’s the damn cat you have to watch out for, I suppose.”

“Gene Macmillan in Hufflepuff reckons that Filch is on his third or fourth Mrs. Norris,” said James. “But I think she’s just immortal.”

“She should wear a bell, or some sort of tracking device,” said Peter, shuddering.

With Potter taking care to peek around every corner, they proceeded down to the Entrance Hall, taking a few more nervous glances behind them before they slipped through the great oak doors.

“Where are we going?” Remus asked for what felt like the dozenth time, thinking nervously about the path down to the Whomping Willow. Attempting to climb it sounded like a very Potter and Black thing to do, but he wasn’t sure how they’d’ve managed to rope Peter into something as surely lethal as that.

“You’ll see,” James insisted, casting his own Lumos to better see the stone steps below them. At the bottom, they veered onto a grassy path, which Remus recognized from their ascent toward the castle that very first night, before the Start-of-Term Feast. They were quiet aside from Peter who occasionally let out a nervous sort of giggle.

With dawning realization and a sinking feeling in his gut, Remus followed the other three as they made their way into the cavern beneath the castle, holding wands up to illuminate the small harbor and the score or so of little boats that bobbed along the edge. From along the wall, James retrieved a paddle, testing its weight in his hand. “Alright, lads,” he said, turning and beaming. “In you pop.” He gestured to the closest boat with his oar.

Remus turned to Sirius accusingly. “For your birthday, you fancied a little midnight sail?”

Sirius smirked and shrugged. “Figured it’d be romantic. Now are you getting in, or are you going to turn tail and tell McGonagall?”

Knowing very well he was being goaded, Remus scowled and swung a leg over the boat’s edge, taking a seat on the rickety bench.

James was the last one in, using his paddle to shove off from the little dock and sending them out into the dark water with a dangerous amount of rocking. As they left the shelter of the cave, the late autumn wind kicked up, and cold rose up off the still, black water, chilling them all to the bone. Their laughter quieted as the castle loomed above them, only a few windows lit, and the dark forest stretched beyond the lake’s edge ahead of them. The night sky was clear of cover and bright in a piercing sort of way, reflected and made double on the surface of the lake. They disturbed the constellations as they floated on.

“Here,” said James, opening his heavy pack. “Nearly forgot.” He pulled out an assortment of blankets that seemed to have been pulled from their beds, as well as a mashed-down pillow. From the bottom of the pack, he retrieved a large tin and opened it up to reveal butter-yellow biscuits within, round and scored like hot cross buns. “Nankhatai,” said James reverently. “Mum sent them over just yesterday.”

“Thank goodness,” said Remus, reaching out. “I’m starved.”

James slapped his hand away. “They’re not for you, they’re for the Giant Squid.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Oh, let Remus have a few,” said Sirius, reclining comfortably at the rear of the boat. “The squid probably doesn’t exist, anyway.”

“It does,” said Remus, grabbing a biscuit when James wasn’t looking. “I saw a tentacle one morning.”

“What?” asked Sirius, sitting upright again. “When? Been going on morning strolls around the grounds without us?”

“No,” said Remus quickly. “Just…saw it from the Hospital Wing. There are big windows that look out over the lake.”

“Hm,” said Sirius doubtfully, leaning back again. “Well, we’ll see. As long as it likes James’s mum’s cooking, that is.”

“It’d be crazy not to,” said James, chucking a biscuit out toward the center of the lake. Remus, taking another for himself, agreed. The four boys watched the biscuit bob along on the water’s surface, holding lit wands over the boat’s edge to see into the dark depths, until Peter nearly dropped his and they all became more wary. Occasionally they thought they saw something, but Sirius reckoned it was only a fish or else a Mermaid.

“I'd still like to see a Mermaid,” said Remus, taking one of the blankets James offered and wrapping it around his shivering shoulders.

“Why?” asked Sirius. “The Merpeople are normal sized. The Giant Squid is giant.”

When all the biscuits had been tossed overboard or eaten, James laid out the pillow in the middle of the boat, and the boys each claimed a corner, heads bumping each other as they looked up at the broad, black sky with blankets thrown around them. The boat was so small that Remus had to toss his legs over the edge, careful not to let his trainers dip into the water. With the help of James’s erratic rowing, they'd drifted relatively far into the center. The quiet sound of lapping water surrounded them, cut through occasionally by the hoot of an owl as it hunted in the nearby forest.

“Why do you reckon they named it the Forbidden Forest?” James asked the night air. “The word forbidden rather makes me want to go explore it. They could have named it something dull, like the Friendly Forest, or…”

“The Wearisome Wood,” Remus supplied.

“Exactly,” said James, nodding so that his head thumped against Remus’s. “It would never even occur to me to set foot in the Wearisome Wood.”

“What do you think is in there?” Peter asked nervously. “It can’t be too bad, so close to the castle.”

“I dunno,” said Sirius. “Andromeda said it contains all sorts of nasties. Centaurs, Acromantulas, Ogres, Trolls, Thestrals, maybe even Werewolves.”

Remus stiffened, his blood going a degree colder.

“Surely not,” Peter squeaked. “Dumbledore would never allow it!”

“Alright, probably not Werewolves,” Sirius assented, a smile in his voice. “But my Uncle Cygnus says the forest holds one of the last remaining herds of unicorns. Of course, he wants to put an end to that. Created this big campaign in the Ministry around allowing wizards to hunt there like they could in the good old days. He’s furious because apparently Dumbledore’s had the whole territory protected.” Sirius sighed. “If there were Werewolves in there, he’d probably just grab his wand and go on a hunting spree anyway. He doesn’t have one of their heads mounted on his wall, yet.”

Remus found that his mouth was very dry and that he was having some difficulty breathing. His eyes went to the moon, still large and round in the sky, but a sliver short of full. It was waning. It had a long way to go until it was nothing but a thin arc, and then longer still until it was ripe and full again. He tried to let that thought calm him.

“No offense, mate,” said James slowly, “but your family sounds a bit horrid.”

“For the most part, they’re a bunch of duffers,” Sirius said easily. “They’re mad that they haven’t created some great dark wizard in a few generations and that the wizarding world is moving on without them. Just be glad you haven’t met my cousin Bellatrix. She’s as insane as the rest, but she might actually do something about it.”

Remus swallowed down the lump in his throat, turning his head so that he was looking at Sirius’s sharp profile. Sirius had a rather haughty look that he couldn’t seem to help, but now it seemed different, when he thought he wasn’t being watched. “You ever think you might agree with them?” Remus asked after a while.

“No,” said Sirius quickly, and rather harshly. Their boat was silent for a moment, but then he continued. “Most of the old wizard families left London, now that it’s so hard to hide magic there. My family refused, so we’ve got muggles on all sides. It’s not a very nice area, I don’t think. I don’t know what’s normal for muggles, but I don’t think the houses are in such good shape. Regulus and I aren’t meant to look outside, but it sort of can’t be helped. They’re just out there, you know, doing the shopping or minding children or what have you. My family’s always going on about how muggles have got us all squashed under their feet, how they’re like lesser animals. But it always seemed to me like they were just trying to get by, no better off than we were. And if they’re so wrong about muggles, they might just be wrong about the rest of it, too.”

James turned over to his stomach and propped himself up so that he was looking down at them, then ruffled Sirius’s neatly kept hair. “Listen to you. And you thought there was any chance you were gonna be sorted into Slytherin.”

Sirius laughed, batting James away. “Wonder what’ll happen to Reg. He used to agree with me, until our mum lost her head at us trying to make friends with the muggle children. He likes it better when she just screams bloody murder at me, and he can live his life in peace and quiet.”

Remus chewed on this information. He hadn’t known that Sirius even had a brother, but neither of the other two seemed surprised, so they must have discussed it without him. Which was fine, of course. Remus didn’t want them asking too much about his home life, so he ought not to want to know about theirs. It just meant he was staying a bit distant. Like he should be. Like he wanted to be, he reminded himself.

Still, he couldn’t help himself as he said, “Well, think of it this way, Black. Your birthday’s in November, during the school term, and you’ll be of age by the time you finish school. So that means you’ll never have to spend another one with them again.”

“Yeah,” said James enthusiastically. “Birthdays with us only, for the rest of your life.”

Sirius sniffed in the cold, smiling a bit with closed eyes. “Yeah.”

“It’s too bad we don’t have a cake,” sighed Peter. “It’s not a birthday without a cake.”

“Too right, Petey,” James agreed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for the kitchens. I know students can get to them, or else how would they have had all that food at the Halloween party? Duncan reckons they’re hidden in the basements, and he should know, the Hufflepuff common room is down there somewhere. If only I knew where the basements were.” He looked hopefully and pointedly at Remus.

Remus sighed. “There’s a set of stairs behind the entrance hall. Behind the hourglasses that hold all the house points.”

“Brilliant,” said James, scratching his chin. “Now if only I could mark down the hidden entrance to the kitchens once I find it. Seems like it would particularly benefit students that eat three helpings of dinner and then find themselves starved again a couple of hours later.”

Remus rolled his eyes, smiling. “Fine, Potter. You find the kitchen entrance and I’ll put it on my map.”

“Cheers, Remus,” said James, deciding it was Remus’s turn to have his hair ruffled. James sat up and looked around at the dark water, using his lit wand to scan their surroundings. They’d drifted a little closer to the edge of the lake, toward where the small stone cabin was. The back garden Remus had seen filled with pumpkins back in September was now empty, presumably harvested for the Halloween Feast.

“Hey. Look at that,” said James loudly. "All the Nankhatai are gone.”

“Probably just got soggy and sank,” said Sirius, yawning. “Reckon we should go in?”

“’EY!” Came a booming voice from the banks of the lake. “Ruddy ‘ell! IS SOMEONE OUT THERE?”

“Nox!” James whispered, dousing his wand light, and Sirius cursed emphatically, proving that he knew some muggle swears. Remus peeked over the boat’s edge, and saw an enormous form on the lakeshore, holding up a lamp in an attempt to better see. The nearby hut had to belong to Hagrid, who had seen their lights or else heard their voices carry over the lake.

“Paddle!” Remus hissed to James. “Quickly!”

James took up the oar he’d set down and began to frantically push them back toward the castle.

“IF YER STUDENTS OUT THERE, YEH’D BETTER GET BACK TO YER DORMITORY QUICK LIKE!” Hagrid scolded loudly. “I DON’ LIKE FILCH ANY MORE’N YOU LOT, BUT I’LL CALL ON ‘IM IF YEH DON’T SEE YERSELVES STRAIGHT TO BED, YEH ‘EAR ME?”

“Faster!” Peter pleaded with James. With James rowing savagely at the rear, the rest of the boys clambered to the front of the boat, trying to crouch out of Hagrid’s sight. They were close enough to the castle now that Hagrid and his lantern were lost in the mist. “At least he’s letting us off with a warning,” said Peter in a panicked squeak.

“Yeah, well, what else is he meant to do?” Sirius reasoned, sounding like he was holding in a laugh. “Can’t see us. Reckon he doesn’t want to swim in after us. He probably knows better than the rest what’s in these wat—”

The remainder of Sirius’s sentence was lost as James gave a slightly overzealous paddle and the front-heavy boat tipped nauseatingly to the side, then flipped entirely, dumping all four boys into the lake.

For a moment, Remus was only cold and startled, but then quickly he was spluttering and panicked, weighted down by the blanket he still had wrapped around his shoulders. Sirius emerged coughing beside him, then James and Peter, all blinking water rapidly out of their eyes and splashing about in their waterlogged robes. They each grabbed onto the edge of their capsized boat so that they wouldn’t need to tread water. “Nice going, Jamie,” said Sirius, tossing the wet hair out of his eyes.

“Not my fault!” said James, spitting out lake water. “If you all hadn’t been gathered at the front—”

“Shut it,” said Remus, going suddenly still. “Did you feel that?” Remus had thought he’d felt something rather thick and slimy brush against his leg.

The other boys stayed silent for a blessed moment. “I didn’t feel anything,” said Peter quietly. “What did you—”

Suddenly, with a horrible wet sound like someone unsticking a rubber boot from mud, an enormous grey-ish tentacle emerged from the lake just beside them, slapping weightily down onto the boat. Remus could see the many saucer-sized suckers gripping hold of the wood, each with a sort of smacking, popping sound.

“Oh sweet Merlin and Morgana,” James croaked. “It’s going to drag us down and eat us!”

No sooner had he said this than the tentacle gave them and the boat a mighty shove, sending them careening through the waters and back toward the castle. As soon as they slowed, the tentacle emerged again, forcing Remus to duck to avoid its wide arc before it landed on the boat once more and pushed them further. They rode a swell directly into the little harbor cavern, Peter screaming at the top of his lungs the entire time.

When they’d finally dragged themselves back onto the shore, collapsing on the pebbly bank, Remus rolled onto his back, heaving for breath.

As soon as he’d finally stopped raggedly gasping, he began to laugh.

He laughed so hard that his stomach cramped, and stitches burned into his sides. Sirius, looking like an indignant wet dog, stared at Remus, puzzled and incredulous, until he began to laugh, too, which only made Remus laugh harder.

James and Peter finally rolled from the shallows, both tangled lake weed, and upon seeing each other finally joined in.

“There,” said James breathlessly, tearing himself free from the weeds. “You said you wanted to meet the Giant Squid for your birthday, and I told you that I would make it happen. Am I not a man of my word?”

“You’re a terrible rower is what you are,” said Remus, his voice raw.

“Nonsense,” said James, turning to the little boat, which was still floating upside down. He righted it with some effort. “This is just a terrible boat. We had rotten luck picking it. We should mark it, so that we know it’s not seaworthy in the future.”

“The future?” asked Peter miserably.

“Give it a name,” Sirius recommended as he stood up and shook his water from his hair. The image did not help the wet dog comparison. “All great ships have a name. Make it something suiting the adventure she’s been on.”

James pulled out his wand from his soggy robe pocket and pressed it against the rim of the boat, murmuring “Defodio.” He spent some time carving while the others ensured that they still had their wands and retrieved the soggy blankets and pillow that were floating nearby. “There,” said James, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Sirius came to look over his shoulder. “The Marauder?” he asked doubtfully.

“I dunno,” James shrugged. “Sounds sort of pirate-y, doesn’t it?”

“Sure,” said Remus, shaking out James’s pack that had just washed up. “If the pirates are a bunch of posh prats.” He paused, considering. “So I s’pose the name fits all right, then.”

James laughed while Sirius scoffed in mock offense.

Mercifully, the boys came across only a single ghost on their hurried, shivering, dripping return to the Gryffindor common room, and the semi-transparent Gray Lady simply looked at them with an impervious, disappointed glare before she continued on. Filch had either hunted them to the opposite side of the castle or retired to bed. “Old coot’s got to sleep sometime,” James reasoned.

At last back in their dormitory, Peter added as much wood into the furnace as would fit, shaking like a leaf until it was his turn for the warm showers. James and Sirius both stripped out of their sodden robes immediately, recounting their adventures excitedly in only their towels, but Remus took care to change in the privacy of the bathroom into his long pyjamas. In the fogged mirror, he removed his ruined bandage carefully. The wounds on his back were raw and red and irritated, but hadn’t reopened, miraculously. He’d need to find an excuse to tell Madam Pomfrey in order to explain why he needed a new set of bandages so soon after being released from the Hospital Wing.

Back in the very cozy, slightly too warm dormitory, James, Sirius, and Peter were in their pyjamas, staring at their three sets of soaked bedclothes, which they’d strung up before the furnace. “Anyone know the Hot Air Charm?” James asked hopefully.

“No,” said Peter, frowning. “That’s not until second year.”

“We could figure it out easily enough if we could get the book from the library,” said Sirius. “But I don’t much fancy our chances sneaking out again. Besides. I’m knackered.”

Remus looked over at his four poster, the only dressed bed in the room since he hadn't technically agreed to join them on their adventure. “I suppose…” he said slowly. “I suppose you could all pile into mine for the night.”

“Brilliant, Lupin!” said James happily, as if he’d been waiting for Remus to make that exact offer. He dove onto Remus’s bed, frowning as he pulled out a Chocolate Frog box from between the bedsheets. He held it up questioningly.

“What?” asked Remus. “You already know I get hungry. And I like chocolate.”

James only shrugged, tossing the box aside. “Come on,” he insisted, patting the bed as though he owned it. “One bed is plenty big for four marauders.”

The boys settled in a hodgepodge of pointy limbs that made it very difficult for Remus to be wary of his back. With one of their pillows still damp and reeking of the lake, James and Sirius shared one, and Sirius snorted on a laugh as James immediately began snoring directly into his ear. Peter, too, was twitching through the beginnings of some dream.

“You all right, Remus?” Sirius asked from the other end of the bed. It was dark, but Remus could hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” sighed Remus. “Suppose I’m lucky I slept all day in the Hospital Wing. Won’t get a wink in with James kicking me like that.”

“Pity for you,” said Sirius. James swung an arm around in his sleep, nearly slapping Sirius in the face. “As for me, I’ve never been more comfortable,” he said, voice muffled from where James’s hand was flung over his mouth.

Remus knew Sirius was only joking, but it wasn’t long until his breathing, too, grew slow and even. Remus looked up at his bed hangings, figuring he was in for a long night. But the room was really very warm, and the nearby bodies were even warmer. Even the sounds of James’s snores were oddly comforting. It was barely a minute before Remus’s eyes slipped closed, and then he slept as though he’d taken one of Madam Pomfrey’s sleeping draughts.

Chapter Text

December 4, 1971

James

“Foul!” James proclaimed, hopping up and down where he stood in the stands. “C’mon, Hooch! That had to be a foul!”

Sure enough, Hooch blew hard on her whistle three times, taking the Quaffle from an enraged Ravenclaw Chaser and handing it to Patsy McKinnon for the penalty.

“Thank Merlin,” said James, nodding righteously.

“James,” said Marlene, rolling her eyes, “we’re meant to be rooting for Ravenclaw. You shouldn’t be hoping my sister gets the penalty.”

“Sorry,” said James, frowning. He, like most of the Gryffindors, was holding a bronze and blue pennant, and Mary had smeared his face with blue paint this morning over breakfast. Having watched Hufflepuff win the cup three times now, every house aside from the Hufflepuffs themselves were none too discreetly rooting for their downfall. “I just like to see good, fair, Quidditch is all. Besides, your sister’s brilliant, Marlene.”

“I know it,” sighed Marlene. “If I make the team next year, I’ll have to actually play her. Hopefully I get Beater so that I can at least send some Bludgers her way.”

According to what James had seen, Marlene and her sister actually got along quite well off the Quidditch pitch. Patsy McKinnon had seen her sister in blue and bronze this morning and simply rolled her eyes and come over to tug her braids, subtly turning her sister’s hair ribbons yellow and black with her wand. Marlene still hadn’t noticed as they crowded into the Gryffindor stands under a clear, chilly, blue sky.

Two weeks ago, James had been in the same place in the stands, decked out in gold and red, only to watch Lucius Malfoy, the Slytherin Seeker, catch the Snitch twenty minutes in when Gryffindor had scored only a solitary goal. James hadn’t been able to speak to a soul for three days. This time, there was much less at stake, since Gryffindor was already almost certainly out of the running for the cup.

Patsy’s penalty soared easily through the top left hoop after the Ravenclaw Keeper had taken a chance and dove at the last minute to protect the lower right.

“You twit!” Lily Evans shouted up at the Ravenclaw keeper from behind James. “You dunderhead! Just look at her left foot! It always points toward the hoop she’s aiming for!”

James turned around to look at her, half grinning. “Well spotted, Evans. Thought you said you were muggleborn.”

“Just because my parents are muggles, I’m meant to be too daft to understand a simple sport?” Evans asked indignantly, eyes still on the game.

“No,” said James, smile slipping. Evans was determined to hear only the worst from him, it seemed. “I just didn't think you’d seen a match before this month.”

“I hadn’t,” said Evans sniffily. Then, still not looking at him, she added, “But my dad and I are mad for footy. Can’t watch any Aston Villa matches here, so I might as well care about this.”

“She comes to the quidditch pitch every time I reserve it for extra practice,” said Marlene happily. “Won’t get on a broom, but that doesn’t stop her from screaming up at me how I could improve.”

“I don’t scream,” said Evans primly. “I’m just repeating what I read in Quidditch Through the Ages.”

“Blimey,” said Sirius from James’s side. “Turns out you really can learn how to play Quidditch from a book. Someone ought to tell Remus.”

Remus had been sick again the night before last, missed all of Friday’s classes, and Madam Pomfrey had flat refused them entrance to the Hospital Wing all four times they came calling. She took James’s offering of chocolate trifle after supper, but otherwise they were left thwarted. At long last, Remus came stumbling into the dormitory when they’d just about been ready to turn out the lights. He had looked positively miserable, worse than when he’d gone in, in James’s opinion, and he was limping strangely as if he couldn’t quite bend at the knee.

Remus had noticed James staring. “It's mostly healed,” he had insisted as he slumped into bed, already in pyjamas. “Got dizzy that first afternoon on my way to the Hospital Wing and I fell. Pomfrey patched me up,” he told them.

“Fell?” Sirius had asked incredulously. “Look at you! What’d you do, break your leg?”

“Sort of,” Remus had answered quietly, then drawn his bed curtains closed.

Sirius had huffed, making himself comfortable on one side of James’s bed, as he was recently apt to do when he’d rather talk than sleep. “No one sort of breaks their leg,” he’d told James, brow furrowed.

They’d left Remus sleeping this morning, not wanting to rouse him on a weekend into watching a sport he rather seemed to not care about.

James snapped back to attention as the commentator, a fifth-year Gryffindor named Nancy Spinnet, said, “And that looks like another goal from Hufflepuff captain Patsy McKinnon, folks. If you were holding onto the hope that McKinnon wouldn’t brutally embarrass any team she plays against, it might be time to let go of that hope and find another, more realistic use for your time.”

Peter groaned, covering his face and smearing the messy eagle Mary had attempted to paint on his cheek. “I can’t look,” he told James. “Tell me when its over.”

To no one’s surprise and to everyone’s disgruntlement, Hufflepuff won the match handily when their pompous second year Seeker, Barney Lynch, caught the Golden Snitch in a neat dive. The Hufflepuffs went bonkers in their stands across the way, stomping their feet and launching several student-made firecrackers. They exploded in glittery yellow and ashy black that shimmered above the stands before joining and turning into a large, smoky badger that slashed at the air before disappearing with a bang. From down below, James could hear Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall both shouting reprimands, attempting to uncover who had set them off.

“Neat bit of magic, that,” said James cheerfully enough, even though the air around them was a bit despondent. “We ought to learn how to do something like that.”

“If we ever win,” added Sirius.

“How little faith you have, Black!” James scolded. “When Marlene and I are on the team, you’ll need to show better house pride.”

“If you and Marlene get on the team, I’ll strip naked and cross the pitch with a Gryffindor flag clenched between my—”

“That’s quite enough of that,” said Mary, clamping a hand over Sirius’s mouth while James and Peter howled with laughter.

At lunch, James, Sirius, and Peter ate quickly, each of them wrapping a chunk of their meals in their napkin for Remus, and left while Mary, Lily, and Marlene where still discussing the finer details of the match. They found Remus still in his bed with a book, leg stretched out gingerly before him.

“Thank Merlin,” Remus groaned when he saw them, arms filled with food. “I was going to eat my pillow.”

“What happened to all the Chocolate Frogs I had mum send?” asked James.

Remus looked bashful. “Ate them.”

James rolled his eyes. He’d written to his mum that he’d like to give out Chocolate Frogs to his mates as gifts before Christmas holidays, and she’d sent a boxful that needed to be toted between two owls. He’d deposited the box at the end of Remus’s bed, and Remus had looked at him like he was Father Christmas himself.

“They had Beef Wellington, today,” said Peter, hading Remus a stolen plate. “But drat, we forgot silverware.”

“S’fine,” said Remus, already picking the roll up with his hands. “How’d the match go?”

“Can’t believe you remembered that was today, honestly,” said Sirius.

“How could I not?” Remus shrugged. “Could hear the whole school down there screaming. Did Ravenclaw win?” he asked, pointing to their painted faces.

“Not at all,” said James, scooting Remus aside so that he could lay down beside him in defeat. “Wasn’t even close. The Hufflepuffs are little flying fiends, all of them.”

“Ah well,” said Remus. “You'll show ‘em all, next year.”

James reached over and rapped smartly on the bedpost so as not to jinx the words. “I hope the weather’s not to miserable over Christmas holidays,” he sighed. “Want to get in as much flying as possible on Dad’s broom. I know I have all next summer, but…” He shrugged. “What are you lads getting up to for Christmas hols, anyway?” He looked over expectantly at Remus.

Remus’s gaze stayed fixed on his socked feet at the foot of his bed. “Oh, er…I reckon I’ll stay here, this year. Things’ll just be…simpler that way.”

James balked at the idea of Remus alone and restless in the castle. “Stay here? Simpler?”

“Oh, brilliant,” said Sirius, squeezing into the bed on James’s other side. “I just told McGonagall yesterday, I’m staying here, too.”

“You are?” asked James and Remus at the same time, both sounding equally alarmed.

Sirius leaned over James to narrow his eyes at Remus. “You could pretend to sound pleased about it, mate. At least now you’ll have company. Besides,” he added, settling back into the pillows. “Of course I’m staying here, my family hates the sight of me. What reason could you possibly have, Lupin?”

Remus, caught between bites of food on James’s right, looked uncomfortable. “I…er…I suppose it’s better for my health.”

James cleared his throat, staring purposefully at Remus’s clearly injured leg. “If you say so, Remus. Doesn’t seem to me that Hogwarts has been much good for your health at all.”

“Anyway,” said Remus quickly. “What are you doing for holidays, Pete? Any ideas yet?”

Peter furrowed his brow. “Was going to just be me and mum at home, but now she’s decided we ought to go into the countryside to visit her sister. She’s a squib. It’s going to be terribly dull. Wish I could stay here with you both.”

James was drumming his fingers against his leg, thinking hard. On the one hand, his mum and dad were holidaying in France this Christmas, and he did love both wizard Paris and the attention of his mum and dad. On the other hand, they were going to want to tour a bunch of lofty old museums and visit old friends without children, and the idea of following them around and visiting fancy, quiet restaurants while Remus and Sirius had an entire empty castle at their disposal filled him with jealousy.

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll write Mum and tell her I’m staying, too.”

“Excellent!” Sirius decreed, while at the same time Remus startled and exclaimed, “What? Why?”

“You two would have a miserable holiday without me,” James decided. “Remus'll just try to use the time for extra reading, and Sirius'll just mope about bored.”

“Too true,” agreed Sirius. “Alone, I can’t pry Remus from his precious textbooks. But together, we might prevail.”

“Well, if all of you are staying then I’d like to, too,” decided Peter. “No idea if mum’ll go for it. You think your parents will let you, James?”

“They will if I tell them that two pitiful Gryffindors have been stranded here on their lonesome,” James decided. He frowned. “In fact, they might insist on inviting you to France with us. What d’you say?”

“No!” said Remus, looking very pale. He had stopped eating, which was a sure sign of his distress. James felt guilty without quite knowing why. “I can’t go to France,” said Remus quickly. “I don’t…I don’t speak French!”

“All right, all right,” said James, trying for a reassuring tone. He’d have to get to the bottom of Remus’s paralyzing fear of France later. “No France. My parents will let me stay here if I ask, though, I’m sure. And Petey, I’ll help you write your mum. It would be devious to separate us, I think.”

“Really,” said Remus, looking back down at his food. “You don’t have to.”

“Nonsense,” said James. “Mum expresses how much she misses me through food. If she knows she’s not going to see me between terms, she’ll want to send over as much of her cooking as our owl can carry. Everyone benefits.”

James could tell that he’d softened Remus to the idea as the boy recommenced his eating. “Fine,” said Remus at last, brow furrowed. “At least you three’ll be able to entertain each other if I decide I need a break from your mischief.”

“He says it as if he doesn’t secretly love mischief,” said Sirius rolling his eyes.

Remus gave James a hard shove, pushing him across the bed and in turn succeeding in knocking Sirius from where he lay on James’s other side, until Sirius landed ungracefully on the floor while Peter snorted.

“All right,” said Remus, peering over James to look at Sirius, who had given up on righting himself and was simply laying prone and shocked on the carpet. “I suppose I like mischief a little.”

December 16, 1971

Peter

Peter wasn’t sure exactly what it was about him that made him appear to be the surest choice for lookout, but he found himself in that very role as he teetered from foot to foot nervously outside the greenhouse sheds in the morning chill, wishing desperately that they hadn’t skipped out on breakfast.

“Anyone out there, Pete?” asked James, sticking his head out the creaky wooden door.

“No,” Peter grumbled. “Can’t I come in? I bet it’s warmer in there.”

“It’s not,” said James, blowing hot air into his red hands. “Besides, Professor Sprout’ll be coming down in just a minute to start our lesson. We need you to call out if you see her leave the castle.”

“And if she does leave the castle?” Peter asked, worried. “Won’t it be suspicious that we’re the first ones to class? We’re never the first ones to class.” But James had already stuck his head back into the garden shed where Peter could hear Remus and Sirius laughing and a creating a great deal of scuffling and rustling.

Peter was game for a bit of fun like the rest of them, but the other three, particularly James and Sirius, had gotten it into their minds that Peeves, the school poltergeist, could be counted upon as an accomplice in their latest scheme. After the first snow of term last week, Peeves had taken it upon himself to pelt any student exiting the Great Hall with snowballs. The four boys had responded to this by equipping themselves with their own arsenal under the Freezing Charm, Glacius, which Sirius had perfected. After a grueling battle that had toppled two suits of armor, they called a truce that Peter was still wary of.

“All right, we got it,” said James, his wild-haired head sticking back out again. “Clear?”

“Clear,” Peter confirmed. “Hurry up!”

The three other boys opened the shed door fully, carting out the large toboggan that Professor Sprout used to carry pots and plants across the grounds when the snow thickened. It was a rusty old thing, but they’d done a fair job sprucing it up with ribbons and bells and ever-frozen icicles. The problem was that the bells made it rather loud, and James kept nervously hushing them as they crossed the grounds to the large windows beneath the Great Hall. They had barely made it around the corner by the time Peter spotted Professor Sprout, bundled in a lumpy patchwork coat and earmuffs, make her way out of the castle and to the greenhouses.

By the time they’d secured the toboggan behind some snow-dusted brush and run back through the frosty grounds to Herbology, they were hardly the first ones to be there for lessons. In fact, they were late enough that Sprout deducted four points from Gryffindor, one for each of them.

It wasn’t until the next night that they reaped the rewards of their hard work, as most students chattered happily about the upcoming holiday and their imminent departure from Hogwarts. The train would be leaving from Hogsmeade station tomorrow, and neither Peter nor the other three boys would be on it. Peter’s mother had of course responded with palpable disappointment and a long list of pet names, but had ultimately sounded pleased about the development of new friends, especially impressed by the names Potter and Black. James’s mother had responded with the foretold mounds of food, and the boys had taken to having second dinners in their dormitory every day for the last three days.

"All right, Lupin?” asked Sirius, when Remus joined them at the table. It was snowing tonight, and the enchanted ceiling swirled above them with stars and snowflakes. “Wand arm feeling steady?”

“I don’t see why I’m the one that has to do it,” Remus grumbled.

“Well, it can’t be me,” said Peter, happily enough, starting in on supper. The school had prepared a sort of feast for the end of term, with piles of buttered vegetables and mounds of warm rolls. “I’m lousy at charmwork.”

“Yeah, Remus; if you didn’t want to do it, you shouldn’t have shown off your skill at it,” James reasoned.

“I didn’t show off,” Remus complained. “I just didn’t faff about in lessons like the rest of you.”

“Well,” said Sirius. “Maybe if you did a bit less swotting and a bit more faffing, you, too, could sit back and relax when the time came for mischief.”

“What mischief?” asked Mary, leaning across the table, eyes narrowed.

“Pipe down, Macdonald,” Sirius whispered, “or else Evans will hear you and make sure there’s no mischief at all.”

Mary considered this, seemingly torn between wanting to spoil the boys’ fun and wanting to discover what the fun actually was. In the end, she only shook her head at them knowingly and turned back to her food.

“Reckon most of the school’s sat by now,” said James, bouncing up and down on the bench. “Just got to wait for the cue. Ready, Remus?”

With a heavy swallow, Remus propped his elbow up on the table casually, wand balanced between his fingers so that he might have just been toying with it.

Peter had only managed two or three more nervous bites of food before the nearest window blasted open with the sound of rattling wood and glass. At first, it seemed as though a particularly violent gust of snow-heavy wind had blown them inward at their hinges, but then came an echoing cackle that seemed to emanate from the onslaught of snow that flurried its way into the Great Hall.

“OHOHO!” rang out a rather maniacal approximation of a jolly man’s chortle, drowning out the sound of Remus’s muttered spell.

As one, the students turned, blinking into the hazy snowstorm as a shape loomed up out of the snowbanks, and the sound of jingling bells cut through the wind. Flying in with enough force that the nearest students had to duck, the school-toboggan-turned-Christmas-sleigh came hurtling up into the air, making the floating candles spin. It rocked a bit at first, but as Remus furrowed his brow in concentration, it settled and began swooping over the heads of the students and professors. Sitting atop it, wearing a jangling suit of red and a horribly ratty beard that looked as if it were the pelt of some long-dead animal kept in the bowels of the Defense Against the Dark Arts storeroom, was Peeves, doing his best impression of Father Christmas. He'd stuck clusters of holly into his pointed hat and into his makeshift beard, and he glared down at all of them with a wicked-eyed benevolence as he held onto the toboggan’s reigns and let himself be whipped about through the hall.

“Happy Christmas puny pupils!” Peeves screeched out, waving down at the students who were laughing and pointing. “All stinky, slimy, spotty! You’d get gifts if you were good, but you get me, because you’re naughty!”

The laugher quickly became shrieks and groans as Peeves reached into the large sack beside him and pulled out a handful of Dungbombs, then sent them raining down onto the assembly below. Peeves pelted his supply down primarily upon the Slytherins, as was their agreement, but that did not stop several from bursting around them, nor one from landing directly in Peter’s pumpkin juice, splashing liquid and a foul stench all over him. Mary, Marlene, and even Lily screamed good-naturedly before ducking down for cover beneath the table. Most students followed their example, or else dashed out of the hall, but Peeves took care to aim his Dungbombs particularly well at anyone who tried to flee.

James, Sirius, and Peter roared with laughter while Remus maintained his focus with a small smile, all of them enjoying themselves too thoroughly to notice as Professor McGonagall stormed over, wide-eyed and livid. “Gentlemen!” she shouted, wand held aloft so that she was under some sort of invisible umbrella that protected her from any projectile that Peeves might lob at her. “End this nonsense at once!”

“We’re not doing anything, Professor,” Sirius insisted, face grave and affronted. “It’s Father Christmas that seems to be on some sort of rampage!”

“Is that so?” asked Professor McGonagall, plucking Remus’s wand out from his hand, where he’d been tightly gripping it rather incriminatingly.

Peeves’s cackle turned into a wail of disappointment as his levitated sleigh began to fall freely through the air, making the students beneath him scream in earnest. “Evanesco!” said McGonagall calmly, pointing Remus’s wand at the decorated toboggan. It vanished immediately, along with Peeves’s sack of Dungbombs, leaving the poltergeist stranded and bobbing in midair.

“No fun!” said Peeves, pointing at McGonagall accusingly. “She’s ruined Christmas!” With a wet raspberry blown at the unflinching professor, there was a crisp pop, and Peeves disappeared, leaving the boys alone with the blame of the mayhem around them.

“Mr. Lupin,” said McGonagall, turning back toward the boy who was staring up at her with a face pale beneath his freckles. “I had rather thought you were better mannered than all of this. I pronounce myself quite disappointed.” The other professors were casting Ventuses, creating gusts of wind in an attempt to displace some of the rancid air out through the open window, or else casting Hot Air Charms to melt the snow that had drifted in.

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor,” said James quickly. “It was me. He begged not to do it, but I practically forced him. Under threat of violence!” he added with passion.

“Don’t listen to Potter,” said Sirius, standing up and placing a hand over his heart. “It was I that coerced poor Lupin into his misdeeds. I must be made to repent alone.”

After a moment of McGonagall scowling at them, James and Sirius shifted their gazes to Peter, their expressions both expectant.

Peter sighed. “No, Professor,” said Peter reluctantly. “Don’t listen to either of them. It was all my idea, I’m afraid.”

“Well then,” said McGonagall, handing Remus’s wand back to him. “I have no choice but to deduct twenty points from Gryffindor, and give all four of you three days’ detention. Luckily, it seems all of you put your names down to stay in the castle over the holidays, so your punishment need not interfere with your lessons and study schedule.”

“Detention over Christmas hols?” James asked, as if Professor McGonagall had just told them she intended to feed them bit by bit to Mrs. Norris.

“Yes,” said McGonagall, not swayed by James’s horror. “Since you boys seem to be in such a festive mood, you might as well help Rubeus Hagrid with the decorating. After all, you’ve proven you have a knack for it.” She cleared her throat, then turned to assist the other professors and prefects who were trying to regain control of the dinner.

“I think she likes us,” said Sirius thoughtfully. “I think she paid us a compliment.”

“She took twenty house points!” Peter pointed out, wringing his hands. He looked up and down the Gryffindor table to see if they were earning any nasty looks, but the few students who were not still gagging on the stench were laughing, including Mary and Marlene, who were patting Remus on the back.

“And she should have taken a lot more,” Lily Evans reasoned from down the table, rolling her eyes and flicking Dungbomb remnants off of her food. “Nice wand work, though, Lupin. Next time, relax your wrist. It’ll make you less obvious, and it gives the flicks more speed.”

December 20, 1971

Sirius

“There yeh are,” said Hagrid cheerily, tipping yet another enormous tree into the waiting arms of Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter. “Nice an’ steady, now. Sure am glad fer yer help, lads. Only nine more teh go, after this one.”

They were behind Hagrid’s hut at the edge of the forest, dressed in their warmest cloaks as they helped him fell and tote the twelve towering Christmas trees into the Great Hall. Even with his thick, bulky layers, Sirius found that pine needles were worming their way into his clothes, scratching into his skin and making him itch all over.

“It’d be loads faster if McGonagall just un-vanished that toboggan,” Sirius groused, huffing under the weight of the bristly trunk. The four boys made their way again through the well-trod path they’d dug out through the snow toward the castle.

“It’s no use,” said James. “Apparently she thinks we can’t be trusted with it.”

“Wonder what gave her that idea,” said Remus. Sirius couldn’t help but notice that Lupin was in particularly high spirits, seemingly despite his better judgement. He’d put up enough of a fuss at James and Peter for staying over Christmas, although he hadn’t complained about Sirius, seemingly unable to think up a good reason for Sirius to return home. But Sirius suspected that after all was said and done, Remus couldn’t help but be glad that he wasn’t alone in Gryffindor Tower. None of the girls had stayed, and only a handful of older students remained, leaving much of the common room empty and open. To all their displeasure, Snape had stayed as well and was one of the only students taking his meals at the Slytherin table.

Sirius tried not to let this affect his good mood. After all, right about now his Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella would probably be arriving to visit Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place with Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa in tow. While Andromeda was pleasant enough company, she tended to make herself scarce, whereas Bellatrix seemed to greatly enjoy following Sirius around and reporting his every move in a loud, accusing screech. Narcissa at least wanted nothing to do with Sirius, but she doted on Reg and spoke loudly and often about what a terrible influence Sirius had to be on him. If not that, she was petulantly wishing that they’d accept the Malfoy’s invitation for their holiday ball, held in a manor much nicer than their townhouse. While Sirius helped decorate the Hogwarts Christmas trees with Professor Flitwick’s lovely enchanted baubles, Kreacher was likely singing his croaky rendition of I’m Dreaming of a Pureblood Christmas, and mounting the stuffed, leathery garden gnome atop their own spindly tree. So no, not even Snape could ruin Sirius’s holiday cheer as he found himself far away from all of that.

With arms sore and clothes smelling distinctly of sap, they managed to help Hagrid with the twelfth and final tree and were thus relinquished from their final day of detention. Lupin had pine needles sticking all out of his sandy curls, making him look porcupine-ish, and Sirius wondered how long it would take him to notice. “Mighty grateful to yeh, lads,” said Hagrid, giving James a thump on the back that sent him toppling forward. “Reckon it ‘ardly felt like punishment at all! Still,” he said tossing them a wink, “ought not ter git yerselves into any more trouble, understood? Figure summat like—oh, I dunno, maybe a nighttime trip on the lake—would land yeh in a heap more of a pickle than a bit o’ groundswork with me.”

The boys grinned at Hagrid sheepishly as he bid them goodbye and told them to stop by for tea and cakes whenever they fancied it.

The days after passed slowly and lazily; they barely even had the energy to attempt a Trip Jinx whenever they spotted Snape lurking about in the halls. Mornings were spent in snowball fights with the few remaining Hufflepuffs, or else pestering seventh year Hestia Jones into transfiguring their shoes into skates so that they could plod out onto the lake which had finally frozen over. James proved that his grace in the air did not translate into skill on the ice, and Sirius was content to watch as he slid about, staying upright for a commendable amount of time while his feet rapidly scrabbled for purchase beneath him before he ultimately collapsed in a tangle of long limbs like a baby deer. Peter, however, turned out to be better even than Sirius, able to loop around easily and even scoop up a grateful James.

“Mum and I take a turn on the rinks every winter,” said Peter, trying and failing not to look smug.

Remus was terrible, but his abundance of caution meant that he did not make quite as much a fool of himself as James. Coming up behind Remus just as he was about to slip, Sirius caught him beneath the armpits and then shoved him around the frozen lake like a gangly and complaining shopping trolley.

In the evenings, they retired to the common room breathless and damp and sweaty, inventing games with Exploding Snap decks or teaching Remus the rules of wizard chess by the fire. Occasionally they left Remus to his books, while Sirius and James took Peter out onto the empty Quidditch pitch to practice flying, but this proved rather miserable as their fingers froze to their broomsticks and the wind bit their cheeks raw and red.

When Christmas morning arrived, James woke them all by standing atop his bed and belting God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs at the top of his lungs until he’d had three separate pillows thrown at him. Sirius sat up to find an unexpected heap of gifts at the foot of his bed. James had gotten him a rather alarming pile of Gryffindor pennants and wall hangings, along with an enormous red and gold pointed hat that roared magnificently when tapped with a wand. “To spruce up your dank old bedroom back home,” he told Sirius with a wink.

Beneath James’s gift was a package from the Potters, which made Sirius rather flustered and absent of words. It contained a large collection of home-knit socks, mittens, and scarves. “Mum hears loads about you,” James shrugged. “So much that she probably forgot they hadn’t met you yet.”

There was a large assortment of sweets from Peter, and then a set of muggle books bound together with string from Remus—The Wizard of Earthsea and The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K. Le Guin. “Got Professor Thomas to order them special,” said Remus, shrugging indifferently though his face was pink. “Since you liked Chronicles of Prydain. The first one is one of my favorites, but the second one is new,” added Remus, avoiding Sirius’s bright grin. “So I’ll be expecting to borrow it once you’re finished—what are you—gah, don’t come over here and hug me, you enormous ninny!”

From what Sirius supposed must be his family was a rancid little pouch, which Sirius emptied onto his bed to reveal seemingly nothing. He opened the accompanying note and read in Reggie’s neat hand:

Here’s your Christmas present. Mum was willing to part with these. They’re Thestral teeth, she says, but I can’t see them. Dunno what they’re for except making really rare potions. Christmas is very dull but much more amiable without you.

R. A. B.

Sirius frowned, wondering how on earth he was ever meant to find the Thestral teeth again, if indeed there had been any in the pouch. “Fat lot of good that does me,” he grumbled, tossing the bag and the note aside.

There was one last gift, from Andromeda, to Sirius’s delight. Inside were two pairs of muggle denims that Sirius clutched to his chest dramatically, and several shirts with words, symbols, and faces Sirius didn’t recognize on them. He held them up to Remus, his resident muggle expert, for evaluation.

Remus’s reaction was enough to tell Sirius that these were coveted. “T. Rex,” said Remus approvingly, picking one up. “Not fair, you shouldn’t get to wear these until you’ve listened to the music properly.”

“Wonder how on earth Andy got her hands on these,” said Sirius, tugging one on over his pyjamas. Knowing that Remus deemed them properly muggle-y and cool was enough for him.

Peter had gone red in the face when his mother had sent him a large supply of fresh pants and vests, but was greatly cheered by the golden wizard chess set James, Sirius, and Remus had gone in for together.

Remus seemed very pleased by the gifts from his dorm mates, mostly chocolate, including a set of quills from Sirius that allowed drawn objects to move about on the page. “For your map,” Sirius explained. “So that you can add the moving staircases properly.” Remus also received a set of cozy jumpers and books from his mother, and an envelope filled with a few galleons from his father, which made him frown for some reason. Sirius reckoned it wasn’t a very personal gift, but there wasn’t anything wrong with extra spending money. Remus talked about his mother seldomly, and his father never. Sirius stored this interesting fact away to pick at later.

James, of course, had a large enough stack of presents that he could barely be seen from where he sat in his bed. There were Puddlemere United posters, hats, scarves, a new Gobstone set, and Quidditch practice kits. Remus and Peter had gotten him the typical array of sweets, while Sirius had used James’s own owl, Featherby, to order him a journal that would only read as a collection of grave and cutting insults directed at anyone but the owner who tried to read it. The boys had long finished unwrapping their presents by the time James’s pile was finally dwindling. He pulled out a final, plain-looking parcel, turning it over in his hands. “It’s from Dad,” said James happily, tearing it open.

Sirius had long since made his way onto James’s bed, laying against the pillows while he helped himself to one of James’s sugar quills. He watched as a heap of shimmery fabric, like liquid opal, fell out into James’s lap. “What is it?” James asked, holding it up to better see.

The sugar quill fell out of Sirius’s mouth. “Merlin and Morgana, you’ve got to be joking me.”

“What?” James asked, holding the fabric closer against himself.

Peter shrieked. “James! Where’s your body gone?”

“What do you mean where’s my body gone?” James asked. “I’m sitting right here, aren’t I?”

“Not from what we can see,” said Remus, eyes wide. “James, I think that’s an Invisibility Cloak. They’re mentioned in our Defense Against the Dark Arts book.”

“And a bloody good one at that,” said Sirius, reverently peering closer at James’s invisible navel. “My father has one for when he wants to hide from the muggles in the neighborhood, but it more just makes him look like a fuzzy outline. I can’t see you at all.”

As James’s puzzlement transformed into delight, he shook the fabric out to reveal the full length of the cloak and pulled it up over his head, disappearing completely. Sirius felt the weight of the bed shift as James got up but hadn’t the faintest idea where he’d gone to. His answer came quickly enough as he felt a sharp tug on his foot, and was pulled, yelping, onto the floor, dragging James’s bedsheets with him.

The next few moments were a flurry of chaos as Remus and Peter held tight to their bedposts, kicking out at an invisible enemy that occasionally managed to pull off a sock or send a Chocolate Frog thumping into their heads. Suddenly, James pulled the cloak off his head, revealing only his messy hair and crooked glasses. He rummaged through the wrappings the cloak had come in, or at least Sirius guessed this was what he was doing as the paper shifted and upended itself until a little note came fluttering out. James seized it, and it hovered in midair before his face as he read aloud.

“Jamesy, Missing you terribly this Christmas, so terribly that I’m sending over a gift that I probably ought not to give you until you’re a hair older. However, my father gave this to me on my eleventh Christmas, and since I can’t imagine a year without it at Hogwarts, I figure you shouldn’t have to either. I used this cloak to get in extra hours in the potions classroom perfecting Sleekeazy’s, and your mother would like me to emphasize that this was all I used it for. Since this is a letter and you cannot see me, I should let you know that I am winking. Much love, Your dad.” James snorted, handing the letter over to Sirius to read. “Used it to spend more time in class, yeah right. I reckon he used it to get into the Ravenclaw common room and visit Mum.”

“James,” said Sirius, the awe heavy in his voice. “D’you know what this means?”

“It means I probably have the best dad in the world,” said James, watching his hand appear and disappear as he stuck it out of the cloak and tucked it back in.

“No!” said Sirius. “Well, yes. But it means we’re untouchable! We’re invincible!”

“Oh lord,” Remus groaned, falling back into his bed. “He’s right. And you two were already insufferable.”

James assumed a posture, then realizing none of them could see it, swept the cloak off of his shoulders so that they could watch him place a hand over his heart. “Lads, I vow that this cloak shall be used in the service of all marauders in need.”

“I thought we’d agreed not to call ourselves that,” said Remus, rolling his eyes.

“I agreed to no such thing,” said James quickly. “This cloak,” he continued, “will be our chief instrument in troublemaking, and perhaps, occasionally, do-gooding. And I propose we take it out for its first adventure this very night!”

“Hear, hear,” said Sirius, helping himself to a new sugar quill.

“We might all fit under it now,” said Peter thoughtfully, “but we won’t when we’re older, will we? How are we supposed to share it, then?”

“That,” said James, “is a problem for older and taller versions of us. Tonight we ought to fit, and so tonight we can roam the halls unseen, together.”

Sirius spent the rest of the morning and afternoon tucked into The Wizard of Earthsea, curled up in a common room armchair while Remus laid out beneath his feet, reading the second in the series. James and Peter entertained themselves with Peter’s new chess set, which it turned out called out colorful expletives when one piece bested another. It was rather difficult to pull himself away for dinner, although the promise of the feast got him to his feet.

Due to the small number of remaining students and staff, the head table was the only one laid out for dinner, but it was laid out exorbitantly with wreaths and tankards of Butterbeer and a dozen glistening carved turkeys. Hestia Jones beckoned them to come sit with the two other Gryffindors and Professor McGonagall, who was giggling with Professor Sprout over little glasses of sherry. Dumbledore was listening pleasantly to Slughorn on his right, who seemed to be rather winded from the long, gesticulative story he was telling. Snape, of course, was sat at the far end of the table, scowling into his plate, and Sirius was in nearly a good enough mood to pity him as he seemed to partake in none of the merriment.

As Sirius and James pulled apart their Christmas crackers and each adorned the little paper crowns they were rewarded with, Sirius looked down the table and his laughter stopped short. At the other end of the table, though not quite as far removed as Snape, was an older Slytherin girl with an unruly cascade of black curls and rather red-rimmed eyes. Sirius blinked as Andromeda caught him staring and gave him a mournful little wave.

Without explaining to the rest of them where he was going, Sirius picked up his Butterbeer and made his way across to squeeze in beside her. “Andy,” he said, not comprehending. “Why are you here?”

“Good to see you, too, little cousin,” said Andromeda, elbowing him. “And Happy Christmas and all that.”

“Yeah, cheers,” said Sirius impatiently. “Why aren’t you still at home for holidays?”

“Loads to do for N.E.W.T.s,” said Andromeda, not meeting his eye. “I ought to get a head start on studying and couldn’t get anything done with Bella and Cissy around, you know how they are.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re not going to get anything but top marks in your N.E.W.T.s,” he pointed out. “Really, what happened?”

Andy took a large swallow of her pumpkin juice and then sighed. She blinked and looked over at him fully, eyes roving over his denims and the David Bowie shirt Remus had picked up and stared at the longest. “Look at you, in your muggle finery. Glad you liked your gift.”

Sirius gaped down at his clothes. “Did…did they kick you out for giving me this?”

“As if I’d tell them what I sent you,” said Andromeda, rolling her eyes. “No. I just…well, I had to get out of there, didn’t I? You had the right of it, staying here. Auntie Araminta decided to pay a visit this morning, you know what a lovely doll she is.” Andy’s voice was more bitter than Sirius had ever heard it. Andromeda was usually much more skilled than him at staying pleasant and quiet around family, even if she usually gifted Sirius with the occasional snarky aside.

“You know what kick she’s on at the Ministry right now?” Andromeda asked him harshly. Before Sirius could shake his head, she said, “Muggle hunting. She’d like to legalize it. She brought fliers and everything. I hit her with a Bat Bogey Hex, of course, and everyone went to pieces, naturally. Bellatrix tried to rip my hair out, which I expected from her, but Narcissa…” Andromeda broke off, gazing at an indeterminate point down the table. “Narcissa just said some things I’d’ve rather she didn’t say. So I apperated back to Hogsmeade and decided I’d return for second term a bit early, that’s all. I’m of age; they can’t stop me.”

Sirius watched Andromeda for a moment, quite worried her eyes might grow even wetter and that she might begin crying at the table. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, about time, I suppose.”

Andromeda blinked, brow furrowed as she looked down at him.

“Auntie Araminta’s always got bogeys hanging out her nose, flapping every time she breathes,” Sirius explained. “I expect that hex at least cleared out her nostrils. You’ve done her a favor.”

Andromeda blinked for a moment longer, before she broke out into giggles. “Oh Merlin,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You’re right. Suppose I only did her a favor at the Ministry, now that they’ll be able to hear her out without getting distracted.”

“No chance of that,” said Sirius, patting his cousin on the arm. “Her ears are always filled with bits of wax, so they’ll likely be focused on that instead.”

When Andromeda had shoved him away, insisting that he enjoy Christmas supper with his friends, Sirius felt as though he’d gotten another gift—an unexpected bit of family that he was actually glad to see.

James was vibrating with anticipation all that night, strutting around the common room impatiently until they all agreed the hour was late enough to sneak out uner the cloak. James retrieved it immediately, and the boys crept through the portrait hole before he swung it around himself and opened his arms, inviting them to huddle close.

“You’d better have brushed your teeth, Pete,” said Sirius gravely. “We’re all about to be getting familiar with each other’s breath.”

It was a strange sensation, having the fabric of the cloak over them. It was slippery, almost chill to the touch, and Sirius could see through the heavy fabric as if it were just a slightly hazy screen. It was stranger still to try and maneuver as an eight-legged entity, hunched and jostling each other. He was fairly certain that he was breathing down Remus’s neck, and James kept trodding on his foot. Awkwardly, and with a great deal of “Ouch!” and “Budge over!” they managed a sort of synchronization that allowed them to navigate the darkened halls.

Their slow progress was made even slower by the fact that James insisted on checking behind every tapestry and prying at the frame of every suspicious painting as they explored. His prodding was finally rewarded when he twisted the bust of a buck-toothed wizard that was slightly askew in its alcove, and it sneezed, revealing a set of spiral steps descending downward. Following it, they discovered that it led almost directly to the Transfiguration corridor. “Brilliant!” Peter squeaked. “Now we’ll never be late to our afternoon Transfiguration lessons again! McGonagall will stop making us muck out the rabbit pens.”

They were rewarded with another hidden staircase in their search, and then a large, private alcove that was only accessible when one stroked the unicorn on the tapestry in front of it from right to left. When stroked from left to right, the alcove revealed only a single-stalled lavatory. “Still useful,” Sirius reasoned.

Each of their discoveries was marked down by Remus, who crouched to take notes on his map. Their feet were properly tired by the time they made it to their intended destination, the basements down beneath the entrance corridor to the Marble Staircase. The basements were mostly windowless except for a few slats high up on the wall, letting in shafts of moonlight that seeped in from just above the ground. Unlike the dungeons, they were built from warm brick and wood paneling and filled with storerooms that contained many oddities—shelves of crystal balls that glimmered in the dark like eyes, boxes of cushions and feathers that were used for Charms lessons. There were great round casks all along one wall of the corridor they walked through.

“Where do you reckon the Hufflepuff common room is?” whispered James, head knocking into Sirius’s as he looked around. “I wonder if it’s behind a painting like the Fat Lady. But there aren’t any paintings to talk to down here.”

Indeed, the corridor they were in held a great array of paintings, but all of them still-life, motionless except for the odd butterfly fluttering at the periphery of a cornucopia. They turned a corner and pushed open a half-shut door, and the sight Sirius was met with made him rather want to turn and bolt back up to Gryffindor Tower.

Two people were within the cramped storage closet, wrapped around each other and firmly attached at the face. One of the people was his cousin, Andromeda. The other was a tall, handsome boy with thick blonde hair, wearing Hufflepuff robes. The couple, with hair mussed and lips red, sprang apart quite quickly as the door swung open, seemingly on its own.

“Ted!” Andromeda hissed, sounding somewhat out of breath. “Is someone there?”

The boy, Ted, apparently, strode forward to look out at the corridor, and James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter scampered backward as one so that he would not run directly into them. “I don’t see anyone,” he said apprehensively. “But maybe I should walk you back to the dungeons. We’ve risked staying out long enough, probably.”

Andromeda sighed, coming to join Ted in the doorway. She wrapped her arms around him tenderly enough that Sirius thought he should look away. “I don’t want to,” she said quietly. “If I go to the Slytherin common room, I’ll think of Cissy, and if I think of Cissy, I’ll think of how she told everyone in my family about you, and if I think about that, I’ll think about how my mother tried to fill my mouth with soap suds, claiming she’d wash away the filth you’d left there.” Andromeda shivered, turning her face into Ted’s shoulder, and made a sound that Sirius thought might be a sob. “I hate them.”

“You don’t hate them,” said Ted softly, smoothing down her hair. “Er, well…you don’t hate Narcissa.”

“I do,” said Andromeda vehemently. “She’s left me no choice. She’s sided with them, and good riddance. Don’t know why I ever trusted her.”

“Yeah, well…” said Ted fondly and comfortingly. “Family’s funny. My parents turn vaguely green whenever I even mention magic. They’re very…very muggle. They’ll like you, though.”

Andromeda sniffed and looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” said Ted, kissing her nose. Sirius couldn’t help but stare. He’d never seen his parents so much as brush hands, and he wondered where Andromeda had learned such nauseating sweetness. “Hey,” said Ted after a moment. “I’m the only seventh year Hufflepuff who stayed on for holidays, you know.” There was something to his voice that made Sirius feel both repulsed and flushed at the same time.

“Yeah?” asked Andromeda, smiling slightly. “Won’t your dormitory be lonely?”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be so lonely…” Ted reasoned, and Sirius had to actively bite down a groan and clamp his hands over his ears and shut his eyes tight. That didn’t stop him from hearing a great deal of giggling and then finally footsteps turning the corner they’d just come from.

At long last, James pried Sirius's hands off of his ears and said, “Remus, mark down this cupboard here. Write, good room for snogging.”

“Don’t write that,” said Sirius quickly. “We should board this room up, or else burn it to the ground.” He stood, shuddering and forcing himself to consider what he’d overheard. “Now it makes sense why Andy ran out on the family, though,” he reasoned. “She fancies a muggleborn. She was sucking the face off of a muggleborn.”

“They were just snogging,” said Peter, although his ears were very pink under the cloak. “One day, you’ll want to do it, too.”

“If that day ever comes,” said Sirius, “strike me down where I stand. Give me an honorable funeral.”

“Hush,” said Remus, as though he found the whole snogging business rather dull. “Do you smell that?” he asked, and Sirius heard the boy’s stomach grumble.

“Remus,” Sirius began, scandalized, “Are you hungry at a time like this?”

“Yes,” said Remus. “Starved. Can’t you smell all that food?”

“No,” frowned Sirius, taking a deep whiff and only catching a bit of James’s armpit. “I don’t smell a thing.”

“Do you not?” Remus asked incredulously. “It smells like pumpkin juice, and warm bread, and spiced sausage, and treacle tart—”

“Oh, stop. Now I’m starved, too,” complained Peter.

All four boys jumped nearly high enough to knock the cloak off themselves as there was a piercing CRACK that rang through the corridor. Sirius nearly collapsed back into James as a house elf appeared from nowhere, her enormous ears trembling as she carried a stack of plates about three times her own height that swayed sickeningly above her. She seemed to pay it no mind, however, as she reached out her small, long-fingered hand, and stroked the painting before her. No—she tickled it.

It was a rather plain rendering of a bowl of fruit, but under the house elf’s ministrations, the green pear began giggling, a high-pitched squeal, until it turned into a great brass doorknob, and the elf turned it to enter a brightly lit room. This time, as the air from the open door wafted over, Sirius did catch the smell, and it smelled tantalizingly like food. The elf shut the door behind her, and once again the four boys were left startled in the basement corridor.

“What in heaven and hell was that thing?” asked Remus, turning to the other three beneath the cloak.

“Have you never seen a house-elf?” James asked. “How do you think the beds stay clean when we never make or wash them? For Merlin’s sake, how do you think your clothes get laundered?”

Remus looked taken aback. “I dunno. Magic castle.”

“Yes,” said James. “Magic in the sense that house-elves do all the cooking and cleaning.”

“Speaking of cooking,” said Peter, casting off the cloak and striding forward. “Let’s go in after it.”

If something other than food were involved in this mission, Sirius suspected that Peter would have been much warier, but as it was, Peter tickled the pear without hesitation and swung open the painting.

James and Remus followed him through with Sirius bringing up the rear, pulling off the invisibility cloak and shoving it into James’s pocket ahead of him. The room they entered was astoundingly large, about the size of the Great Hall above. In fact, it looked quite a bit like the Great Hall, with five long tables arranged in just the same way. But while the Great Hall had an enchanted ceiling, this ceiling was stone and arched, bearing racks of pots and pans and strings of garlic and onions. And while the Great Hall had large stained-glass windows, every wall in this room was given over to countertops and shelves of food. Across from where they’d entered was a large roaring fireplace. The intoxicating smells and heat made Sirius suddenly aware of just how exhausted he was.

The room had been quite noisy when they entered, filled with voices and the clattering of cookware. But as Sirius stood upright after crouching through the elf-sized door, the room fell eerily quiet aside from the crackling of the fire. Dozens of hip-height house-elves dressed in tea cozies and dish towels, all emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest, blinked up at the four newcomers, their enormous eyes wide, their bat-like ears twitching. None of them looked quite as grizzled as Kreacher, nor as displeased to see him as Kreacher usually was.

“Er…hello,” said James, mussing his hair nervously. “Or…good evening. We hope we’re not a bother. We just…fancied a bite, I suppose.”

It was as if James couldn’t have constructed a better sentence to please them if he had tried. All at once they were tugged into sitting by little hands saying “This way, Sirs!” and “Poor hungry sirs, we’ve got just the thing!” and trays were being carried out with caramel drizzled cakes and meat pies and piles of biscuits.

“Remus,” said James, voice thick with emotion. “Mark this on the map.”

Chapter Text

January 6, 1972

Lily

Lily had no sooner finished her hasty helping of porridge than she was sweeping up her things from the breakfast table and patting Marlene and Mary fondly on the head as she got up to go.

“Where on earth do you think you’re going?” Mary asked. “We’ve got Herbology this morning.”

“I know,” said Lily. “Need to grab a scarf and a jumper since it’s so bloody freezing out there.”

“But you’re already wearing a scarf and a jumper,” Marlene pointed out.

“One can never have too many scarves and jumpers!” Lily declared, hurrying from the Great Hall. It wasn’t a great distance to the library, but it would make the journey to the greenhouses longer. Still, she didn’t mind as she made her way through the shelves and found Severus on his own, scowling into his book like usual. His scowl softened, then disappeared as he spotted her as she made her way toward him.

“Happy birthday, Sev!” she said loudly enough to earn a hush from Madam Pince.

Severus blinked owlishly up at her. “How did you know it was my birthday?”

“You had to tell me second week of term, remember?” Lily asked joyfully. “We needed it in order to complete each other’s star charts in Astronomy.”

“Oh,” said Severus, frowning. “Right.” He took in her grin suspiciously. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”

“I did,” said Lily holding the gift in question behind her back, “and you’re welcome. And you’re also welcome for your Christmas gift, now that you mention it.” “It was nice,” said Severus quickly, “but it was too much. I didn’t know how to thank you. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Who gives a toss about that?” asked Lily. “I took Mum and Dad to Diagon Alley for the first time over holidays…Tuney wouldn’t come, of course, but we had a good time gawking at all the shops. Dad nearly got carried away and bought me an owl for Christmas, but then we saw the pellets and the mess all over the floor of the shop, and we thought about how Petunia would react and thought better of it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Severus, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t let that muggle—”

“Oh, let’s not,” said Lily sharply. “You can call her by her name, you know. Petunia.”

Severus grumbled. “I’ll call her by her name when she calls me by mine.”

Lily looked him over, chewing on her bottom lip. “You’re in a rather foul mood,” she pointed out. “How were things at home over holidays with your mum and—”

“I didn’t go home,” said Severus shortly. “I decided to stay here rather than go to Cokeworth just to listen to them scream and bicker.”

“Oh, Sev,” said Lily sympathetically, taking the seat across from him. “You didn’t say.”

“You didn’t ask,” said Severus, scowling properly again. “You didn’t even come by to notice. My mum had to redirect the owl you sent.”

Lily leaned back in her chair, jaw tight. It was his birthday, she reminded herself. Perhaps his mum hadn’t written, or his dad had said something nasty. She had come calling on him often enough on Spinner’s End last summer to overhear the shouting that came from the porch door whenever Severus slipped out to join her. “I’m sorry, Sev,” she managed to say at last. “It’s only that I saw you all term, and I was with family.”

“Muggle family,” Severus pointed out bitterly. “Muggle family that can’t possibly understand you.”

With frustration she could no longer contain, Lily slammed the parcel she carried down on the table in front of Severus, covering his open book and again drawing a sharp hush from Madam Pince. “Here’s your birthday present, Severus. My muggle father who couldn’t possibly understand me helped me pick it out. It’s a new book bag, since yours is constantly falling apart. Has your initials on it and everything.”

Before he could fix her with his shocked and ashamed expression, Lily turned heel and marched off. She made it as far as the next alcove of desks before she slumped against a shelf and ducked into her hands to hide her wet eyes. She buried her face into a shelf as if she could disappear between the book spines.

She had only managed to weep a few tears in earnest when the book her face was mashed against shifted and was withdrawn from the shelf’s other side. Lily was left looking through the opening at a grimacing Remus Lupin.

“Sorry,” he said uncomfortably. “Needed this one.” They stared at each other for a long moment, then Remus added, “Are you all right? I overheard—”

“Eavesdropping on me, Lupin?” Lily asked altogether too harshly.

“No,” said Remus, unabashed. “Quiet library. You were sort of shouting.” He tilted his head, considering her. “I’m…er…on my way to Herbology now if you want to…”

Lily glanced at the large, many-handed clock that hung over Madam Pince’s circulation desk. They had to leave now or risk running late, and her options were either to walk with Remus or insist on walking just in front of him or behind him, which seemed a bit humiliating. “Fine,” she said, wiping her face hastily. “We’d better go. Keep up.”

To Lily’s great annoyance, Lupin seemed only slightly amused by her deep frown and her rapid pace. She had to wait for him several times on the steps as he followed her, unhurried.

“What’s the point of those long gangly legs if you can’t use them to walk quickly?” Lily asked him.

“Broke my leg not long ago,” said Lupin simply. “Took a—a bad fall. It’s not been quite right since.”

“Oh,” said Lily, unable to stop the seeping in of sympathy that was making headway within her heart. She slowed her pace considerably. “That’s fine. We have time, I suppose. Sprout’s never too hard on tardiness.”

“Maybe not with you she’s not,” said Remus, eyebrow raised. “She’s always getting after us.”

“Hmm,” said Lily noncommittally. “Why aren’t you with the rest of the stooges, anyway?” she asked. “They’ll be missing their fourth.”

“There’s only three stooges if you’ll remember correctly,” said Remus with a grin. “And they’re all accounted for without me in the mix.”

Lily laughed before she could stop herself, then quickly cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’ve only got Mary to discuss muggle-y things with. You caught me by surprise.”

Remus scrunched up his mouth a bit to the side. “Not everyone reacts to the idea of muggles like someone spat in their tea.”

Lily looked up at him, reckoning he’d managed to hear a great deal of her conversation with Severus. “I know that. Marlene’s perfectly lovely about all of it. And Sev…well, he probably would be better about it if…if he weren’t so sensitive about it. His father’s muggle.”

Remus blinked as if the news surprised him, but he recovered quickly. “Ah. For me it’s my mam. But I’m not sensitive about her at all. It’s the wizard father that things are—” Remus cut himself off, chewing his lip. “Never mind,” he finished quickly.

“That things are tricky with?” Lily asked, completing his sentence for him.

Remus nodded, although he clearly wanted to change the subject.

“Why were you in the library during breakfast, anyway?” Lily asked, obliging him as they exited the castle and began their way across the snowy grounds.

Remus shrugged, kicking at some ice on the stone steps. “I’m a bit behind in Astronomy, still. I missed two lessons at the start of term and it seems like they were rather important. I have Sirius’s notes but…”

“Black doesn’t take notes,” said Lily, brows raised.

“He sort of tries,” said Remus quickly. “For me, I s’pose.”

“Hmm,” Lily hummed dubiously. That didn’t sound anything like the Sirius Black she’d met. “Well, I do take notes. Good notes. You can always borrow some off me.”

“Oh,” said Remus, chewing his lip before finally smiling. “Cheers, Evans. That could help.” He had a nice smile—nice teeth, Lily thought passively. Sharp canines, a little crooked. Remus seemed to notice her frowning attentively at him, and he smirked. “But I should admit I heard you saying that you’d done Sniv—that you’d done Snape’s star chart. I like you well enough, but I’m afraid I don’t want to read any notes you have about the inner workings of his mind.”

Lily rolled her eyes but smiled back. “We all traded charts with our partners after completing them, you dolt. So the only mind you’ll be privy to the inner workings of is my own.”

“Brilliant,” said Remus. “Need all the help I can get, there.”

“I’m not some sort of puzzle,” Lily scoffed, feeling a bit affronted. But Remus was still smiling agreeably, so she added, “I just don’t like arrogant snobs who torment other people.”

Remus nodded. “Neither do I, I suppose.”

Lily fixed him with a hard glare that she reasoned he deserved a bit of. “Could have fooled me.”

“The boys aren’t so bad,” he responded easily. “Besides, there’re a lot worse arrogant snobs. And there’re a lot worse types of torment.”

Before Lily could parse through his meaning, they’d arrived at the greenhouses where Professor Sprout was passing out the trowels. With agreeable nods to each other, Lily rejoined Mary and Marlene, and Remus was welcomed loudly by James, Sirius, and Peter from where they’d already managed to spill a great deal of potting soil on the floor all around them. When they’d finished with Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon, Lily rummaged through the notes under her bed and surfaced the pages from the first two months of term. She found Remus in the common room, sandwiched between Potter and Black, who were carrying out a loud conversation over the top of his head as he hunched over a book. Both boys quieted, however, as Lily approached. She cleared her throat and Remus looked up at her, then at the pile of parchment in her hands. He quickly got up and walked with her to a nearby desk, leaving a puzzled James and Sirius to look on.

“This should be everything,” said Lily cheerfully, plopping it down. “You really ought to do your star chart if you missed the first lesson. It has some foundational skills, so it’s no wonder you’re behind. You should find everything you need just by referencing mine, or if you’d really like, I can have a go at yours for you…”

“No, that’s all right,” said Remus appreciatively as he looked over the notes. “Thanks, Evans, these are great. He paused, taking in the date of her chart. “Your birthday’s really near,” he pointed out. “January thirtieth.”

“Yeah,” said Lily, chewing her cheek. “We’re doing a bit of a Sunday tea, Mary and Marlene and me. Probably just here in the common room after dinner. You’re welcome to come by for cake if you’d like.”

Remus went quite still, and it looked as though something pained him. “On the thirtieth? I…I can’t.”

“Oh,” said Lily. “All right. That’s fine.” She wasn’t quite sure what had made her invite him, aside from the fact that he was rather easy to talk to and took no apparent joy in teasing her.

“But—” Remus began, seeming to search for his words. “I’m usually studying on my own in the library,” he said at last. “Potter and Black don’t need to revise, more often than not, and Pete can’t be bothered. If you ever get tired of Snape, or if he’s ever a git to you…”

“That’d be lovely,” said Lily easily enough, although she gave Lupin an assessing look for good measure. He was asking for someone to study with, but it seemed to be rather a significant step for him for some reason. “Potter and Black are not invited,” she added.

“Fine, but Potter and Black are rather lousy at following that specific instruction,” said Remus. “I started the term determined not to even sit near them. Now I can hardly breathe without them wanting to be included.”

“Well, I am made of stronger stuff than you, Lupin,” said Lily determinedly.

“Yes,” said Remus defeatedly. “You probably are.”

January 31, 1972

Sirius

Sirius had only just finished inking a deviously curly moustache on Peter’s face while he napped on the couch before the fire when Lily Evans strode over to him, looking as though she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Evening, Evans,” he said, looking her up and down. Her red hair was loose around her shoulders, curling a bit from the damp night underneath her knobbly wool hat. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. Acknowledging her deep frown, he added, “Or displeasure?”

“Remus wasn’t in astronomy tonight,” she pointed out.

“No,” Sirius agreed warily. Sirius had spent much of the evening ruminating on this very fact. Remus was sound asleep in the dormitory upstairs since he’d been ill enough for the hospital wing again on Sunday night. Whatever treatment Madam Pomfrey continually administered to Remus did not seem to be working, and Sirius was of a mind to start spying on the healer to see if she was secretly poisoning Lupin to prolong the amount of time she got to spend in his company. This didn’t seem very likely, but Sirius was beginning to run out of plausible explanations. Remus complained of headaches, but headache tonics were some of the easiest potions to acquire—Slughorn already had the first years preparing the base, and so Pomfrey should have plenty in supply. And yet, at the tail end of the holidays, Remus’s illness had seemed particularly difficult, taking him a full day to recover. Again today, he hadn’t been able to attend class at all.

“Well,” said Evans, clearly wanting to conclude this conversation quickly. “I copied over my notes for him.” She held out a neat stack of parchment, notes done in different ink colors according to topic.

“I took notes for him,” said Sirius, puzzled. He’d seen Remus and Evans coming in together through the portrait hole more often recently, but he’d thought that was rather a coincidence. He wasn’t sure when the two of them had decided to start doing unspoken favors for each other.

“Did you?” asked Evans calmly. “Or did you and Potter spend time spreading ink around the eyepieces of all the telescopes?”

“I did both,” said Sirius. “I am multi-talented in this way.”

“Yes, well,” said Evans, holding out the stack of parchment again. “In case Remus finds your notes less than satisfactory, give him these from me, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” agreed Sirius, and Evans only sneered at him as she walked back to a chair where Mary’s cat seemed to have happily taken her spot.

Sirius flipped through the notes, woefully admitting to himself that these were far superior to his. In truth, he didn’t often feel as though he needed notes, and he rather struggled to inhabit the mind of someone who did. Remus took fastidious notes in sloppy, scratchy script, always smudging ink over his hands and mashing the papers out of order into his bag. Sirius failed to summon the same kind of swotty mania, and while he figured he managed to get the main points for Remus in his own neat hand, Remus rather liked the tedious, minute details. Sirius would endeavor to do better so as not to be shown up by the likes of Lily Evans.

James was off in the library for once, working on the Defense essay he’d neglected in favor of extra flying on the Quidditch pitch now that the snow had eased up. Peter was twitching his nose in his sleep as his new moustache dried on his upper lip. With nothing better to do, Sirius looked through Evans’s notes, bitterly hoping to catch a mistake of some sort. There were none—the notes were perfect.

The atmospheric affects of a full moon can be felt even as it first wanes on a night like tonight, Lily had written in a rather over-flourished prose. Its residual light alters our readings of the solar and planetary alignments, and the continued blossoming of aconite, or wolfsbane, during the night of a full moon and the few nights after, wards away some of the darker interpretations that might be read from the stars’ placement.

It was all rather dull, and Sirius felt sure he could make it more interesting for Lupin. Still, Lily’s notes were informative, so he made his way upstairs to drop them off by Remus’s bedside. Remus, however, was not in his bed, and Sirius could hear the shower tap running in the bathroom, so he settled into Remus’s bed with the notes on his chest to wait. Remus’s bed was a mess of chocolate wrappers and open books, pages down to mark his place.

Sirius was about to pick up one such book when the tap went quiet, and soon after, Remus came out, scrubbing his hair with a towel.

“Lupin,” said Sirius, tilting his head to read one of the titles. “Are you attempting to read these all at the same time? Or do you grow bored of one, start the next, and simply forget to put any of them away?”

Sirius expected some sarcastic remark, but Remus did not say anything. Instead, he seemed to have frozen in place, lit by the nearby furnace. Looking up to see what was the matter, Sirius noticed that Remus was only in his pyjama trousers, shirtless after showering. This was nothing of note, since James, Peter, and Sirius himself emerged from the showers in much the same way, but suddenly Sirius realized that he must have never seen Remus outside of a school shirt or jumper. He realized this because Remus was covered in jagged scars, pink and silver, all across his chest, shoulders, and arms. Not only that, but he was badly bruised, all purple-turning-yellow on one side along his jagged ribs. Some of the scars looked old, settled into the skin, and others looked alarmingly raised and fresh. If Sirius had seen Remus shirtless before, he surely would have noticed those.

Mouth open in surprise, he looked up to Remus’s face, which appeared even more shocked than his own. Remus had purple shadows beneath his eyes like he always did when he was recovering from being ill. Gauze and a plaster covered one collarbone, and the length of the arm on the same side, where perhaps Remus had been given another of those strange scars. Sirius’s voice caught in his throat, and he only managed to get out, “I…Remus…you—”

Before he’d strung together a thought, Remus turned back into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him. Sirius stayed where he was for a startled moment, then realized he ought to leave. Remus had thought he had the dormitory to himself, clearly. He hadn’t wanted Sirius to see…hadn’t wanted any of them to see what Sirius had seen.

In a dizzy rush, Sirius left the dormitory, exiting the common room altogether as if Remus required even that extra bit of privacy. He slumped down in a nearby alcove, and it wasn't until he did so that he realized he was still holding Lily’s notes.

In fragmented thoughts, Sirius tried to piece it together. Remus was ill so often; Remus had broken his leg somehow; Remus spent entire nights away from the bed where he might have been most comfortable; Remus was coated in frankly gruesome scars that Pomfrey either wouldn’t, or couldn’t, help him heal.

With some alarm, Sirius considered that Remus might’ve been attacked by some sort of violent, magical animal. Perhaps that was what he’d been recovering from last night. But that made no sense, not unless he was for some reason being attacked repeatedly what seemed like every single month…

Every month. Sirius tried to think. Did it simply feel as though Remus was sick every month, or was he sick, every month?

With a sudden jittery thrill, Sirius looked down at Lily’s notes, already knowing what he’d see there. The atmospheric affects of a full moon can be felt even as it first wanes on a night like tonight.

Sirius shifted through the pages rapidly, searching for the lunar chart. His stomach flipped when he spotted confirmation. Last night had been a full moon. He scanned his way up the chart until he got to the next most recent full—the night of New Year’s Eve, when Dumbledore had sung Auld Lang Syne in his wheezy voice for the remaining students over dinner, and Remus had left for the hospital wing in the early afternoon. Sirius followed the full moon cycle all the way back up to September fifth, the first night that they had noticed Remus’s empty bed and wondered where he had gone off to.

Springing up, Sirius began pacing, restless and unsure what to do with this information. If Remus was a…a Werewolf, it was in direct contradiction with most of what he’d heard about the disease and about the creatures. Remus was a boy no older than he was, not some drooling monster without the capabilities of language. According to the bestiaries in his family library, Werewolves didn’t bathe, they didn’t deign to wear clothes like normal wizards, they ran through the woods feasting on raw meat whether they were in their wolf form or human. Sirius had never seen Remus feast on anything other than creamed potatoes and pudding. And he was almost always decidedly bathed and clothed.

With a jolt, Sirius remembered that he’d even mentioned his Uncle Cygnus’s inclination for Werewolf hunting. He felt himself go red in the face as he considered what a prat he must have sounded like.

And all those scars…Were they scars from the Werewolf that bit him, Sirius wondered? But no…some of them had been so recent, and Remus had even been bleeding. Was Remus leaving school grounds and fighting other creatures with the same condition? Or else out hunting some very combative prey? The thought was rather exciting, but Sirius couldn’t imagine Remus doing any such thing. He’d be more likely to chain himself up beforehand, rather than risk doing any serious damage.

Remus always left with ample time before nightfall on a full moon and was kept for hours after, which meant somehow Pomfrey was aware of what was happening to him. And if Madam Pomfrey knew, it stood to reason that Dumbledore knew, and Sirius doubted Dumbledore was sending Remus out into the forbidden forest to fend for himself. Still, Sirius imagined a Remus transformed, sprinting through the dark wood, animal in the moonlight, and something like jealousy panged through him. He tried to shake that feeling away quickly.

Any uncertainty he’d fostered was gone now; Sirius felt certain that the Remus Lupin who took great pains with his homework and shared muggle books with him was also a Werewolf. Sirius laughed, suddenly and loudly. “I can’t bloody believe it,” he said aloud.

“Whatever you can’t bloody believe,” came the voice of the nearby Fat Lady, “you’d better come to terms with it soon. It’s nearly after hours and you ought not to be in the halls, you know.”

“All right, all right,” said Sirius, shuffling Lily’s notes back into order. “Froze toes,” he told the Fat Lady, and she swung open to readmit him into the common room.

Sitting in a chair, almost directly outside the portrait hole, was Remus, still in his pyjama trousers but now in a large, stripey jumper as well. He stood up as soon as Sirius entered, wide eyed and panicked. Looking at him, Sirius realized he was perhaps now privy to the secret Remus most desperately wanted to keep, a secret that clearly terrified him, and some of the joy of his discovery disappeared.

“Hello,” said Remus breathlessly. “Er…”

Sirius tossed the hair from his eyes and smiled easily. “Hiya. Nearly forgot, Evans asked me to give you these.” He held out the Astronomy notes. “She had the nerve to say my notes were lousy and that you were better off with hers.”

“Oh,” said Remus, blinking down at them. When he reached out to take the pages, Sirius noticed that his fingers shook.

“If you decide to start fancying her, we might have to get your head checked,” said Sirius with a smirk.

The remark startled Remus out of some of his white-faced reservation. “I do have the ability to be pleasant to a girl without fancying her.” Remus frowned, refocusing. “Earlier, in the dormitory—”

“If you’re worried that I spotted your scrawny arms, Lupin,” said Sirius, “then you’re in luck. The room was much too dark. Besides, I won’t go telling anyone you’re a gangly git.”

“Oh,” said Remus, his frown deepening in confusion. “Er…right.”

“Come on,” said Sirius looking around the common room. “Peter must have woken up; let’s see how long before he notices what I drew on his face.”

March 10, 1972

Remus

The January moon had been hard, being a total eclipse following on the heels of a blue moon. Locked within the shack, the wolf had seemed to sense without sight that the moon glowed blood red in the Earth’s shadow, making him want to rip, tear, and ravage.

The late February moon had also been hard, mostly because Remus had insisted on pacing through is pain in the dark shack, nervous and agitated when the change overtook him, transforming while he was still standing. Sirius didn’t know, Remus reasoned. Sirius had looked at him and his assorted scars, very much noticing them and quite smart enough to reason out what they meant, but he hadn’t done so. Sirius didn’t know.

If Sirius knew, he would not have clambered into the bed beside him, a day before the full moon when he finally finished The Tombs of Atuan to discuss it. He would not have laughed and shoved Remus and himself behind a tapestry before Filch could catch them pouring a grease potion over the dungeon steps while the Slytherins were at breakfast. He would not have told James rather sharply to leave it when James reasoned Remus ought to spend his February twenty-ninth headache in his own bed since the hospital wing didn’t seem to help any.

Remus thought of the letter he’d received from his da before the start of term, something he hadn’t done in a rather long time. It had included a none-too-vague warning about what wizards might be driven to do if they found out about his condition. If Sirius knew what Remus was, he’d more likely than not try to off him with a silver knife while he was sleeping.

As a result of his restlessness, Remus came to on the morning of March first with a dislocated shoulder and a gash in his leg. The wolf always seemed to know when Remus was fretting. Remus supposed that was because he was the wolf, but he didn’t like to think of it that way. Pomfrey had worried over him and wanted him to rest, but Remus was more determined than ever to be back on his feet, just in case Sirius took advantage of his absence to ruminate on what it all might mean.

He supposed he had been foolish in thinking he might be allowed to enjoy something more than tolerable acquaintanceship with his dorm mates. Giving them that kind of proximity would only give them all the clues they’d need to unmask him. But just when Remus had tormented himself into deciding that he ought to try avoiding the other three boys again, his mother had sent a wizard post owl with a hand-painted card depicting Llanddwyn Beach on Anglesey, as well as a tin of her homemade fudge. “She’s a day early,” Remus had remarked. “She must not know how quickly owl post works.”

“Day early for what?” asked Peter, eyeing the fudge.

“My birthday,” Remus admitted. “It’s tomorrow.”

“What on earth is with you lads?” asked James sounding surprisingly frustrated, looking between Remus and Sirius. “I told you all my birthday first week of term. I reminded you all of it just at the beginning of this month. And not a word from either of you until your families drop off presents at the breakfast table. Are you trying to make me feel like a horrible mate?”

That was how it had come to pass that all four boys were laid out in the middle of their dormitory floor, on top of cushions lifted from the common room, with their bed hangings tied together to create a sort of tent around them. In order to enter and exit the blanket fortress, one had to crawl beneath one of the beds on one’s belly, and that was precisely what Peter was now doing, with the Invisibility Cloak wadded up in one hand and an enormous plate of chocolate gateau in the other.

“The elves wanted to give me about six of these,” said Peter, “But I could only carry the one.”

“We need to invent a spell that could give you five more arms, then,” said James, sounding quite serious. “But the one will do for tonight, thank you, Petey.”

Sirius made a half attempt to transfigure a shoelace into a candle, but it wouldn't quite stay upright, so they settled for James’s lit wand stuck in the center of the cake. After a rousing, pitchy, and altogether overly long-winded rendition of Happy Birthday, Remus acted out blowing out the single candle while James covertly whispered “Nox!”

James cut Remus about a quarter of the massive cake, enough that even he felt a bit queasy at the thought of finishing it. Once again Peter had forgotten silverware, and as a result Peter had a rather impressive chocolate goatee circling his mouth, still intact by the time he collapsed onto his cushion and assorted pillows and fell asleep.

“I still can’t believe you’d rather do this than go out and try to snog the Giant Squid,” huffed Sirius, although he looked quite comfortable and pleased.

Remus shrugged. “Not all of us want soggy, squiddy birthdays, Black. This is just fine.”

“What do you normally do for birthdays, Lupin?” James asked, helping himself to Remus’s unfinished slice.

“Dunno,” said Remus, thinking. “Never had friends over…we moved around rather a lot. Sometimes Mam’ll take me to the cinema, you know, where muggles watch movies.”

“I’d like to watch a movie,” said Sirius wistfully.

James mulled this over. “But doesn’t it get dull, watching people talk and look at each other when they can’t see you or hear you talking back?”

Remus snorted. “No. The movies usually have a bit more going on than just people having a conversation. You don’t want to talk to the actors on the screen, because they’re interesting enough on their own.”

“Bizarre,” said James, although he looked as though the idea excited him.

When James at last doused the lamp they’d brought in to the fort with them, the darkness felt deeper and warmer than it usually was in the room, due to the blankets blocking out the window light. The boys laid back on their mass of cushions, Remus moving aside his book to get comfortable. His socked feet were brushing up against someone else's, but he couldn't find it in him to care. The next moon was ages away and his shoulder felt alright and he was twelve, now. His father had sent him a heavy book on preliminary Ancient Runes this morning and Remus had to admit it was a rather good gift since it fascinated him endlessly even while being quite dense.

He was still staring up at the reddish glow of moonlight through the red bed hangings when he felt Sirius scoot closer and elbow him in the side. “You sleeping, Remus?”

James was snoring softly opposite him. Remus turned on his side to see Sirius looking back. “You can’t jab someone in the ribs to wake them up and then ask them if they’re sleeping,” he told him.

“Nah,” whispered Sirius good-naturedly. “You were awake. You breathe with your mouth wide open when you’re asleep.”

Remus reached over to the Ancient Runes book by his side and thwacked Sirius on the shoulder with it. His mam’s card, which he’d been using as a bookmark, fluttered out.

Sirius, after exaggeratedly clutching at his shoulder, reached out to examine it. “Your mum did this?”

“Yeah,” said Remus, trying to subdue the part of him that wanted to snatch it away and hide it again. “She’s good with a paintbrush.”

“Still weird for it not to be moving,” Sirius remarked. “But it’s really good. Have you been here?”

“Yeah,” said Remus quietly, closing his eyes. “It’s my mam’s favorite spot. Bit crowded in the summer, but we always had fun there. She’d have liked to live there, I think. Sell paintings to the tourists.”

“Why don’t you live there, then?” Sirius asked bluntly.

Remus opened his eyes again as he frowned. “Like I said, we moved around lots. Mam and I had a new flat or let nearly every year, since I was six.”

“Since you were six?” Sirius asked, brow furrowed. For a moment, Remus thought he looked disturbed by the thought. Why this news would encourage any particular sympathy from Sirius, however, Remus wasn’t sure. Of course, it had been hard to move house, hard to have no friends but his mam, but not as hard as staying locked inside some mansion filled with dark magic artifacts and with a family who seemed to wish he didn’t exist.

“Not your father?” Sirius asked at last. “He’s the one that sent you that book you so rudely turned into a weapon, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” agreed Remus. “But no, not my da. He left…around the same time.”

“Sounds like a proper knob,” said Sirius.

Remus smiled a little. “Maybe. No, he’s all right. He had his reasons, I reckon. I wasn’t an easy kid, or so I’ve heard.”

“Easy’s boring.” Sirius shrugged. He looked very comfortable and very sleepy as he set Remus’s mam’s card back down, taking care to slot it between the pages of Remus’s book. “Too bad we can’t do this every night. I would, if someone weren’t bound to complain about the missing cushions in the common room.”

“Yeah,” agreed Remus, yawning. He turned onto his side, watching as Sirius’s frowning features relaxed. “Maybe we can do it for James’s birthday later this month.”

“Yeah,” Sirius whispered. He went quiet, and his breathing slowed. Remus was just about to let his eyes fall shut, reasoning that Sirius had fallen asleep. But then Sirius sighed and said, “Which day did Jamie say was his birthday again? I know he told us again only this morning.”

“The twenty seventh,” said Remus. He’d taken note of the date because—

“Oh good,” said Sirius, mumbling sleepily. “We’ll all be there. You won’t need the hospital wing, yet.”

“Yeah,” Remus agreed again. He’d shut his eyes, ready to be claimed by sleep, but…

He tensed, opening his eyes slowly. “Sirius?” he managed to breathe out, but his voice was rather tight. His face felt bloodless.

“What’s it?” Sirius slurred, half asleep.

“Why d’you say that?”

“Why’d I say what?” Sirius asked, begrudgingly peeping open an eye. What he saw in Remus’s face must have been enough to rouse him further. “What is it?”

“Why do you say I won’t need the hospital wing yet?” Remus clarified, hands clutching tight at the blankets by his sides.

“Oh,” said Sirius, sounding rather hoarse himself. He looked wide awake again as he stared at a spot on Remus’s pillow, just short of meeting his eyes. Sirius looked deep in thought, but he did not respond any further.

Remus tried several times to speak, but something seized his throat each time. After what felt like an agonizingly long while he said, “How could you know when I’ll be ill?”

Sirius chewed on his cheek, and Remus might have said that his eyes looked a bit apologetic, the gray in them turned dark by the red-hued shadows of their fort. “Do you want me to answer that?” Sirius asked very quietly. “Or should we both continue to pretend that I’m an idiot?”

He knows, Remus thought, suddenly sick. He knows. Remus searched Sirius’s eyes for the telltale disgust or fear, but there was only curiosity there. Instead, it was Remus who was feeling fear, and he was sure he was unable to hide it on his face. He could feel his lower lip tremble, and, horrifyingly, he felt the threat of tears stinging behind eyes. Remus listened for the reassuring sounds of Peter, still softly murmuring through a dream, and James, still emitting his droning snore. Sirius continued staring back calmly. He can’ t know, Remus reasoned. If he knew, he would not be lying beside me, talking quietly. “An idiot about what?” Remus asked weakly.

Sirius sighed. “All right, fine. I just meant that you should be all right on the twenty seventh. It’s a few days before you get…you know…you get all moony.”

So, he knew. He knew, and the friendships Remus had been foolish enough to let himself enjoy were over. His time being Remus the boy and not Remus the Werewolf was over. He snapped his gaze up upward, not able to look at Sirius, not able to look at anything. His vision blurred, and he felt tears seep down his temples, into his hair.

“Don’t cry,” said Sirius, sounding alarmed. “It’s bloody cool.”

The words somehow managed to snap Remus out of his spiral for a moment. “Cool? Are you mad?” He looked back at Sirius.

The other boy was indeed grinning rather madly. “I really didn’t mean to say anything,” he whispered. “But I’m half glad I did. I’ve been positively dying to ask you about it.” He turned on his stomach and pulled closer, propping his head up on his fists. “You were bitten when you were six, then? And where in the world do you go? Do you transform in the hospital wing?”

Remus blinked quickly, knuckling the tears away from his eyes, stomach still a tight coil. “Sorry…er…can you…not ask any of that? I’m afraid I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh,” said Sirius, smile slipping. “Are you still unwell from the last full moon?”

“No,” said Remus slowly, unused to the idea of hearing that question and being able to answer it properly. “It’s just that I expected that if someone ever found out, they’d try to off me. Or at least want me out of their dormitory.”

“Oh,” said Sirius again. “Well, I don’t want you out of our dormitory. And I’m not particularly inclined to off you.”

“Oh, good,” said Remus, kneading a thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets in order to alleviate some of the remaining need to cry.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” said Sirius, more softly this time. “I know wizards are a bit moronic about people like you. For Merlin’s sake, my family especially.”

“You’re not going to tell James?” Remus asked. “Or Peter?”

“Not if you don’t want me to. But I figure you should—it’d at least stop them from worrying sick over you every month.”

“But they should be worrying over me,” said Remus, quietly. “They should be terrified of me.”

“Bah,” said Sirius, flapping a hand above him to dismiss the thought. “What’s there to be terrified of? That you might bore them to death by reading aloud something you found interesting in Hogwarts: A History?”

“You really aren’t scared of me?” Remus asked. When Sirius only looked him over with a rather unimpressed look, he added, “You really won’t tell?”

“Not a soul,” said Sirius. “Not even James. But like I said, you ought to. It took me just one moment with my head out of my arse to piece it together.”

Remus nodded, unclenching his fists. His palms stung where the nails had dug in. Of course, the idea of telling James and Peter made him want to drown himself in the loo, but despite the terror that still clenched him, he believed Sirius when he said he wouldn’t tell. “You realized, after you saw me that night, didn’t you?” he asked after a moment.

He hoped he would not have to clarify which night, and he was relieved when Sirius seemed to understand. “Yeah. I saw the—yeah.”

Remus turned his face into his pillow so that his voice muffled into it. “They’re hideous.”

“They’re not,” said Sirius quickly. “They're you. Big, unassuming jumper over top, but something wicked impressive underneath.”

Remus turned his face just enough to open one eye at Sirius, feeling his ears and cheeks go pink. “I didn’t know…I didn't know that someone could know and not hate me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sirius decided. “Pomfrey knows, doesn’t she? Your mum knows.”

“And my da knows,” whispered Remus. “And he hates me.”

“Like I said,” said Sirius. “He sounds like a knob.” He reached out and shoved Remus lightly. “It’s rotten luck, I suppose, but it’s not your fault. Just got to find the not-knobs and stick with them.”

“And you’re one of the not-knobs?”

“I’m the not-knobbiest,” said Sirius. “I already told you, I reckon it’s cool.”

“It’s not cool, it’s miserable,” Remus insisted.

“Then we’ll have to find a way to make it less miserable, I suppose,” said Sirius, as if it were in any way something he could fix. “Anyway, there’s no being miserable on your birthday. Might be a bit past your birthday now, but the point still stands.” He yawned hugely. “You going to sleep?”

“Probably not,” said Remus honestly.

“Well, I’m going to. I’m knackered. Happy birthday, Remus.”

And as easily as that, Sirius closed his eyes and snuffled into his pillow, still facing Remus, his fine features hard to make out in the dark. Sirius settled into sleep and the Werewolf beside him watched him do so without an ounce of caution or self-preservation. Remus was nearly unsure if he’d dreamt the conversation or not. No part of it had been what he’d prepared for or what he’d been warned to expect. He recalled Dumbledore’s words to him before that first moon at Hogwarts: With the proper precautions, you are just like any other student, aside from the fact that you must carry the burden of pain and a secret.

For the first time, Remus wondered if the words were not just the ramblings of a very kind, rather mad old man. Or perhaps, Sirius was also very kind and rather mad. Remus figured that was more likely.

Remus reached for that monster beneath his skin, growling in wait, but he found nothing, only a sort of bone tiredness that pulled at him until he finally drifted off.

Chapter Text

March 25, 1972

James

James had watched on with dismay but grim acceptance as Gryffindor lost neatly to Hufflepuff, and then with great enthusiasm as Slytherin lost to Ravenclaw, albeit much more messily. Slytherin’s new second year beater, Mulciber, a boy with a brow so low James hardly believed he could see under it, had taken special joy in sending two Ravenclaw chasers to the Hospital Wing immediately after the match to see to Bludger injuries they had insisted on playing through until the game was called.

When the stands had been cleared and the pitch had gone quiet, James had returned to nab a school broom from Hooch and fly up and down the field, attempting to imitate the moves he’d seen from Patsy McKinnon the game prior. The snow had turned into a few remaining crusts of ice below him, and the mist was heavy in the air, but James welcomed the cool blast of it, wiping continually at his glasses as he wound around the hoops. He was somewhat of a soggy mess when he finally landed, shoes squelching into mud as he dismounted his broom. He could hardly see, but to his surprise there were two hazy forms at the bottom of the stands, one a smudge of orange, and the other a smudge of yellow with what looked to be a broom in hand. The yellow smudge lifted an arm and called out, “Oi! Potter!”

James took off his glasses and squinted. “McKinnon? Evans? S’that you? Can’t hardly see.”

“Thought I'd get a chance to have the pitch to myself, but of course you’d beat me to it,” said Marlene. As James approached, he saw that that the both of them had flagons of a drink that seemed to be slightly smoking. Marlene held it out to him. “Here, warm up.”

“You should have flown up and joined,” said James, taking a sip. It was hot chocolate with a peppery taste that sizzled pleasantly in his stomach and made his ears and nose feel like they were steaming. “What on earth is this?”

“Added Pepper-up Potion,” said Evans, taking a sip of her own. Her great deal of red hair was thrown rather messily on top of her head and frizzing in the cold. “I had some left over from potions, since I for one didn’t add too many fire flakes and melt my ladle off its handle.”

James smiled, handing the drink back to Marlene. “It was your precious study partner Lupin who forgot to screw on the cap of the shaker and dumped all the flakes in. He’s rubbish at potions. You’d do the wizarding world a favor if you partnered with him instead of Snivellus.”

“You’d do the wizarding world a favor if you and Black minded your partner instead of daring each other to drink the salamander blood.”

“Are you minding your partner, then?” James asked, having rather a lot of fun. “Or are you watching everything I do so that you can criticize it later?”

“My partner takes lessons seriously and doesn’t need minding!”

“So you are watching—”

“Oh stop it, you two!” Marlene insisted, looking amused more than anything. “You’re both a pair of bickering old codgers. To answer your question, Potter, I thought about joining you up there, but you looked like you were having too much fun.” She frowned, ruefully. “I couldn’t have kept up. You’re better than me, you know.”

James flushed, which he hoped was disguised by the effects of the Pepper-up. “Quidditch isn’t an individual sport,” he said quickly. “Doesn’t matter who’s better. Besides, I can’t see a dratted thing in this weather with my specs. I might have flown into a goalpost, and then you wouldn’t be so impressed.”

“Oh, Lily has a spell to help with that,” said Marlene quickly. “She did it for my goggles last time I practiced in the sleet. What was it, again, Lily?”

Evans frowned, pink fingers curling around her flagon. “I don’t want to do it for him.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Lils,” said Marlene, shouldering her. “That’s my future teammate you’re sabotaging.”

Evans did not look impressed; she sniffed a bit, her red, freckled nose still slightly steaming. “Who says he’ll make the team?”

James bristled, feeling the need to defend some of his good name. “Only about the entire school. Hooch says I’m a shoe-in.”

“And humble to boot,” said Evans sarcastically. “Fine, hold out your glasses, Potter.” James did so, and Lily pointed her wand at them. “Impervius!” she said rather violently, and drops of water flew from the lenses, splattering into James’s face in a way he thought wasn’t strictly necessary.

Spluttering, James put the specs back on. They were clear of water and unfogged, and he could see through the mist as though he had properly good eyesight. “Cheers, Evans,” he said, rather amazed. He grinned at her, finally able to make out the intensity of the dislike in her narrowed green eyes.

“If you’re done flying, I have to politely ask you to scram so that I can practice in peace,” said Marlene. “Lily won’t give me any good coaching if you’re here to vex her.”

“Potter doesn’t vex me,” Evans scoffed.

“Do I not?” James asked. “I’ve got to keep trying at it, then. All right ladies, I’ll be off.”

“Here,” said Marlene, handing him her flagon. “Can’t drink this while I’m flying, and there’s a bit left. Take it up to the castle with you.”

James took it gladly and gave them a formal salute, which Marlene returned and Evans pretended not to see. After returning the school broom, he took the stone steps two at a time, impressed that he could be sure of his footing thanks to the charmwork on his glasses. The splash of Pepper-up in the hot chocolate was rather brilliant as well, and his frozen toes and fingers began to tingle with warmth. As he made his way back to Gryffindor tower, he ruefully admitted to himself that Lily Evans would be a good person to have on his team, even though she was stubbornly set on being on any team that was opposite his own.

When James woke up in his dormitory two days later, it was to an ear-splitting and rather interpretive rendition of Happy Birthday, which Sirius insisted on reprising at breakfast, then lunch, then ultimately dinner, by which time the rest of the school had been expecting it, and Dumbledore stood to conduct them happily as they defeatedly joined in. Sirius and Peter had booked the pitch for an hour in the afternoon between lessons, and Remus even deigned to come with, sitting in the stands. He had a book and a muggle thermos filled with what James suspected was Lily’s hot chocolate, but he applauded for a few of James’s goals on Peter. James knew that this was special birthday treatment, and not to be expected at any other practices, so he took care to enjoy it immensely.

Alongside the normal array of pudding and tarts after dinner that night, an enormous cherry and cream gateau appeared in front of James. He might have been impressed by his friends’ efforts, but they’d quickly learned that the house-elves in the kitchens were all too easy to bribe with just a single please or compliment. There was enough to share with the rest of the table, which made any older students who had been annoyed by all the singing rather quick to forgive him.

“Do you expect the entire castle to celebrate your existence?” Evans asked, although she, too, was helping herself to a slice.

“What’s not to celebrate?” James asked. “My dashing good looks, my skill on a broom…Merlin, we’ve even got an entire week off of lessons next week.”

Evans swallowed her bite so that she could properly scowl, an expression that rather suited her, somehow. “Oh, sweet Merlin. Now he’s trying to take credit for Easter.”

After dinner, the first years donned their winter cloaks and headed for Astronomy with Professor Vega. James, Peter, and Sirius lagged behind, having decided to tie their shoelaces together, simply to see if they could get up and down the steps that way. Remus walked ahead with Lily, Marlene and Mary just in front.

“You noticed they’re rather chummy lately?” Sirius asked, frowning.

“He says she helps him loads with Astronomy and Charms,” said James, shrugging. “Makes sense, she’s quite bright.” There was no use denying that fact, everyone with eyes could see that she was giving him and Sirius a good run for best in the year.

“Well, she’s not helping him with Astronomy and Charms right now,” Sirius argued. “He’s walking with her just to walk with her.”

“She can be quite nice,” Peter chimed in. “She told me when I had a burst Gobstone in my back pocket, even when none of you did.”

“Nice to you, maybe,” said Sirius. “For me, she was just ruining my fun.”

James, with one foot tied to Sirius’s and the other to Peter’s, let himself be maneuvered up the stairs by the other two, only falling to his face once or twice. Remus and Lily both looked happy as they chatted animatedly, and James could not find it in him to hold it against them. Remus looked well, in fact he’d been looking well for a good while now. Perhaps he was on track to make it longer than a month without succumbing to one of his headaches. If any student was capable of brewing up a powerful headache cure, it was Evans.

Or Snape, James supposed, although Snape would probably rather succumb to a soapy bath before he agreed to use his skill helping another student. Snape himself was at the front of the crowd of first years making their way to Astronomy, shooting sour, constipated-looking frowns back at Evans and Remus. If Sirius was wary of their potential friendship, it seemed Snape was even more so.

When they’d reached the Astronomy Tower, they all stationed themselves among the brass telescopes, each dialed toward the Lynx constellation they were meant to be mapping, along with its neighboring stars, planets, and galaxies.

“We’re just a few nights shy of the full moon,” Professor Vega announced, wrapped in her beaded shawl, with her gauzy headscarf lopsided on her head. Sirius was shaking his leg rather agitatedly, making James’s attached leg shake as well. He gave Sirius a shove to settle him. “Always fascinating to see the way a full moon plays a part on star readings, throwing a bit of chaos into established patterns,” Vega continued. “Potions and Herbology are both studies that fall victim to the moon’s pull, as it alters ingredients and flora. If any of you are interested, I welcome you to join my third years on Wednesday night to observe it.”

“Fat chance,” James scoffed quietly to Sirius. “As if I’d come up to freeze my bollocks off just to look at the moon.”

Sirius nodded absently, and James wondered what was on his mind.

They were forced to untie themselves and do up their own laces properly so that they could swivel on their stools and turn between their telescopes and charts freely, and they spent the next half an hour trying to keep their hands warm enough to work a quill. James had nearly finished his chart before he frowned down at it. The jagged line of the Lynx constellation was not coming through at all—instead it was a sort of lumpy M shape.

“That can’t be right,” said James, setting down his quill and holding up his chart to the others. “Why’s it an M?”

“Mine doesn’t look right either,” said Mary, pulling her chart over to his. “Did we get the same…? Hm, no. They’re different.” Indeed, Mary’s chart depicted a constellation that looked rather like a misshaped A.

“Mine’s an S,” said Marlene, holding up her serpentine depiction. “Which constellation am I looking at? Which one’s an S?”

Hufflepuff Lydia Bones raised her hand. “Professor Vega, is this right?” Professor Vega hurried over to examine the chart, and when she held it up to the light, James saw that it looked rather like a J.

It wasn’t long until every first year was complaining of a wonky telescope or an erroneous chart despite their best efforts. Professor Vega had the charts laid out on her large, circular desk, trying to make sense of the anomalies. Like James, a few other students had gotten the double peaks of an M shape. The rest were renditions of A’s, S’s, J’s and E’s.

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” said Evans exasperatedly as she looked between her own E chart and the rest splayed out on Professor Vega’s desk. “Look at them; they all spell JAMES.” She wheeled on Sirius and Peter, who were both smiling brilliantly. “What have you numpties done?”

“Nothing,” said Sirius. “This fortuitous birthday was simply written in the heavens.”

James, beginning to laugh, realized Evans was right. “It’s my name! You’re brilliant! How’d you do it?”

“Just a finicky little Abscondo Charm on each of the telescope lenses before sunrise,” said Sirius, shrugging as James rumpled his neat hair.

“You lot already knew that Remus was behind,” Evans chided. “And you decided to put us all out another lesson?”

“Oi,” said Remus, frowning as he appeared at her side, his own star chart looking like an S. “Don’t go giving them the credit. I was the one who performed the charm. Remember, you helped me get it down just last week.”

Evans gaped at him. “And you used it for this?! You’re a traitorous turnip, Remus Lupin!” She tapped him smartly on the top of the head with her rolled-up chart. “Although…as your tutor, it’s rather good work. You got the hang of the charm quite quickly.”

Unfortunately, as James roared with delighted laughter and went so far as to kiss Remus on both cheeks while the other boy weakly resisted, it seemed Professor Vega had overheard their laughter. “Am I right in assuming this is your doing, Mr. Potter?” she asked unhappily, the papers behind her finally arranged to spell JAMES over and over again, rather incriminatingly.

“You are certainly wrong in assuming so,” said Sirius, sounding affronted. “This was all my handiwork.”

“No, Professor,” Peter said loudly, hopping in front of Sirius. “It was me!”

Remus grinned a little, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Don’t blame poor Pettigrew. I’m the culprit, I’m afraid.”

They left the tower with high spirits, woefully behind in their charting of the spring constellations, and with a detention set for the night after next. It seemed they would be freezing their bollocks off to look at the moon, after all.

March 29, 1972

Peter

“Awfully convenient,” Peter grumbled as he polished the lens on what felt like his hundredth telescope. “Remus’s feeling perfectly fine until the night we have to do detention.”

“Shut it, Pete,” said Sirius roughly. “You saw him this morning, he looked horrid. Besides, being cooped up in the Hospital Wing is worse than detention with us, I figure.”

“Maybe,” said Peter, still unsure. The way he saw it, being in the Hospital Wing involved lying in a bed, which was precisely the activity he most wanted to do right now. “But it’s bloody freezing, isn’t it?” he insisted. “You’d think we could do the polishing inside.”

“Yeah,” agreed James, squinting through the eyepiece of the telescope he was playing with rather than cleaning. “But Vega wanted to keep an eye on us, and she can’t be kept away from her precious full moon.”

Further out on the massive balcony, Vega and her third years were indeed gathered around and taking fervent notes, not needing their telescopes since the moon was so large and low in the sky.

“It just doesn’t seem quite fair,” said Peter, moving on to the next telescope with his polishing rag. “We gave Professor Vega the note from Pomfrey, and she didn’t even try to find a new time for Remus’s detention. He’s the one that did the Abscondo, and he’s not doing any of the punishment.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Petey,” said Sirius, looking rather frightening, “that being so ill you can’t leave the hospital for days, is already punishment enough?”

Peter blanched. He hated when Sirius got this way, like a dog showing teeth and prepared to bite. Or at least, he hated when it was directed at him. To be behind Sirius’s protection while he growled at someone else was one thing, to be in front of him was quite another.

“Fine,” Peter said quietly. “I’ll leave it.”

“I for one am glad Remus got off,” said James, laying on his back and pointing his telescope at the sky without direction. “His wand-work should be rewarded, not punished. S’a shame he’s ill again though. Feels like he can’t even go a month without…” James trailed off, his telescope focused on something that seemed to have captured his attention.

Peter looked over, expecting to see one of the meteor showers that could sometimes be spotted from this tower. But the moon was too large and bright to make out anything interesting past it. He frowned, about to go back to his polishing—it wasn’t uncommon for James to loose track of a thought halfway through—but then James was sitting upright, lowering his telescope to reveal a face given over to shock. His tan skin seemed to have paled a few degrees.

“Jamie…” said Sirius slowly.

James didn’t respond to him; he only began to go a bit blue in the face.

“Merlin’s beard,” said Sirius, crouching over to shake James. “You have to breathe, mate. Breathe!”

James sucked in a ragged breath all at once, and Peter looked around, wondering if he’d been hexed or poisoned. But there was no one else on the balcony, and James had not eaten anything recently enough to be poisoned, at least that Peter had seen.

James continued to look rapidly between Sirius and the night sky, trying and failing to speak as several emotions seemed to cascade over him all at once.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” Sirius warned James, rather unnecessarily in Peter’s opinion since James hadn’t managed to utter anything.

This, however, seemed to snap James into some sort of sense. “You!” he said loudly, then seeming to remember himself, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You knew? You knew?”

“Only recently,” said Sirius, just as quietly.

“I can't believe it!” said James, hopping to his feet and then sitting back down again. “You prat, you knew?” James blinked, shaking his head, then his face transformed into something like disappointment. “How could I not know? How did I manage to be so daft? You reasoned it out before I did! I could die of embarrassment!”

“That’s what you’re most concerned about?” asked Sirius, sounding amused. “You’re most upset that I found out before you did?”

“Well, yes,” said James, sounding puzzled. “What else would I have to be upset about?”

Siris broke into a sharp laugh. “Good lad, Potter.”

“Sorry,” said Peter, starting to get a bit annoyed. “What exactly are we talking about?”

“Does he know?” James asked Sirius, pointing to Peter.

“What do you think?” scoffed Sirius. “Of course not.”

“Well, I dunno, do I?” asked James, throwing his hands up in the air. He ran them through his hair then, making it wilder than it already was. “Apparently I’m the biggest idiot in the entire school, unable to see what’s plainly right in front of me—”

“What don’t I know?” whined Peter. “What’s plainly right in front of you?”

James didn’t seem to hear him, frustratingly. He only shook his head, looking at the sky, and said, “Poor miserable git. Why on earth didn’t he tell us? Would’ve been loads easier that way.”

“Why do you think?” Sirius asked. “Can’t exactly go around with a bloody sign, can he?”

“Well, all right,” James conceded. “But he might’ve told us.” His thoughtful frown turned into a rather crazed smile. “How brilliantly exciting!”

“That's what I said.” Sirius nodded. “But he thinks we’re going to take to the hills, running and screaming.”

“WHO?!” Peter asked, losing all patience.

Professor Vega turned around at the noise and frowned at them. “Keep to polishing, boys! No talking, please!”

At last, however, Sirius and James were looking at him, Sirius looking thoughtful, James chewing his lip rather vacantly. “Who?” Peter asked again, whispering this time. “What are you both on about?”

“What do you think?” Sirius asked James, eyeing Peter up and down. “Suppose there’s no point not telling him.”

“Of course we tell him,” said James, seeming to recover from whatever passion had overtaken him. “He’s a marauder.”

“I promised him I wouldn’t,” said Sirius, frowning at the flagstones by Peter’s feet rather than meeting his eye.

“I didn’t promise him anything,” reasoned James. He looked Peter squarely in the eye. “Petey, what I tell you now is for your ears only, and must be held in the utmost confidence. We will use this information only for the benefit and betterment of our fellow marauder, understood? We shall show no irrational fear, we shall—”

“Fine, fine,” said Peter, suspecting that James was being rather overdramatic. “What is it?”

“Remus has…” James trailed off, seeming to search for the words. “A furry little problem,” he settled on at last.

Peter paled, thinking unwillingly of the puberty talk his mother had given him before he left for term. “He what?”

“For Merlin’s sake,” said Sirius, shaking his head. “Pete, Remus is a Werewolf.”

Chapter Text

March 30, 1972

Remus

Remus strained to keep his eyes open and on his History of Magic homework, propped up by several Hospital Wing pillows that smelled of soap and dittany. Madam Pomfrey had urged him to sleep, but the March moon had passed easily enough, leaving him only with some patchy bruising and a knee that kept clicking when it bent. Remus wanted to take advantage—exams felt horribly near as the weather very slowly and cautiously warmed, and History was his worst subject. Granted, history seemed to be everyone’s worst subject, so he might not fare too badly, but the Troll Wars were where things got really tricky, since they never seemed to start nor end and arose from unknown provocations between clans. Currently, he was trying to review if Rugbuk the Foulbreathed had begun the skirmish of 1291 by belching too close to Ogug the Toothless, or if that had been Pligwit the Warty in 1459.

Distantly, he heard the sound of Madam Pomfrey hurrying to the Hospital Wing doors, which Remus had come to know meant James, Sirius, and Peter were outside them, demanding entrance or bearing chocolate.

“How many times must I tell you,” said Madam Pomfrey sharply, “I have things quite handled here, and your disturbing Mr. Lupin from his bedrest is not the gesture you seem to believe it is! The best kindness you can do for him is to let him heal on his own time, boys!”

“We’re not here as a kindness to him,” came Sirius’s voice. “We’re here as a kindness to ourselves. We’re going absolutely mad without him; ill with boredom!”

“It’s all right, Madam Pomfrey,” Remus called, feeling for once that their company might be nice. Besides, Sirius knew, and he could help Remus field any difficult questions, now. Remus had spent two very wary weeks watching Sirius for signs of rational fear or disgust when it came to Remus, but Sirius had so far only shown irrational normalcy. He seemed to have noticed, however, that Remus had grown rather cautious and quiet around him, and so he had not pushed the matter further—yet. Remus could tell that Sirius was still itching with questions and exercising every bit of restraint he owned not to ask them. During their Potions lesson after Remus’s birthday, Sirius had looked for rather a long time at his set of silver paring knives that Remus avoided with great care, and then he had packed them up, opting to use Remus’s inferior copper set instead. He had not brought them to Potions since.

The days before this full moon, Remus had finally let himself breathe. If anything, he realized now that it helped to have Sirius be aware of the issue, as he stopped pestering Remus for going to bed early and cut off the other boys before they formed their questions. When all three boys were trying to wheedle out what might be wrong with him, the prospect of having them by his bedside the next morning had seemed terrifying. But James and Peter were both less naturally inclined toward wheedling, and Sirius was a smoother liar than he was.

“You can let them in, if it’s all right,” said Remus a little louder, closing his history book and wringing his hands.

Again, there was the sharp tapping of heels on stone as Madam Pomfrey came over to look at him. She glanced him over, brow still scrunched together, but assessing nonetheless. “Are you quite sure, Remus?”

“Yeah,” Remus shrugged. “I feel better than usual. Unless I look awful?”

“No, dear,” said Madam Pomfrey, smoothing down his surely wild curls. “If you’re up for it, then.” She turned back to the boys waiting in the doorway. “If you so much as bounce the bed or raise your voice above a pleasant indoor volume…”

Sirius, James, and Peter awaited no further invitation as they ran through the empty wing to where Remus was lying. Sirius collapsed comfortably across the foot of the bed, but James and Peter stopped short, staring at Remus as if they hadn’t quite believed they would ever actually be allowed visitation.

“Hey, lads,” said Remus weakly. “Feeling all right this morning. Might even make it to Herbology with you lot.”

“Oh no you won’t,” said Madam Pomfrey from the little desk beside her office where she was sorting through potions and tinctures. “Trekking around in the cold will not do you any good.”

Sirius snorted. “Doesn’t do me any good, either. Can I bunk off, too?”

“No,” said Madam Pomfrey sharply, not looking up.

Peter and James were both looking at Remus wide eyed and silent. Occasionally James peered over his shoulder to where Madam Pomfrey was waiting.

“You all right?” Remus asked the two of them, feeling a bit amused. Peter was prone to fidgeting, but he’d never seen James so speechless before.

“Yes, of course,” said James quickly. “And you? Feeling good?” James continued to look Remus over, as if he were searching for something.

“I just said I was,” said Remus, tilting his head. “Just revising for the Troll Wars. I much prefer the Goblin Uprisings though, at least those had a purpose. They weren’t killing each other just because one mashed the other’s toe with a club.” He was filling the space, he knew, unused to James’s silence. Madam Pomfrey gave them all a warning look before slipping into her office, and James seemed to visibly relax. Remus frowned at James and tried again. “What’s up with you?”

“He’s fine,” said Sirius lazily by Remus’s feet. “He’s just trying to employ tact for the first time in his life.”

“Why?”

Sirius sighed, giving Remus a stern look. “I told you they’d piece it together sooner rather than later.”

For the second time that month, Remus felt all the blood vacate his face and his palms rather immediately start to sweat. The gut-wrenching sensation was worsened by coming just off of a full moon; a strange cottony feeling fell over his ears. “What?”

“Don’t go blaming me,” said Sirius quickly, apparently unable to see that Remus was trying to sink through his hospital bedsheets and die or disappear. “I kept my trap shut like I promised. It was all Potter.”

“Sorry,” said James quickly. “I didn’t mean to parse out that you’re a…what you are, and Sirius did mention that you’d rather I hadn’t.”

“Oh,” said Remus numbly, unable to make any other sounds. He’d encountered some kind of miracle with Sirius; he’d had the pure luck of meeting a boy who wanted so badly to stray from his parents’ teachings that he was willing to consort with a Werewolf and think it was a bit of rebellious fun. This wasn’t the case for James or Peter—they had parents who very much loved them and would care quite a bit if their sons were sleeping next to a creature that wanted only to hunt and bite once a month. They had no reason to set their better judgment aside and not report him to the school board or perhaps even the Ministry of Magic.

“I told you he would get like this,” said Sirius, his voice sounding distant. “You’ve got to tell him you don’t give a toss, remember?”

“Oh right,” said James quickly, coming to stand a bit closer to Remus and towing the still-silent Peter behind him. “We don’t give a toss, Remus.”

“Of course you do!” Remus said rather abruptly, unsure where it had come from. His mind certainly hadn’t meant to say it, or to shout it. “Of course you give a toss that I might kill you! Or turn you! I’m not meant to be allowed in a school! According to most people, I’m not meant to be given a wand! Or allowed to practice magic! I'm not meant to have friends, or…or forget what I am!”

Madam Pomfrey had stuck her head out of her office at the noise, frowning. “What did I say about volume, boys!”

“My fault, Madam Pomfrey,” said Remus hotly; apparently now that he’d begun speaking freely he was unable to stop. “Potter and Black just told a rather ridiculous joke and it set me off.”

When Madam Pomfrey had skeptically ducked back into her office, James looked at Remus again, aghast. “It’s not a joke, Remus. Merlin’s beard, who made you think all that?”

“Who hasn’t?” asked Remus, attempting to keep his voice low. “There are books in the library here, you know. For more advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts students. Do you know what they cover? Ways to spot and kill one if you see one. It says there aren’t any effective methods of evasion or restraint. Only to kill.”

“Well,” said James, sounding infuriatingly practical. “They don’t mean you. That’s for…other sorts.”

“There are no other sorts,” said Remus, surprised to realize that he was angry, although he wasn’t exactly sure what he was angry about. “When the full moon comes, I’m exactly that sort.”

“And when the full moon doesn’t come,” said Sirius, picking up the history book, “you’re the sort who frets over remembering the dates of the Troll Wars versus the Goblin Uprisings. You can’t just decide you’re entirely a monster because you get a bit bite-y once a month.”

“Yeah,” agreed James. “When I was a kid I had spattergroit, and I was horribly cranky and contagious for nearly five weeks. Doesn’t mean I’m not a delight now.”

Remus let his head fall into his hands. “This isn’t like spattergroit, James.”

“Why not?” asked James. “They’re both magical ailments aren’t they? Just since yours doesn’t have a cure yet, it doesn’t make you any less of a wizard. Or any less of a marauder.”

Remus squinted at James through his fingers, something tight in his belly relaxing, telling him stupidly and naively to believe, to trust. “I really don’t want us to call ourselves that.”

“You’re far too late,” said Sirius. “He’s not going to stop.”

Remus lowered his hands slowly. “You really don’t want to get me out of your dormitory? Or out of Hogwarts?”

“Out of—are you quite insane?” asked James. “No! I’d like you to stop lying to us, I suppose, if possible.”

Remus looked over at Peter, standing pale with his lips tight. “And you, Pete?”

Peter swallowed. “It’s all a bit scary, of course,”—here, James elbowed him hard—“but no! Of course I don’t want you to leave. James and Sirius said you must have been turning all year, every month, and we’ve been all right all this time, haven’t we?”

“We’ve been fine, but you look a little worse for wear, mate,” said Sirius with what Remus figured was meant to be a sympathetic tone. “You should show them your scars, Lupin.”

“No thanks,” Remus grumbled, pulling the sleeves of his jumper down further over his hands.

“At least tell us who does that to you, then,” Sirius urged, gaze uncharacteristically worried.

“Who…” Remus trailed off as he understood. “No one. I do them to myself.”

Sirius balked. “Merlin. Why?”

“I don’t mean to,” Remus replied exasperatedly. “I just…well the transformation is a bit brutal. And then I’ve got claws and teeth, don’t I? I’ve been told I get a bit frustrated. I think I must not know what else to do, other than tear myself apart.” It felt so strange to explain, to put words to something he had never had to before. For the first few years, his mother and father were the ones to explain what was happening to him. And then none of them had allowed anyone else to ask.

“But aren’t you hurting yourself like that?” Peter asked, alarmed.

“Yes,” said Remus. “But I’m not really myself. Or, I am, but I can’t really remember. I remember some smells, and some feelings, but mostly it’s like I’m trapped in the mind of something else. That’s why no one can be near me. I won’t recognize them.”

“Blimey,” said James. “If you can’t be near anyone, where do you go?”

“There’s a house on its own out in Hogsmeade,” said Remus quietly, wondering if all this information would make them change their minds about him. “There’s a secret passageway on the grounds that takes me there.”

“A secret passageway?” James asked, eyes lighting up.

“That cannot go on the map,” said Remus firmly.

“Fine,” said James, conceding quickly. “But you know a way to get us out to Hogsmeade?”

“Sure,” said Remus, rolling his eyes, “if you fancy being trapped in an old dirty shack surrounded by magical barriers that won’t permit you to leave.”

“Hm,” said James, clearly stuck on this point and trying to think of a way around it.

Peter looked Remus up and down, seeming to grow in confidence that Remus would not suddenly attack now that his secret was out. “Are you frightened? Each time?”

“Yes,” said Remus bluntly. “Well, it’s not so bad now. I used to have nightmares about it when I was little.”

“It’s bloody amazing,” said Sirius with passion. “You’ve got to be coolest bloke in our year. If anyone ever peeves us off, we’ll just send them your way and—”

“That’s not funny,” Remus interrupted. “That’s really not funny at all.”

“Fine, fine,” said Sirius, waving away Remus’s dark expression. “It’s as grave as the plague, I get it. But now at least you believe me that you don’t have to hide it from us. You can go be moony in peace, and we lot will have your back.”

The side of Remus’s mouth quirked up despite his better judgement. “Is that what you’re going to call it, then? Being moony?”

“It’s better than what James came up with,” said Sirius with a huge grin. He shoved James in the side. “Go on, Jamie, tell him what you said.”

James went a little red, frowning at his scuffed trainers. “I called it…your furry little problem.”

At that, Remus could not hold back a laugh. He laughed hard enough that his bruised side began to twinge, and Madam Pomfrey stuck her head out from her office again.

“Boys!” she called over. “You’ll be late to your first lessons. If Remus gets his rest like I’ve been telling him to, I’ll send him out after you mid morning.”

James, Sirius, and Peter gave their goodbyes, Sirius unpocketing a custard tart from breakfast before he left. Remus waved them off and listened as Pomfrey closed the door behind them. When she came back to Remus’s side, she was holding a potion for pain, but she stopped short before giving it to him. “Remus, dear, what’s wrong?”

“S’nothing,” said Remus quickly, wiping his eyes where tears had begun to gather. The odd swing of emotions around the full were quite difficult to keep up with; they made him feel a bit like a child. He was just being…well, moony. “I’m just glad the night wasn’t so bad, I suppose.”

“Hm,” said Madam Pomfrey, sharing a private smile with him. “I like to see you letting yourself be cared for, Remus. Even if your chosen companions are a bit…boisterous in their care.”

Remus laughed again, a fresh well of embarrassing tears coming to his eyes. He was a Werewolf, and he had best mates.

A wizard’s instinct when faced with a Werewolf will always be fueled by fear, his father’s letter had warned him. And fear makes a wizard very dangerous to someone the likes of you. Your existence at school must be solitary, and it must be safe. Stay distant from the other children, and ensure they stay distant from you.

Remus had failed in his father’s instructions rather disastrously, and he was finding he was glad for it.

April 22, 1972

Sirius

Easter holidays passed Sirius by in a bore of listless days, James using all his spare time to fly, and Remus using all his spare time to study for exams as if they weren't ages and ages away. Peter was available enough, but he mostly wanted to play chess or sneak off to the kitchens, and there was only so much chess and treacle a boy could stand. Sirius had taken out a school broom once or twice with James, but James had partnered up with Marlene and the two of them always managed to frustratingly outstrip him. That left him to either tail behind like a prat or go join Evans who sometimes read in the stands, which he was not inclined to do. Evans also managed to ward Sirius away from Remus in the library, since she was almost always at his side, too, revising with him or quizzing him on some thing or the other. The girl was bloody everywhere.

So Sirius amused himself with odds and ends, like practicing the jinxes the Prewett twins had taught him. One of Sirius’s favorites made the victim smell like rotten eggs for hours after, and he practiced this one covertly on Snape during lunches. Unfortunately, no one seemed to comment or notice, and Sirius had to reason that it was not out of the ordinary for a foul odor to be wafting from Snivellus. Narcissa also made for an interesting target, but she’d caught him after his first attempt and returned his jinx with a Melofors! that had his head encased inside of a pumpkin for the better part of an afternoon.

James had carved eyeholes and a crude mouth for him with a table knife so that he could see his way to Transfiguration, and Professor McGonagall had waited until the tail end of lessons to finally vanish it for him.

“S’a shame,” said Remus as Sirius at last breathed in a mouthful of air that wasn’t sticky with pumpkin seeds. “You looked better that way.”

Andromeda had found him on the staircase on his way to dinner, leaving her friends behind to fall into step with him. “Oh good,” she noted. “You’re looking much less orange and squash-y than when I saw you last.”

“You weren’t any help in the Great Hall,” Sirius scowled. “I ran into two walls and knocked over a suit of armor trying to get around with that thing.”

“Yes, well.” Andromeda shrugged. “I’ll be out of school soon, and you had to learn not to mess with Cissy one way or another.”

Sirius looked meaningfully between Andy and the tall Hufflepuff boy she’d been walking beside. He was chatting with their other friends, two Ravenclaws, although he kept looking their way curiously. “Are you sure?” Sirius asked. “I’ve got two more years to practice on her. Might serve her some revenge for outing you and that boyfriend of yours.”

Andromeda narrowed her eyes, but did not ask Sirius where he’d gotten his information from, which was a glad thing. She softened a bit, looking back at the boy. “His name’s Ted Tonks, if you must know. And since my mother and father have sent me several letters telling me how filthy they think my choices are, I figure there’s no use hiding it anymore. I’m going to Ted’s after I graduate, and I expect I won’t be invited round for the holidays afterward.”

“At least you didn’t get a Howler,” Sirius pointed out.

“Oh no,” Andy agreed. “My mother is mad, but she isn’t Aunt Walpurga. She has a tighter lid on herself than to go screaming her shame in front of all the wizard children in the British Isles.” She glanced over at Sirius sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Sirius. He looked back at the Hufflepuff again, skeptically. “Are you going to marry this bloke, then? They’ll really disinherit you if you do that.”

Andromeda laughed and nudged him with her hip. “Maybe.”

Sirius grimaced. “But you’re only a child!”

Andy laughed again. “I’m young, but when you’re in seventh year, I expect you to write me and tell me if you feel like a child.” She rapped him smartly on the head with her knuckles before hanging back to rejoin her friends. “Be good, little cousin!”

Sirius rubbed his head sorely. “Never in a million years!” he called back.

As April progressed, the days grew a little less wet and gray, and finally by the middle of the month they were something approaching mild and pleasant. On a particularly lovely Saturday, Sirius and James took Hagrid up on his offer for tea and cake down at his hut by the edge of the forest. The tea ended up being lovely, in mugs large enough for Sirius to dunk his head in, and the cakes ended up being horrible, hard enough to rival Bludgers if they were aimed properly and with enough force. James was dipping his cake into the tea with a frown, seeming to hope it might soften. Judging by his expression and the nasty crunching noise when he tried to bite down, it had not worked.

“Right lovely of yeh lads to come an’ pay me a visit,” said Hagrid cheerily, adding more tea cakes to their already burdened plates. He was wearing a set of knit oven mitts that seemed to have been made especially for his massive hands and a flowery kerchief to tie back his great mass of black hair. “An’ perfect timing and all, too. I only get ter bakin’ when the mood strikes me.”

“You should make more of a habit of it, Hagrid,” Sirius suggested, gnawing at his blackened lump of a cake. “It’s delicious.”

Hagrid went pink under the compliment, setting the kettle back over his enormous fire.

“Quite,” agreed James, dropping his entire cake into his tea while Hagrid’s back was turned. “But…er…I suppose we ought to mention that part of our reason for visiting is a bit more mandatory.” He held out a detention slip scratched out in Professor McGonagall’s neat hand.

Hagrid took the paper curiously, scanning it over, then letting out a loud huff of laughter. “What’d yeh lads get inter, then?”

“We were only participating in our lesson,” Sirius said, frowning. “She was having us transfigure buttons into beetles, and that Ravenclaw Benson Brown was prattling on and on about his father’s new Ministry job and doing everyone’s head in, so I had James practice the spell on him.”

“I really was just having a go to see if I could manage it,” James insisted innocently. “But then his trouser button started crawling up his back and his trousers fell down…”

Hagrid attempted to give them a stern look, but his eyes were crinkled at the corners. “Yer lucky Professor McGonagall decided ter hand yeh off to me, rather’n Filch.”

Sirius grinned. “She was too impressed that James got it on the first try to really want him punished, I think.”

“A’right, well, I was just about ter see ter the flesh-eatin’ slugs in the back garden. Could use the help, if yeh don’ mind,” said Hagrid, taking their plates. They followed him out the back door of the hut and took the rubber gloves he offered them while he donned his own enormous pair.

“For flesh-eating slugs, they seem rather fond of cabbage,” Sirius pointed out, wielding a glass mister filled with something sludgy and bitter-smelling. He waited for James to search through the leaves of an enormous cabbage until an alarmingly slimy and quick slug lunged out, hissing and displaying what looked like needle-like fangs. Sirius sprayed the thing generously as James yelped.

They were finished before sundown, and by that time it had become a rather amusing game, with the soil littered with limp slugs that Hagrid gathered happily in a bucket. “Got a few things in the forest that’ll be happy fer the grub,” he said cryptically. He walked with them up to the Great Hall for dinner, then waved them off at the Gryffindor table.

“You both smell terrible,” said Remus, leaning away from them as they swung into seats by his side. “Gah, I’m losing my appetite.”

“Unlikely, Lupin,” said Sirius, helping himself to the food. Hagrid’s tea cakes hadn’t been much of a lunch. “I haven’t seen you go at your meals with anything other than the ferocity of a wild animal.” He gave Remus an exaggerated wink, and Remus responded by trying to shove his face into his creamed potatoes.

After supper, when the common room was filled with only a few late-night swots addicted to their revising, James rolled around restlessly on Sirius’s bed, disturbing his attempts to read the copy of The Crystal Cave he’d stolen from Remus. “Let’s take the cloak out again,” James insisted. “I’ll bet there’s a staircase behind that painting of Sedgwick the Sodden.” When Sirius only shoved James, he rolled nimbly onto the floor and stared at Remus from where he now lay. “What d’you say, Remus? Want to add on to the map?”

“You go,” said Remus tiredly. “My head is pounding something awful.”

Sirius looked up from his book. “You can’t be moony yet, Remus. The full is days away.”

“I can be moony whenever I like,” Remus grumbled. “Just because I’m a you-know-what doesn’t mean than I can’t have a normal headache like anyone else.”

“A you-know-what?” Sirius asked, laughing. “Surely you can say it. Werewolf.”

Remus stuck his tongue out at him. “You see how easy it is to say after biting your tongue about it for six years.” He leaned back onto his pillows, suddenly thoughtful. “My mam doesn’t say it, neither does my da. You lot are the only ones with the bollocks to do it, I suppose.”

“You ought to practice,” Peter advised, playing chess against himself on his bed. One of his pieces was calling the other a bog-dwelling gollumpus in a high, squeaky voice.

The other boys looked at Remus expectantly, and he sat up a little straighter, wincing from his headache. He opened his mouth, then frowned as if swallowing something unpleasant. He tried again. “I…am a Werewolf.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sirius nodded. “If your parents won’t say it, what on earth do they call you?”

Remus shrugged. “Remus.”

“No, you dolt,” said Sirius, throwing a sock at him. “What do they call your condition?”

Remus grimaced at the sock as it landed on his lap, nudging it off his bed with the end of his wand. “Dunno. My mam doesn't much like to think about anything magic. She used to be a bit charmed by it when she met my da, I think, but I suppose the whole…Werewolf thing spoiled the appeal.” He was careful to say the word this time around.

“And your dad?” James asked.

Remus snorted, but the sound was not amused. “Probably feels like it’s some sort of dirty word. The first year, he went a bit mad trying to find a cure. Don’t know why he thought he’d manage it, since no one ever has. He made me try all sorts of potions and herbs and tried all kinds of incantations, until I reckon he wore himself out. He comes by every month now to make sure my mam doesn’t have to deal with it alone, her being muggle and all. But he can barely manage to look at me, let alone talk to me. He works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, you know.”

Sirius indeed remembered Slughorn mentioning as much on the first day of classes.

Remus cleared his throat. “Sometimes he writes letters to tell me about recent attacks or…or Werewolves that have been caught. Don’t know why he does that, it’s not as if it cheers me any.”

Sirius mulled this over quietly for a moment. “It’s because he’s a knob,” he declared definitively.

Remus grinned, though it was very small. “You haven’t even met him.”

“Don’t need to,” said Sirius. “As someone raised by utter knobs, I have the uncanny ability to sniff out others.”

“I agree with Sirius,” said James. “Takes a right coward to be scared of their own kid. Blimey, he’s a grown wizard while we haven’t even got one year with our wands, and we’re not scared of you, are we Petey?”

“Not one bit,” said Peter distractedly as he turned the chessboard around to evaluate his next move.

“That’s because you’re all idiots,” said Remus flatly, massaging his temples.

“What I am afraid of is that mean temper,” said Sirius, pointing at Remus. “One day you’re going to say something truly hurtful.”

“Have I not managed it yet?” Remus asked, kicking off all his blankets. “I’ll keep trying.”

Sirius looked Remus over with scrutiny, not missing the high flush on his face and the sweat in his curls. The full moon was in a little less than a week, but it was as if the oblong shape of it through the window was already calling to him. “You need something from Pomfrey?” Sirius asked. “Potion for pain or something? She bloody loves you, I doubt she’d complain about me stopping by after hours if I were doing you a favor.”

“No,” said Remus sullenly. “Just hot, is all.”

The window near Remus was already thrown open, and the furnace had been unlit for a while now. “Then take that bloody jumper off,” said Sirius. “Merlin, there’s no reason to suffer with it on anymore.”

Remus peered at him, barely lifting his head. “…I s’pose.”

With the slow, measured movements of someone trying to be entirely invisible, Remus peeled off his jumper, revealing a large, faded t-shirt featuring what looked to be four muggles with identical haircuts. Visible from the too-large collar and all down his arms were the healed, white scars Sirius had seen, some thin and raised, some deeper and carved out like gouges. Sirius took care to keep his face neutral and look away as soon as he could be sure Remus had settled, free of all his wool trappings. James and Peter took no such care.

“Oh, those are awful, mate,” said James, awe apparent in his tone. “Just horrible.”

“Cheers, wanker,” said Remus, apparently giving in entirely to his foul mood.

“No, they're incredible,” James clarified. “Make you look like a real tough sort.”

Peter was peering over at Remus, very pale. “You do that to yourself, Remus?”

“Oi,” Sirius interrupted, snapping to get their attention. “No ogling the Werewolf until he’s in a better mood.”

“No ogling the Werewolf, ever,” said Remus, balling up his jumper behind his head. “And my mood is perfectly fine.”

“Whatever you say, Moony,” said Sirius agreeably. “Maybe you should go to the window and howl at it a bit; see if it gets anything out of your system.”

Remus chucked his balled-up jumper at Sirius’s head, and while it hit its mark, it was warm and soft and wholly ineffective at stopping Sirius’s laughter.

Chapter Text

May 20, 1972

James

“I wasn’t aware there would be quite so much jumping,” Remus told James. James was clinging to Remus’s shoulders from where he stood in the stands in behind him, rattling him rather ferociously as he hopped with nerves. James couldn’t help it, the Gryffindor Chasers were too well matched with the Ravenclaw ones, and every goal scored by one team was responded to by an equal goal from the other team. Twice now the Ravenclaw Seeker had dove for the Snitch, only to be knocked aside by a Bludger from Gryffindor Beater Roger Cattermole.

“You should be jumping a lot more,” James advised him. “Look, Pete’s got the spirit.” Indeed, Peter was practically vibrating beside him. “You have to admit it’s exciting.”

Remus tilted his head up, surveying the players. “I suppose it’s interesting that they’re trying to kill each other on school grounds.”

“Exactly,” said James, nodding emphatically. “It’s thrilling.” In front of Remus, Lily and Marlene were shouting conflicting instructions up at the Gryffindor Chasers which they were surely unable to hear over the wind and roar of the crowd. Mary, looking at them as if they had quite lost it, stepped up to be beside Remus.

“Are you lot speaking at a normal volume over here?” she asked them. “I’m going to lose my hearing staying by those two.”

“James’s volume is fine, but his grip is making me loose circulation in this arm,” said Remus, shaking out said arm. James ignored him, he wasn’t sure he could have loosened his fingers if he’d tried. Gryffindor had embarrassed itself with Slytherin, and had more or less rolled belly-up for the impossible Hufflepuff match. This game was by far their best showing of the year. Perhaps they could come in third for the cup, rather than dead last.

Mary busied herself with applying face paint to Remus, which he begrudgingly accepted. She’d already done James’s entirely in red, and the paint kept smudging on his glasses, turning the world a pleasing, blurry crimson. She hissed with disapproval each time James jostled Remus with a gasp. “Keep him still, please, or you’ll spoil my masterpiece.”

James paid them very little attention, eyes glued to Hestia Jones as she made for the Ravenclaw goalposts. She was a seventh year, and by far the best flier on the team, and James was imagining her graduated, him up there dodging Bludgers and opposing team members.

“Jones seems determined to make a good show for her last game,” said commentator Nancy Spinnet as Hestia scored a tidy goal. “Of course, she can score all she likes, but it doesn't count for much when our Keeper is still too green to block a thing—” There was a crackling jostle as it sounded like the magical megaphone was wrenched away, or else had a hand placed over it, and then Nancy was back, saying, “Professor McGonagall reminds me that it does little good to disparage my own house’s team, even when we haven’t managed the cup in five bloody years—” The megaphone cut off again, and this time McGonagall’s muffled reprimand could be heard.

It was true that the Gryffindor Keeper could do with some improvement. She was the only second year currently on the team, a slight girl named Dorcas Meadowes with rows of long braids that were currently tied back. She had good technique, and James supposed this was why she’d made the cut, but it was clear she probably hadn’t wanted the Keeper position. She just needed to delay her reactions, be a little less jumpy, James thought. He’d make sure to give her the note when he was on the team.

Sirius sidled through the crowd in the corner of James’s eye, bearing several paper cups of candied nuts. “Budge up, Moony,” he said, making space for himself beside Remus. He handed Peter one cup, and Remus another. “Here, I reckon these are why you agreed to come in the first place.”

“Thanks,” said Remus enthusiastically. He had fought the nickname feebly for a bit, insisting it sounded as if he were prone to bearing his buttocks, which made Sirius laugh hard enough that the nickname had become fully impossible to shake. James reached over him to grab a handful of the snack, shoving them in his mouth distractedly as Chaser Aryan Patil collided messily with a Ravenclaw Beater after the Beater had missed the Bludger and decided to block him with her body instead. Hooch called a deserved penalty, and Patil scored easily, putting Gryffindor at last in the healthy lead.

“Don’t you look cuddly, Moony,” said Sirius with amusement, taking in Remus’s newly painted face for the first time. “Very adorable.”

Remus looked round at Mary in horror. “What did you paint?”

“Nothing,” said Mary indignantly. “Just a little nose and some whiskers. You’re meant to be a lion.” She tilted her head considering. “Although I suppose you do look a bit like Claude.”

Remus’s sigh of defeated complaint was cut off as James began hopping in earnest. The Ravenclaw Seeker Pandora Greengrass had turned and rocketed suddenly upward, but so had Gryffindor Seeker Alice Fortescue from across the field. James squinted up into the blue sky until he spotted the glimmer of gold, high above the rest of the players and centered between the two seekers. He decided to give Remus a break as he held his breath and moved one of his hands to clutch onto Sirius instead. Peter beside him was shouting with such gusto that he overturned his cup of candied nuts, sending them scattering down the stands.

James was unable to do much more than let out a sort of high-pitched train-whistle whine as the two players collided in the air, jostling shoulder to shoulder with arms outstretched. The Ravenclaw Seeker attempted to push Alice out of the way with a shoulder, but Alice was too nimble. She dodged with a surge of speed, and the Ravenclaw Seeker toppled a bit sideways with unspent momentum, until Alice’s fingers brushed the Golden Snitch and then finally managed to wrap around it entirely.

The stands around him erupted, Sirius stepping up to kiss Peter soundly on the forehead, Remus and Mary swept into Lily’s and Marlene’s somewhat guttural chanting of celebration. James stayed very still, eyes fixed on Alice Fortescue as she looped in victory and the rest of the Gryffindor team dove upon her until they landed gently on the pitch. In that moment, James was quite certain he’d never seen a more beautiful girl than Alice with a Snitch fluttering feebly in her hand.

Peter looked up at him, wiping Sirius’s wet smooch off of his forehead. “Jamie, are you crying?”

“No,” said James, brushing away a wayward tear. “Just looked a little too much into the sun, that’s all.”

Peter

If one were to witness the celebration in the Gryffindor common room, one might think they had won the school Quidditch Cup rather than barely scraping by in third. Peter stumbled in through the portrait hole with more food than he could comfortably carry, but his efforts were repaid by the hearty thumps he received on the back from the older students. The room was sweltering hot, and windows were thrown open to the night sky. Frank Longbottom had his guitar out again, and Peter watched enviously as the older girls grinned at him, trying to catch his eye.

Gryffindor Quidditch captain Hestia Jones and her fellow seventh-year beater Justin Knockwit seemed not to be abiding by the Halloween party rules of clearing out all younger students before bringing out the Ogden's Old Firewhisky, which Peter recognized from the high-up shelves in his mother’s pantry. They both were leaning on each other very heavily, laughing at things that did not seem particularly funny.

Peter ducked his way under the taller students until he reached Mary and Marlene, dancing together and looking rather flushed and breathless. “Peter,” Mary giggled, happily taking a pastry from him. “There you are!” Peter had precisely one moment to be pleased by gaining this reception before Mary added, “And why aren’t the others with you? Thought I could convince one of them to dance.”

Peter smiled weakly. Mary might have convinced him to dance, if he’d been asked. “Dunno,” he said, agreeably enough. “Thought they’d be in the middle of it all.” Indeed, they had sent him down to the kitchens without offering to come themselves, so Peter had figured they just couldn't bear to miss a moment of the party. When Peter stood, wobbling for balance on a cushy armchair, however, he couldn’t spot either James or Sirius. He did, however, spot Remus, sitting on one of the cushions before the fire with a focused expression on his face, pointing his wand at the flames as they occasionally sparked brilliantly gold. He looked as if he were practicing homework rather than participating in a celebration. Lily Evans was sat beside him, watching his efforts with bemusement.

Peter looked down to Mary and Marlene. “Remus is just there, with Evans, but I don’t see—”

There was a loud, violent crackling noise that immediately had several students covering their ears, or else shouting in alarm. For a moment the static overrode all other party noises, until it became a familiar voice, booming through the common room.

It was Sirius’s voice that called out, “Lions and gentlemen, fliers and fans, tonight we celebrate a fate slightly less mortifying than Ravenclaw’s, who are currently sulking off the embarrassment of fourth place!”

Sirius himself appeared from the dormitory stairs, dodging Nancy Spinnet as she groaned loudly and lunged to grab the megaphone she used to commentate from him. “Black, where on earth did you—give that back, or McGonagall will positively flay me!”

Sirius evaded her easily in the congested common room, ducking beneath a desk. “And while narrowly avoiding utter failure is surely worth celebrating,” he continued, hopping on top of a settee, “I propose we regather here next year, with a bloody enormous cup in our hands! What say you?”

The room was mostly given over to laughter, except Hestia Jones who let out a too-loud cheer, then hiccoughed.

“How ought we to do it, you ask?” Sirius asked, jumping down again as Nancy made a grab for him. “Fresh new talent! Unmatched skill! One man, with an ego inflated enough to carry an entire team to victory!”

“Oh no,” said Marlene. She grabbed Mary to her, as if anticipating some incoming calamity that might send the ceiling collapsing down.

“With the one, the only, the embarrassingly spectacled and bizarrely scrawny…”

By now, Sirius had reached Remus and Lily, Remus who looked alarmed, Lily who looked thunderous. Sirius held the megaphone in front of Remus's face, as if expecting him to contribute the final introduction of whatever was going on. Remus only buried his head in his hands. Sirius shrugged, bringing the megaphone back to himself. “JAMES POTTER!”

There was an alarmed shriek as someone pointed at the upper windows and the scarlet and gold shape that came hurtling through them, recognizable by the mess of black hair. Peter crouched from where he stood on the armchair as one of James’s trainers came perilously close to catching him on the head before he pulled up again. Peter watched, unable to suppress a grin as James wound round and round the rafters. Mary gasped while others began to heckle or cheer. Someone, Peter suspected it was Evans although he hadn’t been watching to be sure, chucked a book at him, which James only caught rather impressively, rolling upside down on his broom to do so.

Nancy Spinnet had finally managed to wrestle the megaphone away from Sirius and was using it to instruct James to land at once, although her instruction was overruled by most of the other students who had all begun throwing things they found around the common room to see what James could catch. When someone threw a cauldron cake, James dove, electing to catch it in his mouth, and collided into Alice Fortescue, who stumbled sideways, still laughing. Frank Longbottom dropped his guitar hastily to catch her, and the two stared at each other for a breath before they began earnestly and ferociously snogging. Peter groaned, but the Gryffindors who were not either cheering for James or attempting to knock him off his broom began pointing in their direction and wolf whistling.

When James finally decided to land, he did so on the armchair beside Peter, nearly sending it toppling. “Here McKinnon,” he said, running fingers through his mad hair and tossing the school broom to Marlene. “Your turn. I’d have Sirius announce you, but it looks like he’s busy trying to avoid a walloping from Nancy.”

“You're mad,” said Marlene, shaking her head even though she was smiling. “You want to show off and insult the whole team in the process?” She eyed the broom in her hand skeptically. “I’d rather not have them all hate me come time for tryouts.”

James looked over to where Alice and Frank were still rambunctiously lip locked. “Fortescue’ll be on the team next year, and something tells me she’s not going to hate me for this at all.”

June 18, 1972

Lily

“No more,” Lily moaned, letting herself slide down from her chair into a heap under the library table. “I don’t care what Dagmar the Disheveled did in 1437.”

“She found a way to magically cure toe-fungus,” said Remus, looking squeamish as he examined Lily’s notecard. “Says here she was only trying to get rid of the stench of her boots, but managed a sort of happy accident.”

“Good for her,” said Lily from the floor.

“Don’t know why you’re studying history with me,” said Remus, throwing down the remaining notecards. “I’m rubbish at it.”

“Everyone’s rubbish at it,” Lily pointed out.

“Sirius isn’t,” said Remus, lowering his head so that he could see her beneath the table. “Half these wizards and witches are on his family tree, apparently. Or at least the nasty ones are.”

“Lucky prat. Wish I could take an exam about my family,” Lily muttered. She attempted her best droning impression of Professor Binns. “What is Nelly Parker, second cousin of one Lily Evans most famous for in the year of 1968?”

“Dunno,” said Remus, smiling slightly. “What?”

Lily raised a finger as if she were making a particularly compelling point. “For alighting the mink collar on her coat with a Christmas candle, then smothering the flame with her own wig from off her head.”

Remus snorted, but Lily only frowned. “If you’d rather go study with Black, that’s fine,” she told him, trying not to sound bitter. “He might actually help you get better marks.”

“Can’t, he’s got detention with James,” said Remus. “Apparently those school brooms have got some sort of trace on them. Hooch was able to tell one was used out of bounds and after hours, and she finally managed to find out who’d done it.”

“Some good news at last,” said Lily, feeling cheered by the idea of their punishment.

“Not for me,” said Remus gravely. “I’ve got to tend our Forgetfulness Potion by myself this afternoon. I know I’m going to bollocks it up, and then we’ll all fail.”

Lily weighed her options: to help Remus and thus help Black and Potter, or to let them have at least one well-deserved failure for their final exams. She sighed dolefully. “Don’t add too much peppermint; it’s for smell and flavor only and can’t be allowed to dilute the Lethe River Water. And don’t stir it, the mistletoe berries have to stay settled at the bottom.”

“Lily,” said Remus very seriously. “Has anyone ever told you how generous and wonderful you are? How lovely and graceful and saintly—”

“Oi, shut it,” said Lily. “I’ll help you properly next year if you partner with Pettigrew instead.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Pete’s got detention right now, too, you know. He threw that Fanged Frisbee at Avery during breakfast.”

“Yes,” Lily relented. “But he at least seemed unhappy to be going to Filch’s office. Black and Potter always look like they’re heading off to have tea with the queen. I don't know how you stand them.”

Remus grinned the small, private smile that Lily had come to learn meant he wasn’t going to explain himself. “They’re good mates.”

“You could find better ones,” Lily insisted. “More sensible ones.”

Remus let out a quick laugh. “What, like Snape?” He turned toward where Severus was sitting several tables away, and Lily dared to peek from behind a table leg. Severus was frowning rather stonily at them and their odd setup, Lily at the foot of her chair, Remus hunched to talk to her. As soon as Severus spotted her looking, however, he turned quickly back to his notes.

Sev had taken care not to argue with her since his birthday, but it was clear that he resented her spending half of her studying time with Remus. She still did nearly all her Potions and Defense homework with Sev, and she had shared his table all morning until Remus had come to join. She’d forgiven Severus after he’d confessed that his mother had given him only a hastily scrawled note wishing him a Happy Christmas, and that he had heard nothing from his father. They hadn’t any wizard or muggle money, Lily knew, and his mother was withdrawn and cold when she wasn’t having fiery spats with his father. Lily reasoned that Severus only wanted her to feel far from her own family since he had no choice but to feel so far from his.

“You don’t know Severus,” she said firmly, watching the way the other boy flushed at being noticed, apparent even from this distance. She knew it pained him not to complain about Remus more than the occasional eye roll or scoff and she felt the need to defend his effort. “He’s brilliant, and you only see him at his worst.”

Remus accepted this easily enough, but he said without looking up, “I could say the same about James and Sirius.”

Lily huffed and clambered back into her seat, wanting to turn their attention back to studying.

If she only saw Potter and Black at their worst, then their worst was by far bad enough to justify her poor opinion of them. As for them being brilliant, it was a painful truth that she tried not to let boil her blood.

Indeed, when the time came for exams the following week, both boys accepted praise and high marks without any sort of surprise or delight, only the satisfied air that everything was right in their world. At least McGonagall complimented their successful switching spells with a sort of begrudging wariness, unlike the other professors who seemed delighted by their every action. Lily was frustrated enough by their successes that she accidentally switched her shrew not with her own toadstool but with Benson Brown’s further along the table, earning her a point deduction, to her dismay.

In Charms and Potions both, however, she managed to outstrip the rest of the class, along with Severus in Potions who shared her final perfect score from Slughorn. Remus managed to do best in the class in Defense Against the Dark Arts to his own surprise, but not Lily’s. Professor Spatz kept him after the final class was dismissed, and Lily waited for him in the corridor. When Remus left at last, he looked despondent.

“What’d she want?” Lily asked, keeping pace with him.

“To recommend some reading for the summer and say goodbye. She says she’s not coming back on next year.”

“What?” Lily asked, surprised. “Why ever not? Surely she hasn’t been sacked?”

“Nah,” said Remus. “Those scars she has, she got them from dealing with a hag that was causing some trouble near a muggle village last year, did you know? Apparently, she was always rather good at dealing with dark creatures without much of a fight, but she says they’ve been stirring up and acting out recently. She reckons someone’s spreading around some rather foul ideas, trying to appeal to their worse nature. That’s why she’s leaving, she feels like there’s too much work to be done outside of Hogwarts.” He said all of this very flatly, staring at his feet.

“It’s a shame,” said Lily. “She was a good professor. Think she’ll come back?”

“Dunno,” said Remus, shrugging. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “She worked with my da. Different divisions, she said, but she might start working with him more closely. His division needs more hands, apparently.”

“What division is that?” Lily asked, curious.

Remus scowled, and Lily suddenly felt she had somehow asked the wrong question. He answered her, however, his voice a bit tight. “The Five-X division. You know, with all the really dangerous stuff. The kill first, question later type creatures.” He started walking faster, and as Lily struggled to keep pace, he turned and said to her, “Look, I’ve got to go. See you at the End-of-Year Feast tonight, all right?”

Before Lily could respond, Remus had turned down a corridor seemingly at random, and Lily was sure he’d done it for no other reason than to be alone. She watched him stalk away, chewing her lip. If Sev liked to drag others into the things that bothered him, it seemed Remus liked to push others far away from the same.

June 23, 1972

Sirius

Sirius watched Remus devour his meal at the End-of-Year Feast in a way that completely put him off the food on his own plate. “I’m going to miss this,” he said mournfully, setting down his fork. “Watching Moony put so much food in his mouth that he can’t seem to chew.”

Remus muttered something through a full mouth that might have been “I can chew just fine,” but Sirius couldn't be sure. The Great Hall was done up all in yellow and black, with the badger’s crest on every banner strung across the enchanted ceiling. The Hufflepuff table was raucous and loud, celebrating their House Cup victory due to the impressive number of points they’d racked up with their Quidditch wins. Some of the seventh-year students from other houses were shooting the Hufflepuffs nasty looks, but Sirius couldn’t find it in him to care—it was better than letting the Ravenclaws cinch it from their swotty behavior in class, and it was much preferable to having the smug Slytherins for victors. At least the Hufflepuffs were eager to share their good mood. Sirius had overheard the older students whispering about a party in the Hufflepuff common room, although anyone under fifth year would be turned away. Andromeda had gone so far as to sit next to a very pleased-looking Ted Tonks, and none dared to comment on it, even if Narcissa was looking particularly sour beside Lucius Malfoy at the Slytherin table.

When the dinner remnants vanished and pudding appeared, Sirius tired to listen to James, Peter, and Marlene as they discussed summer holiday plans. Marlene would be allowed to tag along as Patsy and a few friends traveled through some cities on the continent. James and his family were apparently going somewhere on the shoreside, and he was trying to convince Peter to come along. Sirius stabbed fretfully at his custard with his spoon, letting their voices wash over him without listening. This time tomorrow night, he would be at one end of the long kitchen table beside the dark kitchen, eating something wretched Kreacher had prepared. He would not have the shoreside or the continent to look forward to. If he was fortunate, he would see very little of his mother and father as they bemoaned the state of the wizarding world and discussed Ministry affairs in the study he was often locked out of. If he was unfortunate, they would try to reform him with screeching lectures. He had not been fortunate with his family thus far.

“Mum’ll let me go for a week, I’m sure of it,” Peter was nodding enthusiastically. “Most summers she just wants me to sit near her while she does the knitting. It’s so dull.”

“Tell your mum to come, too,” said James, competing with Remus in terms of who could shove the most custard in his mouth. “It’ll be brilliant. We’ll walk the beaches in the evening, and we can explore the little muggle town…nothing too exciting there, but still, the shops are funny. The house is plenty big enough and Mum’ll want someone to appreciate her cooking. Plus, I need someone to give me pointers on my broomwork before tryouts next year. And in the mornings it’s lovely to swim and there’s a great rock for jumping from; I know you said you can’t swim, Pete, but you can watch me—”

“Oh, who gives a toss about your rubbish beach?” said Sirius suddenly. “Pete’s watched you fly around and show off like a git all school year, surely he’ll want to do something better with his summer holiday.”

Peter had gone very wide-eyed, and James, who had been frozen in his enthusiastic expression, began to go a little pink, and he set down his spoon, closing his mouth in a tight line.

James and Peter returned to planning their lovely summer, but in much quieter tones, and Sirius scowled at his lap, refusing to notice as Remus watched him from across the table. He walked a bit behind the other boys all the way back to common room, then stayed behind as James and Peter went upstairs to the dormitory to pack. He pretended to be engrossed in the first book he found beside the hearth, which unfortunately happened to be a third-year Transfiguration text, and so Remus did not at all seemed to be fooled by the act as he came to sit beside him on the sofa.

“Getting ahead on your reading?” asked Remus. “You’ve picked an odd time to start on your textbooks, seeing as term is over.”

Sirius glanced at the chapter title. “I just happen to have a great passion for creating opera masks from garden birds.”

“Is that so?” asked Remus without interest. He put a hand on the top of the book, forcing Sirius to lower it and finally look at him. Remus looked like he was lacking sleep, with lips chapped. The moon was only three nights away. He blinked, then tilted his head. “'You know, I’m not looking forward to summer holidays, either.”

“Who says I’m not looking forward to it?” asked Sirius, wishing to be difficult. “You heard my mum’s Howler. You know how pleasant her company is.”

“She’s a foul old bint,” said Remus without flourish. “You don’t have to be one, too.”

Sirius slammed the book shut with a furious snap. “You’re one to talk. You remember you used to near about rip our throats out if we asked to visit you at the Hospital Wing, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Remus. “But I’ve got good mates that made me not want to make everyone else miserable just because I was.”

Sirius was quiet for a bit, then gave Remus a shove without any malice. “Bully for you, then. I think everyone ought to be at least a bit miserable.”

“Well, you’ve got me covered,” said Remus reasonably. “And you know James will be near mad with missing you. And Pete’s going to be envious of everything James gets into while being too worried to try it for himself. Is that enough misery for you?”

“Nearly,” said Sirius, but his mood was not as dark as it had been a moment ago, and he couldn’t pretend that it was. He sighed. “Reckon I should go up and apologize, then?”

“James knows you're sorry,” Remus shrugged. “Just don’t make him tear our dormitory apart packing for summer without you.”

The dormitory was indeed a mess when Sirius and Remus entered; the walls around James’s four poster bed were strangely devoid of Puddlemere United posters, leaving only a wall filled with pin holes. Peter had uncovered a veritable cache of sweet wrappers underneath his bed, and Remus was soon faring no better with his mess of Chocolate Frog boxes mixed in with notes and books he’d forgotten to return to the Muggle Studies professor. Sirius knew he had a true challenge ahead of him in sorting through the tangled mess of his clothes that had taken up much of the floor.

With some trepidation, Sirius gathered his muggle denims, shirts from Andy, books from Remus, the lumpy knitwear from Mrs. Potter, and brought it all over to James, who stopped rummaging beneath his bead and looked up at Sirius skeptically.

“Take these for me, will you?” Sirius asked. “My mum’ll just make me watch while she Incendios all of it.”

James looked at Sirius with an unreadable expression, then nodded. “Of course, mate.”

When they’d finished squabbling over which school jumpers and ties belonged to who and turned down the light, Sirius waited for Peter’s telltale murmuring in his sleep. Everything was silent behind Remus’s closed bed hangings, but Sirius doubted he was sleeping so easily this close to the moon. There was no snoring yet from behind James’s curtains, and so Sirius didn’t hesitate as he slid them apart and clambered into the bed beside him.

James turned to him, glasses still on as if he’d been expecting him. “You don’t have to say sorry,” James whispered, making room.

“Good,” said Sirius. “Because I’m not that sorry. But I do want you to know that I don’t think you’re a git. Or, at least not a terrible git.”

“I know,” said James. He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape. “Think the summer will be horrid, then?”

“Yeah,” Sirius sighed. “Reckon it will. Dear old Mum and I hated each other back when she’d never even considered the idea of me not being sorted into Slytherin. I don’t think it’s going to make things any better.”

“What about your brother?” James asked. “At least you’ll have him, I suppose?”

“I don’t have him at all,” Sirius whispered, a bit more earnest than he’d meant to be. He chewed his lip a moment. “He might’ve tried with me, if I’d been Slytherin. But now, I reckon he’ll think it’s too difficult to bother.”

“I’ll send Featherby as often as I can, and he’ll wait for your reply,” James promised. “In case your family won’t let you use their owl. I’m doing the same for Remus, since he and his mum don’t have one.”

Sirius attempted a smile, but it was weak. “It’s so dark there,” Sirius said at last, hoping he didn’t sound as if he were whining. “It’s cold and half the furniture’s been cursed and the doors lock on their own half the time. It’s not like here. I hate everyone and everything in my home.”

James threw his arm around Sirius, face sleepy. “S’not your home,” he said, eyes slipping closed. “Your home’s right here, with me.”

Sirius waited for James’s droning snore to start up before he pulled off the boy’s glasses and set them beside the pillow so that he would not bend them worse than they already were. “Thanks, Jamie,” he whispered back, and let himself fell asleep.

The next morning, Sirius tried to stay afloat in the murky puddle of his poor mood as he hauled his surprisingly light trunk down to the common room, where it would be transported to Hogsmeade Station. His mother would throw a true tantrum when she discovered that his expensive dress robes were nowhere to be seen, and when she found out that the few valuable Borgin and Burkes items she’d packed among his things had been chucked into the Black Lake. The giant squid had taken an issue with the withered centaur leg, however, and chucked that right back. He and James had decided to shove it through the visor opening of a suit of armor on the fourth floor and be done with it.

He had just followed the rest of the students out of the portrait hole when he heard his name being loudly called. To his surprise, he turned to see Andromeda and Ted Tonks, beckoning him enthusiastically over toward the left corridor. Sirius glanced back at James, Peter, and Remus, who agreed that they’d wait for him.

When he reached Andromeda, she was wearing a bitten down smile, while Ted only examined him as if assessing something. “Reckon he’ll make good use of it, Dromeda?” he asked, looking Sirius up and down in a way that made Sirius bristle to his full height.

“It’s mine to give away, you know,” said Andromeda with playful irritation. “I’d like it to stay in the family. And heaven knows Cissy would just take a blasting jinx to the thing.”

“What are you on about?” asked Sirius, feeling rather childish and out of the loop in a way he didn't appreciate. “Get on with it, will you?”

“Get on with it, he says.” Andromeda shook her head sagely. “Little cousin, you have no idea the gift we are about to bestow upon you.” She walked as she spoke, and Sirius had little choice but to follow her as she rounded a few corners, and came upon a hideous tapestry wherein several misshapen trolls in dresses were attempting leaps and pirouettes. James had investigated this very tapestry many times beneath the cloak, claiming that such an ugly work must have been placed there to conceal a secret of great importance. Andromeda, however, did not face the tapestry, but rather the bare wall opposite. She began pacing in front of it with her eyes shut tightly.

“What in Merlin’s name are you—” Sirius began, but Ted cut him off with a hand tight on his arm.

On Andy’s third pace, the wall began to change, turning into a very solid looking door. Sirius gaped at it, his first thought being that James was going to be insufferably smug when he learned he hadn’t been far off the mark with that tapestry. Beaming, Andy gestured for Sirius to open it, and so he did. The door revealed an enormous chamber, so filled with items that Sirius stumbled back in alarm. It was as if he was entering the largest Gringotts vault imaginable, if the vault was filled with useless bric-a-brac. There were books, busts, trunks, cages, cabinets, un-framed portraits and empty frames, dusty chess sets, and even a rather brutal-looking double ended axe. Everything was stacked in shelves almost higher than those in the library, or else heaped in piles along every wall and corner.

“What is this place?” Sirius managed to ask.

“Some sort of storage closet gone mad,” said Ted appreciatively. “Most of the stuff in here is old junk, but it’s great for hiding things away over the summer term. No one ever cleans it out, apparently.”

“No one knows it’s here,” said Andy. “You have to pace three times along the corridor and focus intently on wanting to reach this room. Ted only knows about it because some older Ravenclaw showed it to him, and he only knew about it because someone older did the same. Now it’s time for our knowledge to pass on to you.”

“Cool,” Sirius said around a grin. From a quick scan, it was already delightfully clear that the room was filled with a great deal of Hogwarts contraband outlawed by Filch.

“It’s not the room I’m giving you so much as the thing I usually hide in it,” said Andromeda. “Ordered it after my second year, but couldn’t possibly bring it home without the risk of Bella losing her already batty, pureblood mind.” Andromeda led him a short distance to an overstuffed armchair, atop which there was a box with all sorts of knobs and dials and some sort of brass trumpet attachment. Sirius realized what it was only due to the large crate beside it, filled with black disks and flat, square sleeves.

“It’s a magical gramophone,” said Sirius with surprise. The Malfoy’s had one; Sirius had spotted it the singular time his unfashionably dour family had managed an invitation to their holiday ball. It had sat in the Malfoy parlor, playing crackly old harpsichord from some long-dead wizard composer.

It’s a modified magical gramophone,” Andromeda corrected. “Adapted to play muggle vinyls.” She nudged forward the heavy crate, absolutely brimming with albums. Sirius dropped to his knees reverently, pulling one out at random. It was an assembly of odd and colorful people, the most prominent being the four blokes in bright suits at the front. The flowers before them spelled out a word Sirius didn’t recognize—BEATLES.

“Don’t need it anymore,” Andy continued. “Ted’s got one at home that works off of elksatrisity.”

“Electricity,” Ted corrected.

“That’s what I said,” Andy insisted. “I’ll still miss the records something awful; I had to order them all from muggle London, or else pay off Ted and Kings to get them for me over the summers and holidays. You know Kingsley Shacklebolt, the seventh year Ravenclaw? I suppose Ravenclaw graduate now…”

Sirius nodded numbly, not truly listening.

“Anyway, Ted says he’s got most of them at home,” Andromeda continued. “His parents love music. But there are some in the back there that Kings picked up in New York, in America, you ought to give those a listen. Kings has great taste, they’re incredible, too.”

Sirius looked up, finally starting to understand the magnitude of what Andromeda was telling him. “All of these are mine?”

Andromeda grinned. “Enjoy, little cousin. Leave it here for the summer, of course, but have at it when you get back. If I can turn at least one other member of this family into a blood-traitor and a muggle-lover, I’ll have done my job.”

She and Ted led him back out of the room and Sirius followed reluctantly, watching as the door shrank down and disappeared once more into unobstructed stone wall. Andy gave him a rather embarrassing kiss on the forehead before taking Ted’s hand and leaving him to James, Peter, and Remus. They were some of the last to head down the stairs, with only the occasional Gryffindor straggler hurrying after them.

“You took ages,” said Peter. “What did she want?”

“Ah, nothing,” said Sirius, tossing back his hair. “Just to say goodbye. I reckon she’s really going with that Tonks fellow, and so my family might very well write her off as worse than dead.”

He’d already decided he would keep the secret until next term and surprise them, especially Remus. Muggle music, that noise he heard through shop doors in London when his father dragged him along at a clipped pace, those sounds his mother called carnal and indecent thumping and bumping and shrouded the house in a Silencing Charm to avoid. A trove of treasure that his parents would never approve of awaited him now, a bright promise to get him through a very dark summer.

Chapter Text

July 27, 1972

Remus

Remus awoke with his face mashed against iron, blissfully cool against his sore cheek as the rest of the room sweltered around him. A noise had roused him, the creaking of a door. It was the old cellar door in his mam’s let in Swansea; he knew the sound of it well. He waited for the telltale rattle of keys, the clunk of the lock, the sharp soap smell of his da that always smelled too strong in the days before and after the full moon.

He was naked, he knew, and he’d grown used to the bed in the shack over the last several months and the privilege of torn blankets to pull over himself to feel some sort of decent. Madam Pomfrey mended the bedclothes without fuss every month, just for Remus to rip them to ribbons again the next. He was sure she only bothered because she found him attempting to cover himself with them every time she came to gather him. There were no bedsheets in this cage, but Remus tried not to care, sticky with sweat as he was.

It was his second full moon in the cellar cage after nine months of going through the Whomping Willow’s passageway to the shack. He didn’t think he’d had any particular fondness for the shack, but he rather missed it now. More, he missed Madam Pomfrey’s talkative way of tending to him, the clean smell of her. Now, he had his da’s calloused fingers propping his head up, examining his half-open eyes. Remus knew that he looked very much like his da, but he struggled to see the resemblance as he let himself be looked over. They had the same head of brown-blond curls, the same freckles and hazel eyes, but Remus thought his father looked so neat, so contained. Remus knew that when he looked in the mirror, he’d see something wild and angry instead, something alarming cutting through all his plainness.

His da was in muggle clothes, like he always was when he came to visit Swansea. Remus wasn’t altogether sure where his father was living in London, whether it was in an area with lots of other wizards or in a flat in a building full of muggles. It was most likely somewhere close to the Ministry entrance, wherever that was. Lyall Lupin was practical like that. When his father wrote, he sent his correspondence with a Ministry owl.

“Nothing broken?” his da asked him. “Can you sit up?”

“Yeah,” Remus mumbled, doing so. He felt black and blue all over, he didn’t wish to look down at himself to see what were sure to be violet and yellow bruises blooming across his skin.

“Not bleeding too badly,” said Lyall, dabbing at cuts with a cloth that stung. “But you have too many new scars for my liking. I tried to tell the school healer that smaller, more contained spaces were better. The beast can’t bite and claw itself properly if there’s not room to do so.”

Remus kept his mouth shut, partly because his jaw hurt, his very teeth hurt. His father handed him a damp cloth, and then a folded pile of clothes. “Here,” said his da. “Clean up a bit and get dressed, I’ve got your tonics ready upstairs.”

Remus didn’t answer as Lyall stood up and left him with the cage door open so that Remus could crouch his way out. The cage was battered and had toppled over onto its side with his apparent thrashing. It was magically reinforced, Remus knew, as was the cellar door, but that did not stop the wolf from leaving deep teeth marks in the metal. As Remus mopped off the sweat from his body, he couldn’t help but notice the stripe of bar-shaped impressions and bruises across his thighs, chest, and surely his back. The clothes left for him were freshly laundered by his mam, on the verge of too small.

Upstairs, his mother was just on the other side of the door. She never came down until he was dressed and seen to, and Remus did not know if it was her own apprehension or his da’s instruction that caused her to do so. Still, she wrapped an arm around him as soon as he emerged, winded from the climb. “Poor love, you look exhausted,” she told him, voice strained. She helped him to the little conservatory, then into a wicker seat near the window so that he could feel the early morning breeze cooling the house. She ushered a cup of tea into his hands, but his da took it away again, replacing it with one of the several bottles he had lined up.

“These are new from St. Mungos,” he told Remus and his mam. “Made to stabilize moods. Prevent frenzy. Not in wide use yet, but a good connection gave me an early supply.”

Remus knew it was no use to tell his da that he didn’t feel very frenzied at all, only sore and tired. He drank down the three new potions, one very sour, one cloyingly sweet, and the other so rancid he nearly choked. Once he’d finished, his father at last handed him the minty cooling potion he craved, and the flavorless one for pain. “Sleeping draught?” he managed to ask, eager to be done with the potions and tonics, and eager to feel the numbing lull of sleep.

“Not yet,” said his da, wringing his hands. “Let the potions for clarity take effect, you’re meant to be awake for best results.”

Remus frowned as he accepted his tea from his mam once more. He distracted himself by looking out the conservatory windows, squinting into the summer morning light that was already making his head pound. The pain potions did nothing for his particular brand of headaches, only the sleeping draught that he was not yet allowed to have was any help. Lyall left to busy himself in some other part of the house. He’d be gone again soon, once he packed his things and could be sure that Remus was fully boy and none beast.

The back garden was ragged with his mam’s sporadic attempts at tending it, going brown in the long weeks of heat. The neighbor across the garden wall, Mrs. March-Meyer, could just barely be seen by the fluffy white top of her head as she ostensibly busied herself with clipping the blackthorn hedge that grew over it. Mrs. March-Meyer had a little dog, Victor, whose incessant yapping and snarling was doing nothing for Remus’s head.

“She’s been like that all morning,” said Remus’s mam conspiratorially, sipping her own tea beside Remus. “Likely trying to see what that nosy little thing of hers is yammering on about. The creature hasn’t stopped since last night.”

“Could probably smell me,” Remus muttered unhappily. “Remember the bullmastiff in Cardiff? We had to leave that flat in a hurry.”

His mother hummed thoughtfully. “I reckon we can stay here a bit longer. It’s only three months of the year now, after all. And Victor can’t live forever. I estimate he’s near ninety already.”

Remus snorted, then regretted it as a pain shot through his temple. He could feel the strange effects of whatever new potion his father had tried on him. It was clearing his mind, but doing so rather agonizingly. He felt very focused, and the air around him also seemed very clear. There was none of the comforting drowsiness, or the looseness of exhaustion. It made him nauseous.

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” his mam was asking him.

“Mm,” said Remus noncommittally. He liked Swansea alright, but they’d only moved into the let a month or so before he left for the school term. It was a quiet street, a long walk from the sea. There was nothing of him in the drab, aged furniture that had come with the let, but there was plenty of his mam—her books and magazines across the tabletops, her paint supplies beside him in the conservatory. It was nice enough. In fairness, Remus could remember only one place that had ever lasted long enough to feel like home—the cottage where he’d been bitten in the countryside, back when his da had lived with them.

“I’ll fetch you some toast, then I should be off to work, Cariad,” his mam said softly, setting down her empty mug and heading toward the tiny kitchen. “I’ve told them I’m poorly this morning, but I don’t want to miss too many hours. I’ll just wait until you’ve had the last of your medicine and your da is off.”

Remus nodded, distracted by pain, and sunk lower into his chair as Mrs. March-Meyer finally left Victor to his barking and retreated back inside, not spotting anything out of the ordinary at the Lupin residence. Remus knew that his mother had battled hard to get this let. His da preferred them to live out in the country, far away from any other wizards or muggles. But his mam had needed work and needed to be close to the shops, so this house with its bare, dusty cellar had been settled on. The condition had been the silencing charms on the cellar door. The morning after last month’s full moon, he’d heard his mam and da arguing about it when he was slipping off into sleep.

“I don’t like not being able to hear him if he shouts,” his mam had said, voice high.

His da had scoffed at his mother’s concern. “It’s not him in there, Hope. It’s not Remus doing the shouting.”

Now, he could hear them speaking again in the kitchen, perhaps repeating the argument. He wondered precisely what was in that new potion his da had given him; it felt unsettling in his stomach. One moment he wanted to laugh, the next he felt very grave. Remus wondered perhaps if it needed a bit more testing before St. Mungo’s began distributing it to anyone else, since he wasn’t sure that the effects were altogether pleasing.

His mother deposited the toast, which Remus didn’t touch, then returned to the kitchen where Remus could hear her tidying up. The cooling potion was wearing off in short order, and Remus rolled up his long trouser legs and pushed up his sleeves to feel the breeze before he was drenched in nauseous sweat again.

“Remus,” came his da’s voice from behind his chair. “You should be keeping those covered. We’ve discussed this.”

“Why?” Remus asked, irritated. “It’s lousy hot, and no one’s here.”

Remus’s da stepped forward, blinking with a frown. Remus tended to be more or less limp and agreeable after the full moon, and he himself was surprised by his own reaction. “Anyone could look in and see you,” said his da.

“Oh,” said Remus. “You mean you can see them. I’d forgotten how much they disgust you.”

Lyall Lupin was a tall man, and he rose to his full height now, going rigid. “It’s not a matter of how I feel about them. It’s a matter of how they cannot possibly be explained away. They frighten people.”

They’re hideous, Remus had told Sirius in the dark of their dormitory.

They’re not, Sirius had said. They’re you.

“What if it’s me that frightens people?” Remus challenged. “What if people are meant to be frightened by what I am?”

The sounds of his mam washing up in the kitchen had stopped, and Remus felt sure she was listening.

His da’s frown deepened to a disturbed scowl. “The monster is not what you are, Remus. It’s important to remember that. Now pull down your sleeves and trousers.”

“I said that I was bloody hot,” Remus said. His voice was rising to a near shout, but the strange potion was swirling tempestuously inside him, he felt as if there was nothing he could do about it. “And it is what I am. I am a Werewolf. I’ll be a bloody Werewolf for the rest of my—”

Remus lurched as he and the chair he sat in were shoved suddenly backward against the window. His father was white with fury, gripping his wand within his coat pocket as if he were wary of being attacked. His mam had appeared in the doorway, hair awry, looking panicked at the noise. It took Remus a moment to realize tat his da had exhibited some sort of uncontrolled magic, like Remus had when he was very little. Perhaps his da was not the picture of containment, after all.

“Do not call yourself that,” Lyall said, his voice very quiet for all the anger it held. “Do not claim that. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“It’s true,” said Remus bitterly, standing from the chair with energy he did not have. “It’s true, and no number of potions, no amount of trousers and jumpers will make it not true. And it might be a horrible thing to you, but others might not mind—”

“Others?” his da asked in alarm. “What others?”

Remus shut his mouth quickly, breathing hard from exertion. “No one,” he said after a moment. “Dumbledore only said—”

“Dumbledore has an optimistic spirit,” said his father with unexpected disdain, “but a foolish one in some ways. Do not think that his unusual understanding applies to anyone else.” He rubbed at his temples, wand still in hand. “All other wizards fear that kind, and they’re right to do so.”

“My kind,” Remus corrected. Standing was making him dizzy; the entire altercation was making him dizzy.

His da looked at him for a long moment, then took a sleeping draught from his coat pocket and set it down beside Remus’s half-drank cup of tea. “I have to be off,” he said suddenly. “The Ministry needs everyone in the department. A child died last night, around the same age you were when you were bitten, Remus. Werewolf attack, an unsuccessful turning. Think on that, and let me know if you’d like me to consider that sort of beast your kind.”

His da left very quickly, and Remus could hear the loud crack of Disapparition from the front hallway. Whatever had compelled Remus to stand was gone now, and he sunk back into his chair.

His mam looked very near tears, and Remus was suddenly very sorry. “Here, love,” she said, holding up the sleeping draught with a shaky hand. “Take this, then we’ll go up your bed. I’ve got the blankets all laundered for you. I can call the shop and let them know I’m not feeling any better.”

“No,” said Remus, feeling terrible in every sense of the word. He swallowed the potion down quickly. “You go in. I’ll be fine.”

His mam looked at him warily. “If you’re sure...”

It wasn’t until Remus was tucked into the bed that did not quite smell like his yet that he spoke again. “He hates me,” he whispered. “Maybe he’s right to.”

“He doesn’t,” his mam reassured him, although she looked even more saddened than before, if such a thing were possible. “I reckon he hates himself a little, but not you.”

Remus could feel the alluring tug of sleep. “Why?”

“He meant to be the kind of man who protected you,” said his mam slowly. Remus shut his eyes. “And he can’t quite accept that he didn’t.”

Then tell him to protect me now, Remus wanted to say. Tell him to protect me from his own disgust with what I am. But his mouth was too heavy to move, and his eyes were too heavy to open, and with the moon tucked safely away beneath the horizon, Remus slept.

August 4, 1972

Sirius

Sirius entered his room, only to find Kreacher in there once again, long knobby fingers prying at the Gryffindor wall hangings Sirius had affixed there with his very best permanent sticking charms. Regulus had watched scowling from the doorway and warned him that he’d receive an owl from the Ministry, expelling him for use of underage magic, but Sirius had done enough reading on the principle to know the threat was empty. Whatever trace the Ministry had on him would be hard to discern amongst the veritable horde of dark artifacts around him at all times. Perhaps if he were in a muggle house, or if the Ministry were looking for him very specifically, he could be in trouble. Even so, as far as Sirius knew, his father’s questionable career comprised of keeping the Ministry far away from Black affairs.

“It’s no use, you old bat,” said Sirius flopping onto his bed. The whole thing had smelled of mildew when he’d returned from Hogwarts, and he very much doubted Kreacher had deigned to clean it while he was away. “Tell my mother you’d have better luck clearing the Troll smell out of the cellar than getting those down.”

“Young and hateful master is killing his poor mother!” Kreacher wailed, his deep croaking voice wrought with emotion as he continued to pull at an un-budging pennant. “Kreacher lingers at her doorway and hears how she moans and cries over the shame Master Sirius brings her!”

“Do us all a favor and stop talking about my mother moaning in her chambers,” said Sirius, using one foot to attempt to shove Kreacher off the chest where he was balanced. “And get out.”

“Hateful young master without a shred of dignity,” Kreacher muttered, not quite under his breath as he gave the pennant one last yank and then leapt nimbly away from Sirius’s shove. The house-elf was wearing a sooty bit of velvet curtain, tied around his frightfully bony body with a silver tassel. “Wretched young master wouldn't know family honor if it spit on him, Kreacher thinks,” he added as he sidled his way out the door and slammed it behind him.

Giving the elf a dignified two-fingered salute, Sirius reached beneath his rumpled bedsheets and beneath the lumpy mattress until he found the stack of letters he’d come to get. Each of them had been delivered by Featherby, the Potters’ owl. James and Peter had been sending their letters together, and Remus had been sending his to James to pass along since he, too, depended on James’s owl in order to send his correspondence. Despite this rather complicated method, Sirius boasted no less than three letters from Remus, who he’d half expected not to write him at all. There were five short missives from Peter, and no less than fourteen long rolls of parchment from James, who seemed to be keeping a fastidious log of every thought he had and sending them Sirius’s way. He scanned through them again, smiling, before he reached into the mess beneath his bed and pulled out his own parchment and quill.

Dear Petey boy, Sirius wrote neatly.

Happy birthday, mate. I hope the Devon sun hasn’t made you too brilliantly red and ruined your lovely complexion. As for me, my complexion remains nothing less than immaculate since my family has decided that enjoying sunshine is a muggle and blood-traitor pursuit.

Reggie, of course, was allowed to go with Cissy to visit the Malfoy estate all last week, and apparently that git Lucius has an entire Quidditch pitch on the grounds where Reg could practice. I, for some reason, was not allowed to go, maybe because last time Malfoy came round for supper, I asked him if his moustache was meant to be coming in like that, or if he’d snogged a Puffskein and managed to get four hairs stuck to his upper lip.

Anyways, I hope you get an entire cake to yourself, Pete, and tell James that on today of all days, he ought to let you handle the Quaffle while he mans the goalpost. Actually, you probably don’t need to tell him anything since I am sure that he’s stood behind you, reading over your shoulder and hopping up and down as if he has to wee.

You should know that I snuck into muggle London for your gift and got something called a Magic 8 Ball from a shop, and this ball seems to be how muggles perform Divination. Unfortunately Reg told my mother on me, and she deemed the item so cursed that she smashed it apart with an urn containing the remnants of Great Grandma Violetta. It turns out that it was filled with some sort of odd ink (likely a defensive mechanism) which upset everyone greatly and was highly entertaining to watch. So, unfortunately, your birthday gift ended up being a bit of a treat for me and is no longer in any state for you to enjoy it. Tell James to buy you twenty scoops of ice cream, and I’ll pay him back when term starts. Or, again, I suppose you needn’t tell him anything since he might have already torn the letter from your hands to read it first.

Happy birthday, Petey, can’t wait to see you and the rest of the lads soon.

Sirius

No sooner had Sirius finished penning the letter, than there was a sharp rapping on his window. Drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal dusty and smudged glass, Sirius could only see the faint outline of a barn owl, settling in on the sill. Sirius opened the sash quickly, ushering the bird in, who seemed to have been instructed to stay quiet, and allowed himself to be pet on his tawny head. “Sorry I don’t have any owl treats,” Sirius apologized, but Featherby only lifted his leg in a stately manner, offering the small bundle of letters he carried.

Sirius was delighted to see three envelopes, one from James, Peter, and Remus each. He opened them eagerly in order.

To: Sirius Black
The Fourth Floor Window with Dark Green Curtains
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place
Islington, Muggle London

Sirius, mate,

Yesterday Dad took Pete and I out sailing, and I reckon we spotted a Kraken, although Pete says it was a clump of seaweed. I told him he lacks serious imagination. We’ve been playing loads of Quidditch of course, but it’s hard to tell if I’m improving or if Pete’s just a lousy keeper, but I reckon there’s a good possibility it’s both.

Peter’s mum sent him a massive cauldron cake the size of my head this morning, and we’ve already eaten so much of it that we both can hardly move, which ruins our plans for a swim and a trip into the village. Oh well, this house is owned by a muggleborn for most of the year, and so they have something called a telly in the downstairs sitting room, called as such because it tells you things, or at least the people inside the box do. It’s all rather hard to explain and I don’t think I’ll manage it in a letter.

I’ve been going raving mad without you, next summer we’re simply going to have to shove you into my suitcase or I won’t be able to bear it. I’ve seen Duncan and Gene a few times when their families came to visit, but their idea of a laugh is to play keep-away with Peter’s Gobstone set. I suppose that’s my idea of a laugh, too, but it’s much more entertaining with you, and Pete seems to enjoy it much more when we’re the ones doing it.

Speaking of having a laugh, I have compiled a list of trouble we must get into when we return to Hogwarts next month, in no particular order. Here goes:
Kill Mrs. Norris (probably too drastic)
Kill Filch (merited, I think)
Shampoo Snivellus (I have a theory that this will kill him)
Find the prefect’s bathroom (Duncan says it has a swimming pool, might come in handy for Shampooing Sinvellus)
Kill the Slytherin Quidditch team (probably too time consuming)
Kill Patsy McKinnon (a true loss, but must be done for the sake of the Gryffindor team)

The list continued for much of the page, growing somewhat less murderous as it went on. It finally ended:

Hope the old hag and the man she’s married to who purport to be your mother and father aren’t keeping you too down. Tell Reggie to piss off for me, with lots of love.

Your fellow marauder,

James Potter

The next letter, from Peter, read,

Dear Sirius,

So glad to finally be twelve—now you lot can’t lord it over my head anymore. Of course, you’ll all be thirteen before I know it, and then I’ll be right back where I was, I suppose.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter are more nice than you could possibly imagine, and James’s dad even took us sailing. James is telling me to let you know we spotted a Kraken, but it was a lump of kelp that smelled like old fish. Not sure why James is kidding himself when we’ve quite actually been shoved about by the Giant Squid.

I’ve only got two more days left in Devon with them before I’m back off to my mum’s. Her squib sister is visiting again, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but my muggle cousins once saw me make their dad’s toupee try to crawl off his head when I got upset a few years back, and now they stay well away from me. It won’t be any fun.

I reckon there’s no chance of me making the Quidditch team this year or any year after based on how flying with James has been going. He says I’m loads better than Remus, but that doesn’t cheer me any. Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing both Remus and you back at school, even if it’s been lovely not having any homework. James keeps reminding me that there is summer homework, but he’s mad if he thinks I’m doing that.

Hope your summer with your family isn’t going too poorly.

Your friend, Peter

The last and shortest letter was from Moony.

Dear Sirius,

You have to get James to stop addressing and signing off his letters calling us all ‘marauders,’ I think you’re the only one of us he’ll listen to.

To answer your last letter, yes, I’ve done all my summer homework, and no, I’m not sending it to you to copy. Not that I have anything against copying, but I’m worried that one of those dark creature-detecting artifacts in your old family castle might actually work, and your mum’ll sniff it out on my notes and send your Uncle Cygnus after me for helping you cheat. Wonder how much Borgin and Burkes would be willing to pay for my leg.

James’s owl came to collect my card for Peter before sunrise this morning, so I’m knackered. Sending this letter along with the card and the book I got Pete. He’ll be disappointed that his gift is a book, but it’s ‘113 Impractical Uses for Droobles Best Blowing Gum’ so I figure it’s all right.

Remus

P.S. Got into it a bit with my da on the 27th. Figure you’re probably right about the whole knob thing.

P.P.S. I’m worried James has gone a touch homicidal over the summer. Did you get his list?

Sirius attached Pete’s letter to one he’d already written for James, then hastily scribbled a reply to Remus.

Moony, our fiercest marauder,

Of course I’m right about the knob thing. Kreacher found an old cursed fez in our attic that forces the wearer to flatulate foul odors every time they open their mouth. Let me know where to send the owl, and I’ll use Featherby deliver it to your dad. Hope your furry little problem didn’t tear you up too badly last week. Wish I could visit.

No worries about the homework, reckon I’ll have plenty of time to copy yours on the train, but when Pete asks to copy you, too, remember that I asked first.

So far this summer, my mum has called me a blithering varlet, a spleenful reprobate, and a miserable exemplar of failed breeding. Loads of other things, too, but those were my favorites.

Yours in marauding,

Sirius

P.S. What is a telly?

P.P.S. What is a Magic 8 Ball?

He had barely managed to get the letters on Featherby’s leg when his bedroom door began to creak open. Sirius whirled as the owl startled behind him, setting off with a flurry of feathers back into the noontime sky.

Regulus was stood in the doorway. Sirius’s door had once owned a handle and a lock precisely with the purpose of keeping Reg out, but his mother had disappeared them both after discovering the wall hangings and the permanent sticking charms. “Whose owl was that?” Reg asked with a frown.

A year at home without Sirius had not done him any favors, he was squintier and gaunter than ever and had lost a bit of the endearing whiny quality to his voice. He had on high-necked robes like some little lord, more fashionable than the things their mother supplied them with because they had come from Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa.

“The Minister of Magic’s,” said Sirius. “She’s written to tell me that they’ve made a new award especially for you—the nosiest little git award.”

Reg scowled haughtily. “I know your Gryffindor friends have been writing you. Didn’t know you were bothering to respond.”

Sirius scoffed. “I know you don’t think highly of me, Reggie, but you have to know I’m capable of holding a quill and forming my letters.”

“Are you?” said Reg. He was trying for impervious, but a little of his childish whine was back. “You didn’t write me all year.”

“I did,” said Sirius indignantly. “Over Christmas I sent you a set of Gryffindor socks, and for your birthday I sent you an Ever Bashing Boomerang. Went up to the owlery to pick out a school owl and everything.”

Regulus’s scowl deepened. “It doesn’t count if you sent them just to enrage mother. Of course I didn’t get those.”

Sirius shrugged. “Your fault for letting Mummy look through all your owls. You could be donning a spiffing set of red and gold hosiery right now.” Sirius stepped away from the window to pass Regulus in the door. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. Won’t have to owl you anything next year, I can just hand it to you in the Great Hall. I’ve got some muggle clothes I’m nearly grown out of that will really suit you, I think.”

“Cissy says I ought to pretend you don’t exist at school,” said Regulus, following him down the hall. The corridor was papered over in striped black and silver that made the wonky walls feel as if they were leaning in. One tapestry gave off a violent shudder as Sirius passed it, coughing out a spew of sooty dust.

“Does she, now?” asked Sirius, half interested as he attempted to outpace Reg. “And what if I start chucking food at the Slytherin table? You’ll just go on eating with pudding across your face?”

“If I’m even in Slytherin,” Regulus muttered.

Sirius turned, unsure he’d heard right. “What?”

“I dunno,” said Reg sourly. “Maybe you did something to the Sorting Hat when you put it on. Maybe it’ll think I’m tainted, too. Mother’s worried sick about it.”

“Tell Mummy not to worry that sweet little head of hers,” said Sirius, uninterested again. “It’s me that’s tainted. You know, since I think muggles ought not to be kept in cages and forced to wipe our arses.”

“Mother and father have never said that,” Reg insisted quickly.

“Have they not?” asked Sirius, trotting down the stairs. The mounted head of his family’s last house elf, Wenchley, had a rather large spider hanging from her nostril. “How progressive of them.” He’d made it to the first floor, to the small library and study off of the family’s drawing room. He turned to Regulus. “Are you going to follow me all afternoon, or am I going to be allowed to do my summer homework in peace?”

Reg narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re not doing summer homework.”

Sirius sighed. “What do you want, Reggie? Hoping to find something interesting about my reading to report back to Mummy?”

“I ought to tell her that you’ve been sending owls,” said Reg, bristling.

“Ah, yes,” said Sirius. “That’ll make for a pleasant supper. You’ll be subjected to an hour or so of screaming about my impure correspondence, I’ll be unable to do anything about the letter I’ve already sent and the owl that’s already gone. Mother and Father will rage themselves into an early grave. Maybe they’ll board up my windows and I’ll suffocate to death in that airless room.”

“If you don’t want me to say anything, tell me what you’re in here reading about all the time,” said Reg testily.

With a roll of his eyes, Sirius picked up the book he’d left by the armchair and tossed it to Reg.

Reg looked it over, puzzled. “Darkest Creatures and What Should Be Done With Them and Which Ones are Edible,” he read from the faded cover. “Why are you reading this?”

“Because it’s slightly more entertaining than watching the portrait of Great-great-grandfather Phineas snore and pick his nose in the room upstairs,” said Sirius, snatching the book back. “Now, will you leave me be?”

Regulus sniffed. “Mother says you have to wear your dress robes for supper tonight.”

“Excellent,” said Sirius. “I’ll come down in just my knickers, then.”

Reg snorted, but Sirius thought he rather wanted to laugh.

When Regulus had finally slunk back out of the room, Sirius sat down at last and cracked open the cover of the book. Muggle London was hot this week, but it still managed to be cold in the barely lit room, and Sirius shivered and strained his eyes to read where he’d folded the page over.

It was a passage on Werewolves, and the author, some dead witch named Jessipina Vrule, seemed undecided on whether or not they could be eaten in either form. She was, however firm on what should be done with them—they should be executed as witches and wizards before given the chance to transform. While the book was in every way horrid, it was also the only one Sirius had managed to find that extrapolated on the subject for more than just a paragraph or two. Vrule, in her mad rage to eliminate Werewolves, seemed to have taken some time to actually learn about them, unlike most others.

While the Werewolf hunts and eats prey raw like any other savage monstrosity, it appears only to do so out of hunger or boredom. Non-human creatures do not fill it with the uncontainable bloodlust that possesses it when it scents a witch or wizard. Werewolves will hunt muggles as well, when left without wizardfolk to terrorize, but muggles rarely survive their first transformation, and so the wolf seems less interested in them and their inability to propagate the monster’s foul race.

The animals that may get bitten by a Werewolf with nothing better to hunt do not suffer any sort of transformative effects, it seems. The rancid infection of the Werewolf bite is transmitted to humans, and humans only.

According to one report some centuries ago in Derbyshire, an entire witch and wizard settlement was eviscerated and bitten under a full moon of frenzied horror, while every goat, hound, and cat remained perfectly intact and seemed disturbingly unbothered.

It was not Sirius’s first time reading these pages, and he scanned them over again, waiting for some sort of inspiration to strike. He’d begun scanning the family bookshelves in order to see what measures had been taken for a cure, but most, like Vrule, were too preoccupied with slaughtering Werewolves to worry themselves about the Werewolves’ wellbeing. One book had vague notes on aconite root, which Sirius intended to tell Remus about, but the Vrule book was the one Sirius found most interesting. If it was accurate, Remus was slightly less dangerous to muggles, but that meant very little in a school filled with witches and wizards. As for animals, he posed no larger threat than any other wolf, perhaps even less of a threat than other wolves, since the animals were not their desired prey. Sirius was unsure what to do with this information, but perhaps it meant that Remus could transform in the Forbidden Forest, as long as wards were put in place. That, at least, had to be better than being trapped in some boarded up old house.

Warding the Forbidden Forest, however, seemed like no small feat. From everything Sirius had read, it was filled with ancient magic that resisted any sort of control. He had little doubt that the forest would be warded already if it could be, seeing that such a thing would make the entire forbidden aspect much more enforceable.

There had to be some trick to it that Sirius wasn’t seeing. He leafed through the books available to him again, finding nothing but the same repeated phrases by long-dead windbags. At last, he decided to take the Vrule book with him back to his room; it wouldn’t be missed here. It was reading his mother would approve of in her snooping, at least.

The dark candles spluttered out as he closed the door behind him and passed by the family tapestry. On the third day of summer holidays, his mother had received an owl from her sister-in-law Druella. Upon reading it she had shrieked, then muttered and tore at her hair until the end of her wand glowed like an ember. Sirius and Regulus were called to watch as she singed out Andromeda from the branch of the family tree closest to them, leaving an angry black scorch mark between Bellatrix and Narcissa. Sirius tried not to look at it as he walked by.

It wasn’t until late that the portrait nearest his door cleared its throat self-importantly and bid him come down for supper. With a sigh, Sirius glanced at the robes hanging beside his wardrobe that either Kreacher or Regulus himself had laid out in an attempt to get him to comply with his mother’s demands. Sirius wondered if they were having guests for dinner, perhaps one of the foul, pug-faced Parkinson daughters, or someone loathsome from the Ministry, or maybe a merchant from Knockturn Alley. He really was freezing, but the fine robes hung there threateningly, a pertinent demand. He sighed again, then stripped to nothing but his pants and a pair of Gryffindor crimson and gold socks, then made his way down to the ground floor dining room where Kreacher was undoubtedly serving something unseasoned and stodgy.

Chapter Text

September 1, 1972

Lily

“I’m staying in the car,” Petunia insisted, pointed nose high in the air. She had dressed in her very best outfit for the trip down to London, with a matching skirt, hat, and jacket. It seemed, however, that she was not so desperate to show it off that she’d be willing to accompany Lily to platform nine and three-quarters after the disaster that had been last year. “I can’t bear to be around those…those weirdos.”

“All right, love,” said Lily’s mum comfortingly. “We’ll be off to see Harrod’s after this, like we promised, yes?”

Petunia didn’t answer, only folded her arms tightly across her chest.

Lily sighed long-sufferingly, patience worn rather thin for her sister after a summer filled with scathing looks and terse exchanges. Tuney had been furious that Lily hadn’t written, then utterly scandalized when Lily proposed sending an owl more often next year. “Take it to the post like a normal person,” Petunia had said, looking pale. “If a great horrible bird shows up on my sill trying to get in, I’m calling the RSPCA.”

Things hadn’t been helped by the occasional appearance of Severus in their front garden, calling on Lily. Petunia had taken to a careful nightly regime of tight curlers, as well as a thick goopy mask of some cream meant to do away with her spots. When Severus had tapped on the kitchen window and Petunia turned round, he was faced with something that looked like a Grindylow in a barrister’s peruke. Despite Lily’s urging, Sev had not been able to stop laughing over it all summer, and Petunia hated him all the more for it.

Lily didn’t tell Severus off too harshly, since Petunia gave her a nasty fright, too, every time Lily stumbled across her in the bathroom after bedtime preparations. She also felt as though Severus had only the rare chance to make fun of someone else’s getup, since the muggle clothes he was left with over summer holidays were nothing less than ghastly. Lily had tried to offer him some things from the local charity shop this summer, but doing so had flustered and embarrassed Sev so severely that he didn’t come round for six days.

She’d asked him to make the journey to London with her to catch the train, but he had declined, likely knowing it would create a great deal of turmoil with her family.

Or, perhaps, because he doesn’t want to show up to the station with muggles, a small voice said in the back of Lily’s mind. She squashed it down.

Lily’s mum and dad exchanged wary glances over Petunia's most recent tantrum, clearly not meaning for Lily to see as they lifted her trunks from the car boot.

“Got everything dear?” her father asked, looking around the station excitedly. Unlike Petunia, Lily frequently had to remind her father to subdue his excitement. When she’d taken him to Diagon Alley last Christmas, he’d seemed nearly on the brink of telling the parking attendant where they were off to, and he’d been devastated to learn that Lily couldn’t perform magic at home until she was seventeen. He leaned in close, eyes bright as he whispered, “Got your books? Your cauldron? Your magic wand?”

“Yes, dad,” said Lily, rolling her eyes fondly and tugging on his arm to hasten him into King’s Cross. Like Lily, Thomas Evans had dark red hair and green eyes, although he had the angular, wiry frame Petunia had inherited.

Lily’s mum came up on her other side, beaming. “I hope I remember how to do it,” she said, as they crossed the busy road. She pushed aside the stray pieces of her blond hair and winked at Lily. “Just right at the barrier, a little speed is the trick, right? Oh, my heart’s all a flutter.”

“It’ll be fine,” Lily insisted as they entered the station, bustling with late morning commuters. “You managed it over Christmas without me, even.”

“Yes, well,” said her dad, blushing. “We had some help. A short redhead like you and me, here to pick up her brothers. She was a witch, there was no doubt about it with the clothes she had on, very lovely and eccentric. She set us right.”

They had only made it a short way through the crowd before a voice called out, “OI! EVANS!”

Lily stopped where she was, jaw clenched, but her mother and father whirled around.

“Who is that?” Her mum asked. “A Hogwarts friend?”

“No idea,” said Lily, pulling at both their arms to keep going.

“Must be,” said her dad, refusing to be tugged away. “See, he’s got a trolley, with all his trunks. And an owl! Lily, an owl!”

“Evans!” the voice called again, closer now, and just as cringingly cheerful. Lily relented to turning and watching James Potter as he pushed his trolly recklessly toward them. He was followed closely by a witch and wizard who greatly resembled him, his mum in coloring, his dad in stature and specky-ness.

“He seems to know you,” said her mum, nudging Lily in the side. “Not bad looking, either—”

“Mum!” Lily hissed in a panic. Her mum was accrediting Potter with something severely untrue, but he had grown taller and lankier over the summer, and his hair was more a mess than ever.

James nearly toppled an elderly muggle couple in his haste to reach her, face split in a careless grin. “All right, Evans?” he asked breathlessly. “Good summer? See anyone other than Snivellus?”

“No,” said Lily tightly. “But me and my dear friend Severus got ahead in all our coursework, I reckon.”

His grin lessened. “That sounds awful. Didn’t you have any fun?”

Lily opened her mouth to retort, hoping she wasn’t going pink, but her dad had spotted something else on James’s trolley. “Is that a broomstick? Is it for flying?”

“Yeah,” said Potter, cheer returning. “Going for the team this year,” he said proudly. He turned back to Lily. “How’s Marlene? She better’ve been practicing.”

Lily chewed her lip, wanting to get away but not wanting to be too unpleasant in front of her mum and dad. “Yeah,” she said at last. “She was hardly out of the air enough to reply to my letters.”

“You must be Lily,” said Potter’s mum, reaching out to take her hand. “James has told us all about his housemates. Can’t get him to stop talking about them, really.”

Lily managed a smile as her own parents introduced themselves with enthusiasm. As they made their way to the ninth and tenth platform, her mum and dad seemed to think she and Potter would like to be left alone to catch up, to Lily’s dismay.

“My parents love muggles,” said James happily. “Hopefully they don’t bother yours too badly.”

“Your mum and dad seem lovely,” Lily sniffed, marching forward with her trunk. “Don’t know what happened when they made you.”

Potter shrugged as if it were a true conundrum. “Sirius reckons an excess of love is bad for development.”

“Hm,” was all Lily said as they reached the barrier.

Her mum insisted that the Potters go first to settle her nerves, but they followed soon after, expecting solid wall, then feeling nothing. Platform nine and three-quarters was much the same as it had been last year with its assortment of witches and wizards in colorful robes, the plentiful cats and owls, its scarlet steam engine rumbling in wait for departure. This time, however, Lily recognized one of the cats as Claude, who pranced over and rubbed against her leg.

“Hello, gorgeous,” said Mary, bounding after the cat and lifting it into her arms so that Lily could stroke his head. Potter raised a hand in greeting, but Mary gave him an affectionate shove to the chest. “Not you, you dolt.”

James might have responded, but he spotted Peter Pettigrew a short distance behind Mary and gave both of the girls a salute before sprinting over to him, trolly swerving wildly.

“Good summer?” asked Lily, squashing Claude between them in a hug. “Did you get your birthday present?”

“Yes,” said Mary with a bright smile. “Look!” She reached into an overstuffed bag on her should and pulled out the stripey knit cap Lily had made for her over the summer, placing it on her head. It’d come out a bit wonky, but Lily was pleased. “It’s my new favorite. What do you think?”

“I think you look lovely, and like a very supportive friend, and perhaps a little lumpy,” said Lily, twisting the hat on Mary’s head to turn the messy stitches toward the back.

“I would have written a thank you, but things were absolutely barmy at mine,” said Mary, grabbing Lily’s hand. “John somehow caught the flu in the middle of August, then George and David both broke something playing footy, and I had to offer to garden for the neighbors to help get some extra quid. Mum seems to think boarding school is turning me into a bit of a princess without a care for her family, but it’s not my fault I’ve gotten used to a certain way of life without three little brothers rubbing their spit and bogeys on me every hour.”

Lily’s parents had caught up to them, and recognized Mary from Lily’s descriptions, introducing themselves and quickly spotting Mary’s muggle family who looked quite as pleased and shell-shocked as they did. Lily had just shaken hands with Mary’s three brothers, avoiding John who was still sniffling, when Marlene crashed into her from behind with a forceful hug.

Unlike Mary who looked much the same, Marlene had grown an inch or so, and while her blonde hair had hung in one long length around her shoulders last year, she’d cut it much shorter, which suited her. She had on a Hollyhead Harpies shirt and chipped nail polish that changed color from one moment to the next while she grabbed Lily’s face and gave her an exorbitant kiss on the forehead. Like James, she carried a broom in its case on her trolley. Patsy McKinnon was just behind with what seemed to be the rest of the Hufflepuff team, along with Marlene’s very tall, very blonde, and very attractive parents, jabbering away with the the older parents of the Prewett twins in Scottish brogues thicker than Marlene’s own.

“Aha!” said Marlene, spotting Mary’s hat. She reached within her trunk and pulled out another cap to match and put it on her head. Hers was even lumpier, since her birthday had come earlier and had the misfortune of being Lily’s first attempt. Marlene did not seem to mind, however, as she tilted it coquettishly over her brow. “Next year, everyone at Hogwarts will have them. They’ll have to build them into the school uniform, I reckon.”

“I hope not,” said Lily, very pleased. “Took me ages to do those monstrosities. I’ll need about a dozen more hands.”

“Charm the needles,” said Marlene, shrugging. “You could manage it if anyone could.”

“Then how on earth am I meant to improve?” Lily scoffed, taking her trunk along with the other girls to find an empty compartment.

“No Petunia, I see,” said Mary, as soon as they were out of earshot.

Lily put on a shrill, haughty voice. “Can’t be seen traipsing around with us crackpots and misfits, can she? It’d be the end of her social standing! Of her marriageable prospects!” She pretended to fan herself with agitated fury while Marlene and Mary laughed, tugging the trunk out of her hands and hauling it into the overhead storage.

Back on the platform, Lily spotted Potter again, this time with his gaze fixed agitatedly on a family in drab shades of deep purple, green, and black a little bit away from the rest of the crowd. It took her a moment to recognize Sirius Black among them, his hair neatly trimmed to his jaw, his robes fine and fastened up, looking absolutely miserable as he stared back at James longingly. The woman behind him, who had to be his mother with all that dark hair and those alarming blue eyes, had both hands grasped claw-like around his shoulders, grounding him to the spot even as he tried to shake her off. There was another, shorter boy by their side, with his own trunks beside him, so Lily figured it must be a younger sibling who’d reached Hogwarts age.

“Oh, look at the poor thing,” said Mary, spotting Sirius as well. “That must be the madwoman who sent him that Howler at the beginning of last year, remember?” She pursed her lips, assessing. “The haircut suits him though.”

Marlene giggled, slapping Mary across the shoulder.

“What?” Mary asked, unbothered. “He’s properly fit.”

“Don’t start,” said Lily warningly. “One minute, you’ll be gazing into those eyes, and then the next minute he’ll be jinxing your ears to twice their size for a laugh.”

Mary sighed. “He can jinx my ears into whichever size suits him.”

It was Lily’s turn to smack Mary over the shoulder.

When the conductor called out his final warning and the train began to whistle shrilly, Lily ran to her parents who, along with Mary’s family, were watching, highly entertained, as a baby in a nearby pram blew opalescent spit bubbles that morphed into entertaining shapes as they drifted up toward the high, bright ceilings. The baby’s mother took no notice, except to swat them away as she talked animatedly with another witch.

After Lily had suffered about a dozen kisses from both her mum and dad, her mum crouched down to look her in the eye. “You write often, never mind what Petunia says, all right love?”

Lily nodded.

“I like the owls,” said her father enthusiastically. “The neighbors think we have an uncanny knack for birding. Or perhaps they think we have some sort of rodent problem that draws in birds of prey. Either way, we’re the most interesting house on the street.”

“Slip in a letter to Tuney,” her mother advised, “And we’ll tack on some postage and pretend it came in through the normal way.”

Lily nodded again, wrapping them both in a tight hug. “I’ll miss you loads.”

“Nah,” said her dad, pushing her toward the train. “You’ve got too much magic to learn! Now, be good!”

From their compartment, Mary and Marlene crowded alongside her in the window to wave at their three very mismatched families, Mary with Claude struggling under an arm. Lily could spot what had to be the weeping Mrs. Pettigrew, flapping a kerchief in farewell. Potter’s mum caught Lily’s eye as well, and Lily thought she gave her an indecipherable wink.

No sooner had the train lurched into squealing motion than there was a catastrophic roar, and then a heavy thump in the corridor. Marlene opened the compartment door in alarm to investigate the noise, only to reveal Sirius Black, sprawled on the ground with his trunks scattered around him, pinned down by James Potter who seemed to have tackled him.

“You bloody numpty!” Potter cried, shaking a rather shellshocked Black. “Never do that to me again!”

“What?” asked Black, attempting to recover his wits and bearings. “Go home for summer holidays?”

“Exactly,” said Potter. “Summer holidays are no longer allowed. I forbid them!”

Peter Pettigrew was watching on from behind Potter with a pleased expression, seemingly wondering if he should dogpile onto Black as well. The younger boy Lily had seen with with Sirius on the platform was there too, standing behind Sirius with a very different expression on his face—alarmed and perhaps slightly disturbed. He looked very much like Sirius but held himself so differently Lily might not have noticed the similarities.

Potter spotted the other boy’s presence as well and looked up from where he was squeezing Sirius’s face between his hands, mashing his usually very defined cheekbones into a disgruntled pucker. “You must be Reggie,” he said pleasantly, still atop Sirius's chest. “Brilliant to meet you.”

The boy (Reggie?) didn’t respond.

“Reguluth,” said Black, his mouth unable to form precise words due to Potter's squeezing, “Thith is Jameth, and thethe are the thecond year Gyrffindorth.”

Just then, the door one down along the corridor slid open as well, and Remus stuck his head out, sitting in a compartment to himself. He took in the scene before him without any surprise.

“MOONY!” both Black and Potter cried out, and before Remus could do much, Potter had grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him from his compartment to topple onto the floor with them. Pettigrew seemed to decide that this was his cue to set down his trunks and launch himself on top of the pile of pointy limbs as well.

“You ought to shut the door,” Lily told Marlene, sitting back on the compartment bench. “Give them some privacy. They’ll all be snogging for the next twenty minutes or so.”

“Feel free to join in, Evans,” said Black from somewhere beneath Remus’s armpit.

“Dream on, Black,” said Lily, tossing her hair.

“Didn’t see you on the platform,” Potter said to Remus, propping himself up on Sirius’s stomach as the other boy grunted. “Thought you’d missed the train.”

“Nah,” said Remus. He’d relented to his fate and let himself be rolled about as Black tried to right himself. “Mam and I caught an early train to London before she had to head back for work. Got on the Hogwarts Express as soon as it arrived, trying to get a kip in.” He looked over to the girls' compartment and broke into a crooked grin. “Hiya, Lils.” He looked at the hats still perched on Mary and Marlene’s heads and grinned even wider. “You’ve both got hats, too. I’m a fool, should’ve worn mine.”

Potter sat up, sending Peter toppling off him. He gave Marlene and Mary evaluating looks, then turned to Remus. “Evans made you a hat, too?”

“It wasn’t even his birthday,” said Mary indignantly.

“Yeah, well, your summer sounded lousy from your letters,” said Lily to Remus, shrugging. “Thought a horrible little hat might improve your mood.” It was hard to tell from where he lay on the floor, but it seemed as if Remus had grown a few inches, too. He looked tired and had a small, new knick across his lip, but he had a tan and was very freckley. Not as freckley as her after the warm summer, but still. She smiled back at him. “You look well. Those strolls up and down the sand did you some good, I think.”

“You wrote Evans?” Potter asked Remus in alarm. “You took strolls on the sand? Why didn’t you tell me this in your owls?”

Remus looked at Potter, bewildered. “I dunno. I told you other things. I didn’t think my walking on the beach would matter to you so much.”

“What else did you do?” Potter asked, scrabbling off of Black. “Go to the shops? Visit the muggle cinema? What else have you divulged to Lily Evans but kept hidden from us?”

“Yeah,” said Remus, brow furrowed. “I did all of that.”

This news seemed to pain Potter greatly, distracting him enough that Black finally got free. “Please let’s sit and dig into the lunch your mum packed for you, Jamie,” Sirius insisted. “I’m starved. Kreacher served something that was meant to be bacon this morning, but I’m not sure it wasn’t Flobberworm.”

Lily wasn’t sure what a Kreacher or a Flobberworm was, but she didn’t like the sound of either.

“Poor thing,” said Potter in a matronly tone. He helped Sirius to his feet, then looked over at Sirius’s brother. “You hungry, too, Regulus?” he asked. “My mum packed about enough lunch to replace the Start-of-Term Feast.”

Regulus continued to stare, very pale, at James Potter, as if he had never before considered the possibility of being addressed. It wasn’t until James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius were all standing, waiting expectantly in the doorway of their compartment, that he seemed to understand. “I’m not going to sit with you and your Gryffindors and your muggle lovers,” said Regulus, voice strained with panic. He finally gathered enough wits to give the four boys a scathing look, then turned to Lily, Mary, and Marlene and frowned at them, too, for good measure. “I’m going to go find Narcissa.”

“Good luck with that,” said Sirius offhandedly. “She’s in her little Prefect meeting, simpering over Lucius now that he’s been made Head Boy.”

“Then I’m going to find a compartment far away from you lot,” said Regulus, some color returning to the high points of his cheeks. He looked a little more alive that way, Lily thought.

“Go then, and be quick about it,” said Sirius, rolling his eyes. “You still reek of dear Mummy’s perfume, it’s making me nauseous.”

Regulus hefted his trunk and stormed off, scowling at his feet.

“Your brother, then?” Lily asked, brows raised. “What a sweet boy. Must be a family trait.”

Sirius stuck out his tongue at her. “The only brother I’ve got,” he said, swinging an arm around Potter's neck, “is right here.”

“Too right,” said Potter, collapsing onto a bench in the compartment Remus had settled into. The boys kept their compartment door open, loudly conversing about their summers, and Lily sighed and pushed their own compartment door closed to block out the noise.

Mary twisted a curl around her finger, grimacing as she sat back down and Claude settled into her lap with a grumpy expression. “Don’t know how Sirius turned out the way he did. That brother of his will be a Slytherin through and through, no doubt.”

Lily frowned. “Not all Slytherins are like that.”

“Don’t tell me you mean Snape,” said Marlene, an edge to her voice. “He might keep it tamped down around you, but he’s just like the rest of his house.”

“I spent all summer with him, surrounded by muggles,” Lily argued.

“And did he seem pleased to be there?” Marlene asked.

Lily considered this, then frowned. “No, but his family life is rubbish. I’ve told you.”

“You’re too nice by half, Lils,” said Mary. “Look at Black. He doesn’t get on with his family, either, but he's not gone and become a blood purist.”

“Black is no prime example of good behavior,” said Lily quickly. “And Sev isn’t a blood purist. He’s not even pureblood.”

“And?” Marlene asked, raising one arched brow. “Does he go around touting that fact with his friends Avery and Crowe?”

“No,” said Lily, “but those lot aren’t his friends at all.” In fact, Lily supposed he was most likely sitting with them and the other Slytherins right now in another compartment, but that was only because she’d told him she wanted to spend the train ride catching up with Mary and Marlene. He’d wanted very much to sit with her, away from everyone else.

“He wishes they were his friends,” said Mary. “And he doesn’t say a word when they go on about dark magic during Defense classes.”

Lily felt rather ganged up on. “What else is he meant to do?” she asked, temper flaring. “Pick fights with his entire house just because they’re stupid about muggleborns?”

Marlene only tucked her long legs up on the bench, giving Lily an assessing look. “You pick fights with the people in your house because they’re stupid about him.”

“Oh, let’s leave it,” said Mary, seeming suddenly to take pity on Lily. “If we spend another moment of this ride talking about Snape, I’ll throw myself out the window.”

With some lingering agitation, Lily let the conversation be turned to Mary and a boy who worked in the local gardening store who she intended to write even if the owl gave him a nasty shock.

“You’ll be reprimanded for breaking the statute of secrecy,” said Marlene, alarmed but excited.

“Oh, blast the statute of secrecy,” said Mary. “I’ll just tell him I’m a bird-whisperer or something. David's too young to understand, and he already tells half the town that his sister can do magic. The neighbors think I’m some sort of pagan hippie and don’t question it since they think I’m going through some odd phase.”

Marlene began describing her trip to Rome, where she’d been allowed to tag along with Patsy and her of-age friends. Lily had visited Rome with her parents and Petunia when she was much smaller, but Marlene seemed to have visited other tourist locations entirely; she kept describing the statues talking to them in loud Italian. She was telling them about a piazza with a fountain that spewed Ambrosia Potion, which Lily was sure her family hadn’t visited, when there came a knock at the door, and it opened slightly. Remus was wearing his own knit hat, and he smiled sheepishly. “Found my cap. Can I be allowed in?”

The girls welcomed him enthusiastically, and as he settled in beside Lily she asked, “Grown bored of your stooges already?”

“Mm,” said Lupin, shrugging. “James has decided Quidditch practice starts now, and I don’t think brooms were meant to be flying about in puny compartments.”

Indeed, there was a crash from down the corridor.

“And Peter and Sirius are both copying over my Charms essay from the summer, so they’re not being any fun either,” added Remus.

“Oh,” said Marlene with a frown. “I need to copy someone’s, too.”

“Not mine,” said Mary kicking her feet up on to the bench across. “I didn’t read a word of that big dense theory book. I made it all up last night.”

Lily sighed, rummaging though the book bag beneath her where she’d shoved her summer homework. “Here,” she said, handing it to Marlene.

The train ride passed in a blur of green, cloudy countryside, and she and Remus talked animatedly about their studies until the trolley witch came through, after which Remus was yanked back to partake in the extravagant amount of sweets Black and Potter had purchased. “Can’t believe we have to share our Moony,” Sirius said with annoyance, pulling him through the compartment door.

Lily had wondered about the nickname before summer, but Remus had only pinched his mouth shut and turned red, while Black crowed with delight that Remus was known for exposing his buttocks in the boy’s dormitory. Black had actually said scrawny arse, but Lily highly doubted the truth of that statement. Still, it was clear she wasn’t going to get a better answer.

The afternoon shadows lengthened, and Potter rapped on the door again to offer them some of his mother’s biryani, which smelled delicious; the girls sampled but Lily declined with a frown, sticking to her cheese sandwich.

James gazed thoughtfully at the knit caps they were still wearing. “Really, when do the rest of us get those?” he asked. “Remus’s is especially ugly. It’s spectacular.”

“Couldn't make a hat big enough for your head if I tried,” said Lily breezily.

“The grudge continues, does it?” asked Mary, peering at Lily over her own lunch after Potter had left again with a begrudging smile and a sigh.

“He called my hats ugly.”

“You called your hats ugly when you sent them to us,” Marlene pointed out.

“He thinks he’s the greatest gift to wizardkind since Merlin,” said Lily, rolling her eyes. “Pardon me if I’ve got enough wits to realize that he’s not.”

“He’s great at Quidditch though, isn’t he?” Mary asked Marlene. Marlene nodded sincerely.

“Don’t let him hear you say so.” Lily humphed. “If his ego gets any bigger, it will cut off the remaining blood flow to his brain.”

They changed into their school uniforms and fastened up their robes, chatting all the while as the sun began to set. It was almost dark by the time the train arrived in Hogsmeade, and Lily latched on to Mary and Marlene’s hands so that they would not be torn apart by the surge of students hastening to exit and get to the feast. Claude scrabbled out of Mary’s arms in the crowd and settled around Lily’s neck, grumbling slightly with claws clutched rather menacingly into the shoulder of her robes. Lily could hear Hagrid over the murmuring students, summoning the first years to him with his lantern and booming voice.

“What are the rest of us meant to do?” Mary wondered aloud as they left the first years behind. “Walk?”

“No,” said Marlene, pointing to the cobbled road ahead. “There’s carriages, look.”

The horse-drawn carriages were open to the misty night air with their hoods drawn down, and more noticeably they were horseless, although the collars, reins, and harnesses hovered in midair before them. None of the older students seemed at all puzzled and had begun piling in, pulling their friends up behind them.

“Hurry up,” said Mary, “Or there won’t be any room.”

Indeed, to Lily’s great sorrow, there was only one carriage with space that appeared welcoming to them, and it held the Gryffindor boys, Potter waving them over enthusiastically. Lily allowed herself to be pulled up by Marlene, one hand securing Claude on her shoulder as he hissed menacingly at the empty air in front of the carriages. “Nothing’s there you great lump,” said Mary comfortingly, taking the cat back into her arms.

Peter was still madly scribbling on a roll of parchment, referencing Remus’s essay in the lamp light of the carriages that were beginning to move.

“Look,” said Marlene peering around. “It’s Hogsmeade. Mum and Dad took me and Patsy here a few years back.”

Lily looked around at the little houses and shops that were lit from within, hazy through he fog. It didn’t look like much more than a sleepy little village, but they passed a squat two-storied building with a steep roof and a wide entryway that was emitting a bit of music and a great deal of warm laughter.

“The Three Broomsticks,” said Marlene, appreciatively. “It’s famous for its Butterbeer. But we’re not allowed to visit until third year.”

“Allowed?” said Potter distastefully, as if Marlene had uttered a dirty word. “Nonsense. We’ll visit as soon as I can find a passageway that leads off the school grounds.” He glanced at Remus cryptically, who was frowning. “An unobscured passageway, don't worry.”

Lily watched as a man, tall and bearded enough to be an ogre but hunched very low, and what seemed to be a very drunk goblin came teetering out of the pub, arm in arm and singing a bawdy song about the bosom of a merwoman. “Yes,” said Lily, rolling her eyes. “It seems just the place where four little boys without a hair on their chests would fit right in. I’m sure no one will suspect a thing when you’re waiting at the bar.”

Potter seemed to consider this a moment. He turned to Black. “What sort of potion would encourage hair to grow on one’s chest?”

Lily snorted as Black seemed to take the question seriously, and then the carriage turned a corner through the little village. The wrought iron gates of the school were before them, swinging open grandly to admit the first of the carriages. On either side, winged boar statues stood like sentries. As a curl of wind blew around them, the mist parted, and Hogwarts Castle loomed like a bright constellation of lit windows before them, reflected in the lake water below.

A tug of anticipation pulled at Lily’s gut, something like the thrill she’d felt when she first laid eyes on the castle. This time, however, that anticipation came not with the unknown, but with the promise of what precisely she had to look forward to.

Chapter Text

September 1, 1972

Remus

With the last full moon nearly a week behind him and the next a little more than three weeks away, Remus’s appetite was in full force, and the Start-of-Term Feast would blissfully be enough to satiate it. That did him little good, however, when the plates remained empty of food, and the Sorting Hat wrapped up a song that felt even longer winded than theirs had been the year prior.

The crowd of nervous looking first years, still in their uniforms without ties or jumpers, were whispering together near the head table as Professor McGonagall summoned her list of names, and the applause died down from the Sorting Hat's song. Sirius was slouched in his chair across the table from Remus, head tilted back to examine the enchanted ceiling as if he were horribly bored by the entire display. Beneath the table, however, Remus could feel Sirius's leg jostling very quickly against his trainer.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, pushing small, square spectacles up her face. “Aubrey, Bertram!”

A boy with scrawny arms and a spectacularly large head was shoved forward by the others to take his seat on the stool. The hat took a moment to consider its wearer before it opened from its split seam at the brim and called out “HUFFLEPUFF!” in its shrill, ragged voice.

The Hufflepuff table erupted into cheers, and Patsy McKinnon, sitting at the front with both her Quidditch Captain and her Head Girl badges fastened to her robes, beamed in welcome as Aubrey blushed brilliantly and hurried to his new table.

There was hardly a moment of silence before McGonagall was clearing her throat again. “Black, Regulus!”

The jittering beneath the table abruptly stopped, and Remus watched Sirius all the while as his brother made his way to the stool. Regulus sat down without expression, and the hat fell over his head until only his slightly downturned mouth was visible.

There was a moment where James beside Sirius tensed, and even Peter beside Remus stayed very still, holding his breath. Sirius continued to gaze up at the cloudy, dark sky, eyes fixed on the spot where a few stars shone through.

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat called out, unmistakably. Peter exhaled all at once, and Sirius slumped further in his chair.

“You knew it was bound to go that way, mate,” said James softly as McGonagall called another name.

Sirius looked up, an annoyed set to his eyes. “Of course I did, I’m not daft. And thank Merlin, too. It’d be a nightmare having his prickly arse in Gryffindor. I’d have to transfer houses.”

“Sure,” said James, assessing Sirius’s nonchalance. “Just a shame for him, is all. The showers down in the Slytherin dormitories don’t work, if Snivellus is anything to go by.”

Sirius laughed, perhaps too loudly. Remus could see that Regulus had been welcomed by Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black at the Slytherin table, and that he was turned slightly toward the Gryffindor table, clearly trying to see if Sirius was looking his way without wanting to be caught looking back.

Soon after Regulus, a twitchy boy—"Crouch, Bartemius Junior!”—was sent to the Slytherin table as well and took his fidgety seat beside Regulus. As the sorting continued, Gryffindor gained nine new first years, and James examined each one for their quidditch-playing prospects.

“Can’t go by looks, if you’ve proven anything,” Remus pointed out to James, stomach growling. “No one would guess you fly like a madman looking at your specs and your scrawny legs.”

“I suppose you’re right,” nodded James, either choosing or failing to hear the taunt. He gave the newest Gryffindor girl, Deborah Goldstein a once over, seeming to reassess her tiny frame, rosy cheeks, and pigtails.

After a while, Regulus was joined by another Slytherin boy, “Rosier, Evan!”

“I recognize that git,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Family. My Aunt Druella was a Rosier before she married. Nearly as inbred as we are, but he doesn’t look to have a tail or anything…too bad.”

The last to be sorted was a fine-boned girl, “Vance, Emmeline!” who was sent to the Ravenclaw table. When the riotous applause had at last died down, Professor Dumbledore stood from his place at the center of the table, arms raised.

Remus’s stomach clenched at the sight of the smiling old man. Had he heard about the summer attack that Remus’s father had gone to investigate? Did he have any regrets over letting Remus come to Hogwarts for a second year? Had he realized what a tremendous mistake he might have made in agreeing to house and teach a Werewolf?

But Dumbledore did not meet Remus's eye as he looked benevolently out over the crowd. “One short word, if I may, students,” said Dumbledore cheerfully, voice heard easily across the Great Hall as everyone had gone quiet. Dumbledore cleared his throat for quite a long while, and then clasped his hands together. “Eat!”

And with that, he sat back down, and food appeared on the golden platters, just as students began a confused round of applause.

“He did say one short word,” said Peter, ladling beef stew into his bowl.

Remus decided he had one more thing to be grateful to Dumbledore for as he served his plate to heaping. He tried not to eat like this in front of his mam, who always looked on worriedly and offered to make more dinner, no matter how tired she appeared from her day. But James, Sirius, and Peter looked on with only approval. Lily, for one, frowned at his overloaded fork, although not with any real disgust. “At least close your mouth when you chew; you’re like a cow,” she said chidingly from down the table.

“He’s like something,” said Sirius. "Maybe something a bit more toothy than a cow, eh?"

Remus aimed a kick at him from underneath the table.

“Ouch!” James protested, pulling his leg back. “What did I do? I think you’ve got a perfectly normal plate for a growing boy.”

“For a growing something,” said Sirius, and that time Remus did manage to land his kick.

It was a Friday night, and none of the students seemed inclined to go straight to bed once they’d reached the Gryffindor common room. Frank Longbottom was giving his extended tour to the excitable first years. His girlfriend, Alice Fortescue, stood beside him looking very proud. James and Marlene were comparing racing brooms while Peter looked on with interest, and Lily and Mary were entertaining Claude with a bit of string from one of Lily’s ruined knitting projects. Remus considered joining them, but Claude did not like him very much, and he did not want to give them too much opportunity to wonder about why that was. Sirius was nowhere to be seen, although he had asked James for a moment with the Invisibility Cloak, so Remus supposed that was rather the point.

Feeling over-full for the first time since last term, Remus decided to go up to the dormitory early and see what unpacking could be done. Winding up the stone steps and closing the door behind him, he savored the feeling of being alone in the familiar room, clean in a way it surely would not be for long. Everything was much the same, except the orderly trunks at the foot of each four poster. He had just collapsed back onto his old bed with a sigh when the door opened again, apparently on its own.

“Back already?” he asked the air near the door. “What’d you need the cloak for, anyway? It’s only the first night.”

There was a whoosh of fabric, and then Sirius was there, tossing the cloak onto James’s neatly-made bed covers. “Just had a quick errand,” he said mysteriously. “Glad you’re up here; you’re precisely the Moony I wanted to see.”

Sirius’s arms were laden with something heavy, and beside him, a large crate hovered a few inches off the ground under a levitation spell. Sirius let the crate land on the floor with a thunk and nudged it toward Remus with a foot. He took the lamp off his own bedside table and threw it carelessly under his bed, setting the thing he carried there instead. Remus looked between the crate and the bedside table, realization dawning. “You’ve got a gramophone,” he said slowly, heart rising in his chest. “I thought those didn’t work on school grounds.”

“Ekklereptic ones don’t,” said Sirius happily.

“Electric,” Remus corrected.

“That’s what I said,” agreed Sirius, tossing the hair out of his eyes excitedly. “Andromeda passed this off to me end of last year. Remember when she and Ted pulled me aside? That reminds me, there’s a room we need to put on the map; I’ll take you there tomorrow under the cloak.”

“Look at all these,” said Remus, distracted by the crate before him as he sunk off of his bed to kneel before it. It rivaled his and his mam’s collection back at home. Besides, his mam loved musicals, favoring Hair and The Sound of Music, while these were nearly all rock and roll with few exceptions. There were Elvis and The Bee Gees, which Remus passed over, pulling out Abbey Road, Led Zeppelin II, III, Black Sabbath, Deep Purple in Rock, spotting Pink Floyd and The Who and The Rolling Stones. To his delight, there was T. Rex, clearly new and toward the front—a single of Hot Love and the Electric Warrior LP both.

“All right,” said Sirius. Remus looked up to find that Sirius had come to sit across from him, chewing his lip with agitated excitement. “Time to teach me your muggle music ways, Remus. Corrupt me further down the road of impurity.”

Remus felt a bit flustered under Sirius’s examination, but he nodded in somber collusion, picking through the crate. He wanted badly to listen to Electric Warrior, but he hadn’t listened to most of it yet, and he wanted to choose carefully for this first moment, since it felt significant. He finally unearthed a well-worn single and laughed. “Here,” he said, taking out the smaller record. It was from The Rolling Stones, Long Long While on the B-side, Paint It, Black on the A-side. “Might make you like your family name more.”

Sirius stood with Remus as he approached the gramophone, watching him set the single down on the turntable and adjust it as best as he was able. The thing had no wires or plug, which puzzled Remus, but there was nowhere on the stone walls the thing could have possibly been plugged into, so he decided not to question this. When he set down the needle, there was the anticipatory crackling from the sound horn, and he sat down on the edge of Sirius’s bed while Sirius did the same beside him, as if every single one of Remus's movements had to be mirrored.

Suddenly, brightly and clearly, there came the twanging, unfamiliar sounds of the sitar, and Remus grinned at Sirius, pleased by this victory. Sirius only furrowed his brow at the slow, lingering melody, but then his eyes widened considerably as the drums came in, heavy and insistent in the small room. It was just on the edge of too loud, and the noise from the common room below disappeared.

I see a red door and I want it painted black,
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black.

It was odd, hearing music Remus was used to in the muggle radio, but here in the dormitory. It was at odds with the stone walls and the quiet fire in the furnace, but then again, it made perfect sense as Sirius gazed at nothing in front of him, focused in a way he nearly never was. Remus found that to be the most oddly fascinating part, listening to the song he knew well but watching each word and uptick in vocals and drums register with Sirius as something entirely new. Remus suddenly wondered if he should have played something cheerier for him, but then, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his choice as Sirius sat beside him with an expression of awe, as if they had found themselves somewhere much more exciting than their old dormitory.

When the whiny hum of vocals and the drums that never slowed faded away at last, the room was suddenly empty with nothing but the last few crackles from the horn and then silence.

Remus found he couldn’t bear the waiting for Sirius’s reaction. “Well?” he asked.

Sirius blinked, then looked at Remus as if remembering he was there. He looked a bit flushed. “Is all muggle music like that?”

Remus laughed. “No, it’s all a bit different. Here, this one next.”

He wasted no time putting on Electric Warrior, and while he did so, Sirius grabbed the pillow from his bed and slid off the edge gracelessly, landing on the thin carpet in a tangle of limbs, then adjusting so that his head could be directly beneath the table. Remus looked down at him curiously. “Going to take a kip down there?”

“No,” said Sirius, sounding strangely earnest as he fluffed his pillow. “I just want to feel it.”

Remus huffed a laugh, then decided to join him, sharing the pillow with his feet and body sprawling in the opposite direction as Mambo Sun started softly, and then neither of them talked. At last, when Lean Woman Blues ended and the album needed to be flipped over, Sirius propped himself up again. “Is it meant to make your head go all quiet?” he asked. “Is that what muggles use it for?”

Remus turned onto his stomach. “I s’pose,” he agreed. “Sometimes. Other times I think it makes your head loud enough to drown out the other stuff. Mam used to put on the Beatles' Here Comes the Sun after a full moon—the Beatles, that’s another band. It was nice, until I could only think of transforming when I listened to it. Sometimes it got to the point where I needed a long while before I could listen to it again.”

Sirius nodded. "Maybe that's what it is. Drowning out the other stuff." He cleared his throat, then said suddenly, “I don’t think he’s truly cut out to be evil, you know. But I do think sometimes he’s a horrible coward.”

Remus realized without much effort that they were talking about Regulus. He tilted his head. “Of course he’s not evil. He’s even younger than we are. But yeah, maybe he’s a coward. Is that really so bad?”

“Yes,” said Sirius sternly. “It’s worse than being evil, maybe.”

Remus snorted. “Good thing you landed yourself in Gryffindor, then. Where dwell the brave of heart.”

“Was your dad Gryffindor?” Sirius asked unexpectedly.

Remus frowned at the curious line of questioning. “No, he was Ravenclaw. I’ve no idea how I ended up here, really.”

“That explains it,” said Sirius, nodding. “That’s why he’s a bloody wanker who left you behind. No backbone.”

Remus laughed. “The other houses are perfectly all right, you know.”

“Hm,” said Sirius, clearly not convinced, sitting up and picking up the album sleeve that Remus had laid on the floor between them. “All right. I want to drown it out again. Show me how to do the rest of the songs, will you?”

Remus rolled his eyes, but he did just that. Sirius's enjoyment only seemed to grow the more they listened. By the time the baseline for Bang a Gong came on, Sirius had risen to standing and was nodding enthusiastically to the guitar while Remus watched, amused, from the floor. James and Peter entered the room just as Sirius reached over and turned the volume dial to a frightening level, filling the room suddenly with deafening music.

WELL, YOU’RE DIRTY AND SWEET, CLAD IN BLACK DON’T LOOK BACK, AND I LOVE YOU!
YOU'RE DIRTY AND SWEET, OH YEAH! 

James froze in the doorway, struggling to get his wand out as if he was encountering something very threatening in their dormitory. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he asked both of them over the noise, turning wildly to see where it was coming from.

“HE’S FOUND MUGGLE MUSIC,” Remus called back to him, getting up. “AND I RECKON WE’VE GOT TO SUFFER THE SIDE EFFECTS.”

YOU'VE GOT THE TEETH OF THE HYDRA UPON YOU! YOU'RE DIRTY SWEET AND YOU'RE MY GIRL!

“WHAT?” James asked. The sudden noise had attracted a small crowd of other students that had been headed up to their dormitories, now fighting to peer in and see what was causing the fuss. Peter, however, had noticed the gramophone and broke into a broad smile of understanding from the doorway.

“MUSIC, JAMIE,” Remus repeated, and to underline his point, Sirius jumped up onto his mattress, trainers still on, pointing at James and Peter as he began to dance.

GET IT ON! BANG A GONG! GET IT ON!

How Sirius had learned how to actually dance, Remus didn’t have the slightest clue, but he looked much cooler than he had any right to look for someone who had only started listening to rock and roll music a matter of minutes ago. Remus watched him slightly slack-jawed. He looked like he should be on telly.

James continued to stare at Sirius in utter confusion, but Peter caught the mood quickly and began an atrocious attempt at dancing as well, shimmying in from the doorway. It wasn’t until Mary had stuck in her head beneath James’s outstretched wand arm and squealed with delight that James seemed to realize this was indeed a good thing and not some sort of attack.

GET IT ON! BANG A GONG! GET IT ON!

Before Remus had much say in the matter, Mary had intruded into their dormitory and grabbed Remus’s arm, lifting it to twirl under and pretending as if Remus were making some sort of attempt to lead. At last, with a look of pleased befuddlement, James allowed Sirius to haul him up onto the bed beside him, and the two began a sort of hunched-shoulder dance that Remus would have liked to watch and laugh at if Marlene had not appeared from nowhere, dragging Lily behind her. To Remus's enormous embarrassment, Marlene, Lily, and Mary happily tugged him around the room, insisting that he somehow manage to partner with all three of them at once. It wasn't long until an audience had gathered to investigate the laughter and noise, or else to join in on the dancing from the narrow corridor.

Frank Longbottom didn’t seem to have the heart to stop them for a long while, until the second half of the album had played all the way through and there were only the sounds of students laughing down in the common room left. When Sirius went to retrieve the record, pushing the hair from his face that had gone a bit wild with dancing, Frank eyed the gramophone warily.

“You confiscate this,” said Sirius easily, “and I’ll expect you to explain to everyone at the Halloween party why we still haven’t got any good music.”

Frank let out the sigh of a defeated man, then glanced at Alice, who had come in, too, and had swayed with a very pleased-looking James during the slower songs. She was now sprawled on their floor with a smile.

“Give this over to Filch, and I’ll dump you for a cooler Prefect,” she warned him happily.

“You’re going to ruin my chances at Head Boy,” he told her, shaking his head.

“The badge or your girlfriend,” said Alice, shrugging. “Your choice.”

Frank laughed, pulling Alice to her feet and kissing her soundly, to the disgust of everyone else in the room. It seemed as if it turned out to be a rather easy choice, all in all.

September 4, 1972

Peter

Peter took his seat between James and Remus toward the back of the cavernous Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, all four of them edging to get as far away from the Slytherins as possible. Only Lily Evans broke this unspoken rule as she took a seat by Snape, but judging by the plaintive way he kept glancing at her and the firm set of her jaw, Peter reckoned they might have had a row.

James seemed to notice as much, too. “What’d Sniv do this time?” he asked Remus. To everyone’s surprise, Remus had become the resident Lily Evans expert.

Remus shrugged. “That’s her business. But if I had to guess, I’d say she talked a little bit too happily about muggle music, or maybe spent too much time with Mary and Marlene. That seems to be the common theme of it.”

“What a miserable little prig,” said James passionately. “She has to spend all her time on his greasy arm?”

Peter had undergone this line of conversation a few times with James over the summer, which he found puzzling. Evans was arguably a prig in her own right, too, but James tended to discuss her as if she’d been malevolently bewitched by Snape. And James tended to discuss her often, Peter thought. It was a bit more normal at school, when Evans was sat right in front of them, but Peter couldn’t reason out why she’d been brought up so often over the summer, when she’d been the furthest thing from his mind.

“Didn’t you say you’d been practicing that Phlegm Jinx?” Sirius asked, sounding bored. The classroom was still absent of their new instructor, although the words Professor U. Montclair were written neatly across the chalkboard. Last year, the room had been decorated by Professor Spatz with a collection of footwork diagrams and defensive advisory posters. This year, however, there was a great deal of ancient-looking trinkets on every shelf and atop the instructor’s desk—figurines and urns, mummified claws and ornamental chests.

“Oh yeah,” said James enthusiastically. He fished out his wand and attempted to aim it covertly at Snape. Lily Evans, however, seemed to be on wary guard for this very thing, and she whipped toward James with her own wand raised.

“Digitorum Wibbly!” she said sharply, and James’s fingers went suddenly and alarmingly as limp as spaghetti, causing his wand to drop uselessly to the floor.

James held up his hands in horror, watching the fingers droop down in random directions while Sirius choked on a sudden laugh, bringing tears to his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

“Bad luck,” said Remus, frowning at the wobbly mess of James’s hands, even though Peter thought he might be trying not to smile. “But it’s a neat jinx. We ought to learn that one.”

“An excellent disarming method,” came a deep voice from the doorway behind them. “Although an Expelliarmus is a bit more directly effective and gives the receiver much less distressing side effects. Luckily, we’ll be covering that next month.”

Peter turned along with the rest of his classmates to see a rather imposing wizard entering the class. He was in deep magenta robes, cut in a way that was exposing a rather shocking amount of his broad chest. The buckles on his leather boots let out a cheerful jangling sound as he strode between the desks and smiled broadly at his students. Peter tried to summon the right word to describe the man, feeling as though swashbuckling was the closest thing to it. He seemed nearly like a storybook pirate, with a great deal of gold jewelry on each wrist and on every finger, a heavy set of amulets around his neck, as well as a neat beard on his swarthy and handsome face. Peter watched as Mary and and one of the Slytherin girls, Harriet Crowe, sat up a little straighter at the sudden sight of him.

The man, Professor Montclair if Peter had to guess, came from the corridor rather than his adjoining office, carrying a great deal of papers beneath one arm.

“What was your name, Miss…?” he asked, approaching the desk where Evans and Snape sat. Snape was still staring at James with apparent mixed emotion—perhaps amused by the sight in front of him but distressed that he had needed Evans to defend him.

Evans blinked rather rapidly at the wizard's wide smile and the gold tooth that glimmered within it. “Er…Lily Evans, sir.”

“Five points to your house, Miss Evans, for your quick defensive reflexes,” said Montclair, striding to the front of the class.

James gaped at the professor, his noodle-y fingers still held out in front of him, while Sirius dissolved further into laughter.

“Pardon my tardiness, class,” said Montclair, reaching the chalkboard and the lectern beside it. He set down the stack of papers, snapped his ringed fingers, and a piece of chalk levitated to wait expectantly at the board. “You may have gathered by this moment that I am Professor Ulysses Montclair, taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. I’ve had a long career that I can’t and shan’t get into right now, but I predict enriching your young minds will be my greatest endeavor yet.”

Despite the fact that Professor Montclair had insisted he couldn’t get into it, the piece of chalk behind him had underlined his name and began rapid fire scribbling what seemed to be his impressive resume. Peter watched the chalk write Illicit Potion Smuggler, then hastily scribble it out. Among the cramped list he also spotted Dragon Egg Retriever, Acromantula Wrangler, and then, toward the bottom, International Curse Breaker.

“Ooh,” said Mary appreciatively. “Were you really a curse breaker? I’ve read that’s meant to be really dangerous.”

Professor Montclair turned toward the board, as if he were alarmed to find his accolades written there. “Oh,” he said with a deep sort of chortle, waving his hand dismissively. “Bit of fun, that, really. Entertaining enough, to be sure, but not enough to capture my attention for long.”

“Can you break this curse, then?” asked James, shaking his hands so that his fingers flailed upsettingly.

Montclair did so without much trouble, which finally seemed to impress James, and by the end of the lesson, they were all very taken and wide-eyed, Peter included. They hadn’t practiced much of anything, but they had watched Montclair perform an impressive array of spells, including a wordless Protego when James had at last fired his Phlegm Jinx toward Snape under his breath. For the second time in the hour, Snape had found himself protected from James while being none the wiser, and the ears and the back of his neck stayed pink for the rest of the lesson. Peter wouldn’t have minded; in fact, he wished James, Sirius, and Remus were half as good at defending him as Lily Evans was for Snivellus. Just two mornings ago, James had simply ducked the Waddiwasi Evans aimed at him from across the table, and the spoonful of mushy peas intended for him had smacked Peter across the face instead. Snape had very little to complain about.

“What did you lot think?” Peter asked once they’d been dismissed, hastening after the other Gryffindors and trying to keep his book bag from slipping off his shoulder. “Impressive bloke, isn’t he?”

Marlene, who had been silent for much of the lesson, gave Peter a doubtful look. “I think he did a lot of blathering on. Hopefully all those stories about where he’s been and what he’s done will turn into an actual lesson for us soon.”

“I think he’s incredible,” sighed Mary. “Isn’t he, Lils?”

Evans considered, having stayed behind with them while Snape hurried with the other Slytherins to their next lesson. “On the one hand, he’s clearly a lot of talk,” she reasoned. “But on the other, he gave me points for jinxing Potter.” She weighed these factors. “So, I think I like him fine.”

Remus turned to James, Sirius, and Peter, nodding his chin back to the classroom as the girls carried on ahead. “That’s what a marauder looks like. That’s why it sounds so poncey when we go around calling ourselves that.”

“You’re right,” said Sirius enthusiastically. “We ought to get ourselves more jewelry, and deeper cut robes. Perhaps some tattoos; I think I spotted a few on Montclair.”

“Oh, let’s not,” said Peter quickly. Sirius might look something less than foolish in a getup like that, but Peter tried to imagine himself doing the same. He’d look like a Niffler who had decided to put on its horde.

September 5, 1972

Sirius

They were very nearly late to their first Transfiguration lesson, even after taking the convenient shortcut behind the Buck-Toothed Bust. James had gotten himself doused in stinksap during Herbology, which Sirius had been forced to suffer through as his desk mate in Potions immediately after. Peter had happily been able to abandon Avery this year in Potions and partner with Remus instead, but they were both rubbish at Potions and their Brew of Increased Efficiency had gone very wrong and then bubbled up into their faces. As a result, James, Remus, and Peter had all needed showers after lunch, and the Brew of Increased Efficiency had been done so poorly that both Peter and Remus seemed horribly inefficient, suffering the opposite of their potion's intended effects. in Peter’s case, he'd forgotten to rinse off his shampoo until he’d nearly re-dressed, then he stepped back into the shower fully clothed, before at last managing both clean hair and dry robes.

They’d stumbled into their seats for Transfiguration with only a few seconds before the hour. Professor McGonagall had looked very ready to deduct house points from them, and now she seemed slightly disappointed that they'd avoided that fate. For a woman so determined for Gryffindor to win the House Cup, Sirius thought, she seemed equally determined that the four second year boys in her house would not contribute to that victory.

“Welcome back, second years,” said Professor McGonagall primly, wasting no time and clasping her hands together as Sirius fought to catch his breath. “Since it is now the fourth day of term, I assume that each and every one of you has had ample time to complete the summer reading assigned to you. Who, then, can tell me, the basic tenants of the Bobblespark Principle?”

Evans’s hand shot into the air alongside those of Ravenclaws Mafalda Hopkirk and Benson Brown. McGonagall, however, glanced over them and her gaze landed on James, who was facedown over the top of his desk, trying to recover from their mad sprint. “Mr. Potter, care to outline it for the class?”

James looked up sharply, glasses very crooked on his shining face. “What? Er…” he blinked a few times. “Bobblespark…Right…It’s the idea that…er…more simple objects are best transfigured from household items or common creatures, yeah? But rare and difficult to acquire objects are best transfigured into things that are valuable and unique. Something like that.”

McGonagall scowled at him for a long moment, Lily Evans her mirror from a few desks in front of them. “Precisely,” she said at long last. “Five points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter.”

“She could look a mite more happy about it,” Sirius mumbled to James.

“And who,” McGonagall continued briskly, “can tell me the name of the Potionmaker that invented a form of fixed and constant Transfiguration, which calls upon the true nature of the creature being transformed rather than the will of the Transfigurer?”

Benson Brown and Mafalda Hopkirk both lowered their hands, but Evans’s stayed firmly upright. Again, McGonagall ignored her in favor of glancing at Peter, who was leaned far back in his chair with his eyes shut. “Mr. Pettigrew?”

Peter jerked his head upright, looking immediately panicked and out of sorts. “What? Who?”

Remus wote something down, then attempted to covertly slide the scrap of parchment Peter’s way, but McGonagall vanished it immediately. “This was a question for Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Lupin. If you know the answer, I invite you to raise your hand and respond on your own merit.” She at last seemed to pity Peter, whose mouth was hanging widely open, and turned to Lily Evans. “Miss Evans?”

“Falco Aesalon,” Evans said immediately. “He created a ritualistic potion that would allow him to Transfigure himself between human and falcon at will.”

“Five points for Gryffindor,” said McGonagall, nodding. “This made Aesalon the first what, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus, who was the only one of them bent over his parchment attentively with a quill in hand, shrunk down in his seat a bit as Evans shot her hand back up into the air, as well as Brown and Hopkirk. “I didn’t raise my hand, Professor.”

“Yes,” agreed McGonagall. “But you’ve recorded your response in your notes, Mr. Lupin, and I’m rather posing this as a question to be answered out loud. Care to share?”

Remus cleared his throat. “Er, the first Animagus.”

“Correct,” said McGonagall, “And you’ll earn house points for it when you elect to contribute to class on your own.”

“James didn’t raise his hand either,” Remus grumbled under his breath, pink under the freckles. “He got points just fine.”

“Yeah, mate, but I had the harder question,” James pointed out. “And I didn’t try to help Pete cheat.”

“S’not cheating!” Peter squawked. “Since when is taking a peek at what your mate has written down cheating?”

“You just described cheating precisely, Pete,” said Sirius. “But I agree, it ought to be called resourcefulness instead.”

Sirius paid half attention as McGonagall elaborated on Falco Aesalon and his recondite set of Greek principles for Animagi, doodling in the margins of his new Transfiguration textbook until McGonagall said something he didn’t hear, then abruptly vanished from the periphery of his vision. Sirius startled, looking around. The rest of the class had gasped appreciatively and was now looking at a tabby cat with a rather stern, self-important expression and square markings around its face. The cat leapt onto the desk before Mary, Lily, and Marlene, and Mary reached out with an affectionate coo. Marlene slapped her hand away. “You can’t give Professor McGonagall a cuddle, Mary!”

“Why not?” asked Mary. “She’s such a lovely, sweet thing.”

Suddenly, the cat transformed back into Professor McGonagall, who was sat tidily on the desk with a bemused expression. “A tactical demonstration,” said the professor, who peered over in Sirius’s direction. “Since I seemed to have lost the attention of a few of you.”

Sirius realized he was gaping appreciatively. For the next few moments, Professor McGonagall was rather bombarded by questions—was she friends with Mrs. Norris? Had she ever eaten mice? Did she have hairballs in her human form? Did she fancy a cuddle as a a cat, or was that horribly rude?

Again, however, Sirius found himself only half listening to her responses until his own hand shot into the air.

“Yes, Mr. Black?”

“Are you a true animal when you transform, or are there some differences between you and a normal house cat?”

Professor McGonagall frowned in thought, but she seemed pleased that he was at last involving himself in the lesson. “Interesting question. The only difference between a cat and myself in my Animagus form is my ability to stop being a cat at the moment of my choosing. Some might argue that my mental facilities are distinctive as well, but I have found that this is true only in my ability to hold onto my human memories and my understanding of who and what I am. I think the transformation moreso speaks to the existing intelligence of the creatures we Animagi become.”

Sirius’s hand was already in the air again by the time she’d finished speaking.

“Yes, Mr. Black?”

“Was it difficult to become an Animagus? Can any witch or wizard do it?”

Now McGonagall’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Immensely difficult, and not to mention illegal to accomplish until one is of age. It is also mandatory that all Animagi register with the Ministry of Magic with their animal forms and distinct markings.”

Sirius finally kept his hand lowered, although his mind was whirling with questions. He reasoned that if he continued asking them however, Professor McGonagall would begin to doubt his earnest pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake, as she was quite right to do. Sirius stayed tight lipped and thoughtful until class had been dismissed and they all found their way to the Gryffindor common room before dinner. He couldn’t quite remember taking the long set of steps up there, so lost was he in thought.

“Sirius, mate, you all right?” James asked, taking his usual seat in a sagging armchair by the fire. “You look like you’ve been hit by a Bludger. Either that, or you’re thinking. Neither suit you.”

“Piss off,” said Sirius without any heat, taking up a cushion and distractedly attempting to suffocate James beneath it. James made a good show of choking and gasping for air, limbs kicking out before going dramatically limp, but Sirius remained too preoccupied to enjoy the performance. It wasn’t until he glanced at Remus, worrying obsessively over his bottom lip with his teeth from his seat on the floor that Sirius tried to push McGonagall’s demonstration from his mind. “What’s up with you, then, Moony?”

“Hm?” Remus asked, looking startled at being addressed. “Oh…nothing.”

“Come off it,” said Sirius. “You haven’t even tried to start on your homework. Something’s seriously wrong.”

“Dunno,” said Remus quietly, looking around to ensure they were alone. James finally succeeded in pushing Sirius off him so that he could join the conversation. “Just a bit depressing, I suppose,” Remus said after a moment, voice small. “It’s all well and good that she can turn into an animal. Just a bit of fun.”

“Yeah, well,” said Peter. “She’s a cat isn’t she? A wee little cat with human thoughts. Not a—”

Sirius cut Peter off by walloping him with the pillow and attempting to suffocate him instead.

“The Ministry doesn’t trust even that, though, do they?” said James placatingly. “She’s got to be on a register and everything.”

“So’ve I,” said Remus bitterly. “As soon as I’m of age. Probably should be now, if Da weren’t so insistent I go to Hogwarts. He thinks a good education will train some of the worst bits out of me, I think.”

“Your furry little problem hasn’t been a danger to anyone thus far,” James reasoned. “So why bother ever putting yourself on their blasted registry? What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Precisely, Sirius thought as Peter tried to grapple him from beneath the cushion. If someone could manage a transformation as cool as all that, and it was no trouble to anyone or any business of theirs, why go through all the unnecessary protocol? And what was so different, really, about transforming into a Werewolf compared to some other sort of animal? Aside from the pain and the involuntary nature of it all.

And shouldn’t a Werewolf be allowed to transform among some other friendly animals that it had no real desire to harm and that meant it no harm, either? And mightn’t Sirius himself transform into something dangerous enough to keep a werewolf company under the full moon? What if he had the potential to become something like a dragon? Improbable maybe, but there was no reason he mightn’t be a tiger, or a lion, or something more impressive than a tabby. Or, perhaps, even a wolf—

Before Sirius could ruminate on the thought further, Peter had finally managed to grab hold of Sirius's ear, freeing himself from the stifling of the cushion and clambering over top of Sirius with the pillow in hand so that he could whack the thoughtful and dreamy expression off of his face.

Chapter Text

September 10, 1972

James

“James?” came Remus’s tentative voice from the other side of the bathroom door. “You nearly ready?”

“Don’t interrupt him,” said Sirius lazily, also from their dormitory. “He’s got to snog himself in the mirror for the next ten minutes.”

“I’m not snogging myself in the mirror,” James called back as Peter snickered. “I’m saying my affirmative phrases. Mum says they help.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Sirius. He assumed a very high and whiny voice that James supposed was meant to be him. “I, Jamie, have never dropped a Quaffle. My hair looks lovely, sticking out all over the place. I could definitely definitely manage to snog a girl if I fancied it. Evans doesn’t want to blast me from the face of the planet—”

James swung the door open with a scowl, his reflective manifesting effectively drawn to a forced close. “What does Evans have to do with anything?”

“Dunno,” said Sirius with a half smile. “Marlene said she’s coming to cheer her on.”

“So’s Mary,” said James quickly. “So are you lot.”

Sirius just shrugged, still with a slight grin. “We’re not going to cheer you on for anything unless you get going to the bloody pitch.”

With a grumble and a twist of nerves that he tried not to acknowledge, James picked up his broom from where it lay neatly in its open case atop his bed and began his descent toward the castle grounds. His Quidditch kit was entirely new, a gift from his parents before start of term, and while he knew it was superior equipment, part of him missed the comfort of his old well-worn gloves and pads. He was comforted at least by the feel of his Dad’s old Nimbus 1001 in his hands. His dad had wanted to buy James a new broom as well, but James’s smidge of superstition made him protest the idea emphatically.

“Still don’t see why you’re not trying out,” he told Sirius on the stairs. “You’re a brilliant flier.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius. “As soon as you and Marlene keel over and die, I reckon I’ll have a passable chance. But I’m not going to embarrass myself in the meantime.”

“It’s not embarrassing to have a go,” James reasoned.

“Yeah, not for you,” said Sirius with a frown. “Not when you’re clearly making the team.”

James sighed, taking a mouthful of the toast Peter had been nice enough to bring up from breakfast while James had insisted on polishing his broom one final time. “Any pointers for me, Moony?” he asked, turning to Remus on his other side.

“Yeah,” said Remus, rolling his eyes. “Don’t fly around backwards. That’s what happened to me last time you dragged me into your practices, and it made falling on my arse really painful.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Good advice, I’ll see if I can swing it.”

Marlene was already on the pitch, dressed similarly to James with a new Cleansweep model in her hands. She winked at him as he approached. “Ready for it, Potter?”

“We’ll find out,” said James, trying to appear casual as he slung his own broom over his shoulder. Sirius, Remus, and Peter had already split off to find a spot in the alarmingly crowded stands. James could make out Mary, Lily, and a bundled and disgruntled-looking Claude toward the back, in the highest seats. Hooch was at the front in case she was  needed, and she gave James a small smile that he returned with an excited wave. A good few Gryffindor students had come to watch. James could feel his palms growing just the tiniest bit sweaty in his gloves.

As for those with brooms on the field, he and Marlene were the only two second years to try out, along with two third years, a fourth year, and three fifth years. The sixth and seventh years had perhaps reasoned out that if they’d been meant to be on the team, they would have made it by now, or else they were too concerned with their upcoming N.E.W.T.s, James figured. One fifth year in particular was rather hulking, a fact that made James look down at his own lanky frame with an apprehension he hadn’t had until now.

The five carryovers from last year’s team were stood together, already in Gryffindor team uniforms, perhaps trying to make a unified showing after so many years of shameful defeat for the cup. There was Roslyn Kelly at the front, with the gold and red Team Captain's badge fastened to her flying robes now that Hestia Jones had graduated. Behind her was her fellow Chaser, their remaining well-built Beater, their Seeker Alice Fortescue, and their Keeper Dorcas Meadowes, who had grown taller over summer. James eyed them all, the names and numbers emblazoned across their backs, and felt a delightful thrill overcoming his nerves.

“All right,” said Roslyn Kelly, her Irish brogue bright and loud. “We’ve got the pitch for the next three hours, so let’s make the best of them, yeah?” She paced along the line of team hopefuls that had formed. “I say let’s do oldest first, youngest last so that we can see what we’re working with. You all should know, we’ve just got the two positions empty, Chaser and Beater, after Jones and Knockwit graduated, so that’s where we’ll be trying you.”

“What about the Keeper position?” said the burly fifth year, gripping his broom and scowling. “You’re going to keep that girl on after her terrible showing last year?”

Roslyn looked him over with an expression of growing dislike while Dorcas Meadowes ducked her head, expression darkening. “I’ve already given my teammates all the dressing down and evaluation they require, thanks,” said Roslyn. “Meadowes earned her spot on the team last year, and she’s done even more to keep it this one. Now, are you trying for Chaser or Beater, McLaggen?”

The fifth year, McLaggen, frowned deeper. “Beater, I s’pose.”

James and Marlene made their way to the benches, James sitting sideways on his broom and letting his feet skim over the grass. “I’m glad she stood up for Dorcas,” said Marlene, adjusting her Beater’s helmet. “You know, the only person who signed up for individual practice on the pitch half as much as you did last year was Meadowes.”

That fact was quickly evident as the team flew into formation and Meadowes circled the goal posts a few times, her flying much improved. Kelly shouted some instructions on a drill, then blew a shrill whistle. Each of the fifth years in turn were assigned either to working with Chaser Aryan Patil to score against Dorcas, or else paired with Beater Roger Cattermole to prevent Aryan from making progress with the Quaffle. Roslyn kept a watchful eye on each participant, jotting down notes from a casual seat on her Comet 220.

McLaggen did just a smidge above terribly, swatting at the Bludger with brute force, but sending it twice into his fellow Beater Roger, once into Roslyn herself, and never toward Aryan, who managed to make it all the way across the field with the Quaffle in hand. The other two did moderately better, both trying for Chaser, but while their flying was alright, neither managed to score against Dorcas. She was faster this year than last, moving as the Quaffle did and not before, James noticed.

The fourth year tried for Beater as well, and James’s stomach rolled as the girl managed to accurately hit and aim all the Bludgers that came her way, forcing Aryan to dodge and backtrack. Beside him, however, Marlene appeared untroubled. She only watched the drill with an intense focus.

The two third years were going for Beater and Chaser each, and so Roslyn changed the drill a bit so that they could go in together. Aside from a few early mistakes, they did fairly well, managing one goal and a few well-placed blocks, nudging each other optimistically as they landed and stepped off their brooms. James hoped they weren’t beginning to celebrate just yet.

All and all, he was feeling optimistic if not a little nauseous by the time Roslyn called out, “All right. You two second years. Get yourselves up here, and let's see what you’ve got.”

Since James and Marlene were going for different positions, Roslyn decided to keep the previous drill, allowing James and Marlene to go together. The second he was more than three feet off the ground, James felt calm settle like water over him, looping a few times for the benefit of Sirius, Peter, and Remus, who were hollering faintly down below. The rather tumultuous pounding of his heartbeat in his ears faded away, his fingers that had felt a bit twitchy settled on the broom handle resolutely. There was him, the wind, the sky above, the ground far below, and that was all.

“We don’t bring people on for their aerial tricks,” said Alice Fortescue, bringing over the Quaffle with a raised brow while James maneuvered through a series of corkscrews to work out the last of his nerves.

“I know,” said James, taking it from her with a bright grin. “You bring people on because they’re about to score thirty points in three minutes.”

Alice only laughed and winked. “Put your broom where your mouth is, Potter.”

She was really very pretty, James thought in a bit of a panic, with her hair cut above her chin like a muggle model’s. And she had a nice laugh. He shook the thought ferociously from his head, gripping the Quaffle tighter.

At the sound of Roslyn’s whistle, James took off with the Quaffle toward the distant goal posts where Dorcas darted between hoops. Immediately he’d outstripped both Aryan and Roger. He was more than halfway to the goals when he heard the nearby sound of a loud smack. He continued for a moment as if he hadn’t heard, then abruptly stopped and let his broom dart backwards, just as a Bludger came hurdling toward where he’d been on track to be. Remus’s earlier advice had actually been very poor; Remus was simply rubbish at flying backwards while James was rather good at it.

The Bludger struggled to slow its momentum and seek him out again, but in the meantime, James darted around it and made his way to where Dorcas was waiting with intense focus, her braids tied back and out of her face. There was another crack, and without looking, James knew Marlene had gotten herself to the second Bludger. He might’ve liked to be closer to the hoop he was aiming for, but he took his chances with the distance, aim focused intently on the top left hoop. Dorcas sensed a trick in his obvious aim and stayed near the other hoops, but James only stayed true to his feigned target, and the Quaffle sailed through the hoop just as he dove away from the incoming Bludger.

With an ecstatic laugh, James made his way back to starting position, passing Roslyn on his way as she furiously scribbled notes, bobbing slightly in the air. “That first Bludger would have cost me the Quaffle if there had been any opposing Chasers there to grapple with me,” he pointed out as he circled her. “And the second one was just as good, it would have cost anyone else the goal. I was too far away.”

Roslyn looked up from her notes, eyes narrowed. “Get back to position, Potter.”

At the second blow of her whistle, James paced himself better, keeping alongside Aryan Patil. When Roger Cattermole sent a Bludger his way, he made an easy pass to Aryan. Any smart Beater would take advantage of the pass to send another Bludger to the receiving Chaser, and Marlene was such a Beater. Aryan, who had caught the Quaffle easily enough, was forced to drop it as Marlene sent a stunning Bludger his way one second later, but James had already dropped down to fly beneath him. He caught the fumbled Quaffle and once again darted off to the goal posts. This time, Dorcas managed to get her fingertips on the Quaffle, but she could not maintain enough of a grip to block it properly, and so it tumbled through the hoop anyway.

“Don’t stop flying when you reach out,” James advised her, demonstrating with the Quaffle he’d retrieved. “Keep the broom moving beneath you by pulling up your knees.”

Dorcas imitated his movements thoughtfully, but stopped at once when they heard Roslyn call, “POTTER! Kindly abstain from coaching my Keeper when you’re the one going through tryouts!”

“Sorry!” called James, not sorry at all. After the third whistle, Aryan started with the Quaffle and passed to him. James barely managed to catch it after a perfect Bludger from Marlene intercepted him, but he snagged it with a foot and kicked it back up into his hands. When he met Dorcas at the hoops, he sent it low, managing to score just between her trainers.

“Not fair,” Dorcas grumbled, but with a bit of a smile. “You’re the one that told me to keep flying up as I block.”

“Yeah,” said James, “but then you’ve got to use your whole body to stop the Quaffle. You should have used your feet like I did earlier.”

Dorcas smiled. “Maybe I just shouldn’t be taking advice from the Chaser trying to score on me.”

James balked in feigned indignation. “My advice is solid! We’re all on the same team here, aren’t we?”

“Not yet, you’re not,” said Roslyn sharply, flying between them with clipboard in hand. “Potter, how many times do I have to tell you to go back to starting position after a goal?”

“Dunno,” said James happily. “Depends on how many times I’m going to score.”

Her eye roll was lost on him as he made his way across the field, where Marlene was giving him a face-splitting smile, and Alice was trying not to laugh with the brass stopwatch in her hand. “How many minutes was that?” he asked her.

“Two minutes and fifty-three seconds,” she said begrudgingly.

The drill continued in much the same way for another ten minutes before Roslyn called it to a close. As he neared the ground, James could hear the sound of Sirius’s oversized, enchanted Gryffindor hat roaring wildly. He glanced their way, offering a wave, and all three boys returned it with a smile and two raised fingers. James shook his head disapprovingly at the rude wankers.

On the ground, James saw with some delight that McLaggen had up and left, not even waiting for results to be called. The other five were looking a bit despondent. James felt a tiny bit lousy about it, but what was he supposed to do, really?

“Good show,” said Roslyn Kelly, dismounting from her broom and allowing it to hover alongside her as she approached the rest of them on the benches. “A lot to think about. I might take a few moments to discuss with my teammates—”

“Oh, come off it,” said Roger Cattermole, beaming at Marlene. He was a pleasant looking fifth year, with broad shoulders. “She’s in, or I’m quitting the team.”

“Same with Potter,” said both Dorcas and Aryan at the same time, and James’s heart felt about to pound out of his chest.

Roslyn looked at her clipboard with a furrowed brow. “I will make the final decision!” she told them, sounding a bit harried. There was a long, tense moment of her analyzing her notes before one of the the fifth years who had tried out spoke up.

“Don’t make us stand here for nothing,” he insisted. “Come on, be smart about it, I’d like to see us win the Quidditch cup before I graduate.”

“Fine, all right!” Said Roslyn sharply, looking up. “For our new beater, we’ve got Marlene McKinnon. And for our new chaser, Merlin save us, we’ve got James Potter. Everyone happy?”

There were some cheers of agreement, a wink from Alice that made James feel a bit lightheaded, some applause from the stands, and then a very loud ROAR from just behind them. Sirius had made his way to the front of the stands and tapped his Gryffindor hat in celebration. “ATTA BOY, JAMIE! GO GO GRYFFINDOR!”

Roslyn kept them behind for a moment to discuss practice schedules, which James didn’t think was nearly often enough, but he managed to keep his mouth shut about it. “You,” said Roslyn, pointing a finger at James. “Remember who’s the captain of this team.”

“You are, of course,” said James easily. He swept into a deep and solemn bow. “I’ve much to learn from you.”

“Smart arse,” said Roslyn, but there was a hint of fondness there. James figured he had a chance to win her over, yet.

As soon as he and Marlene made their way to the other Gryffindor second years, wiping sweat from their brows, Marlene was tackled by Mary, Lily, and a screeching Claude.

“You were brilliant, Marls,” said Mary, planting a kiss on each of her sweaty cheeks. “No idea what you were doing, of course, but it seemed brilliant.”

“It was,” said Evans approvingly. “You did perfectly. Nearly knocked Potter from the sky, but he’s a slippery imp, isn’t he? Keep at it, and you’ll get him.”

“Come now, Evans,” said James magnanimously. “That’s no way to speak about your team’s beloved new Chaser.”

Lily stuck out her tongue. “They only let you on the team to avoid some sort of uprising.”

“Are you meant to be insulting me?” asked James, amused. “I’m only hearing a compliment.”

“Dumbledore could give you a trophy for having the biggest head in the school, and you’d be flattered,” said Lily with a snort.

James considered this. “And I’d be the first to receive this trophy? They would have made it special for me? That does seem an honor.”

With a toss of her long hair, Evans grabbed Marlene’s arm and marched away with her, alongside Mary.

Peter and Remus had joined them now, and Remus shook James enthusiastically by the shoulders. “That was gorgeous,” he told him, while Peter nodded vigorously by his side. “Absolutely gorgeous. You should have seen the look on that fifth year’s face right when you and Marlene started. Someone ought to go check on him, he might have gone to drown himself in the lake.”

Beaming, James allowed himself to be dragged up for lunch by Remus and Sirius, awash in their praise, while Peter took a turn on the Nimbus 1001 drifting alongside them. Up ahead, Marlene or Mary said something that made Evans laugh delightedly, head thrown back.

Evans had a nice laugh, James thought distractedly. Loud and bright, very different from Alice’s high peal, but nice. Her hair was nice, too. Much longer than Alice’s but very pretty, and shining like firelight. James blinked rapidly, not having heard Sirius’s most recent recounting of his third goal. “All right, mate?” Sirius asked when James failed to laugh at something that had clearly been funny from the way Remus scoffed.

“Yeah,” said James quickly, not quite sure what had come over him today. “Just starved, is all.”

October 31, 1972

Sirius

September and much of October passed by in a haze of chillier and chiller weather, made interesting only by the twenty-third of September and the twenty-second of October, when Sirius, James, and Peter, saw Remus off to the hospital wing until Madam Pomfrey ushered them away, and then came to greet Remus at the hospital wing first thing in the morning when Madam Pomfrey defeatedly granted them entrance. Remus hadn’t looked too awful after either full moon, but moved very gingerly and had a few new obvious scars as visible beneath his shirt sleeves and his too-short pyjama trousers.

“We should just walk you to the Whomping Willow in the future,” Sirius had whispered when Madam Pomfrey had gone into her office for a moment on the morning of October twenty-third. “You’re always sore and with a headache; can’t be fun to walk all the way to the Hospital Wing just to walk all the way down to the grounds less than an hour later.”

“No!” Remus had answered quickly. He looked a little battered and pale, purple shadows beneath his eyes and curls mussed. “She and Dumbledore and McGonagall are really good to keep my secret; I can’t go letting them know that you’ve figured it out. I’m lucky they trust me as it is.”

Remus appeared in better form now, a week later, mouth full of food at the Halloween Feast. Sirius never ceased being amused by the idea of cantankerous, swotty, jumper-clad Remus turning into a snarling wolf each month, but his shins were beginning to get a bit sore from Remus’s kicks under the table after making so many references to his condition at dinner.

James, by Sirius’s side, was decidedly not as occupied by watching Remus chew, as he bounced in his seat, eyes on the enchanted ceiling. It was a clear night, and the live bats fluttered from eave to eave. Just like the Halloween Feast last year, a horde of enormous, carved pumpkins took the place of the floating candles, setting the room warmly aglow with their grinning, orange light. “Should we do it now?” James asked eagerly, wand in hand.

“No,” said Sirius, glancing around the Great Hall. “Half the Slytherins haven’t even sat down yet.” They had Astronomy tonight, which would require them to leave directly after the supper, and the four of them were hoping this might provide an excuse for a quick getaway. Sirius, however, was not as concerned about escaping blame for what they were about to do as Peter clearly was, wringing his own wand nervously across the table.

“Here come a good number of them,” James pointed out, peering around Remus to get a good view. Indeed, a crowd of students with green ties had surged from the dungeons just then, among them Regulus.

Sirius had spent a great deal of time and energy convincing himself that watching Regulus was worth neither his time nor his energy. Still, he had watched—partly out of grim curiosity, and partly because whenever Reg caught him looking, he went very pale and doe eyed and looked vaguely nauseous, which amused Sirius. Narcissa, with the help of her boyfriend Lucius Malfoy, had taken it upon herself to salvage Reggie’s reputation among the Slytherins, keeping him tight under her bony wing for the first few weeks, but it seemed she needn’t have bothered. Regulus was almost instantly and constantly flanked by his first-year dorm mates: their distant relative Evan Rosier and the twitchy Crouch boy who went by Barty.

“What do you think those three talk about?” Sirius wondered aloud as he watched them take their seats in the middle of the Slytherin table. The Crouch boy said something that made Evan laugh, and Regulus’s face spasmed into what might have been almost a smile. “Think they’re in some sort of competition over who can be the scrawniest and most stuck-up looking?”

Remus shrugged. “Seems likely. Maybe they read aloud their letters to Mummy, to see which one of them managed to tattle the most.”

Sirius snorted into his pumpkin juice as Peter piped in, “At least they’re not as bad as that Mulciber bloke. Duncan Abbott said Slughorn gave him five weeks detention for chasing Barney Lynch around with a paring knife, cackling and trying to see if his blood really was mud.”

Sirius’s laugh died in his throat as he pulled out his own wand. “Yeah, well, give it time,” he said darkly. “They could turn out just as nasty as Mulciber and the rest of their house.”

“Maybe not if we jinx some sense into them,” said James optimistically. “Should we start now?”

Sirius nodded with a wink, some of his cheer returning. “All right. Ready?”

The three boys nodded in return, Peter and James breaking into grins, Remus’s face screwing up in focus. All four of them aimed their wands at the cluster of grinning pumpkins, bobbing above the Slytherin table. “Pulpam Eructo!” Sirius muttered, hearing the other boys do the same.

It took a moment, but Sirius watched as one of the pumpkins’ toothy smiles slowly transformed into a puzzled frown, then a grimace. All at once, there was a horrible retching sound, and the pumpkin proceeded to spew a great slop of orangey pulp and seeds, directly onto the head of Slytherin Quidditch Captain Corban Yaxley. The students beside him startled, and then there were a few disgusted groans and a few puzzled laughs. Yaxley looked at where his meal had been entirely doused in gloopy pumpkin innards. After another second more, the retching came again, repeated by many of the pumpkins over the Slytherin table, and soon the Slytherins were shrieking and ducking for cover as the pumpkins above them belched down orange chunks.

Regulus, Rosier, and Crouch all looked at each other in alarm as great glops of sludge rained down upon them, plonking messily into their soup and dripping down their foreheads. At the nearest end of the table, Snape stood, greasy hair made even greasier with slick seeds, spitting pulp and frowning darkly. He locked eyes on the four laughing Gryffindors immediately, marching toward them, only to slip on a new pile of pumpkin puke and slip caterwauling to the ground.

Evans ran over to help him, holding her school bag over her head to save herself from the onslaught, but Snape shook her off, nudging her out of the way before another splatter of pumpkin guts descended upon him once more.

Sirius was hiccoughing with the force of his laughter, but the tears in his eyes did not prevent him from noticing as the pumpkins above the Hufflepuff table began to noisily vomit pulp, too. It wasn’t long before both they and the Ravenclaws where shouting in alarm and dodging the orange slime.

“Oh no,” said James, looking a bit peaky. “The pumpkins are making each other sick. Merlin, it’s a bit disgusting, isn’t it? I reckon they might be making me sick.”

The cacophonous sound of retching began sounding out directly above them, and the pumpkins overhead turned vaguely yellow and green in color. “Under the table!” Sirius instructed sharply, tugging Mary beside him down for cover. Remus did the same from the across the table, knocking his head into Sirius's as they crouched. “Where’s James?” Sirius asked over the sounds of the squealing and protesting students all around.

“Ran to the bathroom, I think,” said Peter, who had a large heap of pumpkin innards on his head. “He told me this summer on the sailboat when I was feeling seasick, he doesn’t do well with the sound of others getting sick.”

“Serves him right,” said Marlene, wiping pumpkin seeds from her eyes as she, too, managed to get beneath the table. “The feast is ruined.”

“No, it’s not,” said Sirius, grabbing a handful of the stuff from Peter’s head and evaluating it. “It’s all edible.”

Suddenly, he was being yanked back out from under the table by his arm, and Professor McGonagall was there with her usual exasperated frown. The brim of her hat was heavy with pumpkin pulp, but it had luckily protected much of her face. Sirius smiled up at her until a pumpkin vomited violently over top of him.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor,” said McGonagall calmly, “And a week’s detention for you, Mr. Black.”

"What makes you think I've done this?" Sirius asked, alarmed and attempting wide eyed innocence.

"Perhaps it was the fact that I watched you practice this incantation for nearly an hour in my own classroom," said Professor McGonagall with an eyebrow raised, "on the gourds you were meant to be transfiguring into globes."

Remus and Peter both stuck their heads out into the fray. Peter began, “It wasn’t his—”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware,” said Professor McGonagall impatiently, flicking her wand to silence the pumpkin above them that was still belching noisily. “Each one of you is apparently the sole culprit for this disturbance. The week of detention applies to all of you, and to Mr. Potter as well when you can retrieve him from the loo.”

For all of McGonagall’s anger with them, it took her and Professor Flitwick only a few minutes to vanish the evidence and set the pumpkins to sorts again. McGonagall looked especially frustrated by Dumbledore, who had given up trying to avoid the pulp and was instead lying in a puddle of it, pointed hat askew, making snow angels. Regulus and his friends darted out of the hall, casting deeply unhappy looks at Sirius who smiled back brightly, wiping pumpkin goo off of his mouth.

Later, in Astronomy, Lily Evans fixed each of them with a pointed glare while she pulled pumpkin seeds from her book bag and tossed them over the parapet, or else flicked them at their heads.

“Moony,” James whined. “Make her forgive us already.”

“No chance,” said Remus, grinning and ducking as Lily lobbed another seed at his head in particular. “I reckon she thinks it’s funny, but none of us are going to get her to admit that.”

“She’ll get past it easily enough when we liven up the party with the gramophone tonight,” Sirius reasoned. “Think Frank’ll let us at the Firewhisky as a thank you?”

The answer to that question was decidedly no, but neither did Frank seem to have the heart to send them to their dormitory early when they were providing the main musical entertainment. Remus had decided to give Sirius his birthday present early, at the beginning of the party, and Sirius quickly understood why when he tore the paper off of the square, flat, parcel. It was Led Zeppelin IV, much anticipated after he and Moony had listened to II and III perhaps twenty times over.

And so the night had begun with Black Dog, the normally rowdy common room gathered, quiet and giggling, as they waited to listen to what the gramophone was about to play for them. Sirius let Remus do the honors after hauling the thing down to one of the desks, shoving someone’s abandoned and half-finished Ancient Runes essay out of the way. Remus frowned down in intense focus like he always did as the horn began to crackle, nearly silent for a few heartbeats before the vocals erupted all at once, unaccompanied, making the nearby students jump back.

Hey hey mama, said the way you move! Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove!

It was followed immediately by the energetic drums and guitar, which made everyone laugh in surprise, and Remus grinned up at Sirius in relief, private and small. Sirius enjoyed watching Remus fret over the music he chose, fret over people’s reactions to it, only to be immediately relieved when the song began, doubt erased. When Remus played something he’d heard before for Sirius, there was the pleasant feeling of being watched, as though Sirius were a part of the music now to Remus, and his reception to it mattered just as much as the song. But Sirius liked it even better when Remus hadn’t heard the music before, and Sirius could do the watching, both of them enjoying the same thing without speaking to it.

There was the same behemothic array of sweets and food as last year, this time supplemented by Peter’s kitchen scavenging. It turned out that the fourth year Prewett twins, Fabian and Gideon, knew about the kitchens as well and were Gryffindor’s normal suppliers, but they were quite happy to bring on Peter as a third accomplice and another set of hands. James brought Sirius and Remus each a Butterbeer, frowning. “They wouldn’t let me even take a sip of whatever witch's brew they’ve got in that cauldron,” he said.

“You were just sick all over the ground floor boys' lavatories,” said Remus. “Surely you don’t want to see your supper again.”

“You don’t think I could handle my liquor, Moony?” James asked, affronted.

“You couldn’t even handle your pumpkin guts, mate,” said Sirius, tipping back his bottle.

When Led Zeppelin IV was complete, Remus selected Who’s Next, which greatly pleased Evans but clearly had the unintended effect of making her try to dance with him. Remus was a rubbish dancer, a fact that he seemed very aware of as Evans swayed around him, moving his arms for him while his body stayed rigidly still. Mary, on the other hand, was a very dramatic dancer, and she succeeded in getting Sirius to put down his bottle of Butterbeer in favor of bobbing along with her as she twirled and mouthed the lyrics. Sirius nudged up the volume whenever he could manage it so that soon people had to shout to be heard. James, Marlene, and Peter were talking enthusiastically over the table of desserts, but he and Mary succeeded in pulling them into an embarrassing attempt at swaying along, although James did not seem embarrassed at all.

The older students, Sirius noticed, were much better at moving and laughing, and better at pairing off. Perhaps that had something to do with the cauldron they were drinking liberally from, where Frank still sat stationed with a watchful eye for any younger students who might try him, even while Alice danced by his side, much more carefree.

When Who’s Next had ended, everyone’s ears were ringing, and they were sweating a bit even with the windows thrown open to the cold, starry sky. Remus had dropped himself into a chair, somehow with Evans’s horrible knit cap on his head now, smiling at the rest of the common room while Sirius collapsed over him on the armrest. They both turned as Christy Norton, the fourth year who had tried out for the team along with James and Marlene cleared her throat beside them.

“Hiya,” she said nervously. “My cousin sent me this at the beginning of term, she’s a muggle and has no idea I can’t listen to it until I’m home. D’you mind?” She held out a record that she’d clearly gone to retrieve from her dormitory. It was The Rolling Stones, Sirius recognized that much, but it was one Andromeda didn’t have—Exile on Main Street.

Remus stood up immediately, tossing Sirius off of him, taking the record in his hands with a thrilled expression. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure.”

“It’s my gramophone,” Sirius reminded him, coming to stand beside Remus as he replaced the vinyl. “The ladies of Gryffindor should be beseeching me to play their music.”

Remus scoffed, setting the needle in place. “You’ll get plenty beseeching ladies of Gryffindor, Sirius. Now let me put in this on in peace, and you can thank me later.”

Exile on Main Street ended up coaxing the winded students back onto the common room floor to dance. Roger Cattermole had the brilliant idea of clambering onto a table where he was joined by two Ravenclaws—one being the Ravenclaw seeker and the other being an odd blonde fellow—that performed some sort of dotty and highly entertaining choreographed routine. Marlene, Mary, and Lily made their way to the center of it all with a very pink Peter dragged behind them, while James had found Dorcas Meadowes, the Gryffindor Keeper, as a willing dance partner.

“That’s sweet,” said Sirius to Remus, watching them. “She doesn’t seem to mind at all that he dances like a courting Hippogriff.”

The fun only stopped quite late when Peeves decided to appear, somehow having wrangled a good number of the bats from the Great Hall. He released them with a gleeful cackle, and the music was overtaken by screams, with first year Deborah Goldstein overturning an armchair in her haste to scurry underneath it. The noise at last summoned McGonagall, who stormed through the portrait hole in a smart tartan dressing robe and matching sleeping cap to send them all to bed. Sirius panicked for a moment that she might seek out the source of the loud music, but no less than half the students had hastened to cover the gramophone from her sight.

In their dormitory at last, Sirius collapsed onto Remus’s bed, since James and Peter had elected to do the same. All four of them lay horizontally, foreheads and feet dangling off the edges. Remus no longer wore his stifling jumpers to bed, and his skinny, scared arms were on freckly display as he stretched them out in front of him, too exhausted to be annoyed by his overtaken four-poster bed.

Sirius thought back to Halloween nights at Grimmauld Place—a grim and formal supper with some wheezing great aunt or uncle in attendance to poke and prod at his impropriety. When they were much younger, he and Reg had each been given great chocolate pumpkins filled with candied cockroach clusters after dinner. A bit disgusting, but Sirius reasoned he had appreciated the gesture at some point. He hadn’t received one in years, but the year before he’d started at Hogwarts, Regulus had offered to share his, laying half of it outside of Sirius’s bedroom door. Sirius had just kicked it in, ruining the dusty carpet with chocolate and smears of caramelized cockroach.

He wondered if tonight, Reg had danced himself to exhaustion with those twitchy friends of his. He wondered if their mother had owled him the same disgusting concoction as usual that evening, or if instead, Regulus had found himself piled into a bed with good and ridiculous friends, one of whom was beginning to snore, and felt as though he’d never need for anything from their parents ever again.

Chapter Text

November 3, 1972

Remus

After two long afternoons of doing lines for Professor McGonagall—I will not enjoy the spectacle of watching inanimate objects spew over the heads of my fellow students—the Friday detention with Hagrid felt like a bit of a treat to Remus, even if it involved managing an especially meddlesome gaggle of goats. They smelled strongly and distinctly, and Remus figured they might not be able to get the odor out of their robes for a long while.

“I don’t understand,” said James, trying to keep his sleeve away from a billy goat that seemed particularly inclined to eat it. “What are these? What magical breed are they crossed with? What do they do?”

“They’re goats,” said Hagrid roughly, picking one up and depositing it into the newly constructed pens that the rest were so insistent on not entering. “Yeh milk ‘em, or eat ‘em I s’pose, but Aberforth just wants me teh look after ‘em fer a while.”

“Who?” asked Peter. He alone seemed to get along fine with the goats, and they followed him attentively, perhaps because he had several of Hagrid’s tea cakes crammed into his robe pockets.

“Aberforth,” Hagrid repeated. “He owns the Hog’s Head Tavern down in Hogsmeade, but I don’ reckon yeh’ve had the chance ter visit it yet, bein’ secon’ years an’ all. Normally tends the goats himself, but ran into a spot o’ trouble recently. Some of the goats went missin’, and turned up in bad shape closer ter the grounds. Dead, yeh see, and not a pretty sight ter behold neither.”

Remus went very still, while the impatient goat he was trying to wrangle nudged into his sore hip. “What do you mean?” he asked when he was sure his voice would come out stable. “When? Were they attacked by some sort of animal?”

Sirius and James both looked his way with understanding, even as Peter continued stroking his goat fondly without listening.

“No, no, nothing like tha’,” said Hagrid with a wave of his enormous hand. “There was a purpose to it, Aberforth thinks, like a witch or a wizard might o’ done it. Just a couple o’ nights ago, now. Still, he’ll feel a mite safer if they’re protected on school grounds.”

That at least put Remus at ease. The full moon was over a week prior, and the next one was still several weeks away. It didn’t sound as if he’d gotten through the wards and attacked any goats, nor like it had been a werewolf at all. Still, it was a disturbing image to imagine, as he managed to coax another goat into its pen beside Hagrid’s hut. “Like an animal sacrifice?” he asked after a moment.

Hagrid met his eye grimly. “Summat like that.”

When the goats had all been contained and the sun was low in the sky, turning the lake pink and gold, they waved goodbye to Hagrid with hands full of leftover tea cakes. Remus’s socks were very itchy with hay, and he was sure he was in need of a good shower. Sirius waited until Hagrid’s door had closed and the porch lamp had gone out before he took the burnt, rock-like tea cakes from each of them and chucked them into the lake for the giant squid.

“He’s used to getting a bit of a treat on my birthday now,” Sirius reasoned.

“Let's get a move on, though,” said James. “If the squid doesn’t like what we give him, he chucks it back out, and those cakes could give someone a concussion, I reckon.”

“Who do you think would be killing poor goats like that?” Peter asked with worry as they made their way to Gryffindor tower before dinner.

“Dunno,” said Sirius. “My family used to use all sorts of animals for dark magic, but it’s gone very out of fashion after the Ministry cracked down on it. Still, my Great Aunt Cassiopeia’s house in the country has an empty menagerie from the good old days; absolutely horrid in there.” He turned to them all at the top of the steps before the portrait hole. “Alright, no more talk of goats on my birthday. And no more stench of goats, either. I’m showering first.”

“He used to not give a toss about his birthday,” Remus pointed out to James as Sirius raced ahead. “You’ve spoiled him.”

“Good,” said James. “I’ll keep working on you, next.”

At dinner, the Gryffindor table was subjected to an extended round of Happy Birthday, but they relented easily, knowing by now that cake awaited them with the rest of the pudding. “Figured out what you want to do tonight?” James asked Sirius at the table, voice low. “The cloak is at your service.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Sirius cryptically.

“As long as it’s les wet than last year,” said Peter, looking warily between them both.

Sirius ignored him, turning to Remus. “Moony, how well do you think you’ve got that Duplication Charm down?”

Remus regarded him, knowing he should be wary of the expectant grin he was faced with. “Lily’s much better at it than I am, but I can give it a try.”

“S’a shame we can’t bring Evans into it,” said James thoughtfully. “She’d never go for a trip under the cloak, would she?”

“If you and Black are under it, too?” Remus clarified. “No.”

James opened his mouth to respond, looking a bit put out, but someone was behind Sirius, tapping him on the shoulder. All of them glanced up in surprise to see the slight figure of Regulus Black there, very pale and hunched, and looking as though he’d rather be dead than seen where he was.

“Reggie,” said Sirius with alarm. He looked his brother over and then seemed to notice the small parcel Regulus was holding out with great trepidation. “Is that for me? Come to deliver another ogre appendage from Mummy, have you?”

“No,” said Regulus, voice tight. He glanced around the table at the four of them, then took a hurried step away from James, who he was just behind, as if James had something that might be catching. Regulus blinked quickly, trying to recover his thought. “Mum didn’t send anything. This is from me.”

“How delightful,” said Sirius doubtfully. “Let’s see.” He took the parcel and began at once to open it, and from Regulus’s expression it was clear that this hadn’t been his intention. Remus suspected that he would have preferred to have left straight after depositing his gift. Sirius, however, quickly untied the parcel string and opened the thin box to reveal very fine stationary with embellished letterhead at the top of each page, reading S.O.B.

Sirius looked at it for a long time, brow furrowed. “It’s got snakes all over it,” he said at last, holding up a sheet to reveal that the swirling shapes at each corner were indeed little writhing serpents.

Regulus frowned bitterly. “They’re a rather important part of our family crest, yes.”

“What in Merlin’s name makes you think I’d want something with the family crest on it?” Sirius asked blankly.

Remus couldn’t help but pity Regulus slightly as he reddened, teeth clenched. “I only thought that if you ever—”

But whatever Regulus had meant to say was cut off as Narcissa Black appeared behind him, yanking him away from the Gryffindor table. “I thought we discussed this, Regulus,” she said sharply, refusing to look at Sirius. “He’s not worth your time, and he’s certainly not worth your gold.”

Regulus gave Sirius one last frustrated, flushed glance before he let himself be herded back to the Slytherins.

Sirius stared after him. “He got it so that I could write to my parents,” he said at last, looking back down at the stationary. “Merlin, he thinks I might try to write Mummy and Daddy to patch things up, and use some nice family stationary to make a good impression.”

“Maybe he got it so that you might write to him,” James said rationally. “Since your mum threw away everything you tried to send him last year.”

“Why would I write to him now?” Sirius asked, perplexed. “He’s sat right there across the hall, always looking like he’s just received the news that Christmas has been cancelled.”

Remus turned to watch Regulus as well. The boy didn’t look their way again as he sat between his two friends, staring down at his food instead. Remus wasn’t sure what Sirius had expected from his brother—a crate full of Dungbombs? The Sword of Godric Gryffindor? He doubted Regulus had meant it as some sort of personal affront. “You could use it to write him a tender hearted thank you,” Remus suggested, turning back to Sirius with a shrug.

“I can use it to feed the fire in the common room,” said Sirius, gaze narrowed back at him without humor.

Remus only rolled his eyes.

Once they’d crammed themselves full of cake, returned to the common room, and played a round of Gobstones by the fire, Sirius seemed to have cast the Regulus incident from his mind. They waited for the common room to empty before James went to retrieve his cloak, and they awaited him beneath he dormitory stairs, Sirius still tight-lipped about his intended birthday activity. When James’s head appeared in front of them with a toothy grin, beckoning them to join him under the cloak, they shuffled clumsily out of the portrait hole, and Remus unfolded the map from his pocket.

He'd taken some care at the beginning of the year to use the quills Sirius had given him last Christmas to draw in the moving stairs. They now swung about so you could see which landings led to which, but Remus was hoping to discover some bit of charm work that would allow him to make the animated drawing move in time with the real thing.

Much earlier in the year, Sirius had taken them all under the cloak to a hall off the seventh floor and shown them a sort of massive room that held all sorts of oddities and trinkets stashed away by students over the years. This was where Andromeda had stored her gramophone and albums, Sirius had told them. Remus had immediately tried to jot it down on the map, but no sooner had he inked in the outline than it sunk through the parchment and disappeared, like a stone into water. He’d tried several more times, but to all of their disappointment, it would not take. After some research, Remus had determined that it must be Unplottable, bewitched to never appear on any map, even his own hand drawn one, which made the room all the more intriguing. Instead of adding it to the map, he drew in the horrible tapestry that hung across the hall in great detail, copying the trolls performing ballet in miniature, hoping it would be enough of a marker to remember it by.

The map had grown rather unwieldy over the past year, with flaps and panels to illustrate the way some classrooms seemed to move depending on the day, or else which floors appeared to have hidden levels beneath. Remus had a good deal of practice navigating it, however, and held it up for Sirius to examine by wand light, allowing him to chart their course to lessen their chance of coming across Peeves of Filch.

“I wish I could see Mrs. Norris on here,” whispered Sirius, face uplit beneath he cloak as he examined the map. “She scares the pants off me when she’s staring at us just around a corner.” He ran his finger along one recently discovered shortcut, then nodded. “All right, this way.”

Sirius led them down toward the Entrance Hall, careful to take back corridors so that they ended up near the entrance to the basements.

“Not the kitchens, again,” James insisted beseechingly.

“Why not?” asked Peter, sounding pleased by this turn of events. Remus couldn’t help but agree.

“I’m stuffed from dinner and pudding,” James complained. “And the elves down there don’t seem satisfied unless I’m quite literally in the process of chewing something.”

“Not the kitchens,” said Sirius, pulling the cloak off of them so that they could stand upright. “Right here. This is what I want to do.”

They were just behind the Entrance Hall, looking up at the large glass hourglasses that measured the house points. There were four in total, one containing rubies, one diamonds, one sapphires, and one emeralds. This early in the year, most of the points were in the upper chambers, looming above their heads in glittering piles and catching the starlight like dragon scales, waiting to be dropped down to the chambers at eye-level. At the moment, Ravenclaw was in the lead, which was to be expected since they were most likely to do their summer reading and homework. Hufflepuff, however was in close second, with Slytherin coming third, and Gryffindor in last.

“Is this meant to depress us?” asked James, mournfully looking at the meager pile of rubies. “I’m well aware of how many house points we lost on Halloween.”

“I know,” agreed Sirius with a smile. “Rubbish, isn’t it? If only there was a way we could make it up to our house.”

Remus smacked himself on the head in realization. “That’s why you were asking about the Duplication Charm.” He looked at Sirius, who was wagging his eyebrows comically. “No. It’ll never work.”

“What won’t?” asked Peter, brow pinched.

James had caught on, however, and was nodding. “Oh, excellent! Please, Moony, just do a few. No need to fill up the whole glass, but no one will notice this time of year if we slip into second place.”

“It won’t work,” Remus said confidently. Nearly all the important parts of Hogwarts were warded in some way or another, and he doubted something so simple would trick the hourglasses. “It’s too easy.”

“And that’s why no one’s ever thought to do it,” said Sirius confidently. “What, afraid to give it a go?”

Remus sighed. Really, he was too easily goaded. To prove his point, however, he pointed his wand at one of the rubies and thought back to the technique Lily had displayed in lessons. “Gemino!” he muttered, expecting the spell to bounce off the glass, or for nothing at all to happen.

Instead, there was a faint pop as one of the rubies leapt up into the air, split into two, and then landed back in the small pile. Remus stared at it, agape.

“See?” Sirius said, pointing needlessly. “I knew I was a genius.”

“You're the genius?” asked Remus, pleased despite himself. “I’m the one who can manage the spell, aren't I?”

“No one likes a braggart, Moony,” said Sirius, while Peter and James linked arms and did a sort of celebratory jig. “Do it again, won’t you?”

Remus did, three or four more times, and while there was no noticeable difference to the pile, he was still rather baffled that such a thing was possible. “How many ought we to do?” he asked them.

“Twenty?” suggested Peter.

“Fifty,” said James. “As many as we lost on Halloween.”

“We’ll still only be in second, then,” Sirius pointed out with a frown.

“Yeah,” agreed James, “until I win the first quidditch match against Ravenclaw. Then we’ll be first.”

“Don’t you mean when the team wins the first match?” Remus asked.

James shrugged. “Same thing.”

Remus hesitated and looked around, but the castle was very quiet and no one was approaching. He held out his wand again, prepared to be at the Gemino spell for a while, but then, without his prompting, two of the duplicated rubies sprung into the air and duplicated again, entirely on their own.

“I didn’t do that,” said Remus, head tilted.

Four more rubies duplicated spontaneously with a pop, then eight, then more than Remus could count at once. Remus stepped back from the glass, lowering his wand and stumbling into James.

After only a few seconds, from the look of the Gryffindor hourglass, they’d come into first place. As more and more rubies began to duplicate exponentially, Remus thought it would be clear to anyone that the hourglasses had been tampered with; no house could have earned that number of points this early in the year. Beside, the upper chamber was still very obviously full.

“All right, you can stop now,” said James apprehensively.

“I’m not doing anything!” Remus hissed, holding up his wand arm for proof.

The hourglass continued to fill at an alarming rate. Barely any time had passed before it was almost full to the brim with menacing rubies, and they were duplicating still, doing the opposite of slowing.

“I tried to tell you; it must be warded!” Remus said regretfully. He shoved the other three boys back into the Entrance Hall, getting some distance from the hourglass.

“It’ll stop soon,” said Sirius with wavering confidence. “It has to. Otherwise, it’ll—”

An enormous number of rubies duplicated all at once, clinking against each other, and then there was the horrible squeal of cracking glass. A moment later, the hourglass burst, jagged shards of glass splintering on the ground, rubies spilling out onto the flagstones with a loud crash, cascading to nearly fill the hall in a rush.

For a moment the four boys stood very still, looking out over the sea of glittering red. Occasionally, a ruby would spring up and duplicate with a feeble pop like a fish leaping from water, but the pile seemed at last satisfied with how large it had grown. Either that, or the broken glass had also broken the enchantment.

“All right,” said Sirius softly. “I reckon it was warded.”

There was the horrible sound of hurried footsteps on the nearby stair. “The cloak!” Peter squeaked, and James finally sprung into action, covering the the four of them just as Filch hurtled in, lantern swinging wildly and Mrs. Norris on his heels.

Filch gaped at the scene before him for a moment in shock, lantern light reflecting on the sea of rubies below him, before he hopped into action. “Trouble!” he shouted delightedly. “Oh ho! Such trouble! Peeves couldn’t have done this, my sweet!”

Remus watched for an opening to slip by Filch, but the caretaker paced back and forth rather attentively, muttering and tromping through the rubies. It wasn’t a minute later whn Professor McGonagall appeared, out of breath as she hastened down the stairs in her set of tartan pyjamas.

“I thought I heard…What is it, Argus?” she asked sharply, but then she had only to look at the scene in front of her to see precisely what it was.

“Students!” Filch said, pointing to the sparkling, red mayhem. “Tampering students! Cheating students! Out of bed! From your house, I’d hasten to guess! They were just here, Minerva!”

As Remus tried to hold his breath, he spotted Mrs. Norris glaring at them with her yellow eyes narrowed in a frighteningly human expression.

Professor McGonagall took another moment to gather her bearings, hand over her heart, her normally tightly bound hair braided down her back. At last she sighed in great defeat. “I do think you’re right, Argus.” She closed her eyes, nudging her square spectacles aside and pinching the bridge of her nose as if to alleviate a horrible headache. “If you will excuse me, I will go check upon my house. I suspect there may be four empty beds to be accounted for.”

She turned to go up the stairs, and Remus, with a pang of guilt, thought she looked rather despondent about the task in front of her.

Before he could begin to feel too bad, however, he felt a sharp prod in the back from Sirius and immediately understood—Filch had finally cleared out of their way and they needed to move. As quietly as they could, they navigated their way past the rubies, careful not to disturb any as Filch held up his lantern to investigate the shadowy corners of the hall. Mrs. Norris watched them all the while, and Remus didn’t dare to breathe, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. It wasn’t until they’d slipped behind a painting of Blightly the Boorish and into a hidden passageway that he exhaled, and the four boys began sprinting up the stairs before them in earnest, not caring to keep the cloak perfectly around them.

They’d found a shortcut passageway containing a particularly steep staircase at the end of last year, although it was normally a difficult one to take since the entrance was in plain view at most times of the day. It was worth taking now, however, and they veered hastily in that direction without needing to confer on it. “Think the shortcut will…be…enough?” James asked, panting for breath as they skidded up a fourth flight.

“McGonagall…looked…like she…wasn’t in…any rush,” Sirius answered, equally out of breath.

Remus’s knee was throbbing; each recent full moon had seemed to twinge it worse and worse. They exited the passageway behind a tapestry, then darted across the corridor to an alcove, where Peter kicked a loose stone into place and the wall slid aside to reveal another hallway, this one a steep inclining ramp that would get them to the sixth floor. Half way up it, Remus felt the urge to collapse. “Go…on without me,” he managed.

“No marauder left behind!” James declared, grabbing Remus by the wrist and tugging hard. By the time they’d reached the Fat Lady, half covered by the cloak, Peter beside him was soaked with sweat, Remus had a horrible stitch in his side, his knee throbbed as if it had its own heartbeat, and Sirius and James were frightfully out of breath.

“Dilly-dally!” Remus managed to whisper to the portrait. He was half convinced he could hear someone coming up the nearby stairs.

“What?” asked the Fat Lady turning her head to and fro, even as she swung open to reveal the portrait hole. “Who’s there?”

“Say you didn’t notice anything and I’ll get Peeves to stop painting rude words on your forehead while you’re sleeping,” said Sirius urgently as Peter slipped from under the cloak to crawl through first.

The Fat Lady gawked at the three pairs of trouser legs and trainers she could see, but her brow furrowed as she considered. Remus didn’t stay to witness her decision as James pushed him through the portrait hole, following soon after. When the portrait had closed behind them, the four of them made a mad dash into their dormitory, forgoing silence for the sake of speed. James shoved the cloak beneath his bed, ripped off his school shirt and tie to pull on a pyjama shirt, but left his trainers on as he tumbled into bed. Remus did the same, dousing the lights while he was at it and hoping that Sirius and Peter were following suit in the dark. No sooner had he collapsed on top of his pillow than there was a sharp rapping on the door.

Sirius, who had somehow managed both his pyjama shirt and trousers, kicked his shoes off violently, then held up a finger to silence the rest of them, breathing hard as Peter yanked his blankets up to his chin to conceal his very red face. Sirius’s hair was horribly mussed from the cloak and from running, but he only mussed it up more, wiping sweat hastily from his brow, and then opened the dormitory door with a huge, feigned yawn.

With one eye peeked open, Remus saw McGonagall standing there rigidly, wand lit and raised. She was scowling, but her expression had softened with surprise as she saw Sirius before her.

“Professor?” Sirius asked sleepily. “S’that you? What’s going on?”

Professor McGonagall didn’t answer, only lifted her wand further into the room to survey the other beds. When the beam from her wand landed on him, Remus lifted his head, doing his best to appear bewildered as he blinked in the light. “Sirius? Why’re you up?” He squinted at the form in the doorway. “Wha—Professor?”

Peter let out a half-convincing murmur of sleep, and James sat up very abruptly, with his glasses off. “The troll’s in the back garden!” he sputtered, as if he’d just been woken from a vivid dream. He looked around the room owlishly without his specs. “Is someone there? I can’t see.”

“I—” McGonagall seemed at an unusual loss for words. Her eyes narrowed. “Hm. Woken you all up, have I?” she asked doubtfully.

“Yeah,” said Sirius, yawning again. “What time ‘s it? Are we late for class?”

“No, Mr. Black,” said McGonagall, and Remus thought there was the smallest chance that she perhaps sounded amused. “It is very much still the time for sleeping, and I was just looking in to make sure you were all aware of that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must check on the Prewetts in the fourth year dormitories.”

She gave them all one more sweeping glance before muttering something to herself with the smallest of smiles. If Remus hadn’t seen firsthand how severe her face was capable of being, he wouldn’t have noticed it there. She turned quickly, and shut the door behind her.

Sirius turned back to them, leaning back against the door, very wide-eyed as Remus tentatively lit his wand.

“Sirius,” Remus began slowly. “You’ve got your pyjamas on backward.”

Sirius looked down his chest, where the buttons were distinctly absent. “Have I?” he asked.

Without warning, the four boys erupted into giggles that were quite difficult to keep quiet. Remus tried and failed, having to bite down on his own pillow while Sirius struggled to turn his shirt the right way. The stitch in his side reignited, but he could barely find it in him to care about the pain, as his entire four poster bed shook with the force of his laughter.

It took a long while for Remus to fall asleep when they'd finally decided to actually turn in for the night. His heart continued to pound, adrenaline leaving his system only slowly. That was why Remus was still quite conscious when he heard the sound of Sirius leaving his bed and climbing into James’s.

Near the full moon, Remus was often annoyed by how keen his hearing became, but he almost wished he could hear them now as quiet murmuring began behind James’s bed curtains. Remus was fairly certain he heard Regulus’s name in Sirius’s voice, and then James’s placating tone for a long while. The issue of Regulus must not have been as far from Sirius’s mind as Remus had thought, and only James could be the one to soothe him.

It made sense, Remus supposed. With a family as unhappy as the Blacks, Sirius would want the comfort of someone with a perfect family—someone who’d grown up in a house as marked by love as his own was by hate. What better force to drive away the cold than with the undampened warmth that was James Potter. Remus himself only had more trouble to provide, and even Peter with his lonely and overbearing mother was no match.

In the morning, Remus woke uncharacteristically early, and spotted that Sirius’s bed was still empty. James’s bed hangings were parted a bit and the two black-haired boys were tangled together, messy with sleep. Remus was more glad than anything—glad that Sirius had gone to bed on his birthday comforted.

He let them sleep in since it was the weekend, bringing a book with him down into the common room. It was only later at dinner that he heard from Frank that the prefects had been called to an emergency meeting with the heads of houses to discuss the incident of last night. Filch, apparently, was adamant that no less than one hundred points be taken from Gryffindor. McGonagall, however, had insisted that since no culprit was confirmed, it was possible that the hourglass breaking had been an act of sabotage from a troublemaker in another house. Frank shared her opinion.

“That’s clearly what it was,” said Alice, taking a sip from her pumpkin juice beside Frank. “No one’s daft enough to think something like that would have actually worked. Students have tried to tamper with house points for ages. Dumbledore himself has put all sorts of protections on them.”

“Definitely,” Sirius agreed. “You’d have to be an idiot to try it.”

James let out a high squeak as he looked down at his food, attempting to stifle a laugh, and Remus faked a violent coughing fit to cover it.

After dinner, they passed by the hourglasses, taking a very innocent look at the repaired glass and restored rubies.

“I dunno,” said Sirius, peering through the glass. “Frank says it’s back to it’s original numbers, but the pile seems a smidge larger to me, don’t you think?”

“I reckon you’re right,” James agreed.

Remus was inclined to argue, but he decided against it at the hopeful look on Sirius’s face. “Definitely larger,” he agreed.

November 11, 1972

Lily

“Here you go, you cold numpty,” said Lily, taking the red and gold scarf she’d been working on out of her bag and wrapping it around Mary’s neck. “Haven’t you got a winter cloak in that enormous trunk of yours?”

“No,” said Mary appreciatively, looping the lumpy creation around her head as well. “Just the dark blue one. And I couldn’t wear that, since we’re playing Ravenclaw. Besides, it wouldn't have matched.” Mary was wearing head-to-toe stripey red and gold, from her stockings to her hairband. Her house spirit was putting Lily and the rest of them to shame.

“Here they come!” said Peter Pettigrew from the stands behind her. “Look, look!”

Sure enough, the Gryffindor team had emerged from the changing rooms at the far end of the field, flying out in the order they were announced by Nancy Spinnet, Roslyn Kelly leading the charge.

“Lastly, of course, we’ve got our newest members,” came Nancy’s booming voice over the megaphone, “Marlene McKinnon with the Beater bat Justin Knockwit left behind, and James Potter filling the slot left by Chaser Hestia Jones, who graduated from her three-year captaining position without winning the Cup her team and still hasn’t finished kicking herself over it, based on the letter I got from her late last summer…Hopefully Roslyn Kelly manages a little better…”

Lily kept her eyes glued on Marlene, waving up at her in the hopes Marlene could spot them far below. Lily decidedly ignored Potter, who had in fact spotted them, or more accurately, had spotted the three boys behind them, and was waving energetically in their direction while pulling his broom into dizzying circles. Mary was not helping things as she pointed at him. “Merlin, look at him go! Lils, do you see?”

As Hooch blew the starting whistle, Remus leaned down to rest an elbow on Lily's shoulder. “All right, so which one’s the Beater, then?”

“You’re only asking to annoy me,” Lily decided, attempting to ignore him. “You know very well what a Beater does.”

“All right,” said Remus, and Lily could hear that he was grinning. “I suppose I’ll just have to go with my best hunch. They hit the Snitch between the goal posts, right?”

“Do you let Potter hear you talk like that?” she asked, elbowing him in the thigh.

“Yes, and he spends a great deal of time trying to explain it to me, Merlin bless his patience.”

Lily had no such Merlin-blessed patience, and so she continued to ignore him.

The Ravenclaws were a very cohesive team, with only one new addition and three seventh years who had kept their positions for a long while. Lily recognized them from last year. Their best flier was their Seeker, fifth year Pandora Greengrass who tended to roam the skies very dreamily, nearly colliding with Bludgers and other players, until she would suddenly plummet and end up catching the Golden Snitch. The Beaters were competent as well, but Lily watched with satisfaction as Marlene flew up from behind one of them and claimed a Bludger for herself, sending it straight into the Ravenclaw chaser with the Quaffle.

The Ravenclaw dropped the Quaffle as he dodged, and Potter appeared from nowhere to capture it and began tearing down the field in the opposite direction as Sirius Black hollered an approval behind her. Eventually the other two opposing chasers descended upon Potter, and he hesitated for a moment, then passed to Roslyn Kelly to his left.

“Look at that,” said Black, who had painted JAMES in bright red lettering across his forehead. “He’s learning teamwork. I’m so proud.”

Lily watched with begrudging approval as Potter continued to make well-placed passes, acting as a conduit between Roslyn Kelly and Aryan Patil who flanked him. Aryan made one goal, and Roslyn made another, while Dorcas Meadowes blocked three attempts from the Ravenclaw chasers.

“Good for Dorcas!” said Mary happily. “She’s loads better this year.”

Nancy Spinnet in the commentator box seemed to agree. “And another excellent save from Gryffindor Keeper Meadowes. Looks like someone’s trained some life into her this year…My galleons are on second year chaser Potter, who seems to enjoy telling other people how to play their positions as much as he likes playing his own. Luckily he’s good at it, or I’d imagine it could get a mite annoying.”

Kelly attempted another goal, but it was captured easily by the Ravenclaw Keeper.

“James was right there,” said Black in frustration. “Dunno what Kelly’s playing at, refusing to pass to him, the stubborn numpty.”

“She doesn’t trust him,” said Lily simply, although she, too, thought a pass might have been the smarter move. After two more failed shots from Kelly and one miss from Aryan, Lily had to admit that she thought the captain should call a huddle and change tactics. There was a frightening moment where Pandora Greengrass swooped for the snitch while Alice was still a tad too far away, but an excellent combined assault of Bludgers from both Roger and Marlene sent Greengrass off course again. The Seeker looked unbothered as she peeled out of the dive.

It had been clear enough after tryouts that Roslyn Kelly intended to keep Potter humble, but a humbled Potter was clearly a wasted Potter, to Lily’s great dismay.

It wasn’t until the Gryffindors had dipped behind in points that Roslyn called Potter and Aryan to her, conferring over something high in the air. The next time the whistle blew and the Quaffle launched into the air, James darted ahead and caught it before the Ravenclaw chasers had even started forward. He bowled through them and had scored an easy ten points in a matter of moments.

“And Potter looks like he’s finally been let off his leash,” said Nancy Spinnet, “making any Gryffindor with eyes wonder where they’ve been keeping him all match.”

By the time Potter had scored forty more points, Mary had begun jumping so exuberantly that she was nearly clambering onto Lily’s back. Even Remus was joining in with Black and Pettigrew in a chant of “POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!”

Before Lily was quite aware what was happening, Alice was darting across the pitch, laying almost flat on her broom to pick up speed.

“Look!” said Mary, pointing to the speck of gold hovering above the stands opposite them. Alice still had a good ways to go, but Pandora had even further. In the meantime, Potter had made it all the way to the Ravenclaw goalposts unhindered, and hovered there as even their Keeper watched the Snitch, perfectly capable of scoring the last goal of the match. Instead, he tossed it easily over to Roslyn, who seemed baffled even as she managed to catch it. After a moment of hesitation, she sent it through the hoops just as Alice snagged the snitch and pulled up her broom in victory.

The Gryffindor stands absolutely exploded with deafening cheers, Sirius hoisting Peter onto his shoulders to the other boy’s bafflement but apparent acceptance. “They’re rather good, aren’t they?” Lily could hear Remus asking.

“We won!” Mary screamed, grabbing Lily by each side of the face, curls springing from beneath Lily’s knit scarf. “We won!”

Lily could not contain the beaming smile from her face as she nodded along, words caught in her throat. They raced down the stands to meet Marlene as she landed to the ground, both of them tackling her to the grass the moment she touched down. “We’re going to win it this year! You’re going to win it!” Lily managed to get out, barely giving Marlene room to remove her Beater’s helmet. Patsy McKinnon was waiting behind them to haul her sister to her feet, and then she hugged Marlene so tightly her legs lifted from the ground. When the beaming, sweat-smeared Marlene was finally freed from their enthusiasm, Dorcas Meadowes was landing beside her with a bright smile, and an outstretched hand.

“Good flying, McKinnon,” she said happily. “You were a menace out there.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Marlene happily, taking he outstretched hand and pulling Dorcas into a hug instead. “Any Chasers I didn’t manage to stop, you did.”

Nearby, Black had set Peter back to his feet and was now attempting to hoist Potter into the air, but it was going much more poorly since James was an inch or so above him in height and wearing his bulky quidditch kit. His hair and glasses were more wild and askew than ever, and he let out a surprised grunt as Aryan and Roger came to join in Black's efforts, finally managing to lift Potter in the air and toss him enthusiastically. Lily was just turning away from the spectacle when he called “Oi! Evans!”

Lily turned begrudgingly, fixing him with an impatient look. “What?”

“Any pointers?” he asked happily. “I’m sure you’ve got notes.”

“Yeah,” said Lily, narrowing her gaze. “Don’t wait so bloody long to score next time.”

James only laughed, letting Roger and Aryan carry him toward the changing rooms and showers where Roslyn and Alice were headed arm in arm, Marlene and Dorcas running after. Potter had to be set down in order to pass through the door, and Lily watched as Roslyn threw and arm over his shoulder before they walked through.

“Come on,” said Mary, bouncing on the spot. “Party in the common room, and I want to get changed.”

“Changed?” Lily asked. “You can’t possibly have more Gryffindor colors to put on.”

“No,” said Mary, sticking out her tongue. “But that Patil bloke is rather cute, isn’t he? I’ve got a red dress that’s much prettier.”

Lily laughed, pulling on the scarf like a lead and tugging Mary off the pitch. “Wish I could see it, but I’m meant to be studying.”

“Oh come off it,” Mary whined. “You can’t be going to the library with Sniv—with Snape.”

“Not you, too, with that horrid nickname,” Lily scolded.

“I’m sorry,” said Mary quickly. “It's just that I hear it so often that I forget what he’s really called sometimes.”

Lily made an effort not to scowl. “Well, I told Severus ages ago that we’d do our Defense essays for Montclair today. He doesn’t care much for Quidditch, and anyway, his team’s not playing, so he started without me.”

“Then leave him to it,” Mary insisted. “Come try and sneak a sip of Firewhiskey with me and Marlene instead.”

“I can’t,” said Lily, truly regretful. “Anyway, you and Marlene have got each other. Severus is all alone today.”

“Yeah,” said Mary as they walked back to the castle among a stream of other students. “Alone because he’s in the library and those other Slytherin creeps can barely read.”

Lily bumped Mary with her hip, trying not to smile. “I’ll meet you after dinner. The common room will still be a rowdy mess by then.”

“I’ve told you, Lils, you’re too nice by half,” said Mary, shaking her head. “He'd better know how lucky he is."

December 21, 1972

Sirius

“You’re going to have to stop telling everyone you’re ill all the time, Moony,” said Sirius, perched on the narrow frame of Remus’s hospital bed and considering his hand of Exploding Snap. “They’re going to catch on if you don’t give them some other excuse.”

“Like what?” Remus asked, frowning at his own hand of cards.

“Tell them Madam Pomfrey took you on as a special student,” said James from his reclined position on the bed beside Remus’s. “Once a month, you’re her assistant Healer.”

“And what about when they come in ill, and I’m nowhere to be seen?” Remus asked.

“Tell them you’re half Merman, and have to return to spend a night every once in a while in the Black Lake,” suggested Peter at James’s feet.

“I don’t think wizards are mad about mixed creatures either, Pete,” Sirius pointed out. “Besides, how would a half merman even work? Which part of Remus would be fish? Maybe the—”

“No,” said Remus quickly. “Let’s scrap that idea.”

“You could pretend you’ve got a great aunt that’s really ill,” said James, starting on some of Remus’s hospital breakfast. “Say McGonagall lets you home for a visit.”

“Nobody visits their great aunts,” Sirius pointed out. He laid out his best cards, only for Remus to lay down ones that easily beat his. Sirius frowned as his cards burst into sparks. “You’ve got to say it’s your mum or something.”

“My mum is gravely ill once a month under the full moon?” Remus asked skeptically. “Won’t people just think she’s the Werewolf?”

“Maybe,” said Sirius. “But at least they won’t think it’s you.”

“I could try it,” Remus shrugged. “But it'll be terrible lying to Lily. She’ll actually care that I’ve got a sick mum and feel really rotten about it.”

“Merlin forbid you lie to Evans,” said Sirius with a huff. Lily was all right, really, but hadn’t Remus been just fine with lying to all of them?

“She’s really smart,” said James, swallowing his bite of Remus’s toast. “She’ll work it out if anyone will.”

“Yeah,” said Remus, “but she also lets my business be my own, unlike you lot.”

“I reckon she’d be good about it,” said James thoughtfully. “If she thinks a great ugly bat like Snivellus deserves to go here, then I can’t see why she’d have any issue with a Werewolf.”

Remus frowned, but didn’t argue. Sirius noticed he was holding his cards with only one hand, the other wrapped in a great big plaster cast. Remus winced every now and then as the Skelegrow Potion did its work. It had been a nasty night, clearly, and Madam Pomfrey nearly hadn’t let Sirius and the other two in. It was only Remus’s scratchy-voiced insistence from behind his bedcurtain that made her relent. As it was, Remus would not be going to lessons today, and Sirius—and Lily, most likely—would be in charge of taking his notes for him.

Sirius had only just lost another round of Exploding Snap to Remus when Madam Pomfrey came to usher them out. “You’ve got lessons, boys, and Remus needs his rest.”

According to Pomfrey, the story was that Remus had experienced another dizzy spell and once again fell on his way to the Hospital Wing, and the witch had seemed relieved that they did not question her explanation at all.

“Don't forget,” James called to Remus as Madam Pomfrey tried to push them out the doors. “Write your mum and tell her that you’re invited to mine as soon as Boxing Day. We’re having a big to-do that night, and your mum can come, of course, but it’ll be a bit…you know.”

“A bit wizard?” Remus asked drowsily.

“Yeah,” said James apologetically. “Still, tell her she’s welcome.”

“I will,” said Remus, eyes heavy. Sirius suspected that he might have fallen asleep by the time Madam Pomfrey closed the door.

“He seems all right, doesn’t he?” Peter asked worriedly as they made their way to the Transfiguration Corridor.

“I suppose,” agreed James. “But it really does him in every month, doesn’t it? I mean, really. Wish there was something to do.”

Sirius looked furtively around the empty hall, but just to be safe, he dragged James and Peter into an empty alcove. “Listen,” he told them, “I’ve been doing some thinking, and I have an idea on how we might help him.”

Peter and James only exchanged glances, then looked at Sirius expectantly.

“Werewolves are lots like regular wolves, except they care much more about biting wizards than hunting other animals or anything like that. I’ve read loads now that says they leave other animals be without issue. And they’re almost always calmer when they travel in packs; they can get really frantic when they’re alone.”

James gave Sirius a very confused look. “So…what? You think we ought to get him a cat for company or something?”

“No,” said Sirius, trying to keep his voice at a hush, no matter how excited he was feeling. “I think we out to keep him company. As animals.”

“Er…all right,” said James, clearly trying to catch up. “But the animals we happen to be are wizards. And you just said that they—”

“We don’t have to always be wizards,” said Sirius, unable to stop himself from grinning. “We could be real animals, like Falco Aesalon. Like McGonagall. We could become Animagi.”

He waited for the dramatic words to resonate with the other two boys.

“No we couldn’t,” said Peter after a while. “We’re not of age.”

“He means once we’re seventeen,” said James, his expression thoughtful as he began to catch on.

“No I don’t,” scoffed Sirius. “I mean as soon as possible. It’s bound to be really difficult, and I reckon that all the books about it are in the restricted section, but with the cloak we’d be able to get to them.”

James and Peter were both staring at him now. “Don’t you think magic like that can go really wrong?” Peter asked after a moment.

“Obviously,” said Sirius. “We just won’t do it wrong.”

“You want us to become underage, unregistered Animagi on our own?” James asked, as if certain he hadn’t understood correctly.

“Yeah,” said Sirius, still waiting for them to catch on to his brilliance. He’d expected some caution from Peter, but he’d thought he’d have James on his side to convince him.

“You want us to turn into animals, doing some of the most difficult magic known, so that we can transform with Remus every full moon?” James clarified.

“Yes,” said Sirius.

“And were you thinking of telling Moony about this idea?”

“Eventually,” said Sirius, shifting from foot to foot. “Once we’ve managed it, and it's too late for him to talk us out of it.”

James swallowed, nodding very slowly as his gaze remained distant. “Then we’d better get to our Transfiguration lesson,” he said at last with a determined little nod. “And we’re going to have to stop faffing about in Potions, I reckon.”

Chapter Text

December 23, 1972

James

The countryside through the window of the Hogwarts Express just before Christmas looked very different than it had at the start or the end of the school year. James pressed his face against the fogged window to take in a spectacle of snow and ice, tucking his hands up his robe sleeves for warmth in the chilly compartment. Last year, though James hadn’t precisely realized it, they had stayed behind because Remus’s transformation took place over the break, but this year Remus was sat on the bench next to him, very soundly asleep with his arm still wrapped in hard plaster put on him by Madam Pomfrey, which he insisted he didn’t need.

Peter was happily flicking through a comic book of The Secretive Sojourns of Selena the Sinister that Marlene had leant him and he’d taken a liking to, but Sirius was tucked up in the corner of the compartment opposite James, looking gloomy. He glanced up briefly from something he’d been meticulously studying on the knee of his trousers. “You’re sure I’m invited? For Christmas Day and everything?”

“As sure and as solemn as Morgana’s grave,” said James for the tenth or eleventh time, hand over his heart. “Want to read the letter from Mum? She said she’d be delighted.”

“No,” said Sirius quickly. He seemed rather adverse to the idea of letters from mums, and James didn’t blame him. “I just figure I could have stayed at school and made everything easier.”

“Nonsense,” said James quickly. “Moony wasn’t stay staying this year, Pete wasn’t staying, and most importantly I wasn’t staying. What in Merlin’s name would you have gotten up to without us?”

Sirius only shrugged, looking back down. “I just don’t want to run into my mother at the station, is all. She’ll think I mean to come home, and the shock of it might kill her.”

“Oh,” said James, feeling suddenly guilty. “Er…my mum already wrote her. Told her you were invited to ours herself. I would have stopped her, but she did it before she even sent me an owl to ask about you in the first place.”

Sirius looked up sharply, and Peter pulled his comic up higher, as if expecting a row and trying to hide from it. “She what?” asked Sirius coldly.

“It’s not her fault,” said James quickly. “Mum thought it would be a normal thing to do. And besides, she never got a response.”

“A normal thing to do,” Sirius scoffed, but then he sunk back down, clearly not meaning to get really upset about it. Then, after a moment, “Well, good. My mother should know that I’m spending Christmas with a load of blood-traitors.”

“Now I’m starting to feel a bit used,” said James with a smile. “You’re not just chumming it up with my family to get in with our blood-traitor status, are you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” said Sirius, stretching out at last. “I picked out the biggest bunch of scoundrels I could find, and stuck by them.”

“Can't wait for Boxing Day,” Peter piped up. “Mum’s all in a huff about it, though, says she has nothing to wear. She expects it to be some big formal affair.”

“Nah,” said James happily. “Three years ago, Bathilda Bagshot arrived in this horrible leopard print kaftan. Half the guests come in what they think is fashionable muggle clothing.”

Remus sat up suddenly, as if he’d been slapped awake. “Bathilda Bagshot will be there? Author of A History of Magic?”

“Sure,” said James. “Old friend of the family. And I mean old. She probably changed Dumbledore’s nappies.”

Remus looked extremely disturbed. “But History’s my worst subject. I ought to revise beforehand if she’ll be there.”

“Don’t bother,” said James. “She detests talking about history anyway. She mostly likes to gossip and discuss the gardening.”

It was early winter evening by the time the train arrived at King’s Cross Station, and the short winter days meant that it had been dark outside the frosty window a long while. Somehow Claude had managed to weasel his way into their compartment and was sleeping on Sirius’s lap, to Peter’s dismay since he was allergic. Mary stuck her curly head into their compartment just as the train was slowing. “There he is, the furry rascal.”

She held out her arms as Sirius passed the grumbling thing over, and then they were heaving their small trunks out from the overhead storage and making their way onto the platform.

James spotted Peter’s mum first, a short blonde woman who looked lots like him and burst into excited tears at the sight of her son. Then there was Remus’s mum, who James might not have noticed since she was very reserved, hanging back from the crowd in her simple muggle clothes. Remus, however, spotted her right away and hurried into her arms. Her plain face was transformed by a smile, but that quickly disappeared when she spotted her son’s arm and began immediately to nervously fret. James shook hands warmly with both mums, feeling that he had a knack for winning them over. Mrs. Pettigrew repeated stuttering thanks for the Boxing Day invitation and for taking Peter for a week over the summer. Mrs. Lupin only looked between James and Remus with surprise, as if she was certain James had made some sort of mistake by claiming to be best mates with her son.

It wasn’t until a few moments that James spotted his own mum, tumbling through the barrier in a pink-faced rush. She had on her favorite robes, yellow paisley, with her black and grey-streaked hair piled up on top of her head with a few glittering pins and her wand stuck through it. She looked around, then beamed immediately upon spotting him.

James dropped his trunk with a clatter before racing into her embrace. “You look taller!” his mum enthused.

“You saw me for all of two seconds,” said James.

“Then you feel taller,” she decided, squeezing him hard. When she at last let go, she turned him about, pushing him back toward his abandoned trunk. “Go pick up your things, you goose. Everyone is trying not to trip over them.”

It was then that James noticed Sirius, standing very still by James’s trunk, watching the whole affair skeptically. James went to retrieve both his trunk and his mate, dragging them over. “You must be Sirius,” his mum said fondly, taking Sirius by the shoulders so that he was forced to stare wide-eyed up at her. “My goodness, what a handsome young man you are,” she assessed. “Where’re your parents? I’d like to thank them for letting us steal you for the holidays.”

“Er…” said Sirius. “My mother’s over there. But I don’t think it counts as stealing when she’s been trying to find somewhere else to put me for several years.”

His mum’s smile dampened slightly as she looked to where Sirius had jerked his head. Indeed, across the platform James could spot Regulus, a tall, black-haired woman, and a house elf with a great deal of grey fuzz protruding from his ears holding the trunks, all three facing away before they Disapparated away with a faint crack.

James’s mum frowned after them. “I trust she received my letter, then?”

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “but if you put your name on it, then she ripped it to scraps before reading it. Don’t worry, though. She’s not going to call the Aurors on a hunt for me.”

“Hm,” was James’s mum’s only response. She turned instead to greet Mrs. Pettigrew and Mrs. Lupin. “Lovely to meet you both, I’ve heard lots and lots about your wonderful sons,” she told them. “I would have liked to come earlier and chat more, but we were stuck in those new spinning doors for quite a long time. In fact, Monty’s still in there now, although I think he’s just having a bit of fun with it.”

At last they parted ways with the two Lupins and the two Pettigrews. James called out, “Don’t forget! Four in the afternoon on Boxing Day! The Floo’ll be open!” Both Remus and Peter waved amiably back.

They were about to cross through the barrier, when James’s mum paused. “Oh, look, there’s that lovely Evans family. Don’t you want to say goodbye to your friend, James?”

Just to their left was indeed the Evans family, Lily chatting happily away to a man with her exact coloring. There was also a very skinny blonde girl close by his side, looking very muggle and vaguely seasick as her eyes darted around the platform.

“Nah,” said James. “I’ll let her be. Don’t want to ruin her Christmas.”

His mum looked down at him puzzled, but only took his trunk in one hand, then swept Sirius’s away from him in the other. “Come along boys!” she instructed. “I reason your father is very dizzy by now.”

When they’d rescued his father from the revolving doors, a slightly woozy Fleamont Potter gave Sirius and James both bracing hugs. “We ready to find the Portkey, then?” he asked them, teetering to one side, spectacles lopsided. "I think the Ministry’s got one scheduled to Hollowcombe-on-the-Hill in just ten minutes. In the meantime James, I’ll require a play by play of the Ravenclaw match.”

As they crossed the busy street, wary of ice, James described each of his goals in detail, while his mother shook her head in mock dismay over the loss suffered by her old house. They walked a bit past St. Pancras Station, until James’s dad had located an alleyway and spotted an old sock in a damp puddle. “Is this it?” he asked, lifting it with the tip of his wand. “Eugh…no, I think not.” After a while he found a rusted bicycle wheel without the tire. “This is it, definitely.”

“All right, mate?” James asked Sirius, who had followed along with uncharacteristic quiet.

“Yeah,” said Sirius, although his expression was unreadable. “Brilliant, yeah.”

The four of them had only gathered around with one hand on the bent wheel for perhaps ten seconds before James felt a hard yank behind his navel, and the alleyway began to spin, his feet flying out behind him while his hand stayed glued to the Portkey. He landed with a hard oomph on a familiar patch of snow-crusted grass. They were just off the High Street, where a tidy row of stone houses overgrown in ivy lined one side, facing them. James helped Sirius with his bag, which had been thrown outward by the force of the Portkey before leading him to one of the stone houses in the center.

“Is this where you live?” asked Sirius, looking around. “It’s a muggle street, like mine.” He sounded surprised.

“Not quite,” said James with a smile. “Come on, then.”

They followed his parents up the front steps. There was a little brass plaque over the plain door, which read, 77 Willowwick Crescent. To some, that might seem odd since it was not the name of the street they were on.

His mum rang the buzzer, which chimed pleasantly. They waited for a few moments until there was a sort of click of the door unlatching, and then she opened it. It did not, however, lead to the interior of a house, as James was well aware it wouldn’t. Instead, it led to a narrow stone tunnel, lit pleasantly with gas lamps along the wall. When they’d come through it, they were faced with a small, half-moon shaped park filled with snow, a little shoveled path cutting through it, and a row of eight stone terraced houses lined up in a wide arc. James grinned back at Sirius, who blinked in surprise.

Each of the houses were narrower at the front than the rear so that they might squash together into the semi-circle they formed, and each had a differently colored front door. They looked very old, but very neatly tended with tall, crooked chimneys puffing smoke against the dark clouds that threatened to offload more snow onto their frosted rooftops. All of it was lit rosily by gas lamps bearing Christmas wreaths in front of each home.

“Now that is better than mine,” Sirius decided. “I’ve only got one house hidden between the others, not an entire street.”

“We’ve only got the one house, too,” said James, leading him to the last terraced house on the left. Their dark purple door featured a small golden letter P where a house number might’ve been. James bounded happily inside after his mother and father, Sirius peering around curiously at his heels. The crowded entryway held a great deal of robes and pointed hats on pegs, boots in cubbies, and tapestries on the wall, as well as a large curving staircase to the upper levels. Behind it was the kitchen that opened to the back garden, the sitting room, and the dining room. James had never put in the thought to reason out if it were bigger on the inside, but it was so full of ancient furniture and oddities that it never felt particularly spacious.

“Come on,” said James happily. “I’ll show you to my room. Then your room, I s’pose.”

He began to tromp up the stairs with his trunk thunking against every step when his mum called after him, “Leave the bags, James! Or else you’ll bang up the stairs. I’ll send them up after you. And come right back down! The mutton korma is almost ready!”

James dutifully dropped the trunk and tried to hasten Sirius after him, but Sirius wanted to look into every guest room, bathroom, and office until they’d finally reached the third and highest floor where the ceilings were low and sloped. “Mum and Dad are just below,” said James, nudging open the door to his room, allowing Sirius to take it in. There was a wide bed with a quilt his mum had given him last Christmas with the Gryffindor crest on it, and an overstuffed wardrobe. Two dormer windows set into the sloped wall looked out to the front of the street and Sirius peered out these, then looked at the aged Puddlemore United posters, where players darted from print to print, waving at him happily, then glanced over the piles of wizard magazines that James hadn’t bothered to tidy. “Well?” James asked.

“It’s a mess,” said Sirius at last.

“Yeah,” agreed James. “You live with me most the year, what did you think it would look like? You’re a mess, too.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “but Kreacher throws out everything I leave on the floor.” He thought for a moment. “Although I don’t think he does that to be tidy, he just does it to spite me.”

“Well, we haven’t got a house-elf,” James pointed out.

“No?” Sirius asked. “Then why don’t you have any dust?”

“Because my mum and dad can do magic,” said James with amusement. “They vanish it. Does Kreacher dust everything for you?”

“Not really,” said Sirius, “he doesn’t dust anything at all. I reckon he likes the dust.”

“Well, the neighbors have got a house-elf,” said James after a moment. “The Fawleys. Her name is Hedgie, and she’s brilliant. Makes great pastry.”

Sirius considered this for a moment, and James thought he looked unhappy.

“What, don’t you like it?” James asked.

“I love it,” said Sirius plainly. “But it also sort of makes me want to hit something.”

“Oh,” said James. “Well, I could show you to your room across the hall. There are lots of pillows in there to hit.”

Sirius didn’t nod, but neither did he decline the offer as James led him past the little bathroom that was usually his alone, to another room that looked much like his with a view onto the back garden instead. From its windows, one could see the miniature Quidditch hoop his dad had installed behind his mum’s covered greenhouse. This room was much plainer, but had the stripey blue and yellow quilt his mum had made for him years before and a few of James’s old things, like his first year textbooks on a large shelf. There was a faint pop, and then Sirius’s trunk appeared at the foot of the bed.

Sirius looked at the bed. “I don’t want to hit those pillows,” he said. “They look far too soft.”

“Want to hit me, then?”

Sirius considered it. “Maybe.”

James spread his arms and puffed his chest, closing his eyes as he welcomed the impact. But Sirius didn’t hit him at all, only wrapped his arms around him very tightly. James opened his eyes in surprise, then gently returned the hug. They stood that way for a long while, James grinning over Sirius’s shoulder. “We’ve got to go down to dinner,” he said at last, although he did not unwrap his arms from Sirius.

Sirius nodded slowly, then took a deep breath, pushing James away. “All right. Get off me, you bloody ponce.”

James reckoned that Sirius knew very well that he had hugged him, but Sirius was smiling too broadly, and James did not have the heart to take the mickey out of him.

December 26, 1972

Remus

“You’ve got your warm mittens?” Remus’s mam asked him, brushing off the smartest jacket he owned. It was a few years old and a half size too small for him, but hopefully no one would notice. “You’ve got your hat?”

“Yes,” said Remus, smiling at her fretting. “I’ll come back through the Floo on the Second, after the new year. It’s only a week.”

“Right,” said his mam with a tight smile. “And your arm is…?”

“Perfectly fine,” said Remus, flexing it outward to prove the truth of it. Pomfrey had told him he could remove the bandages by Christmas Eve, and he’d done so immediately.

“Good,” said his mam. “All right. I should let you go. But you’ve no idea how frightening it is to watch you go through those flames. I’m always so worried it’s gone wrong.”

“As long as the fire’s bright green, nothing’s gone wrong,” Remus insisted, toying with the pouch of Floo Powder Mrs. Potter had sent over. “I ought to go, or I’ll be late.”

“Yes, yes,” his mum agreed nervously. “All right. Up the chimney you go, then.”

Remus smiled. “I’m not going up the chimney, Mam. It’s not like Father Christmas.”

His mam’s eyes widened as a sudden thought overtook her. “Father Christmas isn’t a wizard or something, is he?”

Remus gave his mam a laughing peck on the cheek, shouldered his bag, and then tossed a handful of the fine, glittering powder onto the unlit grate, muttering “The Potters, Willowick Crescent!” as he’d been directed in Mrs. Potter’s letter. He waved before taking a deep breath and stepping into the emerald flames. One moment he was looking at the small sitting room of the let in Swansea, decorated with his mam’s half completed paintings, then he saw nothing but a dizzying swirl of tickling green flames and sooty brick. When at last his head and stomach had stopped spinning, he teetered gracelessly out of another, much larger fireplace and into a brightly lit room done up in warm colors.

He had barely managed to look around at what was presumably the Potter’s drawing room—spotting bright tapestries, full shelves, a brilliantly lit Christmas tree—before the lanky arms of James Potter were around him, shaking his already spinning head. “There you are, Lupin! You didn’t answer my owl, you know!”

“Yeah,” said Remus, brushing soot from his hair and shoulders, “because I was going to see you the next day, you numpty.”

“Moony!” said Sirius, appearing from the doorway. “We'd thought you died. I wrote you twice!”

“It’s been two days,” said Remus exasperatedly. “I think you’re abusing that poor owl.”

“Come on, let me show you around,” said James. “Peter just got in with his mum.”

Remus followed James on an expedition through the large house, which was very lovely and very warm and an interesting mixture of items that looked very expensive and things that looked very old and battered. “You can set your things in here,” said James when they reached a cozy room right across from his. “There are a couple of other guest rooms, of course, but they’re miles away downstairs and I reckon we’re used to sharing rooms.”

Remus was secretly glad; the bedrooms downstairs had looked very nice with beds large enough to swallow him whole, and he’d been afraid to set his dusty trainers in them. These little attic rooms felt much more approachable. “I didn’t have any dress robes,” said Remus, adjusting his tight jacket. “Hopefully your mum doesn’t mind?”

“Of course not. There was no way she was getting me into dress robes either,” said James. He was, in fact, wearing a collared shirt and a sleeveless jumper, which made Remus feel better.

“Bully for you,” said Peter grimly. He was in a set of mustard-yellow dress robes with a fraying frill that he looked wildly uncomfortable in.

“Here, Pete,” said Sirius, rooting through his trunk, which was already thrown open across the floor of this room. He pulled out a collared shirt of his own out of the mess, slightly wrinkled. He himself was in a muggle turtleneck jumper that Remus figured must have belonged to James. “Change into that before somebody cool sees you.”

“My mum’ll throw a fit,” said Peter, although he was already pulling off the robes and pulling on the shirt. “She had to have those cleaned for tonight.”

Downstairs again, the drawing room had filled, and still more people were coming in through the Floo that lit brilliantly green every now and then, or else through the front door that rang every few seconds. It wasn’t until James dragged them into the kitchen that Remus finally spotted Mrs. Potter and who had to be Mr. Potter, since the man looked exactly like James but taller and with warm brown hair and fairer skin. Mrs. Potter had a scarlet apron on over glittering silver dress robes and a pair of enormous bauble earrings, and Mr. Potter was in smart plaid dress robes with a matching bow tie, as well as a braid of tinsel around his head, crooked in a way that made Remus suspect he’d forgotten he had it on.

“Remus!” said Mr. Potter as if he’d spotted a very old and dear friend. “As delightful and ruggedly handsome as James described you,” he said clasping Remus’s hand and shaking vigorously.

“Er…thanks,” said Remus, grinning.

“Clear that table, please, Monty,” said Mrs. Potter, her hair in a neat coif with her wand stuck through it.

Without looking, Mr. Potter pulled out his wand and vanished the vases and stack of books that were on the little table so that Mrs. Potter could set down a steaming plum cake. He turned to Peter as she did so. “And hello, again, Peter, you dapper chap! Was only just talking to your mum. What a lovely woman, knows an awful lot about Degnoming a garden, from the sounds of it.”

Wafting steam away from the polished wood-burning oven, Mrs. Potter grinned at Remus and Peter. “Lovely to see you boys,” she said, sweeping them both into a hug. “Now, everything in here is too hot to eat just yet; you’ll have better luck in the dining room.”

Remus noticed there was pleasant music playing through the house—Christmas carols he did not recognize with lyrics like Hark, the Herald House-Elves Sing, and one song that seemed to be a long account of a lovelorn Yeti seeking romance for the new year. The lamps on nearly every surface changed colors abruptly all on their own, casting the house in sporadic spots of color and making the laughing guests seem like jewels in a kaleidoscope.

“You know McGonagall used to come to these things,” said James through a mouthful of food, ducking under the arm of a gesticulating guest. “Apparently she declined the invitation this year. Guess she figured she sees enough of me…Oh, Moony, look who it is.” James nodded his chin to a very old woman wearing a pork pie hat with a large quantity of long feathers in its brim. “Oi, Baggie! Bathilda! This is Remus, he’s pants at History.”

Once Remus had stammered his way nervously through a pitiful conversation with the author of A History of Magic, he helped himself to as much food as he could manage, all of it delicious. Duncan Abbott and Gene MacMillan were there, apparently neighbors of the Potters, as was another student Remus recognized since he was in Gryffindor the year above them, Benjy Fenwick. They, along with James and Peter, loudly compared Christmases and gifts while Remus took a look at one of the many bookshelves along the walls on the main floor, spotting some muggle titles among the collection.

“It’s a brilliant house, isn’t it?” Sirius asked with a grin, coming to join him. “You know, the reflection in the second floor bathroom mirror pays you compliments. It started getting a bit bawdy with me yesterday; I reckon it fancies me.”

“You sure you weren’t just talking to yourself?” Remus asked.

“Huh,” Sirius mused. “I suppose that’s possible.”

They both looked at the framed moving photographs that speckled the walls, filled with smiling and waving people, sometimes Mr. and Mrs. Potter, oftentimes James, and other times with people who must have been friends or family. “They’re awfully happy, aren’t they?” asked Remus.

“Sickeningly so,” said Sirius. “You should hear the three of them trying to get to bed. Takes them nearly an hour to express how much they’ll miss each other while they’re sleeping.” As he said this, Sirius was not rolling his eyes or scoffing, but beaming approvingly.

The house grew warmer and the sounds of talking and laughter got louder, until James succeeded in wrangling the Hogwarts-aged children outside for a game of snowy croquet in the garden. The Potters’ croquet balls, however, had a nasty habit of biting one on the feet and dodging out of the way of the mallet. The next-door neighbor, Ravenclaw fifth year Rebecca Fawley was the only girl among them, and she suffered their company with dignity, sitting on the porch steps and clearly wishing she were of age so that she might partake in the wine or Firewhisky. The croquet match quickly devolved into a sort of snowball fight instead, where each of them tried to avoid the projectiles by whacking them from the air with their mallets. Remus took refuge beside Rebecca, who no one had the nerve to attack.

It was very late indeed by the time guests began to depart, and Remus had been half dozing on the couch while some old fellow in a fez named Elphias Doge spoke over him to a very small man in a top hat named Daedalus Diggle. At last Sirius came to throttle him awake, and the boys made their way up the three flights of stairs to the attic rooms. Mr. and Mrs. Potter kissed James loudly on both cheeks, then took a turn with Sirius, to Remus’s surprise. Although, he supposed he oughtn’t have been surprised, as both of James’s parents wrapped him and Peter in tight hugs. A couple of nights more, and he might be receiving kisses on the cheek as well.

Remus and Sirius were meant to be sharing the spare room while James shared his with Peter, but they had decided to gather in James’s to exchange presents—Remus had gotten a muggle T. Rex poster from Sirius, chocolates from Peter, and a set of shoelaces that never came untied from James—and now they were too sleepy and stuffed with the chocolate Remus had decided to share to move.

“Happy Christmas, lads,” said James through an enormous yawn, tossing an arm over Remus and Sirius both before descending into snores.

The days at the Potters’ house passed quickly and easily. On the first day, the boys made an attempt to help Mrs. Potter in her small greenhouse that ended in James tacking Peter to the ground and pretending to disembowel him with a trowel. Another day, they went with Mr. Potter to the hill behind the crescent and had a disastrous go with he toboggan where Remus was certain he’d swallowed at least a gallon of snow.

Although he was taking most of the holiday off, Mr. Potter worked from a potions workshop on their first floor, coming up with new Skleakeazy Hair Potion concoctions and shipping off samples to the stores in Diagon Alley that carried the product. Oftentimes, he entreated James to be his test subject. “If it’ll work on you, it’ll work on anyone,” Mr. Potter reasoned.

“You never wear the stuff yourself,” James complained one afternoon as Mr. Potter smoothed his hair into a very tidy style, then stepped back to assess the results. Remus nodded approvingly from his seat on the edge of the wash tub. Mr. Potter had been working on a high-shine solution, and James’s hair glittered very ridiculously as if it were full of Floo Powder.

“I did when I wooed your mother,” said Mr. Potter, giving Remus, Sirius, and Peter a wink and admiring his work on James.

“You didn’t wear it in any of the wedding photos,” James pointed out.

“Yes, well, it was time to drop the act. She had to know precisely what she was marrying into, didn’t she?” Mr. Potter remarked, running a hand through his own wild hair.

Sharing a bed with Sirius was fine, although he was a bit of a blanket hog—and mattress hog, and pillow hog. This came as no surprise to Remus who had suffered Sirius falling asleep in his bed in the dormitory many times, and that bed was much smaller than this one. James stormed in unannounced early in the mornings to rouse them, but often failed in his endeavor and ended up falling back asleep with an elbow in Remus’s face.

When the weekend came, Mrs. Potter took them into muggle Hollowcombe-on-the-Hill so that she could buy James a new set of trainers after noting the holes he’d worn into the bottom of his current ones. She allowed them to explore a little charity shop on the high street, where Sirius selected more muggle clothing than he could feasibly carry, including a heavy pair of bover boots that he didn’t seem to care were two sizes too big. Mrs. Potter assessed most of the items approvingly before doling out muggle money, although she made him return to the rack a horrible shag vest that was so large it hung down to his knees. She told Remus and Peter to pick out anything they’d like, but Peter looked frightened by all the garishly bright colors, and Remus couldn’t bring himself to accept any of her muggle money when he was already devouring so much of their food.

While Mrs. Potter went to the grocer and the garden supply store to see if her fanged geraniums would do better with muggle plant food, Remus dragged the rest of them into a little record shop with dusty windows, Sirius bouncing excitedly at his heels. The muggle shopkeeper was a grizzled man with a beard to rival Hagrid’s, and he mumbled gruffly to them as they entered.

While the rest of them picked through a mess of crates at the front, ogling the artwork, Remus made his way to the rear of the shop, where a corner had been dedicated to a turntable and a ragged cushion. He sat down and leaned against the muggy window, outside of which snow was beginning to drift in the low afternoon light. There was an album from David Bowie, who Remus recognized from Space Oddity, which had been interesting enough. He set it on, picking up the battered set of attached headphones. The drums had just begun to kick up when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see Sirius, already wearing his new dark corduroy jacket, motioning for Remus to move aside and make room on the cushion.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but eventually they managed to get the headphones situated so that Remus could press his ear against one side and Sirius could press his into the other, which wasn't so uncomfortable as long as they leaned their heads together against the window. Remus stared at the ridiculously large black boots that Sirius kicked out in front of him while Bowie sang:

And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people, I never thought I’d need so many people.

Remus let himself be lost to the uncomfortable cushion beneath him, the musty smell in the rear of the shop, the cold window against his head, and Sirius’s knuckles that bumped against his every time he nodded his head or adjusted his hold on the headphones.

Your face, your race, the way that you talk! I kiss you, you're beautiful, I want you to walk!
We've got five years, stuck on my eyes! Five years, what a surprise!
We’ve got five years, my brain hurts a lot! Five years, that’s all we’ve got!

Remus knew he was buying the album before it came time to turn it over.

They left the shop with The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, along with an album from American Alice Cooper and Slayed?, a selection made by James that Remus approved of greatly. No one aside from Remus had any muggle money, and Remus felt a guilty stab as he gave the shopkeeper most of what his mam had given him. He’d been instructed to give it to Mrs. Potter to help with the shopping, but Mrs. Potter had flat refused him. He figured if he didn’t pay here quickly, Mrs. Potter might return from her errands and pay for the records as well.

When they’d passed through to Willowwick Crescent and bounded up the front steps with very pink cheeks and chilled fingers, Mr. Potter was waiting with dinner, eager to applaud the colorful muggle shirts Sirius had purchased and was now putting on for their benefit. Remus had thought the bright patterns were funny, but infuriatingly, they did not look so funny on Sirius. He only looked like a posh rock star.

On New Year’s Eve the next night, Remus was terrified to discover that the Potters had invited Bathilda Bagshot over once again, and he attempted to keep his wits a bout him and make a better second impression. He needn’t have worried, however, since the old woman arrived beaming, giving them all pecks on the cheek, wearing a set of spangled robes that could have rivaled Dumbledore’s, and bearing an enormous bottle of sparkling wine. The adults quickly made their way through the bottle, while Remus and the rest of the boys laid out in front of the fire. Remus’s feet were tucked under the Christmas tree, which was lit with multicolored candles that never seemed to set the boughs alight. By his head was a staticky radio that played the Wireless Wizarding Network’s New Year’s Eve programme. He watched James and Peter play a round of chess while Sirius tried to covertly move their pieces whenever they looked away, although the pieces tended to protest and tattle on him. They stopped arguing only to listen to an interview and live session with a woman named Celestina Warbeck that the adults were quite excited to hear from.

When the programme hosts at last counted down to 1973, Remus joined the odd group in their half-tipsy chorus of Auld Lang Syne. He tried not to think about leaving for home the night after next, although he hoped his mam had gone over to Mrs. March-Meyers for some company, even if the company included the yippy little dog, Victor.

After their last dinner before Remus and Peter would be returning to their homes for the rest of the holiday, Remus went to pack his things, tucking the new records among them neatly. Sirius sprawled on the bed, not even attempting to pack his tangled pile of clothes since he wasn’t leaving until James did.

“When we split off and pack up the dormitory at the end of this term,” Sirius said, “We’ll have to try and remember which records are yours, and which are ours from Andromeda.”

“Don’t be daft,” said Remus. “They’re all ours. We’ll keep them together at Hogwarts.”

“And what about after Hogwarts?” asked Sirius, yawning. “Will we all get a flat and keep all our music together, still?”

“That’s ages away,” said Remus with his back to Sirius and the bed. “We might not even be friends by then.”

That got as much of a rise out of Sirius as Remus had been hoping for. He received an assault by pillows from behind, then was tackled to the carpet with an oof. James and Peter peered in to see what the noise was, toothbrushes dangling from each of their mouths. “What are we punishing Moony for, then?” James garbled around his.

“The usual insufferable priggishness,” said Sirius, pinning Remus’s arms behind him.

“Right, then,” said James, coming to contain a laughing Remus’s feet before he could kick Sirius off.

Chapter Text

January 19, 1973

Peter

Peter looked miserably down at the bile-colored sludge that had congealed at the bottom of his and Remus’s cauldron. He tried not to blame Remus too badly, since he had come in a few minutes late to the lesson, looking exhausted and battered and limping slightly. When they’d gone to visit him in the Hospital Wing, he’d been sound asleep, and judging by the way he favored his left leg upon walking into the classroom, Peter guessed he had a fresh gash on his thigh. The ruined potion was all Peter’s fault really, he only wished that his partner was not a bleary-eyed Werewolf and was instead someone more like Lily or James or Sirius. He’d even take Snape, at this rate.

Everyone in the lesson was wafting away steam as their Scouring Solutions were kept a the steady boiling the instructions called for. Peter and Remus’s potion, however, was far to thick to boil at all, and the very high heat was only burning it.

“Moony,” Peter whined, prodding the mess with the end of his ladle. It squelched unpleasantly. “What did we do wrong?”

“Dunno,” said Remus, slumped over in his chair, face pressed into the desk. “But the smell is making me sick.”

“Smells always make you sick when you’re like this,” Peter sighed.

Evans peered over at how they were faring and grimaced. “Remus, how much Kelpie hair did you add?”

“Remus didn’t do it,” said Peter, teeth gritted. Lily didn’t detest him as much as she did James and Sirius, but she still preferred to direct all her Potions advice to Remus, which was no use when Remus slept through half the lesson. “I added about twelve strands. Why?”

“Oh no,” said Evans. “You were supposed to add about twelve inches.”

“Well, how do we fix it?” Peter asked pleadingly. Snape was watching their conversation, looking very annoyed by his potion partner’s distraction.

Lily considered. “Well, it won’t fix it, but you could improve it by—”

“Lily,” said Snape sharply. “I think this is about to bubble over.”

Lily hurried back to her station, but Sirius, from the desk behind them, snorted derisively. “What, Snivellus, can’t turn down the heat under your own cauldron without Mummy’s supervision?”

Snape turned in his chair, his long face contorted in a scowl. “Speaking of mothers, I heard yours is pretending you died to everyone who asked over Christmas. From what your brother said, everyone was quite relieved.”

“Stop it, Sev,” Evans snapped, not turning. “Just don’t pay them any mind.”

Peter was growing used to watching for a cruel twist in Sirius’s face, and he saw it now, even though Sirius laughed. “And what does your mum pretend happened to you, then, when you stay at school over the holidays? Does she ask you to stay away so that you don’t leave grease stains on all her furniture?”

At first, Peter thought Snape was turning back to his station in sour-faced defeat, but then he had a handful of something in his hand and Evans was grabbing for his arm shrilly saying, “Severus, don’t—!”

Snape tossed a handful of his prepared brimstone powder into James and Sirius’s cauldron, and the potion reacted immediately, spurting up in a great stream of frothing, boiling liquid and dousing Sirius. James only just managed to leap out of the way, but Snape’s arm was doused as well, and it hissed on contact with skin.

Evans began shouting her head off while Sirius let out a strangled yell of sudden pain, eyes shut tight to keep them from burning, too. Remus was on his feet, trying to clear the bubbling potion off of Sirius without burning himself in the process, and James was on his feet, too, but he’d launched himself over the desk and was wailing on Snape, attempting to pummel him out of his chair while Lily attempted to pull James away.

In all the chaos, Peter hadn’t noticed Professor Slughorn arrive, making quick work of vanishing the potion off of Sirius, revealing the red and badly blistered skin beneath. “Hospital Wing, my boy, right away,” Slughorn commanded in a tizzy. “I whipped up a burn salve only last week and sent it up to Poppy. Mr. Lupin, take him along, if you will.”

Remus nodded, seeming to forget to favor his better leg as he hauled Sirius’s arm over his shoulder and hurried him out of the dungeons.

Slughorn turned to James and Snape—James was breathing hard, but had stopped the hitting, and Snape was pale and shocked-looking, toppled to the floor and holding his jaw tenderly, but not bleeding. “Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for the unnecessary and unprovoked—”

“It was provoked!” James yelped, pointing at Snape. “He tossed something in the potion to burn Sirius!”

“That is a serious accusation, Mr. Potter. Mr. Snape, is this—”

“Don’t ask him,” said James urgently. “He’ll deny it! Ask Evans, she saw him!”

Lily Evans was very red in the face and looked absolutely terrifying as she snapped her gaze to James upon being addressed.

“Miss Evans,” Slughorn asked, sounding flustered. “Is this true?”

Lily looked between Snape and James both, jaw clenched very tight. “Yes, but—”

“But nothing!” said James. He was addressing Evans now, rather than Slughorn. “Admit it, he’s a loathesome little—”

“I was going to say,” said Evans bitterly, turning to Professor Slughorn instead, “you ought to take a hundred points from the both of them. Sirius said something very nasty—”

“Only after Snape did!” James protested immediately.

Slughorn blinked rather rapidly. “One hundred points!? I should think there’s no need for that…Right, ten points from Slytherin, as well, Mr. Snape, for your indiscretions. Now, you ought to pay a visit to the hospital wing to prevent any potential bruising…Miss Evans if you will…” he finished unsurely, gesticulating to the door.

Lily looked at Snape for a long moment, then sighed and helped him to his feet, yanking him out toward the corridor.

The class was left rather quiet and shocked with four of their number gone, until at last Marlene and Mary came to see if James’s hand was all right. Peter had yet to see James come anywhere near hitting someone, and he was rather impressed that he’d done it, even if James looked like he felt sort of foul about it.

“He deserved it,” Mary decided, falling into Remus’s abandoned seat. “He might have killed Sirius.”

“More than deserved it,” Peter agreed, patting James on the back. “That was proper cool.”

James frowned at his hands, laid out on the table. “I dunno.”

“He tried to melt Sirius’s face off,” Peter pointed out. “You just hit back the old-fashioned muggle way.”

“Pomfrey will set Sirius right without a problem,” said Marlene more calmly. “It was a really horrible idea of a joke.”

As Professor Slughorn regained control of the class, he vanished everyone’s potions with a broad sweep of his wand. The horrible sludge in Peter’s cauldron vanished, and Slughorn dismissed them without assessing a single brew. Peter figured at least one thing had gone right that morning.

January 30, 1973

Lily

“I'm sorry.”

Lily continued her march down the corridor as if she could not hear Severus on her heels.

“Won’t you at least look at me?”

With a great sigh, Lily stopped abruptly enough that Severus almost hurried into her. She wheeled around and fixed him with her best stare. “I’m looking. What am I meant to be seeing?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry,” Severus repeated, very pink in the cheeks and ears. “I don’t want to be fighting about it.”

“You’re sorry that I’m upset,” Lily pointed out, patience thin. “You’re not sorry that you did it.”

They'd had repetitions of this argument over the last week that usually ended in Lily stomping away. No matter how provoked Severus had been, that stunt in the Potions classroom had really injured Sirius Black and had been a nasty and spiteful thing to do.

Severus frowned, his dark eyes fixed on their feet as he chewed his lip. “I’m sorry that I did it if it makes you this upset,” he said at last. “It’s your birthday.”

“Yes,” Lily huffed. “I’m aware.” She’d woken up this morning to find that Mary and Marlene had spun bright ribbon all over her four poster bed and filled the room with balloons that sporadically burst with a great explosion and rained down glitter. It was sweet, and it would have been sweeter if the balloons didn’t near about give her a heart attack every time.

“Well,” said Severus uncomfortably. “I’ve gotten you a birthday present.”

Lily was meant to be grabbing the textbook she’d forgotten before her afternoon lessons, but she had time, and the corridor was empty as everyone was at lunch. “All right,” said Lily, finding it hard to stay mad on her birthday, even if she was trying her best. “What is it?”

Severus reached into the book bag she’d gotten him for his birthday last year. This year, she’d sent his birthday owl to the castle over winter holidays, and taken care to get him a more conservative gift—an updated potion kit. From its depths, he pulled out a potted plant that had somehow managed to stay upright. The vibrant scarlet blossom seemed to turn to look at her as he presented it. “Flammaris Floris,” he announced. “It needs fire instead of water to survive…it’s really rare—”

“I know it,” said Lily, taking the plant from him and looking it over. It lay in a bed of ash, and the star-shaped flower titled just as she tilted her head to consider it. “Sev, this had to be really expensive—”

“It’s a rare potion ingredient,” Severus interrupted quickly. “The petals can be used for all sorts of things. It’s very stubborn and it likes the heat, like you. And…” Here, Severus seemed to run out of words, going much pinker. He opened an closed his mouth, attempting to find what he meant to say. “And its very pretty,” he got out at last.

Lily stared at it, and then up at Severus. “It’s wonderful,” she said at last. “I really like it. But you shouldn’t have—”

“Please, let’s not,” Snape interrupted again. His eyes were back on her face, searching as he wrung his slender hands. “Just forgive me for your birthday. You can be angry again tomorrow.”

Tonight, Remus had promised her a cake somehow, presumably from the kitchens she suspected he knew how to enter. Mary and Marlene had managed to borrow the gramophone from Black. She thought about how simple, how pleasant, it would be to invite Severus up to the common room to join them, but she’d never seen a Slytherin anywhere near the portrait of the Fat Lady, let alone by the Gryffindor fireside. And Severus would recoil from the offer, the pitiful pleading on his face replaced by the kind of anger and disgust he usually reserved for mentions of his father. So instead, she only gave a small nod, and the flower in her arms mimicked the movement. “All right.”

February 14, 1973

Sirius

Sirius stopped short in the entrance hall before breakfast, taking in the ramshackle display that had been set up over a spindly table, clearly trying to catch the attention of other students as they passed through the large doors. A great, silky banner was spread across two columns and read in glittering red cursive, Lovegood’s Lovegrams: Set hearts racing and catch who you’re chasing. On each end of the table, someone had clearly tried to transfigure frogs into pink, heart-shaped balloons, but had only done a half decent job of it, and the balloons still had long legs and webbed feet that kicked off each other rambunctiously.

There was an older Ravenclaw boy sat behind the table, who Sirius only recognized from the halls because he was somewhat hard to miss. He had long, knotted, white-blonde hair past his shoulders, wide vacant eyes, and a somewhat dirty face. As they approached, Sirius noticed that the boy also had a bulky necklace bearing several charms, including a butter knife, an acorn, and what might have been a human molar.

“That’s Xeno Lovegood,” James said quietly so only he and Peter on his other side could hear. “Lives close to the Fawcetts. Lauretta Fawcett always says their house has an odd smell.”

“Hullo,” the boy greeted them cheerily when Sirius decided he was too curious not to look in at the boy's business. “Care to send a Lovegram to a loved one?”

Sirius took in the many scraps of fuchsia-colored parchment in a disorderly heap around the table, alongside a smattering of quills and ink pots. “How does it work?”

“Modified Howler,” said Xeno proudly. “Along with the new delivery system they use at the Ministry—memos sent by Invisiblats.”

Peter made a puzzled expression. “I’ve been to the Ministry with my mum for an open forum. I thought those were just seeking charms cast on the memos. What’s an Invisiblat?”

Xeno frowned at Peter. “Invisible bats, obviously.”

“Yeah, Pete,” said Sirius with a grin. “Obviously.”

“The school’s infested with them,” Xeno continued pompously, adjusting his odd necklace. “So’s the ministry, ever since Eugenia Jenkins took the head office. She’s a vampire, you know, and she’s brought the whole colony with her.”

“Oh,” said Peter blinking quickly. “Er—all right.”

“Care to give it a go?” Xeno asked, turning to the other two.

“Yeah,” said James through a snort. “Pete, which lucky bird would you like to declare your feelings for?”

Peter blushed nearly as pink as the scraps of parchment, but Sirius picked up a quill and got to writing. James snickered again. “Really? You’ve decided one of those girls always giggling around you are worth the time, then, have you?”

Sirius only held up the parchment so that James could see the name on it before he continued writing. “Revenge,” he said simply.

After a mortifying day of bandages, Sirius’s face had healed perfectly normally, to his delight and most likely the delight of anyone who enjoyed looking at him. Snape had been perfectly fine, too, even if he demanded a potion for pain from Madam Pomfrey. Watching him sit there in the nearby hospital bed like a put-upon prince, without so much as bruise, when Remus broke a limb nearly every other month without complaint, was more than Sirius had been able to handle.

Evans hadn’t spoken to either James, Sirius, or even Snape for the better part of the month, but Sirius had no complaints about this. In fact, it was a bit of a disappointment that she was back to nagging them during meals and classes. She must’ve decided that they’d all learned their lessons from her enjoyable silence. Snape, though, had seem truly distraught by her fury, and hadn’t even bothered to try and get James back for the beating. James, too, seemed aptly chastised. In fact, every recent Snivellus-based prank seemed to encourage second thoughts, which Sirius was trying to knock from James's head.

Sure enough, James chewed his bottom lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t…”

“Help me come up with a rhyme, or I’ll write one to Evans with your signature at the bottom,” Sirius threatened.

James flinched, but he took up his own quill, as Sirius knew he would. “Don’t see what Evans has to do with anything…”

To Sirius’s immense pride, Peter turned out to have a special knack for writing them, and they’d filled out twelve Lovegood Lovegrams for Xeno to deliver before they made their way to the breakfast table. Remus was already there with Evans herself, Mary and Marlene on his other side. Sirius saw Peter consider Remus and the girls, head tilted, as they approached the table.

“If any of us has a Lovegram to send, it’s probably Remus,” Peter said with a brow raised.

“What d’you mean?” Sirius asked.

“Well, he’s the only one of us that really talks to girls, isn't he?” Peter pointed out knowingly. “Maybe he fancies one of them.”

Remus was sat in a deep slouch, staring at his plate and shoveling food into his mouth, nodding halfheartedly at whatever Evans and McKinnon were telling him. The full moon was only three days away. “Yeah,” said Sirius, taking in Remus’s miserable posture. “He looks absolutely mad for them.”

Xeno’s Lovegrams were a sporadic hit, as the occasional paper note, folded into a bright little square and marked with a red wax seal, zoomed through the halls on their way to class. Lydia Bones received one during their History of Magic lesson from Benjy Fenwick. In a shrill voice like a off-tune flute, it detailed the loveliness of her rich brown hair until she hid her face and crawled under the desk to stop it from fluttering around her. Professor Binns continued on with his dull lecture without noticing that anything was happening.

“Good on Benjy,” said James, approvingly. “Showing real initiative. From the look of it, she hates his guts now, so I suppose it might have backfired…”

It wasn’t until Defense Against the Dark Arts that the real fun began. Professor Montclair was conducting a demonstration of the Full Body-Bind Curse on Avery—which Sirius thought was quite amusing—but then also demonstrating the Cushioning Charm so that Avery fell back peacefully on softened ground—which Sirius could have done without.

“Professor Montclair's very quick, isn’t he?” Mary whispered from the desk in front of them, voice full of admiration.

“Yes, but he’s shown us he can do this near about fifteen times,” said Marlene, annoyed. She was one of the few students still not enamored by Montclair and the glimmer of gold in his smile. “Would be nice if we could get a bit of practice in.”

“James and I have been practicing that one for ages, since first year,” said Sirius. “If you want practice, just aim at Snivellus.”

To Sirius’s disappointment, Snape could not hear them, but this was quickly rectified by the flurry of little pink notes that suddenly zoomed through the open classroom door. Each note hastened its way to the desk Evans and Snape shared, bumping into each other as they jostled into a sort of queue, wanting their turn in front of Snape. The class all turned to look, and even Montclair had stopped with his wand still raised to watch.

The first Lovegood Lovegram burst open at the wax seal to proclaim loudly in its little high-pitched tea kettle voice:

His robes make him look like an oversized bat,
His hair always dripping in slime!
With a face like the sorry rear end of a cat,
My true love is truly sublime!

The class erupted into furious giggles, while Snape blinked at the note as it tore itself into confetti, which rained down upon him and the desk before him. Snape still hadn't quite registered what had happened when the next Lovegram began.

His terrible breath can only be matched
By his rancid and horrible mood!
To his thin froggy lips I would be attached,
If my lover was only shampooed!

Sirius and James howled with laughter, thumping Peter on the back. “Now that was a lovely one, Petey,” said Sirius. “You have a career with a quill, I think.”

As the third Lovegram began, much in the same vein as the first two, Remus looked back at them skeptically. “Lily’s going to murder you.”

Evans had indeed stood up, but she did not turn around to murder any of them, she simply raised her wand, muttered “Incendio!” and set the little flock of waiting letters aflame. As they blazed and crumbled to ash, each of the Lovegood Lovegrams attempted shrilly to scream out their messages before dying, resulting in a abrasive chorus from which only GREASE, PILLOCK, and SMOOCH could be clearly heard.

James frowned. “Now that’s a pity; we worked hard on those.”

“It’s all right.” Sirius shrugged. “They were getting a bit repetitive at the end there.”

Professor Montclair quieted the class, sweeping his deep navy robes behind him and straightening the amulet that fell over his tanned chest as he came to disappear the mess of smoldering pink paper scraps. Snape was blotchy with rage, although he seemed torn between wanting to curse the laughing boys behind him and wanting to disappear into his chair.

“Never you mind, Mr. Snip,” said Professor Montclair benevolently, giving Snape a comforting smile. “You’re young, yet. I’m sure that whatever lover you have scorned shall come around once again, given time.”

For all his blustering, Sirius truly did anticipate an epic level of wrath from Evans, and was surprised that she took her seat again rigidly, patting Snape on the shoulder and refusing to look back at them all. Perhaps, Sirius reasoned, they would be subjected to another month of her silent treatment—an unexpected benefit.

He was proven wrong at dinner however, where pudding was a many-layered cherry trifle in pink, red, and white. Most of the Lovegrams had been delivered over the course of the day—Frank had sent no less than ten to Alice, which kept coming in through the cracked window of the common room—but Sirius spotted another one headed in their direction now. For a moment, it stopped in front of Remus, and Sirius wondered if Peter had been right about him having a better way with the girls, but then it turned and faces James across from him.

James froze, with a spoonful of trifle halfway to his mouth, and the Lovegood Lovegram split open and began to sing, its squeak managing to cut through the noisy hall:

With hair like a cactus and arms like linguine,
He prances around like a prize-winning prat!
With an intellect always impossibly teeny,
My valentine is a boorish and barbaric brat!

The Lovegram burst into confetti over the remnants of dinner, leaving only the scrap that read XO, Lily in her fine, loopy script as it fluttered down and settled onto James’s lap. He frowned at it for a moment, then looked up at the rest of them.

The Gryffindor table had erupted into laughter, and Aryan Patil and Roger Cattermole came to muss up James’s hair even worse and clap him comfortingly on the shoulder. Mary and Marlene were giggling very hard, but had the decency to look somewhat guilty about it. Evans only continued eating her trifle with a dignified expression.

James stared at her, then turned to Sirius, Remus, and Peter. Sirius wondered if he was going to have to jinx a girl to defend his mate’s good name, but then James smiled. “I can’t believe I’m the only lad in our year that got a Lovegram,” he said at last. “Better luck next year, chaps.”

“Yeah,” said Remus, rolling his eyes. “If only we all could be so charming.”

James only shook his head serenely. “You wouldn’t understand, Moony. I’ve got an irresistible magnetism.”

Sirius scooped a healthy spoonful of trifle off his plate and launched it at James’s face.

March 10, 1973

Remus

Remus was thirteen years old, and this year he hoped he would get his wish to let the day pass with very little aplomb, aside from some chocolate and a card from his mother. He thought his chances of it passing unnoticed were much better this year, seeing that the day fell on the same Saturday as the Gryffindor-Slytherin match.

So far, he hadn’t been so lucky. The overlap of events only meant that when James sprung on him at the break of morning with a great kiss to the forehead, he was much heavier since he was wearing his quidditch kit and pads, and that when Remus had relented into letting Lily write Gryffindor across his face in red paint, she’d written Birthday Boy, instead.

It was a grim and drizzly day in the stands, but Lily had perfected her Umbrella Charm and they were protected as they huddled beneath. Rain pattered down the sides of the invisible barrier, and they watched the match through white puffs of breath as James scored relentlessly on the Slytherin keeper and captain, Corban Yaxley.

“It’s barely any fun to watch,” Lily complained as James scored another goal after managing to catch a difficult pass of the wet and slippery Quaffle from Aryan. “He’s not even bothering to celebrate anymore.”

“When he celebrated, you hated that, too,” Peter pointed out.

The Slytherin seeker, Lucius Malfoy, eventually grew so frustrated by his captain’s inability to stop James from scoring that he abandoned his post watching for the snitch and began tailing James as some sort of guard, trying to throw him off course. Marlene made a valiant and often successful attempt to throw Malfoy off James’s tail with an onslaught of Bludgers, but Malfoy was a good flier even if he was a lousy sport. Malfoy’s plan eventually backfired spectacularly as Alice rocketed upward just over the Gryffindor goalposts and caught the snitch without competition. By that time, Gryffindor had scored 130 points to Slytherin’s measly 20.

“Malfoy’s going to try and jinx James’s hands off,” Peter worried as they made their way back to the Great Hall for lunch. “Did you see his face?”

“He ought to try it and see if McGonagll doesn’t curse him back on the spot,” said Mary. “She didn’t even bother telling off Nancy Spinnet for screaming in celebration at the end there. And I swear I saw her stick her tongue out at Professor Slughorn.”

Remus had a very hard time believing that, but James and Marlene both remained thankfully jinx free as they joined them at the table a while later, freshly showered, to another loud round of cheers.

“That was for you, Moony!” said James, swinging into his seat and giving Remus a wink. “Every time I reckoned I’d scored enough goals, I pictured your lovely, pleading, birthday face, and found the strength to make another.”

“Thanks,” said Remus flatly.

“Well, I didn’t win it for you,” said Marlene with a grin. “Got you this, instead.” She moved her broom aside and opened her bag to dump out a large collection of Chocolate Eggs, filled with Marshmallow Dragons, over the table.

Remus nodded, much more approvingly. “This is why you’re Gryffindor’s star player in my eyes, McKinnon.”

The celebration of the match lasted through the afternoon, picked up again after dinner, and did not disperse even when Sirius reclaimed the gramophone in the common room for his own purposes. They were tucked into a back corner of the warm and noisy room, surrounded by Mary, Marlene, Lily, and the older students Benjy, Fabian, Gideon, Aryan, Alice, and Roger. James had attempted to declare the back corner a Private Space for a Marauders-Only Event, but Remus figured it was hard to keep an event Marauders-Only when everyone had been forced to stop drinking and chatting to sing him Happy Birthday. In addition, Peter had brought in a very tempting cake much larger than what the four of them could eat themselves. Even when the cake was mostly picked through, however, the other students lingered, sensing they were up to something interesting.

“What are the chances you break it?” Remus asked apprehensively, while Sirius practiced the motion of his wand a couple of times. It was a fifth year spell James had found for this very purpose. He and Sirius had practiced it on themselves for a couple of days with disastrous effects.

“I won’t break it,” said Sirius with confidence, seemingly happy with his wand work, but unhappy with Remus’s nervous pacing. “You wanted to listen to Slade for your birthday, Moony, and by Merlin, we’re listening to Slade.”

“Yeah,” said Remus defeatedly. “I wanted to listen the normal way.”

Sirius only held out a hand to stop Remus’s carping, and then pointed his wand confidently at the gramophone with the motion he’d practiced. “Sonorous!”

The gramophone gave a jolt, and then little volume dial on the box began turning, more and more rapidly. It passed the limit it usually reached when turned by non-magical means and kept turning so that Remus was fairly certain it would come loose and topple off the device altogether. It did not, however, and to his relief it eventually slowed.

“Did it work?” Roger Cattermole asked doubtfully.

“Let’s see,” said Sirius, turning Slayed? over onto its B-side and evaluating the grooves for the proper placement of the needle. With the air of a sculptor who had just finished some sort of masterpiece, Sirius stood back, head tilted as the turntable began to spin. The horn emitted none of its usual crackle between tracks.

“See?” asked Remus with a scowl. “You’ve—”

Remus was forced to swallow his words as the guitar began, deafeningly, not from the gramophone but from the very walls around them, making his heart beat frantically and unexpectedly. With wide eyes, everyone in the crowded common room jumped and turned about, looking for its source. Some dropped the food or bottles of Butterbeer they were holding. When the drums kicked in, everyone seemed to at last realize that the cacophony was music and not some bombardment on the castle, and James, Sirius, and Peter grinned at each other like mad men. Remus had very little choice but to do the same.

Just before the lyrics to Mama Weer All Crazee Now began, Sirius lunged forward, grabbing Remus by the shoulders, and howled along with frontman Noddy Holder. Remus tried to roll his eyes, but he was positive that Sirius was shaking him too hard to notice.

James leapt onto an armchair and nearly tipped it, hauling Peter and Marlene up with him as he began a horrible shoulder-shimmy that Remus was coming to identify as distinctly James. Mary spun a begrudging Lily, but Lily’s narrowed eyes did not stop her from following the twirl with a rather impressive head bang, tossing her great length of dark red hair.

DON’T STOP NOW, AH COME ON! ANOTHER DROP NOW, AH COME ON!
I WANNA LOVE NOW, SO COME ON! THAT’S WHY, THAT’S WHY…
I SAID, MAMA BUT WE’RE ALL CRAZY NOW!

Remus yelled along to the chorus, scarcely able to help himself as Sirius grabbed his face between his hands and squeezed a broader smile forcibly out of him. His laughter was lost to the volume of the music.

I SAID, MAMA BUT WE’RE ALL CRAZY NOW!

Alice had gone to haul a very confused Frank from his seat by the window, pulling on his arms until he stood and gave in to her rather chaotic jumping. The other students had decided to let the party roar back to renewed frenzy, laughing and shaking out their limbs to begin dancing.

When the second chorus had ended, and Remus had been forced to sing along and jump until there was a massive stitch in his side, he leaned out the open window for a breath of air and found that the music did not dim down in the slightest outside. With a frown, he leaned further out, trying to listen with his ringing ears. Rather than lessening in volume, the music changed in nature out over the grounds, reverberating into emptiness and echoing loudly into the night air. Mouth open in surprise, he pulled Sirius over from where he had been emphatically air-guitaring.

Sirius didn’t seem to know what Remus was on about as he pointed outside, so Remus cupped hands over Sirius’s ear and yelled, “I THINK YOU’VE ENCHANTED THE MUSIC TO PLAY THROUGH THE ENTIRE CASTLE, YOU PLONKER!”

Sirius only raised one brow, and Remus saw him mouth, I KNOW. He pointed at Remus and said what Remus supposed was, YOU’RE THE PLONKER, PLONKER.

Before Remus could argue with that logic, Lily and Mary had pulled him away to join them, and he, very weak in the face of their beaming smiles as they jumped and twisted, decided he might as well enjoy it if the rest of the castle was, too.

I SAID, MAMA-MAMA-MAMA-MAMA-MAMA, YEAH!

When McGonagall stormed through the portrait hole, still in Gryffindor colored-robes, the song was ending and I Don’t Mind started up, giving everyone a chance to catch their breaths. Remus saw a shimmer of fabric in the corner of his eye as James stepped in front of the gramophone and enacted emergency protocol Put the Cloak Over It.

The common room stood at rigid attention, even while sweating and straightening very wrinkled robes as music continued to blare around them from the very castle itself.

“END THIS RACKET AT ONCE,” McGonagall shouted over the slightly-lessened din, straightening her hat. She looked directly at James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus, without bothering to address the rest of the guilty-looking students in the room.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW IT’S US?” Sirius called back, affronted. “COULD BE FROM ANYWHERE IN THE CASTLE!”

Professor McGonagall pointed her wand up at the arched ceiling and called out, “QUIETUS!”

Remus felt the effects of the spell rain down upon the room, giving him a calming shudder as it settled over him without finding any spell on him to counteract. The now-invisible gramophone, however, dropped suddenly and very damningly to quiet, pleasant levels. Sirius aimed his wand behind his back and muttered “Silencio!” before it could give away its own location. Remus’s ears rang in the oppressive quiet, and the other students cleared their throats nervously or let out a terrified giggle.

McGonagall did not subject herself to a blind hunt for the gramophone, or an interrogation of the four boys that was bound to be just as fruitless and frustrating. Instead she ran a very tired hand over her face, and looked at them with something like a plea. “Is it your dearest ambition, boys, to ensure we loose the house cup until the Godric-blessed day you all graduate from this institution?”

“No, Professor,” said James stubbornly. “If we win the quidditch cup, it should help.”

Professor McGonagall took a settling breath. “Then here is your incentive to keep winning, Mr. Potter. Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Chapter Text

March 27, 1973

James

“When are we going to bed?” Peter asked grumpily, prodding James beneath the cloak. “I’m feeling lousy.”

“That’s because you had four helpings of cake after dinner,” Sirius pointed out.

“Hush, you yobs,” said James, feeling he had every right to get his dear friends to shut their argumentative mouths seeing that it was his birthday. “Focus on what’s in front of us.”

“No, thank you,” said Sirius. “Can’t you find a more pleasing statue for us to stare at? There’s one of Wendolyn the Well-Proportioned just one floor below us, I think. Now that is a statue of a bird worth ogling.”

“No,” said James firmly. “There’s something about this one.” He stepped back a bit to take in the entirety of the hunched, bronze statue of a witch before them on her simple stone dais.

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed. “That something is that she’s absolutely hideous.”

“Why isn’t she set back into her alcove like the others?” James wondered aloud, ignoring him.

“Why has she only got one eye?” Sirius asked, as if pondering life’s greatest mysteries.

“It’s Gunhilda of Gorsemoor,” said Remus with a yawn. “She lost her eye to Dragon Pox, before she discovered a cure.”

“All right,” said Sirius, “Then why does she have the massive hump in her back?”

“Dunno,” said Remus, more thoughtfully. “She wasn’t said to be much to look at, but you’d think Professor Binns would have mentioned that she could barely stand upright.”

“Precisely!” said James in approval. “It's something about the hump, isn’t it? Pete, have you got the notes?”

With a sleepy grumble, Peter pulled out the roll of parchment James had given him to hold, and James unfurled it to try and read his own hasty scrawl.

“I found these spells for Secret Revealing in the library,” said James enthusiastically. “All sorts of incantations for it. I sorted the spells by type, function, and frequent objects of enchantment. Took ages.”

“James,” Remus began, peering over his shoulder, “this is quite good. Why don’t you take notes for class like this?”

“For class?” James asked, surprised. “Why would I need that?”

Remus only let out a suffering sigh, and so James continued.

“There’s Revelio, of course, a bit obvious, and I’ve already tried it on everything. These spells here are for getting people to divulge their secrets, but most of them are quite tricky and a bit dark. Plus, I don’t think they’d work on statues. These are some of the directional spells I figured we might try—getting things to leap aside or step forward or scoot back or open up. Shine your wand on the list, won’t you, Pete? I’ve got to use mine to try the spells.”

The others waited with patience as he tried Levarium to get the statue to tilt upward, Secedium to get it to to step aside, Aperirium to get it to open in half, all to no avail.

“If there’s a trick to it, it could be an entirely random password, like with the portrait hole,” Peter mused as James neared the end of his list with mounting frustration. Something like…Hag’s Hangnail, or…”

“Dissendium,” James tried, tapping his wand to the witch statue just as Peter said, “…Kneazle Knees, maybe.”

The was a clink of metal, and Gunhilda of Gorsemoor’s great hump split open, revealing a dark stone chute just big enough for a person to slide through.

“I can’t believe it,” said Peter, nearly dropping the parchment and his lit wand. “The password is Kneazle Knees!”

“No it’s not, you numpty,” said Sirius, taking the parchment from him and evaluating it with more impressed eyes. “Dissendium. Huh. Maybe there’s something to visiting the library, after all.”

“Well,” said James, energy renewed by his success. “Who first?”

Remus lifted the Invisibility Cloak so that he could peer into the dark maw of the slide with his own lit wand. “It’s your birthday, Jamie.”

“Not anymore,” said James. “It’s well past midnight. I say Petey ought to do it.”

“Why me?” Peter asked in alarm.

“You’re the smallest,” said James. “What if the chute narrows, or leads to nothing more than a little cramped chamber? You’ll fit just fine.”

“I wanted to go back to bed,” Peter insisted.

“Yes,” agreed James, “but it’s my birthday.”

“You just said that—”

“Oh shut it, both of you,” Sirius interrupted decisively. He clambered out from under the cloak and hoisted himself so that the sat at the edge of the chute and tossed them a salute. “See you on the other side.”

There was the sound of his robes on slippery stone, which grew quieter and quieter but seemed to continue for a good while. Then, far below, there was a soft thump as if he’d landed on solid ground, and Sirius called up, voice bouncing strangely up the chute. “It’s a passageway!”

That was all James needed to hear before he’d lifted the Invisibilty Cloak off all of them and followed Sirius down, with Remus and Peter hastening to follow just behind him. When the mouth of the chute finally opened, he landed in a crouch, standing quickly before Remus and Peter could collide into this back. It was indeed a passageway, but quite unlike the others they’d found, which were all made of stone. This one was packed earth, with a low ceiling, and narrow enough that they could only walk forward two-by-two. He turned with his wand, and saw that the passageway ended here in one direction, but continued forward into the looming dark in the other. “Where do you think it leads?” he asked, starting down the passage as soon as Remus and Peter had gotten their bearings.

Remus frowned as he, too, lit his wand to avoid tripping on the knobbly roots that made for uneven footing. “It’s like the passageway beneath the Whomping Willow,” he told them uneasily.

James’s heart leapt. “Hopefully that means we're leaving the castle,” he said. Still, there was the disappointing possibility that this passageway would only take them to the castle’s ground floor, or to the exterior of the castle near the greenhouses. They’d already found plenty of passageways that did just that, and most of those were more discreet and closer to the Gryffindor common room.

The passageway was featureless except for its many twists and turns, growing narrower in some paces and much wider in others, as if they’d found themselves in the oversized path of some rabbit den. It went on for long enough that Peter asked for a moment to catch his breath, which James willingly gave him, slightly winded himself.

They continued through the gloom, softly singing Pinball Wizard to themselves as a way to fill the quiet. “Moony, what’s a pinball?” Sirius had asked eventually, and Remus had gone on to explain some sort of sport or contraption operated by muggle currency that made no sense at all to James.

The passageway had been mostly flat, but it began ascending, and James finally stopped short when they found themselves faced with a set of stone steps that went on for as high as James could reach his wand light. “Climb?” he asked the rest of them.

“Climb,” Remus and Sirius agreed. Peter only sighed.

They’d gone up what felt like at least three flights when Remus said, panting, “This had better be bloody well worth…” He trailed off before completing his thought, and finished instead, “Do you smell that?”

James couldn’t smell anything other than the smell of wet earth and old stone, but Remus renewed his efforts to climb, and James took this as a good sign. “Smell what?”

Remus didn’t respond, but they’d at last reached the end of the stairs, and for one horrible moment, James thought they’d led absolutely nowhere except for a small wooden ceiling. But then Remus pushed gingerly on the wood, and it began to give, with the horrible squeal of rusted hinges. “Uncto Et Oleum,” Remus said quickly, pointing his wand at what was revealed to be a trap door. The squealing stopped, and he managed to push the door the rest of the way open without much noise.

“How’d you know to do that?” Sirius whispered from below.

“Some of us don’t have house-elves, and have to pay attention when Flitwick covers household charms,” said Remus, already peeking into whatever room the trap door led to.

It was dark in the room above, but a shaft of light came in from a small, high window, allowing James to Nox his wand and make out a large cellar. At last, he could smell what Remus had been on about. It smelled like sugar and cakes and chocolate, the dusty air cloyingly sweet. It smelled somewhat like the kitchens after dinner, but he knew they’d traveled much too far for this to be some sort of Hogwarts pantry. With a jolt, James spotted movement in the corner of his eye, but it was only a large vat filled something purple and shimmery, being stirred by a great wooden spoon that moved all on its own without ceasing.

After staying still for long enough to ensure that no one was near, they emerged into the cellar fully. Another set of curling steps rose among the many crates, boxes, and bags, leading to the room upstairs. Sirius went to investigate the vat, then stuck his finger in before anyone could advise him differently. Sirius licked the concoction off and nodded to himself. “Plum.”

With careful footsteps and the cloak in hand, James began to climb the spiraling stairs. There was no sound above, but a bit of light came beneath the seam of a door. Opening the door with great care, James looked out to find that they were behind the counter of a shop. There were more boxes, and a gleaming till, and displays upon displays of sweets, which had to mean… “Hogsmeade!” he whispered behind him, creeping further into the shop.

The night sky and nearby street lamps lit the interior of the shop even though there were no lights on, allowing him to clearly make out enormous bins of Jelly Slugs, Vampire Lollies, Licorice Wands, Sugar Quills, Chocolate Frogs, Caramel Cauldrons, Coackroach Clusters, Fizzing Whizbees… The walls of the shop went up very high, and higher shelves held full jars of dustier and less frequently-bought things. Glittering gold letters were painted over the large front windows, crammed with sweet displays. Making out the lettering backwards, James was able to assess that they read HONEYDUKES.

“I can’t believe it,” said Peter with deserved awe, following the rest of them upstairs. He picked up a Licorice Wand and began gnawing on it immediately.

Remus was already laying the map out on the counter, drawing out the passageway they’d just taken to the parchment’s very edge. “I’ll need more parchment,” Remus decided. He’d found out a way to use the enchanted quills he’d gotten from Sirius to make some parts of the drawing appear and disappear as well as move, and he wrote Dissendium out neatly beside a depiction of the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. As soon as he’d written it, the ink faded away. “It’ll appear again when we’re close to the statue,” he told James, who was peering judiciously over his shoulder.

James rumpled Remus’s hair. “What a lovely place your mind is, Moony.”

Once they’d investigated everything in Honeydukes, which took a considerable amount of time, they discovered that the door to the street was locked from the inside. All under the cloak again, the four of them shuffled onto the street. The rain had lessened, but a cold and heavy fog still lingered, cut through only by the flickering gas lamps that dotted the stone high street they found themselves on. James recognized it from the horseless carriage rides, but he was too excited on those journeys to notice much. At this hour, it was very quiet, and none of the many buildings were lit. The street was one broad line that led up a large hill, aside from one rocky path that led out into a grove of trees. “It’s a shame The Three Broomsticks is closed,” he whispered to the others. “I could do with a drink.”

“You’ve been thirteen all of a few hours,” Sirius pointed out. “No one’s selling you a drink. Pete either. Moony and I, on the other hand, we’re veritable men. We’ve been thirteen for ages, right Moony?”

Remus, however, didn’t answer. He was staring up at a smaller hill that emerged over the copse of trees, upon which sat a leaning and crooked house, set a distance away from the rest of the village. It seemed like the little rocky path led in that direction, but the house was just as dark as the rest of the homes and stores, and without any streetlamps to light the way. It looked a bit derelict and abandoned to James. “What is it?” he asked Remus.

“Nothing,” said Remus quickly. “Chilly out here, isn’t it? Should we get back before we miss out on all of our sleep?”

The rest figured he was right. James ushered them back down into the Honeydukes cellar, but not before James and Peter had crammed their pockets with miscellaneous treats. Remus scolded them halfheartedly, but he did so while chewing the head off of a chocolate frog, so they payed him very little mind. It took a moment to relocate the trap door among the dusty floorboards, and Sirius finally managed it by jumping until the ground sounded particularly hollow. Before descending the stone steps again, James muttered a quick "Ventus!" to blow the dust about and conceal their discernible footprints.

By the time they’d reached the stone slide that they realized they’d now have to climb, James was feeling dead on his feet and quite fond of the idea of crawling into his four-poster bed. With only a few slips on the slick stone and a great deal of Sirius swearing, they emerged again from Gunhilda’s hump, catching their breath in the dark corridor.

They did not have time to catch their breath for long, however, as a very loud clattering sound came from the dark room just a across the hall—the Hogwarts trophy room. James had investigated the trophy room before, but seeing that it held no recent Quidditch or House Cups for Gryffindor, it interested him very little. Now, however, it sounded as if someone was inside, and making a bit of a mess of it. Quickly, James slung the cloak back over himself and the other three, all of them waiting in the shadow of the alcove to see who it was.

Just as they were covered, the telltale bobbing lantern light of Mr. Filch came from around the corner, and the bony man bearing it came skittering into the corridor, cat on his heels. Even Mrs. Norris did not pay them any mind as Filch rushed to the trophy room and called out, “Peeves! I know it’s you, clanking about in there! I’ll get the Bloody Barron! I’ll get Dumbledore himself to exorcize you from these halls! I’ll—”

What else he intended to do, they never found out, because someone came stumbling out of the trophy room, arms very laden with gold. It was not Peeves at all, but the tall form of Professor Montclair. Even his pyjamas cut him as an impressive figure—a long dressing gown in a bright turquoise Moroccan pattern, with his gold pendant still over his chest and rings still on his fingers. His long hair, however, was a bit out of place, and he looked dazedly at a spot just over Filch’s head as a small gold cup toppled from his arms. James thought he recognized a platter engraved with crossed wands for the Dueling Club championship clenched in Montclair’s grasp.

“I…Professor,” Filch said in alarm. He glanced at the many gold trophies, plaques, and cups that Montclair was struggling to keep his grip on. “What…what is it that you’re doing?”

“They are not appeased,” said Professor Montclair, sounding a bit out of sorts. He still did not look quite at Filch, his eyes rather glazed. “They demand more! More!” He said this last bit with great gusto, dropping a few more of his trophies with a clatter.

“Er…” Filch started, looking quite lost. “Who, Professor?” He narrowed his eyes all at once. “Is it Peeves?”

“Gold,” Montclair said, nodding to himself and not appearing to have heard Filch’s question at all. “Gold ought to do it,” he muttered. He tried to make his way past Filch and further down the corridor, but Filch caught at his arm.

“Professor,” Filch started, grip tightening, “I don’t believe you should be taking—”

Montclair, who until that point might have not seen Filch at all, suddenly looked at the grip on his arm and grew rather riotous about it. James flinched back into Sirius, Remus, and Peter, who were holding their breaths behind hm as Montclair swung about, dropping most of what he carried, attempting to shake Filch off. “Unhand me! Heretic!” he yelped, having a proper fit.

“Professor, I—” Filch frowned deeply as he was throttled about. “Get ahold of yourself, man!” he sputtered, and to James’s great surprise, he slapped Montclair clean across the face with the hand that was not holding his lantern.

That, at last, seemed to do the trick. Montclair went rigid, then loosened, and the remaining trophies dropped from his hands. He flinched at the noise, then blinked down at Mr. Filch. “Argus?” Montclair asked, smoothing his trim goatee and looking very bewildered. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I—” Filch began, looking affronted. “It is you, Professor, who is out in the hallways, after hours, in the dark!”

Montclair looked around him with curiosity. “Am I? How interesting.” He looked down at the great many trophies that were now strewn about the floor. “Had a spot of an accident here, have you?”

Mr. Flich blanched, appearing very put out. “Professor, you were the one to take these all from their cabinets and shelves! I thought you were aiming to do away with them!”

“Did I?” asked Montclair with mild surprise. “That’s rather peculiar, isn’t it?”

Filch scowled, as if wary that some sort of joke was being made at his expense. “I rather thought so.”

“Well,” said Montclair straightening himself out. “I am knackered. I must thank you for rousing me from that bout of sleepwalking. Might’ve fallen off the moving staircase otherwise. I’ve found that my dreams are quite intense in these castle walls.” He clapped Mr. Filch amicably on the shoulder and began to make his way back toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor and his office.

“Wait,” Mr. Filch called, quite flustered by this turn of events. “Aren’t you going to help me set these all right?”

“I would,” called Montclair, still retreating, “but I haven’t the foggiest where they all go. I’m sure I’d only waste your time, Argus.”

Filch stared after Montclair for a long while after he’d turned the corner, then began grumbling as he bent to pick up the many golden trophies Montclair had just dropped. James nearly felt sorry for him, and Mrs. Norris seemed to sense that her owner needed some encouragement, for she brushed up against his lanky legs rather than turning to stare accusingly at the four of them. James suspected the cat could smell beneath the invisibility cloak, and James sent a silent thank you for her continued distraction as he elbowed the rest of the boys into motion, and they made their way silently up the corridor as Filch hobbled into the trophy room with his lantern.

When they were back in their dormitory and helping themselves to the Honeydukes sweets they’d pocketed, they began to speculate on what they’d seen immediately.

“He’s a crook, of course,” Sirius was saying, tucked firmly into James’s bed. “Oldest trick in the book, sleepwalking.”

“Think that’s how he has all that old rubbish in his classroom?” Peter asked. “Less of a curse breaker, and more of a tomb raider?”

“Exactly,” said Sirius, pointing at Peter.

“I dunno,” said Remus, tugging on his pyjamas behind the hangings of his four poster for privacy. “He seemed really out of it.”

“I suppose it could have been all an act,” James speculated, inclined to believe that trouble had indeed been afoot. “What do you think he meant, saying they are not appeased, and they want more? Who do you reckon he was talking about? Or d’you think he was making it all up?”

“No,” said Sirius, “I’ll bet he has some employer on the outside who he used to steal rare things for, and they’re not all that pleased that he’s taken a comfortable teaching job, are they? Sounds like the sort of thing my parents would complain about, if Mr. Borgin or Mr. Burke disappeared without getting them their order for a giant’s nose or a banshee’s left buttock or something.”

“So he thought he’d send them Hogwarts school trophies?” Remus asked, looking doubtful. “Not exactly valuable artifacts, are they? Think some dark employer of Montclair’s wants Benjy Fenwick’s third place award for toad training?”

“Did Benjy get third?” James asked with interest. “Good for him.”

“They’re gold, aren’t they?” Sirius asked with a frown. “Melt it down and turn it into galleons. I dunno, do I?”

Without getting any closer to an answer, James eventually fell asleep with a half-eaten jelly slug in his hand, which the next morning had to be extracted from Sirius’s hair with another Uncto Et Oleum charm from Remus. A long shower afterward, Sirius was still scowling at James from across the table at breakfast. “It’s not my fault, is it?” James insisted. “You’re the one that can’t seem to find his own bed. And you kick in your sleep. I was probably just defending myself.”

After History, they had Defense, and all four of them paid an unusual amount of attention during the lesson, which Mary immediately grew suspicious of. When Professor Montclair described an encounter he’d had in Persia with a one-eyed Cockatrice, and neither Sirius nor Peter snorted and James failed to ask something like Do you really have to go all the way to Persia to battle that sort of beast, Professor? she turned back to examine him with a brow raised, almost looking genuinely concerned for his health.

But James could spot nothing odd or off with Professor Montclair—he seemed his normal boisterous self, if not a bit tired. The event was so singular and so strange, that he and the other boys mostly forgot about it as April passed in a haze of drizzling rain and increased Quidditch practices. By the time late May came about, and the weather had improved enough to fly every day or else roam about on the sunlit grounds, it had left James’s mind entirely.

May 18, 1973

Remus

As Remus lay on dusty, splintered floorboards, undressed and suffering what he thought must at least be a cracked rib, he let his mind wander to the map as a means of distraction. They’d found two more passageways into Hogsmeade after James had renewed his passion for the project. One was behind a large mirror on the fourth floor corridor that took ages to walk through, but it led to the men’s loos at Hogsmeade Station, and they all reasoned it’d be much easier to explain to anyone nearby why they’d emerged out of the loos than why they’d emerged from the Honeydukes storage cellar.

Another was in the back cupboard of an unused classroom, looking as though something nasty had chewed through the wood and stone in the back, leading into a cramped tunnel. It took them into an abandoned old garden shed on the side of the Black Lake, on the very outskirts of the village. This seemed useable enough, but when they tried it a second time, they were horrified to see a light ahead, and had to squash together underneath the cloak and against the wall as Flich himself came hobbling through, whistling and carrying a large wicker basket of what seemed to be canned tuna cat food.

Remus figured they ought not to have been surprised. The only person that snooped about in the dark and wandered the halls after hours more then they did was undoubtedly Mr. Filch (and perhaps Peeves). It only figured that Filch had found some way to go about his shopping from the castle. They’d been too nervous to explore that passage again, and Remus had marked it clearly on the map for avoidance.

The real hazard of the map, Remus thought, was the chance of losing it, or having it confiscated, and thus having the great deal of carefully annotated secrets exposed. There was invisible ink, but any dolt could work out how to reveal that. Remus had come closer to an answer when he’d discovered how to get the animating ink to appear and disappear with proximity to the area it depicted—at least everything wasn’t given away at one glance—but it still felt like an enormous risk. Part of it was his own fault; he’d given in and drawn in the Whomping Willow and the passageway beneath, partly because it felt wrong to leave the map so glaringly incomplete, and partly as a sort of challenge to himself. Part of him needed it written there in ink—the fact that he trusted those three with his secret and that he needn’t hide or pretend it did not exist.

Of course, bestowing that sort of trust in three numpties without the slightest inclination toward self preservation was one thing. With anyone else, it remained impossible. Harriet Crowe from Slytherin had insisted to know why he had an extension on his Charms essay when she’d received bottom marks for forgetting it, and Remus had guiltily told her and the other listening students that he’d been visiting his very ill mam. Harriet had asked very rudely what she was so ill with, but Remus had only had to mention that his mam was a muggle, and she’d lost interest.

Snape, too, seemed like he was growing more perturbed by Remus’s occasional absences. Remus didn’t know why the git was doing anything other than celebrating the fact that one less of them was roaming the halls on some days, but he suspected it was because of Lily. When Remus missed Potions, she often came over to help Peter and left Snape to his own devices so that Peter’s solitary mistakes wouldn’t put Remus too far behind. And when Remus borrowed notes from Lily, she tended to want to review them and revise with him at a comfortable table toward the back of the library, leaving Snape to frown at a table all on his own. Today, Remus realized with misery, he’d be missing both Double Potions and Double Defense, both with the Slytherins, giving Snape plenty of time to watch Lily copy over notes for him and stop Peter from adding anything disastrous into his cauldron.

Maybe, Remus thought, there was a small chance of him making it to his Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, at least.

His hope of that disappeared as he heard Madam Pomfrey enter the room and gasp at the sight of him. She normally kept a tight leash on her reactions, and Remus, half numb and feverish, knew he looked quite bad when her reactions escaped her despite her best efforts.

A little while later, as he lay groaning on the hospital bed with the sheets pulled low to soothe his fever, Madam Pomfrey finished her last bit of mending on his rib, helping him sit up so that she could tightly bandage around his chest. “Summer holiday is coming up,” she said calmly, looking for a pleasant bit of conversation to distract him from how she’d fretted over him. “You can transform in the comfort of your own home, soon.”

“Yeah,” said Remus dully. “What a treat.”

Pomfrey smiled seemingly despite herself at the dry sarcasm of his tone. “You know, I owled your father before last summer. If there’s any trouble at all, he’s just got to call on me, and I’ll come to help patch you up.”

“Oh,” said Remus quietly. “I didn’t know you’ offered that.”

“Did your father not mention?” Pomfrey asked. Her tone was careful, but her eyes were a bit narrowed.

“Nah,” said Remus, deciding to be truthful. “He’s not mad about you, or Dumbledore, or McGonagall, I reckon. He thinks the shack is too much space, and that's why I’ve got all these new scars. I get scars no matter what, but he thinks I have too many of them now.”

“Does he,” Pomfrey asked, the question coming out rather flat. “And he’s aware that the Lycanthropes who recover best after a full moon are usually those that have entire forests to roam?”

“Are they?” Remus asked with surprise. “No…I don’t think he knows too much about their healthy recovery. He’s more worried about what they’re getting up to when they’re doing the roaming.” He looked up at her. “The Werewolves might fare better if they’re out loose, but they’re just about the only ones that do.”

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Of course…some containment is necessary. But I do wonder if your father has ever stopped to consider that nearly six years of transforming in a cage better sized for a Kneazle has hampered your wolf form’s ability to deal with agitation.”

Remus himself had never considered it. “You think my wolf form’s got just as many issues in the head as I do, then?”

Madam Pomfrey laughed, smoothing down Remus’s hair. “I believe that you are just fine in the head, Remus. But if you feel the need over the summer, you are free to owl me yourself, you know.”

Remus nodded, throat tight, unsure how to thank her. He did not get the chance, however, since a loud, impatient banging came from the hospital wing’s door. From behind his bed hangings, Remus heard it open uninvited. “Remus!” Sirius called with great agitation—they were careful not to call him Moony only around Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall for fear that either of the two witches would immediately understand the nickname. Remus supposed they had to be careful in front of Dumbledore as well, but so far a private audience in front of Dumbledore had not been something they’d had to concern themselves with. If they tested McGonagall’s patience enough, though, Remus thought there was a good chance of it eventually happening.

“What is it?” Remus asked, settling back into his pillows. Madam Pomfrey gave him a smile, then cast an exasperated look at the doorway as she left him with a pain potion and sleeping draught each.

Sirius and James appeared at the foot of his bed, and Sirius pushed Remus’s legs aside to make room for himself, not heeding the new and enormous bandage or the way Remus grimaced at the sudden movement.

James began at once. “It’s Petey. Merlin bless him, he insisted on preparing his own potions notes last night, and he’s going to add the ringwart larvae whole rather than diced, and I tried to tell him off it, but he says I don’t always know better—made a whole fuss of it really. He says its his potion, but I figured if you were the one to tell him he’s got to dice it since you’re getting the marks, then he might listen and it won’t turn into that sort of fudge-y thing it turned into last time…”

Remus, who really had been trying his best to listen and to care, let his eyes drift shut, and fell asleep as James continued.

Chapter Text

May 26, 1973

James

“All right,” said Roslyn, hands on her hips while she faced Alice in her light Seeker kit, perched carefully on a bench in the changing rooms. “What do you reckon are our chances of winning against Hufflepuff outright, Fortescue?”

Alice tapped her chin. “Me getting the Snitch over Barney Lynch?” she clarified. “None. I’m good, but not that good. The lad’s a menace. I wouldn’t be surprised if the scouts here looking in at Patsy McKinnon end up leaving with him at the top of their list, fuming mad that they’ve got to wait four more years for him to graduate.”

Roslyn nodded, tossing a Quaffle from hand to hand as she paced. Alice’s assessment was disheartening, of course, but nothing James and the rest of the team hadn’t anticipated.

“Fine,” Roslyn said at last. “Then distract him. I want to see fake outs, dives, catcalls, the lot.” Alice nodded, and Roslyn pointed to Roger and Marlene. “Cattermole, McKinnon, focus your efforts on Lynch, too. I know it’s tempting to swing for the older McKinnon, but we’ve got to keep the match on for as long as possible, and that means no hands on the Snitch. Patil,” Roslyn continued, pointing at Aryan, “you’re Patsy’s guard, got it? Where she goes, you should already be. Meadowes, don’t let Patsy intimidate you. You’ve been blocking out Potter in practices, and you can do it to the older McKinnon, too.” At last she turned to James. “And you, Potter…”

“Score as many goals as humanly possible,” James finished for her.

“More than humanly possible,” Roslyn corrected. “Thanks to that shut-out with Slytherin, we don’t need to win today, but we can only afford one hundred points less than Hufflepuff, or they’ll cinch the cup. That means we’ve got to be at least fifty ahead when the Snitch is caught. Understood?”

James nodded with the rest of the team, gripping his broom tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

Looking a bit green, Roslyn sighed and nodded to herself, roughly tossing James the Quaffle. “This,” she muttered, as if it cost her something to admit it, “is the best team we’ve had in ages. Let’s make that worth something, yeah?”

James followed the rest of his team out onto the pitch, quickly scanning the stands. The Slytherins were all in yellow and black, of course, and the Ravenclaws seemed split in their alliances. The only entirely solid block of scarlet and gold was the Gryffindor stands, at the top of which James thought he could just make out the tip of Sirius’s roaring hat. It was the kind of gorgeous day that would make loosing the quidditch cup and the match feel all the more miserable. James’s stomach only had time to do a few extraordinary flips before Nancy Spinnet was calling out their names, and each of them were kicking off into the sky.

“We’ve got Meadowes at the goalposts,” Nancy was saying, her voice amplified over the crowd from the magical megaphone. “And she’s performing a sight better than she did last year—I had to wonder what on earth Hestia Jones was thinking last year bringing her on, she was absolutely rubbish…no offense Dorcas, I reckon it was just second-year jitters. Speaking of second-year jitters, here come two players who have absolutely none. That’s McKinnon pulling up alongside Cattermole, and she’s been pummeling Bludgers with the best of them all year. And then that’s Chaser James Potter, flying toward me in the commentator box at a rather alarming speed and making an obscene gesture…Professor McGonagall, are you seeing this? Ah, folks, it seems he’s telling me off about that comment around Meadowes. Merlin, I said no offense, Potter, go see to the Quaffle, why don’t you?”

With a roll of his eyes, James swerved away and back toward Dorcas, giving her a friendly knock on the shoulder.

“Don’t mind Spinnet,” called Dorcas over the wind, truly looking unbothered. “She’s just got her knickers in a twist because she placed a bet with Frank about me being booted from the team last summer.”

James pulled his broom up so that he could join the line with Aryan and Roslyn. He had only a moment to stare down Patsy McKinnon and the other two Hufflepuff Chasers before Hooch blew her whistle, and the Quaffle was thrown.

The expanse of blue was dizzying above him, and James allowed himself to be lost to the delight of it. And facing off against Patsy McKinnon was fun, James had no other words for it. Each time he caught or passed the Quaffle, she was there with an attempt to intercept—she even managed it once, diving in front of Aryan Patil and catching James by surprise. He matched her at every chance he could, sweeping up from beneath her just as she aimed her goal, only to catch the Quaffle in his stomach with a grunt and make for the other end of the field. He might have been imagining it, but he thought she was grinning just as much as he was over the challenge.

The problem was that they were evenly matched, and James needed them to pull fifty ahead. Each time he made or assisted a goal, however, Patsy and her Chasers returned it in kind. Dorcas managed to block over half of what was attempted on her, but so did the Hufflepuff Keeper, a burly seventh year whose wingspan was near impossible to work around. Gryffindor had pulled twenty points ahead, but then lost the advantage down to only ten, and James grit his teeth. When Madam Hooch blew her whistle for halftime, he darted over to a very sweaty Roslyn Kelly.

“Let Marlene aim for her sister,” James insisted. “Just for a bit.”

Roslyn shook her head. “We need her and Roger to focus on—”

“Lynch, I know,” James interrupted. The plan had been working so far; Barney Lynch had fallen for a few of Alice’s tricks, likely suspecting them false but not willing to risk it, and the few times he seemed to have spotted something, Roger and Marlene threw him off course. “But it’s no use if we can’t pull ahead,” James continued. “And Marlene knows her sister, we’ve got to break their formation, or we’ll never manage it.”

Roslyn looked at James with narrowed eyes. “Who’s the captain of this team, Potter?” she asked him.

James sighed, straightening his glasses. “You are. But—”

“But nothing,” said Roslyn, pointing to the center line.

James huffed as she followed him back toward starting positions, but before the Hufflepuff could complete their huddle and join, Roslyn turned back to Roger and Marlene, just behind them. “McKinnon, send a few Bludgers your sister’s way. Mind that you don’t take your eye of Lynch for too long, though.” When Roslyn turned back to the font, she caught James’s beam from the corner of her eye and gave him a quick flash of two fingers and an eye roll.

With Marlene breaking up her sister’s line, things at last started to go favorably. Roslyn scored once, James twice, and soon they were forty ahead.

“Breaking records for this season in terms of points scored, I reckon,” said Nancy Spinnet from the commentator box. “A real battle of the Chasers up there. Looks like Patsy is getting thrown off for the first time in her career by Bludgers, probably shouldn’t have trained so much with her younger sister—it’s come back to nip her in the arse—Sorry, Professor.”

Patsy had just managed to snag the Quaffle from Roslyn, but one of Marlene’s well-timed Bludgers made her swerve and loose her grip. Aryan ducked in to successfully intercept while Patsy gave into some of her frustration and yelled half-hearted curses up to her grinning sister. James watched them, staying open for Aryan’s pass if it should come his way, but then a sight made his stomach drop.

Barney Lynch had begun a mad dash across the pitch, arm outstretched. Roger hit a bludger his way and barely missed, and Marlene was busy attempting to dodge her sister who looked like she wanted to throttle her on her broom. There was no one to stop Lynch except for Alice, who while she was close on Lynch’s heels, was loosing ground with every second. Unless Aryan made this next goal and made it quickly, they’d loose the match and the cup.

Tucking flat to his broom, James hurdled with all of his might toward the Hufflepuff goal posts. The seventh year Keeper was watching Lynch and Alice above him, and jolted with surprise at the sight of James barreling his way. He hunkered to cover his posts, clearly not knowing that it wasn’t James who had the Quaffle, and James was moving too quickly toward the lower right hoop for him to spot that his arms were empty. James had no time to slow down, so he opted to hurdle straight through the hoop instead. The Keeper grunted in alarm, reaching out to grab James’s foot, catching hold to the edge of his broom instead, and following him through the goal. James swerved up to slow himself before nearly colliding with the Gryffindor stands, dragging the Keeper with him. He hardly had time to turn around before he was watching Aryan score an easy goal, unobstructed by the Keeper, half a second before Lynch caught the fluttering speck of gold overhead.

There was a confused beat of silence in the stands as everyone tried to calculate the final score, unsure about what exactly they should celebrate. But then Nancy Spinnet was hollering over the megaphone, “That’s three hundred and eighty to Hufflepuff, two hundred and eighty to Gryffindor! Hufflepuff manages another undefeated season, but it’s not enough to win them the cup! Gryffindor takes it by brute force and points alone!”

Shaking off the stunned Keeper, James tackled Aryan in midair with a hollering hug, sending them spinning. They had only just managed to right themselves before Roslyn was upon them, too, and to James’s utmost shock, she had tears streaming down her face. She had Aryan in a near-suffocating embrace, then turned to James, mashing his face between her hands and shaking it. “Potter, you beauty!” she declared through another sob, kissing him on the top of the head, and then she pulled away, suddenly scowling. “If distracting Marlene had cost us the game—which it nearly did, mind—you know that I would have killed you, right?”

“I would have had it coming,” James nodded solemnly. “And if I weren’t the one dead, I would have helped you do away with the body.”

Roslyn beamed again, kissed him on the top of the head once more, then dragged him to the rest of the team, who had collapsed on the pitch in a tearful, whooping dogpile. As James had his face mashed in by Marlene’s elbow, and he imagined the party that awaited them in the common room and the shower that awaited him imminently, he thought that perhaps there was no better feeling than sharing glory with his teammates. But then, when Roger and Aryan hoisted him up on their shoulders and paraded him in front of the Gryffindor stands where Sirius and Peter began a chant of “POT-TER! POT-TER!” and Mary had climbed down to stick a red and gold rosette onto his forehead with a kiss on both cheeks, he thought that feeling was rather wonderful, too.

June 15, 1973

Peter

“It feels sort of rubbish keeping a secret from him, doesn’t it?” Peter asked, crammed between Sirius and James under the cloak. The two boys were several inches taller than him, and while this was normally a bother, it came in handy with the cloak where they had to crouch and he could more or less walk normally.

“We’re keeping a secret for him,” said James practically. “There’s a difference, Pete.”

They were watching the very Werewolf they spoke about as he walked with Madam Pomfrey along the early evening shadows toward the Whomping Willow, his curly head bowed. The evening was pleasant but not precisely warm, and Peter shivered a bit as the sun threatened to slip behind the trees so that it could give over the sky to the incoming full moon.

The process of becoming an an Animagus without any prior knowledge or help and while keeping it a secret from one of the people you lived with was proving very difficult, and the only time they’d had to focus on it over the last several months was on the night of the full moon when Remus was conveniently preoccupied. Peter had listlessly scanned through the few books James nicked from the restricted section of the library, finding next to nothing on his search, but James and Sirius had been slightly more successful. It had been Sirius that eventually unearthed what he thought was a recipe list. It was horribly long, and full of rare things that even Slughorn might not have on hand. James had found several passages that made it seem as through the process had a great deal to do with the full moon, which each of them found rather fitting. They still weren’t sure what exactly, had to be done around the full moon, and so as to not take any chances, they were starting off with one necessary step tonight, while Remus transformed off of school grounds.

That was why they had left dinner quickly and found themselves huddled in the shadow of the greenhouses, waiting for darkness to fall. James and Sirius bickered quietly about Astronomy charts Peter hadn’t bothered to do since Remus always let him copy, and Remus copied from Lily, who was very reliable. Perhaps twenty minutes had passed before the Whomping Willow froze rigidly, and Madam Pomfrey crossed the grounds again, this time alone.

“It’s too bad Moony won’t let us visit the house where he transforms,” said Sirius. “I reckon it would be a great place to keep everything we need for the process. None of the professors or Filch go snooping around there.”

“Yeah,” said James, “but Remus goes snooping around there. And according to him, he rather smashes everything he finds to smithereens.”

“Oh,” said Sirius, reconsidering. “True.”

When they were certain the coast was clear, James used a quick “Alohamora!” to unlock Sprout’s office at the back of the greenhouses and Sirius lit his wand for them to see by. The office was very grubby and disorderly, with potting soil on nearly every surface. It smelled a bit like Minotaur manure, which Peter suspected was due to the large sacks of the stuff piled in the corner. A great array of tools lined the walls on pegs and in shelves, and drying fragrant herbs hung down from the glass ceilings. Sprout kept a private garden bed with a few alarming looking plants at the center of her office floor, including a large cabbage that seemed to be snoring soundly. Rather than a desk, there was a large expanse of counter and a wobbly stool that looked out over the castle and some of the lake.

Whipping the Invisibility Cloak off of them, James got to work immediately, opening a drawer to reveal a large conglomerate of seeds and beginning to rifle through them. Peter looked through cabinets, finding one filled with jars of toadstools that shrieked at him to keep out the light, so he shut that door again quite quickly.

“None of these are Mandrake,” said James in exasperation, looking through the last of the seeds. “Perhaps they’re too dangerous even for Sprout.”

“No, look at this,” said Sirius, who had been rifling through the files under the counter. “See here, she placed an order for Mandrake just three years ago.” He slid a dirty slip of parchment over to them, a cramped little list of orders to a store called Shelkie’s Seeds N’ Spawn. “Looks like she renews the order every seven years.”

“Well that's rubbish,” said James in frustration. “She won’t have Mandrake in again until we’re in seventh year, then.”

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed. “Unless she orders some now and gets it in by start of next term.”

James frowned. “But why would she…” He trailed off as Sirius pulled out another pad of parchment, a collection of empty order slips. “Oh.”

“Come on then, Petey,” said Sirius, rummaging through the mess of the office for a quill. “You’re the best at faking penmanship.”

“Snape’s, maybe,” Peter balked. They’d made him copy a rubbish Potions essay and try to turn it in while they swiped Snape’s own work, but Lily had caught on and hit Peter with a Stinging Hex to the knuckles he swore he could still feel. “I can’t do a professor’s. I’ll get caught, and I know I’ll be the only one punished.”

“Nonsense,” said Sirius. “You’ve got loads of practice. Remember all those lines Filch made you do over Easter holidays?”

“That was because you ran off with the Invisibility Cloak before I could catch up,” Peter scowled.

“Yes, and look at how well it’s serving us in the long run,” said Sirius. “Come on, James, tell him he’s got to try.”

Peter looked to James. James, for his part, did have the manners to look a bit guilty. “We’ll fall really behind if we don’t at least have the Mandrake by autumn,” he said at last.

Peter sighed through his nose, then snatched the quill from Sirius’s hand. With both James and Sirius peering over his shoulder to provide instruction, and Sprout’s notes laid out in front of him for reference, he more or less managed it. To his alarm, no sooner had he finished a careful imitation of Pomona Sprout’s scratchy signature than the order slip lifted off the table, folded itself in half, then again, then again until it had varnished into thin air. In Peter’s passable handwriting, the order appeared on the list Sirius had first found of receipts for Professor Sprout’s reference—Seven Mandrake sproutlings, needed early and urgently for the 1973 Autumn Term, IOU 286 Galleons, 4 Sickles, and 3 Knuts.

“No worries,” said Sirius, looking at the parchment. “We’ll just stuff it back into the mass of files beneath her desk. She won’t see it until seven pots show up at her greenhouse door with a sizable bill.”

“What if she insists she didn’t place the order and returns them?” Peter fretted.

“It’ll be too late, they’re too rare and expensive to waste,” said James, seeming to be just as confident and pleased with himself as Sirius.

Peter huffed, but what was done was already done. He helped Sirius and James return the room to its previous order—or rather disorder—and the three of them hastened back under the cloak, intending to get back to the common room before they were missed. It was just after hours, and so Peter suspected they’d run into no one but the occasional ghost, Peeves, and if they were unlucky, Filch. He was thus surprised when they’d made it only a few steps away from the greenhouses before spotting someone, glancing about nervously by the edge of the lake, underneath the dark shadow of a normal willow—not one of the Whomping variety.

“Who is it?” he whispered, peering to get a better look. It was a girl, very blonde, but she was wearing only her school shirt and skirt, no tie or robes for him to make out her house by. They crept a bit closer through the damp grass, until they could see clearly.

“Merlin,” whispered Sirius. “It’s Narcissa. What’s a swotty Prefect like her doing out on the grounds after hours?”

“She’s waiting for someone,” James noted. Indeed, Narcissa, who was quite pretty even if Peter would never survive voicing that thought aloud in front of Sirius, was smoothing down her skirt, and then she pulled out a compact mirror with which she was fixing her hair. Peter narrowed his eyes, watching her put on a bit of lipstick, when Sirius quietly groaned.

“It’s Lucius Malfoy,” he said with apparent horror. “That’s who she’ll be meeting. Please, let’s leave before he gets here. I’ve had to watch one of my cousins snog themselves silly, it’ll kill me if I have to watch a second.”

James snickered. “Fine, fine, all right, let’s—”

He stopped short, however, when another figure emerged from the the nearby copse of trees. It was not Lucius Malfoy. For a second time, Peter was astounded to see Professor Montclair, appearing where they least expected him.

Narcissa jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sight of him, eyes very wide and hastening to put away her lipstick and compact mirror with a flush of guilt. “I—Professor! I, er, was just doing my rounds…” She trailed off lamely, searching for a better excuse, but then she paused, taking in the Defense professor more fully. “Er…Professor?”

Like that night outside the trophy room, Professor Montclair did not seem to be his normally sweeping and confident self. He was in his teaching robes, but they were a bit rumpled and pushed up his arms. His eyes looked about agitatedly, as if seeing a number of people in the grove with them that Peter could not see himself. Thn, Montclair suddenly whirled wildly about with hands raised, and Peter stepped back between James and Sirius in alarm.

“They are enraged!” Montclair declared, although he didn’t seem to be speaking to Narcissa. “They have not forgiven! They have not forgotten!”

Narcissa looked horrified by his words. “Who, Professor? Slughorn? Dumbledore? I promise I was on my way back to the castle, there’s really no need to—”

But Montclair ignored her excuses, growing only angrier while also not seeming to truly see her. “I know what they require!” he moaned, crumpling to his knees and holding his head in anguish. “Not the lifeblood of an animal! Not gold!”

Peter had half a mind to turn and run, but the other two seemed grounded to the spot by curiosity. Narcissa herself didn’t seem to know what to do. Very tentatively, she reached out toward Montclair. “Professor…”

The second she touched his shoulder, Montclair jumped to action, and Narcissa hardly had time to yell out before he was attempting to hoist her up and off her feet. She had the wherewithal to reach for her wand, and shot a burst of emerald green flames up into the night sky, where it burst into glittering stars above the tree line, but right afterwards, Montclair grasped her arm and wrenched the wand from it, throwing it aside into the grass. “Redemption!” he screamed out in a croaky voice most unlike his own. “In the form of my own daughter! Fed to the sea beast!”

“Unhand me!” Narcissa demanded loudly, smacking Professor Montclair across his broad back while he attempted to haul her closer to the lake. “What in Merlin’s arsecrack are you talking about?”

In any other situation, Peter would have laughed at the unbecoming curse from Narcissa’s mouth, but he only gaped in horror as James slipped out from the cloak and charged after them. Sirius seemed rather torn on what to do. Peter knew he held very little love for his cousin, but he likely didn’t want to see her done away with by their crazed professor, either.

James was there at once. He attempted to pry Montclair’s arms off of Narcissa, and Narcissa only screamed louder at James’s sudden appearance. Montclair, however, was impressively strong, and seemed not to notice James at all as he waded into the shallows of the lake, not heeding the water on his boots, trousers, or robes. “Take her, foul sea beast!” he cried out to the rippling lake. “Devour her, bones and flesh! Absolve me of my heresy!”

“I think he means to feed her to the Giant Squid,” said Sirius, and he sounded a bit amused. When it was clear that James was making no progress against slowing Montclair in this effort, Sirius sighed, and left the cover of the cloak to help him.

Indeed, Montclair called out to the lake again. “I offer you my flesh and blood! The picture of innocence! Take her and be appeased! Let me free!”

With this, he knocked James and Sirius aside, and threw Narcissa with all his might into the deeper waters, where she landed with a great screaming SPLASH. It was barely a moment before Narcissa emerged again, still able to stand since the waters took a good while to deepen, her blonde hair plastered around her head and in her mouth, her clothes sodden and muddy, looking a horrible mess.

“YOU!” she bellowed, spitting lake water, dark makeup streaming down her cheeks. She pointed at Montclair accusingly. “You are going very much to regret that, you loathsome baboon! My mother and father both sit on the school’s board of directors! Not to mention, I am betrothed to the Malfoy heir! I will have you out of your position faster than you can blink! I will—”

“Cissa?” another voice called, from the direction of the castle. This time, it was Lucius Malfoy who had arrived at the scene, wearing his Head Boy dressing robe over his shirt and trousers, and he seemed to be carrying a bottle of some red vintage, as well as two goblets. He dropped them both as he saw Narcissa spluttering, as well as James and Sirius on their rears in the mud. Montclair had begun stomping about in the waters, chanting something in a language Peter did not understand or even recognize, his voice as low and guttural as a giant toad’s. Malfoy blinked, baffled. “What is going on?”

Just behind Malfoy, two more figures came rushing out of the castle, those of Professor McGonagall, and to Peter’s relief, Professor Dumbledore. Peter had to step aside as they attempted to hurtle right through him to the lake’s edge.

“Ulysses!” Professor McGonagall cried out. “What is the meaning of this! Who sent the distress signal? Why are these students—”

But Professor Montclair whirled to face them and shouted out, “Back! Back, ye innocents! Only my bloodline need be ended today! The ravenous beast approaches!”

Peter looked out to the depths of the lake, but if the Giant Squid were meant to come and eat Narcissa, it didn’t seem to have been notified. The water remained very calm.

“Ulysses—”

Dumbledore laid a gentle arm on Professor McGonagall, cutting off her shrill admonishment. “Minerva, I do not believe that is Ulysses Montclair you are speaking to.”

“Who else would it be?” McGonagall blustered, but her question was drowned out by Montclair, who had taken up his chant again and resumed his splashing.

Narcissa made to trudge back to the shore, but Montclair lunged for her. “No! Daughter, you must relinquish yourself! Remain calm, surrender to the mighty jaws!” Narcissa screamed as it appeared that Montclair was about to dunk her beneath the lake water once more, but before he could do so, Sirius had clambered on to his back and reached for the heavy gold amulet that bounced on Montclair’s sopping wet chest.

For a terrible few moments, Sirius tugged on the golden chain, and Peter thought he was going to attempt to suffocate their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with it. But at long last he managed to slip the thing over Montclair’s struggling head, and as soon as it was off, Montclair ceased to struggle and shout. In fact, he ceased to move at all, and he collapsed face-first into the lake, bringing Sirius down with him.

It took James and Sirius together to keep Montclair face-up as they dragged him out of the lake and onto the muddy bank. At the sight of Narcissa struggling and muttering darkly to get back ashore, Malfoy regained his wits and hurried to help her. McGonagall, too, went to Narcissa first, then Montclair and the two boys in her house, not quite seeming to know where she was needed or how she might help. No one was hurt more than being a bit soggy and put out. Dumbledore only watched the scene from the shore with a thoughtful expression.

“I think…he was possessed, Professor,” said Sirius, very out of breath as he rolled onto the grass. He held up the heavy locket like a hard earned trophy. “I think he…was shouting in Ancient Greek…or something.”

“Yeah,” said James, rolling onto his stomach and spitting out a bit of lake weed that had gotten into his mouth. “He had a fit sort of like this one last month, trying to knick gold from the trophy room, just ask Filch. And he mentioned animal blood earlier. He might have been the one that killed those goats at the start of last term.”

“Saw the Greek writing on this thing and thought I might as well try it,” Sirius huffed, waving the amulet around above him.

McGonagall took the amulet from Sirius and turned it over in her hand, frowning, then looking down at Professor Montclair who still appeared unconscious. “Do you mean to say you think your Professor has been dallying about the castle, possessed by a cursed amulet?”

“Maybe not all the time,” reasoned James, brushing himself off. “He seemed all right in lessons. Bit of a tosser, sometimes, but fine.”

“Didn’t he say he was a curse breaker before this?” Sirius asked, not bothering to get up. “Must have been a lousy one.”

“I am afraid,” said Dumbledore, stepping forward, “that our board of directors is not in a position to turn down many candidates these days.” He looked sadly down at Montclair before waving his wand broadly, leaving Narcissa suddenly dry where she was still bent over and dripping, as well as James and Sirius. Dumbledore stooped to offer Sirius a wrinkled hand, and Sirius stared before taking it and getting back up at last. Confident that his students were not at risk of freezing in their lake-drenched clothes, Dumbledore turned to Montclair again. “It is a pity that he was fond enough of his discoveries to wear them. I’ve never trusted a fanciful accessory, myself. It can quite quickly ruin a well curated outfit, you know.”

June 17, 1973

Sirius

Word got around very quickly that their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had been possessed by a cursed amulet and tried to sacrifice Narcissa Black to the Giant Squid to appease some old world gods, mostly because Sirius found the whole thing very amusing and spread the word himself to anyone who would listen.

McGonagall had deducted twenty points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin for having two students out of bed and on castle grounds after hours, but then Dumbledore had awarded them all back twenty points for brave intervention, so it was hard to say, really, if they were in trouble or saviors of the day. Sirius didn’t think Narcissa and Lucius should have earned anything back at all, since they hadn’t done much other than holler and gawk. Peter, too, had been of absolutely no help, hiding under the cloak all the way until they were back in their dormitory.

Remus was a bit put out that he’d missed all the excitement, and was very curious about what the rest of them were doing out on the full moon. Sirius was certain Remus feared that they’d been attempting to somehow follow him or visit him during his transformation. “It was nothing like that, Moony,” Sirius had assured him when they caught him up the next morning in the hospital wing. “But if you’re going to stay awake all night and sleep all through the next day, then we might as well, too.”

Indeed, at dinner on Saturday night, Dumbledore had cleared his throat to announce that Professor Montclair had taken some much needed restorative time for his own mental clarity and fortitude, and final examinations for Defense Against the Dark Arts would be in the form of written essays graded by board of education proctors, rather than the practical examination Montclair had been preparing.

Remus had groaned, still looking a bit battered from the night previous. “History’s an essay…Astronomy’s an essay…Potions’ a potion…I was looking forward to any of the tests that involved actual wand work.”

“Eugh,” Sirius had said, grimacing. “Moony, never say the words I was looking forward to tests in that order again.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Marlene had said practically. “I’ve been saying for ages that Montclair never let us cast any of the spells ourselves. Just made us watch while he flounced about. Who’s to say any of us would have actually managed it?”

The news and talk of tests sent the students into a bit of an end-of-term tizzy that was creating a renewed passion for revising and being a general swot. That, Sirius reasoned, was why the mood in the Great Hall was subdued on Sunday, as students prepared to eat breakfast quickly and waste the lovely day in the library. Heads were bent low enough over meals that no one took particular notice when he made his way over to the Slytherin table.

Reg was where he’d been all year, sat between Evan Rosier with his upturned nose and Barty Crouch with his enormous, buggy eyes. Crouch was just finishing up saying something nasty, judging by the way Evan snickered and Reg’s ears went red, as Sirius cleared his throat dramatically.

All three turned quickly, and were very instantly disappointed by who they found there. “Happy birthday, Reggie,” Sirius announced. “Twelve years old and all that. I’d reckon it’s time you had the talk about your changing body, but you haven’t grown an inch all year, so perhaps you’re still a ways off, yet.”

Regulus sank low in his seat, expression dark. “Go away.”

“No,” said Sirius. “You threw quite a fit about not getting an ickle present from me for your birthday last year, and I’ve come to rectify my error.” He held out a neatly-wrapped parcel with great aplomb.

Regulus looked at the present doubtfully, and Rosier piped up, “He doesn’t want anything from you, muggle-lover.”

Sirius looked Rosier over assessingly. “Really,” he began, “what is it about the Slytherin common room that keeps you all so puny and inbred-looking? Is it the lack of sun down in the dungeons? Or is it really just the inbreeding?” He turned back to Regulus. “Go on, open it. Don’t just stare at me like a trout.”

With a huff, Regulus snatched the parcel away and tore it open carelessly. Sirius only grinned as he revealed a box of stationary, bright red. When Regulus lifted the lid, it was to find golden parchment in a neat stack, the letterhead emblazoned with scarlet lions and the initials R. A. B. Sirius had ordered it custom by school owl from Scrivenshaft in nearby Hogsmeade.

With a great sigh, Reg looked up at him. “All right, I get the joke. Will you leave me alone now?”

“Fine,” said Sirius, rolling his eyes. “Enjoy torturing cats or crawling into your coffins, or whatever you and these two do for fun.”

With a frown, Sirius made his way back to the Gryffindor table, missing the days when Regulus was a great deal more flappable. Hogwarts had forced him to grow some sort of a hide, and Sirius was not fond of it at all.

June 22, 1973

Remus

Remus sighed again at his course slip, peeking over to look at Lily’s.

“Make your own decisions,” she scolded fondly, her things sprawled out across a table near the common room fire.

“You just don’t want me to see that you’ve signed up for Divination,” Remus guessed.

Based on the way Lily’s cheeks went pink, he was right. “I’m taking it with Mary and Marlene,” Lily argued. “Marlene says it can be really interesting if you let yourself believe in all of it.”

“Yeah,” said Remus, “And if you enjoy smelling the stale tea on Professor Dewhurst’s breath while she looms over you and tries to explain the workings of the inner eye in your Crystal Ball.” He fluttered his fingers mystically around Lily as he said this.

“Don’t see how it’s any different from Arithmancy,” Lily tutted. “You think that’s better?”

“Arithmancy’s full of rules and numbers,” Remus argued.

“Yeah, rules and numbers that portend the future,” said Lily, fluttering her fingers mystically back at him.

“Ah, fine,” said Remus, regretfully marking down Divination on his form. “James, Sirius, and Peter are taking Divination, too, they think it’ll be a bit of a laugh.”

“Oh no,” said Lily, frowning deeply. “Maybe I should take Arithmancy. At least that way I’ll have a lesson free of those buffoons.”

“I just don’t know what to take third,” said Remus, ignoring her turmoil at this news.

“Looks like the lot of us are doing Care of Magical Creatures with Kettleburn, so why don’t you just take all three electives with your stooges and sign up for whatever they’re taking third?”

“Because Peter’s not taking a third, and James and Sirius are taking Muggle Studies,” Remus lamented.

Lily opened her mouth, gawking at him a bit. “Are they really?”

“Of course,” said Remus. “Sirius will do it just to piss off his mam, and James will do it because he actually thinks its interesting, Merlin bless him. I’ve got no doubt I’ll be fixing both of their homework.” He glanced up at where Lily was still frowning. “What, do you reckon they’re aiming for an easy O.W.L?”

“No,” said Lily slowly. “I think it’s…”

Remus grinned as he finally understood her expression. “You think it’s nice.”

“No,” Lily argued quickly and without heart. She sighed. “I just think it might be good if more witches and wizards took it. Severus said the older Slytherins have started a petition to get the class removed from the curriculum.”

“And what does Snape think?” Remus asked, eyes narrowed.

Lily continued not to meet his eye. “He thinks it’s a bit of a waste, of course, but that’s probably just because his dad’s a muggle and he’s grown up around them. He reckons muggles are just about everywhere, we don’t need a class to study them. He says Hogwarts is meant to be a school for magic.”

Remus highly suspected that if Avery or Mulciber were the ones sticking that petition in front of Snape, his name was likely to be on the list. It was the last day of term, however, and he didn’t much feel like spending it in an argument with Lily Evans. Instead he shrugged, and reviewed his course slip. “So, you’re not taking Arithmancy, and you’re not taking Muggle Studies, and I know you’re signing up for three, so it’s got to be Ancient Runes.” Remus frowned at the class description, which sounded very difficult. “I s’pose I’ll be taking that, too.”

Lily laughed. “You could just take two courses, you know. Everyone would understand, what with your mum and your headaches.”

“Oh,” said Remus, hand stuttering as he marked down Ancient Runes. “Right.” He had of course considered that taking two courses instead of three would be much simpler. It was only that he enjoyed the feeling of not thinking about it, of signing up for more interesting and challenging work without having to consider that he was a dark creature that maybe shouldn’t be attending any courses at all.

“Not to say you won’t manage brilliantly,” Lily said quickly, perhaps sensing his unease.

Remus smiled, pointing his quill at her accusingly. “You’re just mad I got better marks in Defense, and you’re worried I’ll show you up in Ancient Runes, too.”

“No,” said Lily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m only worried about the state of your potions if you take on any more distractions. You know, I’m pretty sure Slughorn was outright frightened of what you and Peter made for your final assessment. I thought it was going to crawl out of the cauldron.”

Remus stuck his tongue out at her. Still, he had to consider Lily’s valid concern as he looked over his course slip again and again, waiting until after dinner to finally bring it to McGonagall’s office.

“Mr. Lupin,” she called in greeting when he at last made his way to the Transfiguration corridor and knocked at her door. She waved him in. “I think you’re the last of my third years to tell me what you intend to take next year, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Remus, slipping in and approaching the desk. “Sorry, Professor.”

McGonagall’s office was a sort of library in miniature, walls lined with shelves of tomes and scrolls, a green reading lamp in the shape of a beetle on her desk. It occurred to Remus to suspect that it really was a beetle, transfigured quite artfully into a light source. Remus intended to deposit the slip and quickly leave, but McGonagall gestured to the chair across form her, setting down the stack of essays she was parsing through. “You did very well on your Transfiguration exam, Mr. Lupin,” she said kindly. “Did you see the results?”

“Er, yeah,” said Remus again. There was a plate of gingersnaps at the corner of the desk, and McGonagall pushed them toward him. He was rarely in a position to turn down food, so he took one, putting the whole of it in his mouth. When he realized he was expected to continue speaking, he nearly choked on the crumbs as he hastened to swallow. “I was, er, happy with it, I s’pose.”

“I should hope so,” said McGonagall, brow creased. “And your results in Charms and Defense put you near the top of your class; Herbology, too. I noticed that Potions was a bit tricky, but Horace Slughorn said your written component ensured you passed quite handily.”

“Yeah,” Remus said for a third time. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to respond to what he thought was praise, although maybe McGonagall meant something else by it, judging from her analytical gaze. “I like it here,” Remus continued rather lamely. “I like the learning. I like Hogwarts.” It had, of course, occurred to him that his good marks were maybe surprising to anyone who knew about his condition. They meant that he’d passed some sort of experiment, managing to sit through lessons and not attack any of his classmates.

“That’s good,” said McGonagall, gaze narrowed. “And I’ve noticed you are rather good at helping other students, Mr. Pettigrew included. You’ve got a nice bit of patience with your peers.”

“Thanks,” said Remus, beginning to feel uncomfortable and warm in the face. “Y’know…I’ve got a good lid on it and everything. I know my homework is late every now and then, but I feel normal around the other students. I’ll keep studying with my head down—I’m not trying to, you know, get a student alone and bite them, or anything.”

“Oh,” said McGonagall, looking quite surprised. “No, not at all, Remus. That is not what I mean to say.” With what seemed like great effort, she smoothed her brow and gave him her best attempt at an open smile. “Your status as a Lycanthrope does not worry me in the slightest. You are a bright boy with a knack for magic, and I expected no less than stellar marks from you when you joined my house. I am simply already wrought with worry that I must name one of you four boys as Prefect in two years’ time. I am hoping, selfishly, to find some solace in the fact that at least one of you might yet grow into suitability for the role.”

“Oh,” said Remus, not expecting those words at all and finding himself very relieved. “Well, it shouldn’t be me, Professor. I’d be a lousy prefect.”

McGonagall smiled in defeat. “No? And pray tell, Mr. Lupin, should it be Mr. Pettigrew? Mr. Potter? Merlin forbid, Mr. Black?”

Remus considered this. “Maybe you could skip our year.”

McGonagall nodded at the suggestion. “I will have to entreat Albus to make such an exception. In the meantime, Mr. Lupin, I have two years to hope that one of you learns to behave yourselves.”

Remus didn’t have the heart to debate her on this. She excused Remus at last, looking over his course slip with a quick nod and insisting he take two more gingersnaps, which he did not argue against.

Back in the dormitory, Peter was attempting to pack for the summer with a great deal of energy, James was sorting through his things halfheartedly, and Sirius wasn’t attempting to pack in the slightest, chewing no less than three pieces of Droobles Best Blowing Gum at once and blowing bubbles that threatened to levitate him off the bed.

“Moony,” Sirius managed to say through the wad of gum. “Put something on the gramophone. Jamie wants Wild Horses because he’s a sentimental sap.”

“Oh no,” said Remus, flinging his book bag atop his bed. He hadn’t begun packing at all, either. “James, we’re leaving for summer, not dying.”

“Fine,” said James. “Play some of that loud, ear-smashing stuff you two are so mad about, then.”

Remus smiled, picking through the records. “That, I can do.” He made short work of finding the Alice Cooper and setting it on. Sirius sat up as soon as the guitars began with a broad smile, and he spat his gum out into the pages of what Remus dearly hoped was his own textbook and not one of Madam Pince’s. Sirius hopped off of his bed and turned up the volume dial in a way that meant the music would quickly become the entire common room’s problem. Remus privately thought that the gramophone hadn’t fully recovered from the Sonorous Charm on his birthday, and had a tendency to slip into louder and louder volumes on its own.

Sirius pointed at Remus, whipping around hair that had grown much too long.

Well, we can’t salute ya, can’t find a flag!

He pointed at James and Peter, pulling them both away from their packing.

If that don’t suit ya, that’s a drag! School’s out for summer!

Remus had no choice but to follow as Sirius pushed a grumbling Peter and grinning James out into the corridor and down the stairs. Sirius slid down the wooden bannister all the way into the common room, and Remus, overtaken by some desire to make a fool of himself, did the same.

Lily was on the couch with Mary and Marlene, all three of them already packed, all three of them with their legs tucked up and Claude between them, and all three of them looking up with begrudging smiles as Remus and the other boys followed the music that had already been streaming down from the dormitories. The few other students who weren’t trying to sort out their trunks looked up with half exasperated interest. Sirius cut his way straight to Mary, stopping only to pat Claude on the head, then pulling her to her feet as she giggled.

No more pencils, no more books! No more teacher’s dirty looks!

Remus flopped down onto the couch, watching James try to lift Peter over his head while Peter struggled to get back to the dormitory and continue his packing. Mary had coaxed Marlene into joining and so Remus raised an eyebrow at Lily beside him. “Idiots, the lot of them, aren't they?”

“Oh no you don’t,” said Lily getting up and starting to sway. “Don’t drag me into your dancing is lame bout of moping. Claude and I like to boogie like the rest of them.”

And so Remus leaned back with a broad grin while Sirius clambered onto the back of the couch, first playing the air guitar then smashing it to imaginary smithereens over Remus’s head. Lily, Mary, and Marlene each took a turn spinning with a yowling Claude, and James managed to lift Peter who had finally begun to laugh.

Chapter Text

June 23, 1973

Sirius

Head pounding and stomach writhing, Sirius shook off the effects of the Side-Along Apparition. While never pleasant, he suspected that his mother’s method had just a little bit more of an unpleasant, suffocating squeeze than anyone else’s might have.

She and Kreacher had Apparated them straight from the platform, bringing him and Reg to the little square of brown grass outside of Grimmauld Place. One of the rubbish bins had been overturned on the foot path, and a muggle car with a great number of parking violation tickets on its windshield protected them from being directly spotted. Luckily, no muggles were nearby to ogle the strange group. Sirius wasn’t sure precisely what they’d presume they were seeing if they spotted Kreacher—maybe a very ugly hairless dog.

Sirius had only begun to look at the shabby state of the Number Eleven and Number Thirteen terrace houses when both buildings were squashed to either side, and the grim exterior of Number Twelve ballooned into place between them. It was as ugly as it might have once been stately, with peeling paint and with curtains drawn tightly shut. Sirius was pulled along by his mother, Regulus ambling behind, until they’d reached the black front door. He thought of the first muggle song Remus had shown him, that one about wanting everything painted black, and nearly laughed before he decided there was really nothing funny about it. Sirius eyed the serpent door knocker with great dislike as he was yanked harshly through the threshold.

Despite it being an hour or so before sundown, the entrance hall was very dark aside from the few lit candles in their sconces along the wall, uplighting the mounted elf heads. During the last couple of moths of term, Sirius had only just begun to feel as if he weren’t parchment-pale, but he suspected he’d return to that sorry state very soon this summer.

He hefted his trunk, expecting a repeat of last summer—a few screaming matches over meals, maybe a little throttling over any reported misdeeds during the school year, but for the most part being left alone to snoop in the library and see if he could sneak out into muggle London through the weed-filled back garden.

Instead, he found his father standing very still in the stairwell, blocking his progression up to his room.

“Hullo, Father,” said Sirius, hoping this greeting could be as short and terse the one with his mother at the King’s Cross Station. “Spiffing to see you and all that; if you could just budge over—”

“Sirius,” his father said gruffly, not moving one bit. Orion Black was a tall, broad shouldered man with a skeletal gauntness to his face and a high forehead. Sirius knew that he looked like him; how could he not when his parents greatly resembled each other? But he also knew he took after his mother more: sharper features, a bit less hollow and with a bit more meanness around the eyes. He always suspected that if he led a very exhausting and disappointing life, he might come to take after his father a bit more. Sirius took a step back, bumping into Reg, as his mother came to stand beside his father on the landing. He tightened his hold on his trunk, readying himself for whatever type of scolding was about to come his way.

“Sirius,” his father repeated. “Your mother and I have noted of late that you might have grown content in thinking of yourself as somewhat of a lost cause to this family.”

“Yeah…” said Sirius slowly. “What was it that clued you in? Was it the Gryffindor bit in particular, or just the fact that everyone in it hates me, and I hate them back?”

“Do not speak to your father in such a manner!” his mother screeched, clutching the bannister tightly, her mouth a comical pucker of rage. “Keep your insolence on a leash, you beastly child!”

“See,” said Sirius, pointing his mother’s way. “It’s stuff like that that rather drives home the whole lost cause thing.”

His mother looked about to open her mouth again, but Orion only laid a bony hand on her shoulder, and she settled for grimacing at the dark carpet instead. “Your mother and I,” his father began again, “have come to the conclusion that you must not be ousted from this family, but rather brought back into it. Rehabilitated into understanding the pillars we stand on, the legacy we’re borne from, the—”

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “I know the pillars just fine: blood supremacy and muggle eradication. I’m just not that big of a fan, so—”

“Do you see?” his mother asked his father shrilly. “Do you see that he is beyond the grasp of sanity? He is corrupted! Tainted by the blood traitors he spent Christmas with!”

“She’s got the spirit,” Sirius agreed, trying once again to get past them to his room.

“You do not understand me, it seems, boy,” his father said, a bit louder and sterner, face reddening. “Your days of making a mockery of this family are over! You shall not be an embarrassment to us any further. You shall mind your tongue, or else find that you cannot use it at all!”

“Right,” said Sirius, eyes narrowed. “Now, can I go to my room?”

His father continued to ignore his question. “Your Aunt, Uncle, and cousins are coming for supper this evening before they leave London for Oxfordshire. Do you intend to behave yourself with propriety, boy?”

“Depends,” said Sirius shrugging. “Is Andromeda coming with Ted Tonks?”

“DO NOT SPEAK THAT NAME!” His mother shrieked so loudly that even Regulus flinched behind him.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Is Bella coming?”

“Your cousin Bellatrix will be in attendance with her newly betrothed,” his father said stiffly, lips very white. “It is a happy occasion.”

“That Lestrange git?” Sirius asked incredulously. “I don’t think that fanatic old pillock would know a happy occasion if it bit him in the arse.”

“LANGUAGE!” His mother screamed, looking like she might faint.

Sirius’s father nodded as if this settled the matter. “You may go to your room, boy.”

With a huff of relief, Sirius elbowed his way past the two of them. He made it to his room and was pleased to see that his fire-repellant charms had worked on the Gryffindor hangings. They remained up, defiant and bright in the very faded room, although their corners were slightly shredded from Kreacher’s continued efforts to bring them down. The large bed and broad space seemed to him too large and empty after the cozy confines of the dormitory.

To his disgruntlement, his father had followed him up to the top landing, watching as he set his things down. Sirius turned to him expectantly. “Something else?”

His father looked at him for a long moment, then raised his wand. “Expelliarmus!”

Sirius’s wand flew out of his robe pockets, into his father’s outstretched hand. Sirius frowned in surprise. “What—”

But then the door was being shut forcefully, and Sirius heard the lock click. He hurried forward and rattled the knob a few times, shaking the door for good measure. “Regulus!” he called out before he could stop himself. But then there was a strange and unnerving buzzing in his ears that blocked out all noise, even that of his own breathing and heartbeat. It only faded when he took his hand off the door.

It had been charmed to keep any sound from passing through it at all.

Sirius stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Only a few candles were not burnt out in the chandelier above him, and it was very dim in the room. The books he’d stashed away from the study over the summer were gone. He went to open the window curtains, but the glass had been transfigured to dark brick. After a few minutes passed and he’d heard nothing at all from the hallway, he leaned against the door and sank down until he was seated with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He still wore the boots Mrs. Potter had bought for him over Christmas. She’d looked pleased to see him happy, and she had hushed James and Remus when they insisted they looked to big for his feet. Sirius wondered if he had grown into them any more in the months since.

With his back pressed to the wooden door, the silencing charm returned, muffling everything, and Sirius welcomed it, closing his eyes and letting the sound of him disappear.

It wasn’t until much, much later that Sirius felt, rather than heard the door unlocking behind him. He scooted forward as it swung open, and looked up, unsurprised to find Regulus standing there with a knobbly iron key in his hand. Sirius figured his visiting family had already left for Oxfordshire, and supper was long over, judging by the way his stomach rumbled.

Regulus tried to say something from the hallway, but Sirius could not hear him, indicating as much with a shrug. Regulus sighed and stepped inside the room, through the silencing barrier.

“Got Kreacher to give me this,” said Regulus, holding up the key when Sirius could at last hear him. “It was dreadfully inconvenient, couldn’t make him stop punishing himself for nearly ten minutes after.”

“What do you want?” Sirius asked, not particularly caring about Kreacher’s fate. The elf had probably worked himself into a proper celebration at the idea of Sirius starving to death over the summer holidays.

“Andromeda’s pregnant,” Regulus said in a rush.

Sirius frowned in surprise.

“She married that mudblood last year,” Regulus continued. “Bellatrix went to find her and reign her back in after Christmas, but found all that out instead. Apparently Bella sort of lost it and nearly tried to kill the mudblood, and Father and Uncle Cygnus had to pull every string they had in the Ministry to keep her from being tried for it in front of the Wizengamot.”

Sirius, still sat on the floor, felt frozen with alarm, but he managed to say, “Ted Tonks.”

“What?” asked Reg.

“Ted Tonks,” Sirius repeated with a snarl. “The muggleborn is named Ted Tonks. That's who Bellatrix would have tried to kill. He was Hufflepuff at school. A good student, a Prefect and everything. ”

“Oh,” said Reg, looking at his feet. He’d changed into nice dinner things, dress robes and smart shoes. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella didn’t tell a soul except Mother and Father. Narcissa only found out today, she was miserable, cried all through dinner.”

“What does she have to cry about? She’s the one that told everyone about Andy and Ted,” Sirius pointed out bitterly.

“Only to try and help Andromeda get back on course with the family,” Reg shot back quickly.

“Yes, and look how well that worked,” said Sirius, brow raised. “So that’s why I’m being kept prisoner, then, is it? Mummy and Daddy saw what happens when blood traitors in the family are left to their own devices and are hoping to set me right before I knock up some muggleborn bird?”

Regulus blushed a little red at the words. “They’re only trying to avoid more scandal.”

“Oh yes, scandal,” said Sirius, rolling his eyes. “The horror of Andy marrying someone she’s not related to and having a baby that stands a chance of being happy.”

“Look,” said Regulus hotly. “I came to sneak you some food from supper. Do you want it or not?”

“My generous jail keeper,” Sirius snorted. “Sure, hand it over, then.”

Reg seemed to debate something with himself, then sat down and pulled two roast beef sandwiches wrapped in napkins from his robe pocket, handing one to Sirius and keeping the other form himself.

Sirius examined the sandwich. “I don’t think these are what you had for supper.”

“No,” said Regulus, looking down at the floor. “I made them in the kitchen. I forgot how horrible Kreacher’s formal suppers are.”

“And now you’re spoiled by the Hogwarts kitchens,” Sirius guessed with understanding, tucking in. He spoke with his mouth full. “I reckon Kreacher can manage to make a meal that’s not soaked in goose fat and somehow still bone dry. I think Mother and Father just like their food that way.”

Reg hummed noncommittally, biting into his own sandwich.

They ate for a while in silence, before Sirius muttered, “Blimey, a baby. I hope I get the meet the thing.”

“Why?” Regulus asked, brushing crumbs from his fingers daintily. “Bellatrix thinks it’ll probably be a Squib since there’s no magic in the blood.”

Sirius scoffed. “It’s a baby, you dolt. And that’s not at all how any of that works.” There might have been a time a few years ago where Sirius would have believed as much, too, even if he hadn’t felt as smug and superior about it as the rest of his family. It was thanks to the Potters, maybe even Mary Macdonald and Lily Evans, that he knew it was utter tosh. “Stop listening to Bella. And stop listening to Lestrange and his bird-brained hysterical cronies, for that matter, too.”

“They’re the Knights of Walpurgis,” said Regulus. “They have some traction at the Ministry. Evan Rosier’s father says they’ve got legitimate grounds for—”

“Please,” said Sirius. “If you’ve come here to spout that rubbish to me, save it. I’m letting you stay for your sandwich, and that’s about it.” Sirius had heard all about the Knights of Walpurgis against his will from long, dull discussions between his mother and Uncle Cygnus at holiday suppers. It was a revived old party from the ancient days of the Ministry that now welcomed blood purists and general lunatics.

Regulus scowled, but he went back to his eating.

Sirius eyed the key that laid just beneath his brother’s knee. “What are the chances of you leaving that behind?” he asked.

“None,” said Regulus simply. “I’ve got free reign of the house, right now. I don’t intend on giving Mum and Dad a reason to lock me in my room, too.”

Sirius sighed. “It’s going to be a long summer.”

“I’ll feed you,” was Regulus’s oh-so-benevolent offer. “I think Mum and Dad expected I’d do as much, even if they don’t want to admit it to themselves. I think they told Kreacher to come up with dinner occasionally, but he might forget.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius bitterly. “Forget.” He sunk his head between his knees. “Do me a favor. If you see a barn owl knocking about the house, don’t let Mum jinx it from the sky. Pretend it’s from one of your weasel-faced friends.”

“Mum’ll read the letters anyway,” Regulus pointed out. “She barely trusts me, thanks to what you’ve put her through. You’ve made everything loads more difficult.”

Sirius groaned. “I loathe, you, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Regulus. “I loathe you, too.”

When Regulus left at long last, Sirius couldn’t tell if he was relieved or horribly disappointed. The door shut behind his brother, encasing Sirius in the gloom once again. The immediate and violent snapping of the lock confirmed that the door had been enchanted, even if Regulus decided to forget to lock it behind him. Sirius collapsed onto his bed, surrounded only by the stifling silence again. He tapped a halfhearted rhythm out on his leg, murmuring to himself—

“I see the people turn their heads and quickly walk away. Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day. I look inside myself and see my heart is black…”

July 31, 1973

Lily

Lily felt as though she’d only just managed to fall asleep, still buzzing on chocolate buttons and Sherbet Fountain that she suspected had stained her tongue bright purple. She and Mary had taken the opportunity of this week together to educate Marlene on muggle sweets, and Marlene had dutifully tried everything with them until they all were more inclined to dance around to Lily’s collection of Elton John than get any sleep.

Mary had brought along with her a brand new copy of Donny Osmond’s Alone Together, which Lily had been very wary of, with the knowledge that Petunia had a poster of Donny Osmond in her bedroom down the hall. But even Lily wasn’t impervious to the charm of Life Is Just What You Make It when it involved a waltz with Marlene that ended in both of them tripping onto her shag carpet. They’d finally forced themselves to lay down, giggling, when Petunia had pounded on the door and demanded they stop their ungodly racket.

Now, Marlene was half tumbled from her borrowed sleeping bag on the carpet while Mary snored quietly, sharing Lily’s pillow in her sleeping bonnet. Lily had finally felt the tug of sleep pulling her under when there was a distinct plink off of her bedroom window. She waited a moment, unsure if she’d dreamed it, but then it came again, distinct and insistent.

Sitting up and trying to be careful not to disturb Mary, Lily pried open the window, which was already cracked to let in the warm summer night air. For a moment, she saw nothing but the dark shadows of her small front garden, but then she spotted him—Severus, with a handful of garden gravel, peering up at her. His dark hair was longer than it had been last summer, long enough that he’d tried to tie it back. He was in the muggle clothes given to him by his mother since his father refused to buy him much of anything. Blinking down at him, Lily watched as he gave her a small wave without a smile.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Lily held up a single finger to indicate one moment, then quietly slipped from the bed, grabbing a jumper to pull over her nightgown as she crept down the stairs of the little house and unlatched the front door.

Severus was waiting for her on the stoop, already sat on the brick stair. Lily yawned broadly, sitting to join him. She’d been on several long walks with him earlier this summer, sometimes down to the kiddie park that they no longer found amusing to play in, sometimes along the dirty river and train tracks, all the way down to the drab high street of Cokeworth. Sev had asked her not to come visit him at Spinner’s End after she’d overheard a particularly violent spat between his mother and father.

The street lamps were few and far between, and it was difficult to make out Severus’s face in the dark. “What are you doing out?” she asked him. “It’s quite late, isn’t it?”

“He’s gone,” said Severus flatly.

Lily’s drowsy brain took a moment to catch on. “Your father? Where’s he gone to?”

Snape shrugged. “Packed up two days ago and said he's off looking for work. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Oh, Sev,” Lily murmured. “I’m very sorry.”

Severus scoffed, and the sound was defensive and mean. “It’s good that he’s left. He makes that whole house miserable. Hasn’t worked a moment since the mill shut down, and I think he just takes off in the day to drink away any savings. I’m glad he’s gone. Only wish he’d taken off sooner.”

“Hm,” said Lily. “How's your mum?”

“Sits there like a toadstool all day,” Severus muttered. “Dad wouldn’t let her do anything close to magic in the house, of course, and now I reckon she’s forgotten how. As useless as a real muggle, she is.”

Lily bit down her response to that. “Severus,” she began carefully, “you know it’s not your fault that he’s miserable. I know he took frustration out on you, but it’s got nothing to do with—”

“Yes it does,” said Severus sharply. “Mum didn’t even tell him what she was until she had me and I kept flying out of the bassinet. She had to treat it like a horrible secret, and he went right along with that. He might have had a dull, normal muggle life if I hadn’t come along and been what I am.” His voice went a bit tight. “He can’t bear to look at me, you know that? He’s never forgiven me for ruining it all.”

As her heart wrenched, Lily reached out to touch Severus’s shoulder, worried he might flinch away. He did not, however, and she took this as a good sign. “You haven’t ruined anything,” she assured him quietly, leaning her head onto his shoulder. “He’s the horrible one.”

“I know that,” Sev said passionately. “He’s the bumbling muggle idiot that couldn’t keep a job. He couldn’t understand half of what I’ve learned even if he tried.”

Lily frowned. “It’s got nothing to do with him being muggle. It's that he’s got no imagination and is angry about it. You deserve a much better father than all that. Petunia can be a bit of the same, sometimes.”

Severus nodded, appearing slightly calmed by this commonality. He tilted his head so that it rested on hers. “Thanks, Lily.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching the neighbor’s porch light flicker and attract moths. Severus stopped fidgeting with his hands, and the stillness was pleasant.

“Anyway,” Severus said slowly. “He was the one that screamed at me any time I tried to leave the house. I can visit loads more this summer, now.”

“Oh good,” said Lily with a smile, although she could not help thinking about Mary and Marlene upstairs, who would be visiting for another three days. She doubted they’d be willing to stroll about with Severus, and he’d be quite unwilling to do the same with them. And then there was an early weekend in August when she’d be visiting the McKinnons near Edinburgh. After that, they were visiting with Mary in London so that they could do their school shopping in Diagon Alley.

“Tomorrow,” said Severus, tilting his head so that he might look at her, “maybe we can visit that muggle cinema you always want to drag me to. I haven’t got any money for the ticket, but I can sneak around the back, I s’pose.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Lily, “but—”

“Lils?” came a quiet, sleepy voice from above. Lily and Severus both looked up, Severus leaping to his feet as he did so. Mary was peering out of the upper story window with her sleeping bonnet on, eyes squinted into the dark. “Who’re you talking to?”

Severus looked at Lily, quite alarmed. “Were they listening?”

“No, Sev,” said Lily quickly. “They were sleeping, obviously. They’re visiting this week.”

“Got Potter and Black up there, too?” Severus asked with a sneer.

“No,” said Lily, horrified. “I invited the girls at the end of term. I would have told you, but it didn’t seem like you'd like to know. Clearly I was right.”

“You would invite Lupin, though,” Severus pointed out, half-listening. He was backing away toward the front gate.

Lily scowled. “Remus hasn’t got anything to do with anything. But yes, I’d quite like to go to the cinema next weekend if you—”

“I’ve got to go,” said Sev, turning around. “It’s late.”

With a sigh, Lily followed him to the front hedge, and then watched him make his way quickly down the avenue of brick houses, tucking into an alleyway when he was nearly out of sight. Lily turned back to where Mary was still peering out the window, rubbing her eyes. She frowned and whispered out, “Was that Snape? What was he doing here?”

“I told you we grew up nearby,” Lily loudly whispered back.

“Yeah,” said Mary. “But I didn’t realize nearby meant he lived in your front garden.”

Lily didn’t answer until she’d slipped back inside, locking the front door behind her, and crept her way back into her bedroom. Marlene remained blissfully unaware, leg twitching within the sleeping bag. “He doesn’t live in my front garden,” she said, keeping her voice low for Marlene’s sake as she hung up her jumper.

“No? Just appears there in the middle of the night, then, does he?” Mary gave her a mischievous eyebrow waggle.

“Not usually,” said Lily. “He just…well, he probably doesn’t want me to tell you,” she finished apologetically.

“Fine,” said Mary, pulling the blankets back up to her chin. “I don’t want to know, anyway. Just promise you’re not sneaking out and snogging him.”

Lily blanched. “What! Why—I am not—Eugh! That’s not at all what we…that couldn't be further from the…”

“All right, all right,” said Mary, tugging Lily back onto her own bed and trapping her in a cuddle. “But maybe someone ought to tell him that.”

August 11, 1973

Remus

The little stone hearth erupted into emerald flames, and Remus’s mam jumped from the chair where she’d been attempting to start a painting. “Heavens,” she said, grasping her chest. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“Da Apparates in every month,” Remus pointed out, standing up from his seat on the sofa eagerly. “That’s even more sudden.”

“Yes,” his mam agreed. “But he does so on the front step and then rings the bell.”

A figure emerged from he tall green flames, crouching to duck under the low mantel. When the figure straightened, it was a beaming Mrs. Potter in dashing green robes and a matching pillbox hat. James arrived hot on her heels, nearly knocking her off of her feet as he emerged much less gracefully. His hair was a mess, but it was longer, making it less pointy and more fluffy. He beamed, all white teeth and smudged spectacles as he dodged around his mother to capture Remus in a crushing hug.

“Hello,” Mrs. Potter said pleasantly, turning to Remus’s mam who was standing as well, hastily smoothing her house dress. “What a lovely home you have, Mrs. Lupin! Never visited Swansea, but your summer weather here is gorgeous, you must tell me how your garden fares.”

“Oh,” said Remus’s mam. “Well yes, I—I mean, thank you.”

“I’ve brought some gulab jamun, if you fancy it,” said Mrs. Potter, holding out a covered dish for his mam to take. “Made far too much, and If I don’t find it another home, James will eat it all.”

“Don’t see what the issue is with that,” James grumbled. “Anyway, how are you, Moo—” James stopped short, glancing at Remus’s mam. “Er—How are you, Remus? Blimey, you’ve gotten taller. Good summer so far?”

“Yeah,” said Remus, knuckling James’s hair. “All right. Yours?”

“Excellent,” said James. He began a lengthy repeat of what he’d detailed in his letters, a couple of Puddlemere United matches with his father, a trip to Nice and another to Barcelona. Remus nodded and listened while his mam and Mrs. Potter set the food down in the kitchen, then took a tour of the paintings, at Mrs. Potter’s insistence.

“Anyway,” James continued. “Peter and his mum should be getting to the Leaky Cauldron right about now. We’ll meet them there.”

“Great,” said Remus, but part of his good mood faded. “You haven't heard at all from Sirius, have you?”

James’s face instantly fell. “Not a thing. Featherby came back without a response the first time, and then came back with all the letters still on his leg the second, third, and fourth. I’m proper worried. You don’t think his parents did him in, do you?”

“No,” said Remus uneasily. “But he’s probably in enormous trouble with them.”

“Yeah,” agreed James. “I’ve been sick about it. I had to stop sending the letters in case they were making things worse. I looked up a tracking spell and everything to try and kidnap him from wherever their fortress is in London, but it’s advanced magic—more than I can get away with doing over the summer. Tried to get Dad to do it, but he just droned on about how that sort of thing is technically illegal. Plus, he reckons the house is Unplottable.”

Remus nodded, sharing the concern. At last Mrs. Potter and his mam returned to the sitting room, and Mrs. Potter clapped her hands together. “All right, boys. Are we ready? Hope, are you quite sure you wouldn’t like to join us and have a Butterbeer or a Gillywater?”

“Oh,” said Remus’s mam, smiling tight. Remus suspected that both beverages sounded a bit frightful to her. “Oh no, I’m quite all right.”

“Next time,” Mrs. Potter insisted brightly. “Got everything, Remus? Has your father sent you his Gringotts key? Yes? Good, then we’d better be off.”

Remus gave his mam a quick peck as Mrs. Potter withdrew a pouch from her robe, opened it, and poured a bit of sparkling dust into her hand. She threw it into their fire grate, saying clearly, “The Leaky Cauldron!” then stepped into the green flames that roared into existence. She was followed quickly by James, and Remus waved farewell as he, too, entered the whirling and nauseating flames of the Floo.

After a good deal of spinning and lurching and coughing into ash, his feet landed hard on stone, and he opened his eyes to find himself stood in the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron, which was much taller than his own to accommodate Floo travelers. He’d been here before to do his own school shopping, but he still looked around with interest at the crowded inn and pub, taking in the many oddly dressed witches and wizards that gathered at the sticky tables, carrying trunks or else surrounded by shopping bags. A woman that Remus thought might have been a hag was sat at the bar, hiccoughing as she ordered what looked to be her seventh round. Owls hooted at them from rafters or from within cages as Mrs. Potter navigated the throng skillfully, James and Remus struggling to keep up.

Peter and Mrs. Pettigrew were waiting in the courtyard out back, dressed smartly; it seemed Peter had been forced to have his hair combed very neat and flat. James and Remus captured Peter in a long, excited hug while Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Pettigrew exchanged pleasantries that involved a great deal of fluttering hands on Mrs. Pettigrew’s part. When at last she remembered herself, Mrs. Pettigrew found the brick three up and two across from the center, tapped it three times with her wand, and an archway appeared and expanded until it was large enough for all of them to walk through. Remus had needed to ask the barkeep to do it for him before his first year.

The ride down to the Gringotts vaults through caves and tight stone corridors was as terrifying as Remus remembered it from his youth, and by the time the cheerful Goblin assisting him, Nuckwick, pulled the cart to a stop, Remus’s hands hurt from gripping the sides with all his might. His family vault—his da’s vault, really—was nothing to be impressed by. It contained a few old family artifacts and heirlooms and an unassuming pile of gold, silver, and bronze. If the idea hadn’t been terribly rude, he might have wanted to ask the Potters to see theirs, which he figured was much older and more interesting. Remus avoided the silver Sickles, grabbing the Galleons instead. He was not looking forward to the faces of the shopkeepers when he asked for change in Knuts, if possible.

He met the Potters and Pettigrews back outside the large marble bank, trying to keep his knees from buckling after the bumpy ascent, which had been just as violent as the descent. They visited Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions first, at Mrs. Potter’s insistence. “These boys won’t stop growing,” she told Madam Malkin fretfully. Remus intended to buy new school robes, which he needed unless he wanted his scarred forearms and skinny ankles to stick out from his old ones, but Mrs. Potter picked out two more for day use and had purchased them for Remus before he could protest.

They perused the Apothecary and the many booths outside of it for a refresh on their potions ingredients, and Remus couldn’t help but notice that James and Peter were lingering at some of the rare stalls, which were selling things they wouldn’t possibly need for third year Potions—things like Unicorn tail hairs and Phoenix ash. “Come on,” Remus insisted as Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Pettigrew walked further and further away. “What in Merlin’s name do you need this stuff for?”

“Nothing!” said James quickly. “Can’t a bloke window shop around here?”

“Yeah,” said Remus, eyes narrowed. “At Quality Quidditch Supplies, maybe. Are you both suddenly passionate about N.E.W.T.-level Potions?”

“Never too early to think about it,” said Peter. Remus knew for a fact that Peter would not be taking Potions past his O.W.L.s, so he scoffed and tugged them along the cobblestone streets.

The tall buildings leaned this way and that, signs swinging rambunctiously without any wind, colorful exteriors made all the more dizzying by colorful wares crammed into every window. Before tackling the book shop, Mrs. Potter put forth the idea of stopping for an ice cream, to everyone's immense agreement. When they entered Florean Fortesue’s Ice Cream Parlour, Remus was surprised to see Alice in a candy stripe robes and matching hat behind the counter, although he supposed he shouldn’t have been, based on the name of the establishment.

“Hello!” Alice said happily, brushing her hands on her apron. “Doing some school shopping, are you? I was hoping someone friendly would come by and visit soon.”

“Fortescue!” James called with a smile. “Working this summer?”

“Yes,” said Alice, frowning. “It’s been so dull. Anyway, what can I get you?”

When it was Remus’s turn at the counter, he embarrassedly handed Alice a Galleon, even though the cost was only three Sickles. She raised an eyebrow at it, but only dug through the register drawer until she’d gathered fourteen Sickles, and held the silver back out for him to take.

“Er—” Remus started, feeling very guilty for what he was about to ask. “Any chance—”

James elbowed Remus aside and took the silver easily. “You still owe me from Christmas, remember, Moony?” he asked, giving Remus a wink before turning back to Alice. “He’s an unreliable lump, that one. I’ll take a scoop of the honeycomb, thanks.”

It was only when they were waiting for Peter to finish deciding his flavor when James nudged Remus. “Don’t let me forget I’m carrying your silver for you. I’ll get all your Butterbeers on our first trip to Hogsmeade next term,” he said happily.

Remus nodded. Without fuss or the need to be asked, James had noticed what was wrong and taken care of it. The thought made it difficult to swallow, what with the way Remus’s heart swelled.

With a heaping cone of toffee brittle in hand, Remus sat outside with James and Peter, while Alice neglected the ice cream counter and forewarned them about the excruciating boredom of taking on summer work for extra pocket money. “It’s not all bad, though,” said Alice. “Free ice cream, and all that. And Frank comes to visit at least twice a week. His mum’s a strict old bird and doesn’t want him dating when it might interfere with his N.E.W.T. studies, so she thinks he’s just got an addiction to Cherry Tart Sherbet. He got the Head Boy position, though, he told me last week. Oh! And I’ve been made Team Captain!”

“Of course you have!” enthused James, nearly toppling his ice cream as he clapped her on the back. “Well deserved, too!” He stood to salute her formally. “Lead us to victory, and all that, fearless leader.”

They left Alice, who looked very sad to see them go, and entered Flourish and Blotts with its mazelike shelves and disorderly stacks of tomes. Remus had to find his way to a very dusty, old section of the store to find the texts required for Ancient Runes, and he sneezed heartily as he unearthed Spellman’s Syllabary and Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms.

James’s head appeared from around a corner. “Eugh, smells like mouldy pants back here. Mum and Mrs. Pettigrew are at the Haughty Hattery, and Pete and I are going to skip over to Quality Quidditch Supplies. You nearly done?”

“Go on,” said Remus, waving him off. “I want to browse a bit.”

“Of course you do, swot,” said James affectionately, shaking his head at Remus as he left.

Remus was much less a swot and much more someone who actually needed to complete his homework and do the reading if he wanted any hope of keeping up with James and Sirius, but he did enjoy the muffled quiet of Flourish and Blotts, picking out a few bits of interesting reading to take along with his course books. When he’d had his fill, he made his way to the counter. Behind it sat a broad-faced man with a shiny balding patch on his head and a very small nose that seemed unable to keep up his bent spectacles.

“Third year at Hogwarts, is it?” the shopkeeper asked merrily, marking down the books in Remus’s stack. He set down his quill to begin bagging Remus’s collection, but the feather picked itself up and continued scribbling on its own.

“Yeah,” Remus agreed. He was watching the quill, waiting for it to complete its sum of the cost, when his attention was grabbed by a small book, of which there were many copies behind the counter. A few were set by the till, upright and on display. It was the author that had captured Remus’s attention—Deirdre Spatz, their first year Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. But then the title became immediately more interesting to him—Defending Yourself from the Darkest of Creatures: How to Protect Yourself During the Next Full Moon.

The shopkeeper caught Remus looking at the book and handed him a glossy copy. “Quite the demand for this one, recently,” he told Remus. “I can see why, with the small uptick in attacks. Still, I think Miss Spatz ought to be careful, considering what happened the last time one of these came out.”

Remus cleared his throat quickly. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“All speculation of course,” said the man, waving his hand and ducking his head conspiratorially. “Just rumors. Lyall Lupin, a fellow from the same regulatory department as Spatz, wrote a very popular pamphlet some years ago when relations were tense with the Werewolf packs. There were some provocative statements in there, you know the sort. Said that Werewolves should be outlawed from gathering, that they should be tagged with permanent identifiers, that all packs should be disbanded by force…he even put forth that Werewolves be kept in Azkaban half the month.”

Remus felt as though his stomach had been yanked by a hook down through the floorboards, and he had half a mind to follow it. “Oh,” was all he managed to say.

“It had some Lycanthropy sympathizers at St. Mungo’s up in arms,” the shopkeep continued. “Apparently, the Werewolves themselves got ahold of it, and it caused quite a stir with them. Of course, many believe that the werewolves can’t read, but I think that’s all a bit of tosh. Anyone with a mind for it can read, I say.”

“I see,” said Remus very slowly. He set Professor Spatz’s book down, feeling as though it might burn him, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his new robes. Without quite meaning to, he heard himself ask, “And what did the Werewolves do, then? When they read it?”

“That’s the rumor bit,” said the shopkeep, raising a bushy brow. “Some say a high-up Werewolf came and paid Lupin a visit—shook him up and tossed around a few threats. Anyway, he never published anything on the matter again. He even went so far as to have all the pamphlets rescinded from this shop, if you can believe it.”

“Mm,” said Remus, really feeling sick now. He wanted to turn and sprint from the store, to forget about the books and find somewhere very dark and quiet. Still, he forced himself to ask, “When did you say this was?”

“Let’s see…” the shopkeeper mused. “At about the same time, that tell-all on Celestina Warbeck was flying off the shelves, couldn’t keep that one in stock…So it must have been near about seven or eight years back. Think that’s right…”

With a sort of ringing in his ears, Remus barely heard the shopkeeper as he told him his total, and he left before the man could finish rooting through the till for his Sickle and twelve Knuts in change.

Remus walked dazedly out onto the street and collided with a hurrying witch, not bothering to apologize as he considered if he wanted to lay down on the cobblestones or rush off to the nearest loo to be sick. He’d never heard that his da had published something. He’d definitely never heard that his da had published something about Werewolves, just over seven years ago. Remus thought it might be the sort of thing someone might mention, seeing that it meant Lyall Lupin had done rather a lot to aggravate an already restless Werewolf community, and very soon after, Remus had been bitten in his room, woken in terror from his sleep in searing agony.

Remus usually took great care not to think about that night, often convincing himself that he was too young, that he couldn’t really remember. And perhaps that was true. He only remembered shock and pain, his da cursing and his mam screaming. But he remembered the full moon after well enough—his first transformation. He knew very well that no one at the time had bothered to mention that it was all his da’s bloody fault.

James and Peter and their mothers were already at the Leaky Cauldron with a Butterbeer ready for him when he arrived, toting his heavy bags of books and supplies. “There you are, Moony,” said Peter. “I thought maybe one of the books had eaten you.”

Remus only sat, taking up the Butterbeer and drinking it very fast.

“You all right?” James asked, looking him over.

“Yeah,” said Remus quickly. He cleared his throat. “You know, just got three days left until…”

“Right,” said James quickly. “Of course you’re not all right, I should have known. Should we get home if you’re feeling poorly?”

Remus felt a little miserable about the half lie, but he didn’t think he could have managed the words for his thoughts, even if he wanted to discuss them. “Sure, yeah.”

Mrs. Potter insisted on escorting Remus through the Floo, even when he tried to tell her that he could get home fine on his own. “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Potter. “I’ve got to tell your mum what a delight you are to spend an afternoon with. Anyway, heavy bags can make the trip a little topsy-turvy, you’d better let me help you with them.”

With a wave to Peter and a halfhearted promise to write in the two weeks before term started, Remus stepped through the dizzying spin of green flames and smoke after James and Mrs. Potter, but not even the Floo Network could make his head spin more than it already was.

James was the only one who seemed to catch on to Remus’s misery, and it was thanks to his cheerful insistence that he needed to break into his books and start his summer homework that Mrs. Potter declined his mam’s offer for tea. When at last they’d gone, Remus’s mam smiled brightly at him. “Good afternoon, then? Looks like you got lots of shopping done. Did you—”

“I’m going to my room,” said Remus rather rudely. He didn’t much care for discussing Diagon Alley just then. Did his mam know about the pamphlets? Remus thought there was very little chance that she didn’t. His da had probably been proud of them at the time.

“Oh,” said his mam, blinking. “All right. Is a headache coming on? A fever?”

“No,” said Remus shortly. “’M just tired.”

Dragging his bags behind him, Remus trudged up to the small bedroom that held his narrow bed and collapsed onto it. He hadn’t decorated his room at all, aside from the T. Rex poster Sirius had gifted him for Christmas that he normally had up in the dormitory. It looked wrong on the pale wallpaper here. There was a stack of new records that he’d picked up in town for their collection at Hogwarts. He might have put one on, but doubted that could improve his mood, and so he stayed where he was, listening to Mrs. March-Meyers’s little dog yapping across the fence.

He even put forth that Werewolves be kept in Azkaban half the month.

Remus had read enough from A History of Magic to know what sort of place Azkaban was. So, the little cage in the cellar wasn’t enough for his da, then. He’d feel better if Remus was in an impenetrable fortress, out at sea, guarded by Dementors who might spring to suck out his soul if he grew too rowdy. That was the sort of monster his da thought Remus was. And he had no one to blame but himself that Remus became that same hateful thing every month.

Remus felt a miserable weight on his chest, and it was impossible to tell if that weight was growing lighter with his rising anger, or if it had only quadrupled in size.

Chapter Text

September 1, 1973

James

“Come on,” said Peter insistently. “All the compartments will be taken if we don’t get a move on.”

“If anyone’s in our usual compartment, just kick them out,” James told him, still scanning the thinning crowd on the platform, hanging half out of the train car with his trunks by his feet on the step.

“Only you and Sirius can do that,” said Peter petulantly. “It doesn't work when I try.”

“There,” said James with immense relief, not truly paying attention to Peter. “Look, there he is, thank Merlin.”

Four figures had just emerged from the barrier bearing the sign for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, all with dark hair and deeply unhappy expressions, bearing a trolley laden with trunks. James had never seen Sirius’s father before, but he had the same dark hair and thin, severe frame as Sirius’s mother. His robes were quite nice, and rather looked like they were attempting to strangle him. James wished a bit bitterly they’d go ahead and finish the job.

Sirius’s mother, scowling and as raving mad-looking as usual, was leading Regulus before her as he kept his head bowed, staring at the paving stones of the platform. James, however, only had eyes for Sirius. Sirius’s hair was trimmed again, cut at his jaw. There was a bleak set of shadows beneath his eyes, and he looked very pale and thin. He’d managed to grow perhaps an inch or two, even though it looked like he hadn’t had proper food or sunshine all holiday. When his father reached for his arm, Sirius flinched away, a look of anger on his face. James watched as he hoisted his trunk from the trolley and ducked away from the lot of them, nearly running to the train. His mum shouted something that he did not heed. He was all the way across the platform from his family when he spotted James, and at long last he broke into a grin that made him look more like himself.

“Potter, you wanker,” he said with deep feeling, hurrying over. “Aren’t you a sight for very sore eyes.”

James laughed and extended a hand, hauling Sirius up to join him and wrapping him in a hug. “You twat. I think I gave myself an ulcer this summer worrying over you. You didn’t write.”

“Couldn’t. I might as well have been in Azkaban all summer.” Sirius returned the hug, tugging James further into the carriage with an arm around his shoulder. Sirius spotted Peter and tossed his other arm around him, planting a loud kiss on the top of his combed, blond head before sputtering. “Eugh, Petey, have you been using Sleakeazy’s?”

“My mum says it makes me look refined,” said Peter indignantly.

“It makes you look like a turtle,” said Sirius. “Where’s Moony?”

“Dunno,” said James, “I was waiting for you. Think he got on the train early, like last year? We haven’t checked our usual compartment.”

The three of them knocked some first years aside as they found their compartment, but it was empty. James ducked into the compartment one down from them, expecting to find Mary, Marlene, and Lily, and he was not disappointed.

“Oi, Evans!” he called. Lily whipped her long hair around from where she’d been peering out the window, and her grin immediately disappeared. “Seen Remus, yet?” James asked.

Lily narrowed her eyes as if there was something very suspicious about James asking after one of his dearest fiends. “No, I was looking, too. He didn’t write me back last week.”

“Me neither,” said James. “Saw him for school shopping at Diagon Alley, though. He’s probably just reading somewhere down the train. Cheers.”

Evans frowned at him as a means of farewell.

When James returned to the compartment with Peter and Sirius, Sirius had lifted the window as much as it would go and thrown his trunk open. He was pulling out very nice, new dress robes in deep blacks and greens and shoving them through the window opening, depositing them in a heap on the platform. Peter watched on with befuddled apprehension.

“Couldn’t wait to shove them in the furnace like usual?” James asked, watching as Sirius handled the stiff robes with great violence and pushed them out the window with savage joy.

Sirius didn’t answer, but over the rest of the noise on the platform, James could hear a nasally screech: “YOU UNGRATEFUL, INSOLENT, WICKED, HATEFUL—”

The remainder of Mrs. Black’s insults were lost to the train’s shrill warning whistle.

“Can’t find Moony,” James said, hoping this might draw Sirius away from his task.

Sirius only pointed out the window. “He’s right there. Dunno why he’s wearing a scarf, it’s bloody sweltering out.”

James hurried to the window and peered out, ignoring Mrs. Black just below them, gathering the robes back up. “TRYING TO KILL YOUR POOR MOTHER, DO HER HEART IN—”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to; you haven’t got a heart,” Sirius called down, dumping a set of silk black shirts with green serpents on the collars down on her head.

James could indeed see Remus hurrying toward the train in one of his usual jumpers, a trunk in each hand and looking as though he was biting his Gryffindor scarf to keep it in place over his mouth and nose. James barely had the opportunity to be relieved, however, since he had to drag Sirius down into his seat before his mother could think to jinx his nose off. “Do you want to survive next summer or not?” James asked, brow raised.

Sirius, depleted of rage for the moment, sighed and slumped on the compartment bench. “Barely survived this one. Might as well enjoy my first bit of freedom.”

James remembered just in time to wave goodbye to his smiling mum and dad when the train began to move, feeling for the first time in his life like he himself was a parent with his hands full trying to mind the naughty children in his charge.

The train was beginning to pick up speed by the time Remus finally opened the compartment door, still half-obscured by his scarf. “There you are! Cut it close,” James noted, making room where Sirius’s trunk was currently sprawled. “Did your mum have work again?”

“No,” said Remus, sitting down beside Sirius and taking off his scarf as though he were angry with it. “Just had to get my da to let me come.”

“Why?” asked James, turning away from the window where a gray London was speeding by. “Did you have a rough time of it on the full—”

But James stopped short, as Remus scowled at his lap, tugging at the too-loose collar of his jumper. Without his scarf, it was possible to see that a new, jagged scar crossed his face. It was still a bit angry and pink, despite the fact that Remus had undoubtedly gotten it two weeks ago, the night of the fourteenth. It sliced through his freckles and over the bridge of his nose, spanning from his jaw to the corner of his opposite eye and making his face look much sharper and older than it had even a few weeks ago.

“Yeah, I know,” said Remus quickly, catching James staring. “It’s awful. Don’t know how I’m supposed to hide this one. Mam cried for ages and Da tried to write to Dumbledore and get me out of school.”

“Out of school?” James asked incredulously. “That’s a bit of an overreaction. It’s—it’s not that bad. It’s actually sort of rugged, you know.”

Remus scoffed, glancing up at James, then at Peter and Sirius who were both staring openly.

“Yeah,” Peter piped in nervously after a moment. “Can’t hardly notice it.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Remus insisted, dropping his face into his hands. “I know what I look like.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius. “You look wicked. The girls are going to go absolutely mad for you this year, as if they weren’t already.”

Remus peered at him between his fingers. “You’re having me on.”

“Am not,” said Sirius. “Jamie, tell him.”

“Yeah.” James nodded vigorously. “I’m proper jealous. Now you’ve got mystique.”

Remus rolled his eyes, hands sliding from his scarred face. “I’ve always had mystique. I’m a bloody Werewolf.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Sirius, finally kicking his trunk closed. “Now, aren’t you going to tell me how worried sick you were for me this summer?”

“Yeah, all right,” said Remus, looking Sirius over for the first time since entering the compartment. “Thought maybe the wicked witch had chopped off your hands so that you couldn’t write.”

Sirius wriggled his fingers in front of Remus before throwing an arm around him in proper greeting. “Nah. For you, Moony, I’d’ve learned to write with my feet.”

“What did they do to you?” James asked. “You didn’t even get any of our owls. I wanted Mum to call the Aurors, you know, but she said they had to have proof of a crime before they’re allowed to storm into a house and steal the family heir.”

“They did a fat lot of nothing,” said Sirius, kicking off his nice wingtip shoes and rooting through his trunk for his Bovver boots. “And somehow that was worse than anything else. Occasionally they’d ask me if I was ready to behave, I’d tell them they had centaur arses where their faces ought to be, and they’d lock me in my room again. The only thing they did to me was subject me to an entire summer of boredom. Now, where’s the trolley witch? I’m going to buy everything she’s got on her cart. I’ve barely had anything other than roast beef sandwiches for two months.”

“They only gave you roast beef sandwiches?” Peter asked.

“No,” said Sirius, “They gave me nothing at all. Regulus had to sneak in all my food, and that’s all he knows how to make. I was grateful at first, but now I think that was all part of the torture.”

“I like roast beef,” Peter noted.

James watched Sirius carefully as he stripped out of his stuffy robes and began rooting through James’s own things, searching for the shirts and trousers he’d made James pack for the summer. He didn’t think there was a more effective punishment for Sirius than a long duration of solitude and boredom, and Sirius looked a little haunted for all his blustering. It made James sick to his stomach.

Remus, too, fingering at his new scar, looked nearly as shut off as he’d been in first year. James sighed—he had his work cut out for him this term. He decided he ought to start with an enormous container of his mum’s pani puri, the smell of which had Mary and Marlene peeking their head into the compartment, too. Even Evans popped by in the hopes of seeing Remus.

Remus did his very best to turn and stare out the window as she and the other girls spoke to him, but when Evans insisted on squeezing in between him and Sirius to talk about their Ancient Rune textbooks, she finally huffed. “Is the landscape really so much more interesting than me telling you about my summer?”

Remus sighed, finally turning to face her and the rest of them, scar lit brightly by the sun shining in from the window. Lily’s green eyes widened, but she did not flinch. “Oh Merlin,” she fretted, tilting her head to the side. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” said Remus. “It’s fine now, really.”

“What on earth happened?” Mary asked in alarm, leaning forward to get a better look. Remus leaned as far away as the tight compartment would allow.

“Sphinx attack,” said James. “He was navigating the dunes in Egypt and failed to answer her riddle.”

“No, really,” scoffed Marlene, brows drawn in concern.

“He stopped some assassins that were plotting to kill the muggle queen,” said Sirius. “She tried to appoint him to her royal guard, but he wanted to finish his studies.”

“Fine,” said Mary, rolling her eyes. “Don't tell us. But you can go to Madam Pomfrey and have her clear that right up, you know. Doris Crockford had all those scars from picking at her spots, and now you can’t even tell.”

“Why would he want it faded?” James asked. “Makes him even more of a handsome devil, don’t you think?”

“At the risk of agreeing with Potter,” said Evans, shouldering Remus with a smile, “I’m afraid it’s true.”

Something strange happened to James at the private smile Lily shared with Remus, something that made him rather want to take back what he’d said and insist that Remus wasn’t all that cool looking. He ignored the strange twinge in his gut, hoping it was indigestion.

Mary considered all this with her head tilted. “You know, maybe you’re right.” She took another assessing look at him. “Merlin, Remus, you’ve gotten tall.”

“All right,” said Remus, going very red and making the skin around his scar even pinker. “Everyone shut it. That’s quite enough.”

The rest of the train ride passed with Sirius demanding every detail of everyone’s summers so that he might live vicariously through them, but James couldn’t help noticing that the news of happy vacations or weekends spent visiting each other made his expression grow darker and darker. Marlene, too, had seen Alice Fortescue in Diagon Alley and heard the news of her becoming Captain, and they speculated for a while on who might replace Roslyn while the other girls left to change into their school robes. James tried not to despair at the idea of choosing a new Chaser from last year’s round of tryouts.

By the time the train slowed into the darkening, lamp-lit Hogsmeade station, they’d changed into their school robes and eaten their way through both James’s mum’s food and the enormous stockpile of sweets Sirius had indeed purchased from the trolley witch. The last of Sirius’s fine black robes with their many silver clasps and buttons had been tossed out somewhere on the Scottish countryside, and he had filled his trunk instead with an assortment of muggle clothes that James had needed an expansion charm placed on his trunk in order to bring along for him.

They made their way off the train with the rest of the students, Claude rubbing against James’s legs and attempting to trip him all the while. With a wave to Hagrid, they found a horseless carriage that was empty aside from Duncan Abbott and Gene Macmillan, a lucky thing since they had a healthy supply of Dungbombs they were willing to share. The hoods were up on the carriages to stop the fine drizzle from coming down on them, and James peered out at village as they bounced on the cobblestones.

“Hogsmeade this year,” he pointed out. “Everyone got their permission slips signed, yeah?”

“Barely,” said Remus, pulling a crumpled sheet of parchment from his bag. “Mam ended up taking pity on me and signing it just before we left for London. My da didn’t want me going. Merlin forbid I go about getting too friendly with the townspeople.” He scowled darkly down at his slip.

“Why?” asked Gene Macmillan, who was eying Remus’s scar apprehensively. “Did you get attacked or something?”

“He took up falconry,” said Sirius. “But he accidentally looked the bird right in the eye as it came to land, and it tried to claw his face off.”

“Oh,” said Gene, looking very unsure.

“Got mine,” said Peter happily, patting his bag. “Can’t wait to visit Zonko’s. I think they’ve got nearly everything on Filch’s prohibited items list.”

“And you, Sirius?” James asked.

Sirius was sunk low in his seat, expression dark. “What do you think?” he asked bitterly. “Think Mummy got the school owl, then handed me a signed slip with a kiss on the forehead? No, she ripped it to shreds and sent Kreacher to purchase my school books without even telling me.”

James nodded, having expected as much. “Well, here, my mum made a copy and signed one for you, too.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a crisply folded sheet of parchment.

With a expression gone blank with surprise, Sirius unfolded it, looking at where James’s mum had neatly written Sirius Orion Black at the top, and signed her very loopy signature at the bottom. He looked up at James, who was smiling broadly. “But…she’s not my mum.”

“It just says the undersigned parent or guardian, doesn't say anything about it being yours,” James pointed out. “And I told you, McGonagall used to come round my parents’ all the time. If she gives you any trouble, I’ll have mum threaten to never send along any laddu ever again.”

Sirius looked back down at the parchment. “Right. There’s that, then.”

He did not say much else as he refolded the form and tucked it into his bags, but James thought Sirius looked rather brighter as they descended from the carriages and made their way up the stone steps to the castle. He even went so far as to trip Avery with a slight enlargement charm on his shoes, which James took to mean he was in much-improved spirits.

It was bright and warm in the Great Hall, and James quickly found the rest of the Gryffindor team gathered around Alice, exchanging hugs and enthusing about summers filled with flying practice. “Malfoy’s gone, now,” said Aryan excitedly. “Massive prat, but a decent Seeker. Slytherin’ll have a hard time replacing him—I hope whoever they bring on isn’t half as good.”

At the table, Nearly Headless Nick was entertaining some second years with a story told enthusiastically enough to send his head toppling down onto his shoulder, but he continued animatedly, not seeming to notice. James rejoined Sirius, Peter, and Remus just as Fabian Prewett leaned over the table with great interest. “Merlin and Morgana, Lupin, are you all right? What happened there?” he asked, gesturing to his own face.

“He went on a date with a banshee,” said James. “Lovely bird, but terrible at snogging. She used far too much teeth.”

Sirius snorted, while Fabian leaned back, nodding as if James’s story were highly plausible.

It took ages for the Sorting Hat to sing its usual ditty, and then for the first years to be sorted, shuffling to their assigned tables with wide eyes and apprehensive faces. Frank, wearing his Head Boy badge pinned very conspicuously at the front of his robes, stood for each of the new Gryffindors, offering them a hearty handshake. At last, when the applause had died down for new Slytherin Cecily van der Hof, Dumbledore stood, eyes twinkling at them all from behind half moon spectacles.

“Welcome, students, to the Hogwarts halls that have awaited you patiently during their very dull and empty summer! We are pleased to see each of you, whether you are bright-eyed and ready for your first foray into magic, or bleary-eyed and hoping never to come across another textbook again. Before we begin the feast, our vigilant caretaker, Argus Filch, has asked me to notify all students that disillusioning oneself and attempting to pull down his trousers unseen is strictly forbidden, and as such has been duly codified into the lengthy Hogwarts rule book, which he encourages students to come by his office and peruse at their leisure.”

Dumbledore beamed at them, then sat back down. The students slowly clapped, realizing that the speech was over on that note, then clapped a bit louder and murmured appreciatively as the feast appeared on the golden platters in front of them.

“Nice work, Pete,” said James, raising his goblet to Peter. “Your stunt last term made it into the Hogwarts rule book!”

“Yeah, well done,” nodded Sirius. “We should celebrate by debagging Filch.”

When they’d eaten their fill of ham, potatoes, carrots, peas, and pudding, they followed Frank and the titchy first years from a distance, listening in as he gave out the password—Chockablock. James bounded up to their dormitory, the others at his heels, and threw the door open to find his trunks and broomstick at the foot of his usual bed.

It took very little time for the room to be scattered with clothes and books as James dug out his posters and photographs, tacking them up over his bed. The other boys were doing the same, Sirius hopping a bit to get into his muggle denims, which he seemed more inclined toward than his pyjamas.

“They’re too tight,” said Peter with an eyebrow raised. “You’re going to loose a bollock.”

“Mind your own bollocks, Pettigrew,” said Sirius, turning to admire his own arse.

James only snorted, stepping back on his bed to contemplate his handiwork with the posters.

It was a Saturday, and the sounds from the common room and adjacent dormitories remained loud and jovial until quite late, and James was full and comfortable and rather worn. Between yawns, He’d been recounting the Quidditch match he’d watched with his dad in Liverpool, knowing full well that Remus was only pretending to listen, but then he blinked, and the room was dark aside from the low furnace. He realized that he must have fallen asleep mid-sentence. He only woke up now because Sirius was shoving at his shoulder.

“Budge over,” Sirius whispered, now in pyjama trousers and a worn muggle band shirt filled with holes.

James yawned massively, then rolled onto his side, arms outstretched. “Come on, then. How I missed you drooling on my arm while you sleep.”

“I wouldn’t drool on your anything if you kept your gangly limbs on your side,” Sirius grumbled.

“It’s my bed,” said James. “All sides are my side.”

Sirius had no response to that other than a half-hearted shove as he made himself comfortable. He was quiet for a moment as he tossed and turned, finally settling on his back. “Feels like it’s been an age since I’ve been warm,” he whispered at last.

James’s heart sank, but he made an effort to smirk as he turned onto his side. “Want to strangle my pillow and pretend its your house elf?” James offered. “That usually helps. What’s his name again? Thatcher?”

“Kreacher,” said Sirius with a shudder. “And no, I hardly saw him this summer. Don’t know if that’s a blessing or not. By the end there, the room actually needed a good Scourgify.”

“You were in the one room?” James asked, no longer able to pretend he found any bit of it funny. “All summer?”

“Sort of,” said Sirius, as if it were of very little consequence. “Got taken down to my dad’s study a few times for a lecture or two. They tried out a family supper, but each time my mum went to take a bite, the food kept flying off her fork and hitting her in the forehead. Accidental magic, I guess. I didn’t even have my wand. But yeah, the rest of the time I was in my room.”

“How did you not go mad?” James asked.

“Dunno. Sort of turned my mind off. The Gryffindor wall hangings helped. Made it so I could pretend I was somewhere else.” Sirius sniffed, but his eyes were dry.

“Wasn’t your brother any help?” James asked. “What did he do, just look away and scratch his arse?”

“That’s sort of his specialty,” said Sirius. “Like I said, he fed me. Conviced my dad to let me have my course books so that I could do the summer homework. I was right chuffed to do it for once. Reckon I don’t have to revise one bit this year with the amount of times I read them over. I’ll be a bigger swot than Moony.”

James attempted a smile, leaning his head against Sirius’s. “We’ll sort it out,” he said quietly. “Poison their tea, or something, and you and I can run off to America.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius. “But let’s commit murder later, can’t we? I’m knackered.”

“All right,” said James, set to yawning again. “But you just say the word, and I’ll order the Deadly Nightshade.”

“Oh good,” said Sirius. “Put it in your name, and when the Aurors come calling, I’ll pin it all on you.”

“Fine,” said James, eyes drifting shut. “Just visit me in Azkaban, won’t you?”

Sirius rolled over onto his stomach, voice muffled in the pillow. “Maybe,” he murmured. “If the weather’s nice.”

James used his remaining energy to kick Sirius beneath the covers, but Sirius barely reacted, mostly asleep. James flung an arm over him, not caring if Sirius drooled on it. He’d be willing to face the Dementors of Azkaban for Sirius Black; he figured he could brave a little drool.

September 2, 1973

Remus

By the end of breakfast, according to James, Sirius, and Peter, Remus had reportedly spent the summer attempting to steal an egg from a harpy nest, breaking into Gringotts and fighting the dragon that guarded its deepest vaults, and entering an illicit underground Troll fighting ring (coming out injured but victorious). The other boys had a different answer for each time someone asked about how he’d gotten his new scar. Most students, Remus figured, saw this for the blatant avoidance it was, but others seemed to be repeating what they heard, frustrated to find that the person they were talking to had heard something different entirely. It was quite confusing. Remus couldn’t be sure who was staring at him out of horror and shock, and who was staring at him with some sort of misguided admiration for his various antics and heroics.

Slytherin fifth year, Bertha Jorkins, seemed in particular to want to have the right of it, and she’d heard that he’d insulted a Merman while swimming in the Atlantic and been struck by his trident. Remus could hear her correcting others in her nasally tone from across the Great Hall.

He kept his head tucked low all through the meal, trying not to flush scarlet and succeeding only occasionally. When at last they headed up from the breakfast, he took care to walk just behind James and Sirius, in the hopes that he’d not be noticed. There was no healing a cursed scar received through magical means, and bites and scratches from a werewolf fit within that category, even if the werewolf was himself. Remus knew that well enough from his various other scars. The best he could hope for was that it would fade pale and silver like the rest of them.

He'd known something was wrong when he woke up after the last full moon; the cage he was in was so throttled that it had rolled thrice, landing him wedged in the corner of the cellar, dented in but unbroken. He felt contorted and wrong, short of breath, as if he’d raged until the very bitter end. The hot, sticky blood was on his fingers and forearms, dripping down his chin. His face seared, swollen and hot as if he’d been stung or burned. The eventual appearance of his da, hurrying down the cellar stairs, hadn’t helped at all. Remus had been angry immediately at the sight of him, a kind of rage that frightened him as if the last dregs of the wolf were holding on.

With the abject horror on his da’s face, Remus had to wonder if the wolf had been trying to punish Lyall Lupin, clawing at its own face as a means of making itself a permanent part of Remus, something his da couldn’t ignore. That begged the question of how much of Remus was in the wolf, how much of his biting, stifled anger had seeped through the transformation.

And if the wolf had wanted to punish his da, it had worked. Aside from the night of the bite and perhaps his first transformation, Remus had never seen his father so distraught, immediately composing letters to healers at St. Mungo’s before crumpling them and throwing them into the rubbish, afraid no healers could be trusted with his pleading questions. His da had come back to Swansea every day for a week, bringing pastes and salves to slather on his face that only stung. All Remus had wanted was potions for pain, but those had been few and far between.

His mam had wept, but she tried tearfully to explain it was only out of worry. Remus, although distraught at the idea of his da pulling him from Hogwarts, had felt vaguely numb to it all. It had only been a matter of time before something like this happened, before the monster part of him crept into the part of him that was very plain. He had no particular attachment to his face or the way he looked, so it hadn’t occurred to him to be vain about it. In the mirror, he only thought that this new scar was the closest thing he had now to his bite wound—proof that something very dangerous wanted to either claim him or do him in.

They made it back up to the dormitory at last, Remus feeling exhausted already from the attention.

“Nice day,” said James happily, peering out the window. “Pete and I are going to get to the pitch before it gets too crowded. Want to join, Black?”

“I thought Pete had his History essay from the summer to finish,” said Sirius, brow raised.

“Yeah,” said Peter, “and I’ll do it when it’s not blooming gorgeous out. Besides, Remus will let me copy his, won’t you, Moony?”

“Sure,” said Remus yawning, “but you’ve got to make at least a few mistakes this time, Pete. Professor McGonagall was getting really suspicious of your essays last term.”

“Fine,” Peter agreed easily. “It’s not as if Professor Binns notices, though. He called James Tommy all last year.”

“I hope he sticks with it this year,” said James, nodding, taking up his broom. “I quite liked being Tommy. I imagine him as a man of means, not afraid to delve into a little danger. Anyway, what do you say, Sirius? Coming?”

Remus was glad that James didn’t bother asking him. It had taken quite a lot of saying no to get to that point.

“Nah,” said Sirius, winking at Remus. “I’ve got other plans for the morning that involve Moony and that stack of new records he thinks I haven’t noticed in his trunk. Can you pass me the—”

Without needing elaborated instruction, James pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and chucked it at Sirius’s head, giving him the bizarre appearance of being decapitated for a brief moment before he shook it out and pulled it over himself, disappearing altogether. Remus waved goodbye to James and Peter, and to where he assumed Sirius was, just behind them.

It wasn’t long before the door opened again, and Sirius reappeared with the familiar gramophone and crate of albums, depositing both at the foot of Remus’s bed and clambering up alongside him with a grin. “All right Moony, you’ve got new stuff, don’t pretend you haven’t. Care to share with the class?”

Remus smiled a bit—he had indeed ransacked the bin of singles for sale at his closest shop, as well as spent a good amount of his mam’s money on Aladdin Sane and The Dark Side of the Moon, specifically picked out for Sirius. This, of course, was when his face had been perfectly fine and he’d been let out of the house on his own.

He reached under his bed, pulling out the stack and handing them over one by one to a beaming Sirius. “Yeah, here. More Bowie, of course, and more Slade, they put these out this summer. What do you want first?”

“Surprise me,” Sirius insisted, making himself comfortable, head on Remus’s legs.

Remus considered the collection, trying to ignore the strange apprehension in his gut. It was only music, after all, and only Sirius. He finally selected a single from Sweet, setting it on and waiting for the siren sounds that began the song, watching Sirius’s very focused face all the while. Sirius bobbed his foot where it hung off the edge of the bed.

You better beware! You better take care! You better watch out if you’ve got long black hair!

Sirius snorted at that, eyes darting up to Remus’s to catch him smirking. With everyone else, Sirius danced to music, and danced almost embarrassingly well. With Remus, however, he didn’t seem to feel the need. He listened instead, like it was something he’d be tested on later.

The cops are out, they’re running about, don’t know if they’ll ever be able to block Buster out! He’s got to be caught, he’s got to be taught, ‘cause he is more evil than anyone here ever thought!

They went through Aladdin Sane next, then Life on Mars, which made Sirius close his eyes, and so Remus did the same. They’d left the window of the dormitory open, and a very nice breeze came through, as well as a slash of bright morning light, warming his legs and giving Sirius the first bit of golden color Remus had seen on his face since he’d joined them on the train. He allowed himself to peek through his lashes at him, the little furrow between straight brows. When the song finally faded, he nudged the top of Sirius’s head with a knee, forcing him to look back. Sirius peeked open an eye, questioningly.

“Shit summer?” Remus asked.

Sirius smiled without humor. “Yeah. And yours?”

“Started out all right,” said Remus slowly, choosing Pink Floyd next. “Then I s’pose I found out it’s my da’s fault I’m a Werewolf, and that put a bit of a damper on things.”

Sirius lifted himself to an elbow, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

Remus told him what he’d learned from the shopkeeper at Flourish and Blotts. “It makes sense,” Remus concluded. “I never even thought to wonder; why would a Werewolf want to attack my family? We haven’t got any power or money. But if my da pissed off the Werewolf packs with everything he said, it figures that turning me would be the worst kind of punishment for him. Y’know, having to live with one of them. Having to raise one. That’s probably why the wolf did my face in last month…I wasn’t exactly in the most peaceful state of mind when I transformed.”

Sirius considered this as the second track murmured quietly from the horn. “I get it,” he said at last. “I get how it feels to be that angry. But I would have wanted to do his face in instead of my own.”

“Yeah,” said Remus, not doubting him. “Reckon it’s good that I’m the Werewolf, and not you, then.”

They got through the rest of the album, both savoring the melancholy of the last track.

And everything under the sun is in tune. But the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

When the heartbeat drums faded, Sirius continued as if they hadn’t stopped talking. “I meant it, you know. The scar looks cool. Very suave.”

“Shut it,” said Remus, taking his pillow and putting it over Sirius’s half-grinning face.

“Just you wait, Moony,” said Sirius’s muffled voice. “You look older than the rest of us, now.” He pointed an accusatory finger in Remus’s direction, not able to see him beneath the pillow. “The ladies of Gryffindor tower will take note!”

“I said, shut it,” said Remus, trying not to laugh. He took off Pink Floyd and figured they’d had enough of the heavy stuff for the morning. He pulled out one of the singles that had felt too peppy for his mood this summer and put it on instead, hoping it would distract Sirius from this line of talk. “And you’re crushing my legs, Black. Get off, you big lump.”

Sirius sat up, throwing the pillow back at Remus and nodding along to the upbeat guitar and keyboard. To Remus’s amusement, he at last decided to get fully upright and dance for an audience of one. “Come on, Moony,” he said, beckoning Remus to join as Gilbert O’Sullivan sang. “You’ve got to learn how to move to music in a less embarrassing way.”

Told you once before, and I won’t tell you no more! So get down, get down, get down!

“No I don’t,” said Remus. “I’ll just sit in the corner and scowl like I always do.”

You’re a bad dog, baby! But I still want you around, around. I still want you around!

“I suppose you’re right,” said Sirius, now attempting a sort of Disco movement Peter had been foolish enough to teach him. “You’ve got your new reputation to uphold now that you’re studying ancient faerie circles in Greenland and battling the native polar bears.”

“I hadn’t heard that one,” said Remus with a frown.

“Yeah, overheard Evans telling Mafalda Hopkirk after breakfast. Catches on quick, that one…I’ll give her that. Now, really, am I meant to dance by myself?”

With a great sigh, Remus stood, attempting a shoulder wiggle that made Sirius laugh very hard, just as James and Peter came in, looking winded and pink in the cheeks. “Moony’s dancing?” James asked in surprise. “Ought I to alert the Daily Prophet?”

Remus only rolled his eyes, changing the single out for one from Stealers Wheel.

Well, I don’t know why I came here tonight! I’ve got the feeling that something ain’t right!

James threw his broom onto his bed and began to strut like a sweaty windswept chicken toward Sirius, who was doing the same back to him. Remus laughed, turning the volume up enough that anyone trying to get a kip in before lunch was likely to complain. With no one in the room but himself and three boys who were making more of an embarrassment of themselves than he could ever aspire to, he let himself sway and nod his head.

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right! Here I am, stuck in the middle with you! Yes, I’m stuck in the middle with you!

Chapter Text

September 4, 1973

Sirius

Sirius kept a curious eye out for their new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, and the newcomer to the head table in the Great Hall was obvious: a very short, squat wizard with a sparse moustache. He was, unfortunately for him, sat next to Professor Slughorn, who had a moustache to put all others to shame and worsened the state of this new professor’s by comparison.

They had to wait until Tuesday to have a lesson with him, but Sirius had listened in eagerly as Benjy Fenwick and Dorcas Meadowes told them about their lesson with the man over Monday’s dinner.

“Professor Boonstock’s not all bluster, like Montclair was,” said Dorcas happily. “Seems to know his stuff. Apparently, he speaks Gobbledegook, Mermish, Ghoulish, and even a bit of Troll. Used to work as a translator and a liaison for the Ministry with a lot of the dark creatures that are amenable to magical cooperation.”

“Wow,” said Marlene appreciatively. “I’ll bet he’s got loads of interesting experience.”

“I dunno,” said Benjy with a frown. “Seemed a bit in his books if you ask me. You’d think he’d have to look a bit tougher to earn the respect of ogres.”

When Tuesday morning came round, Sirius and the rest of the Gryffindor third years waited at their desks to assess the wizard’s mettle for themselves. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was different once again; there were lots of books stacked high in the shelves, as well as translative diagrams with an odd and rough alphabet Sirius assumed was Goblin in origin. Professor Boonstock was immediately off to a bad start as he emerged from his high office, sneezed, dropped many of his papers, and nearly tripped down the stairs. He fell even further in Sirius’s esteem when he had them open their textbooks and take turns reading the dull passages aloud.

The man was a bit pompous and seemingly harmless, interjecting every now and then to correct the passage with a note from personal experience, such as, “Now, when I encountered Grindylows, they weren’t intersted in biting fingers off at all, contrary to what Babineaux has written there. They were much more inclined to pull all the hair from one’s head.”

When it came to be Remus’s turn, he began to read out the proper and polite greeting for a pixie—two winks and a nose honk, although Sirius wasn’t sure how one was meant to honk the tiny nose of a pixie—when Professor Boonstock stopped Remus, taking a good look at him for the first time all lesson. “Good heavens lad, that looks to be the remnant of a dark wound, indeed. What is it that you ran afoul of?”

Remus looked up, startled, a hand coming to rest on the lower part of his own scar. “Oh…er…” He cleared his throat, fidgeting in his seat for a moment. He glanced at Sirius, then turned squarely back to their professor. “I trained this summer at the muggle circus to be a knife juggler, sir. Obviously decided it wasn’t quite for me.”

James, Sirius, and Peter all had to be sent out into the hallway to collect themselves when they could not stop laughing. Professor Boonstock did not seem sure if he could deduct points for Remus’s lip, or if he was meant to believe him.

Aside from Defense Against the Dark Arts, there was Divination, Muggle Studies, and Care of Magical Creatures to look forward to. They managed to find the Divination classroom after winding along halls on the seventh floor while Remus covertly checked the map, finally noticing a circular trap door in the North Tower. Mary looked up at it, head tilted. “How are we meant to—”

Just as she asked this, she had to duck out of the way as the round door swung open and a rope ladder unfurled. With a look at the others, she shrugged and began to climb, leading the rest of the third years who had managed to find their way. Sirius followed Peter up the rope, trying not to get a mouthful of his trainers when he lost his footing once or twice.

The classroom itself was dark and cozy, stone walls nearly entirely obscured by purple and gold striped hangings, the heavy scent of something cinnamon in the air. Thick red carpets, each looking a little ragged, were layered on the floor, and all in all the place seemed like it needed a thorough airing out. There were no desks, but instead low little tables with dim red lamps, and velvet cushions strewn about for sitting on.

“It's like a fortune teller’s tent,” said Remus, looking skeptical.

“A what?” asked James.

“A fortune teller,” Remus repeated. “Muggles go to them when they want to know answers about the future.”

“Like the Magic 8 Ball,” Sirius noted. “Right, Moony?”

“Sort of,” said Remus, smirking. “But these are muggles pretending to be witches and mystics and fairs and carnivals for a bit of money.”

“Muggles pretending?” James asked. “How do you know they’re not just witches and mystics breaking the Statute of Secrecy?”

“Well, because they’re spouting rubbish,” said Remus practically. “Although, I suppose we ought to see how this class goes. Maybe the fortune tellers are real, and the whole practice is the part that’s rubbish.”

“Skepticsss in ourrr midst alrrready!” came a dry, wheezy, heavily accented voice. Professor Dewhurst entered the room quite abruptly from behind a glittery curtain, gazing at them all with her wideset, dark eyes. She was a very tall, skinny witch, and her midnight blue robes with their feathered cuffs were the sort of thing Sirius might have seen on the cover of one of the Disco albums Andromeda had left for him. Adding to her height was a sort of beaded turban that jangled when she walked as if it were full of bells rather than hair, and her face was very made up with garish purple shadow around her eyes and a beauty mark drawn like a gnat sitting on her upper lip.

“Welcome thirrrd yearrrsss,” she purred, ushering them all to find seats with a wave of her hand a shake of her bracelets. Sirius did so, collapsing heavily onto a cushion and smiling at Remus’s narrow and suspicious gaze compared to James’s and Peter’s uneasy awe. “In my company,” Professor Dewhurt continued dreamily, “you shall forrrsee the unseen, prrredict the unprrredictable…”

“What accent is that meant to be?” Remus muttered to Sirius, voice low. “Her surname is English, isn’t it?”

Professor Dewhurst seemed swept away by her own rambling as she meandered among them, eyes fluttering closed while the class watched her attentively. “Know the unknowable…Rrread the unrrreadable…”

Remus caught Lily Evans’s attention where she sat with Mary and Marlene, and he went cross eyed, wriggling his fingers in front of himself. Lily bit down on her fist and turned decidedly away from him.

“Today, forrr yourrr firrrst intrrroduction to the myssstic arrrts, we will begin sssimply enough,” said Dewhurst, snapping her fingers. “Tarrrot!”

A very battered-looking deck of cards appeared on each table with a puff of magenta smoke, edges done in glimmering gold foil. The class murmured in approval, and Sirius reached for a card curiously. He turned it over to properly see the upside-down image, examining an intricate illustration of a sword and scales, the sword jabbing upward and the scales teetering side to side.

“Do not touch quite yet!” Dewhurst snapped with agitation. “The carrrdsss tell their storrry when they are meant to be hearrrd, and not beforrre!” She snatched the card out of Sirius’s grasp, glanced at it and then at him. She tutted with apparent sympathy, then threw the card into the air, where it zoomed back into the deck and shuffled itself amongst the others. “Now, turrrn to your textbooksss, page ninety-fourrr if you will…”

After some cryptic instruction and a great deal of flipping through the textbook to match the faded drawings to their vague descriptions, Sirius looked with a furrowed brow at the three cards he’d pulled for James. “I suppose…which one do you feel drawn to, mate?”

“I dunno,” said James, contemplating. “This one’s got a lion and a lady with her baps out, so I suppose that one.”

Sirius snorted. “You can’t decide based on baps.”

“Too late,” said James. “The hand of the universe is drawing me to it.”

“Fine,” said Sirius. “Well, it’s the strength card.”

“That’s good,” said James, nodding encouragingly.

“But it’s upside down,” Sirius continued, “so it means you’re a bit of a namby-pamby with twiggy little arms. Bad luck.”

“Upside down to you,” said James indignantly. “It’s right side up for me!”

Mary leaned over to their little table. “You’re not meant to show them the cards before asking which one they’re drawn to.”

“Then how am I supposed to know which ones have baps on them?” James asked with a frown.

“And you’re meant to have your white candle lit,” Marlene interjected as well, gesturing to the waxy candlesticks they’d been equipped with. “That way, the friendly spirits can guide you to your decision.”

“Spirits are guiding us?” asked Peter. He was staring with disdain at his card, which featured a salacious goat-headed man, waggling a very long tongue at them. “Should we be asking Nearly Headless Nick?”

“No,” said Marlene, considering. “I think they’re meant to be wise, non-corporeal spirits. Not the sort who knock their heads off their necks when they turn around too quickly.”

“Nearly Headless Nick is plenty wise,” said James, as Sirius reshuffled the cards, this time keeping them face down, and lit their candle with the tip of his wand. “Once, he told me that the portrait of Nesbit the Noseless on the third floor has a second frame in Filch’s office, and it can tell you if he’s out or not. That’s a bit of wisdom that’s done me quite well.”

Sirius laid out three cards for James, while Peter did the same for a yawning Remus beside him. Remus looked at his cards unhappily, then pointed to one at random. Peter turned it to reveal a large, glistening moon, and a wolf pawing up at it. Remus looked down at it with incredulous shock, hastening to turn it back over again before anyone saw, and Sirius began laughing so hard that he nearly forgot to listen to James as he chose the leftmost card for himself. Wiping tears from his eyes, Sirius turned it, and they were left looking at a woman with a jug that poured an endless flow of water into the stream below, and the woman quite conspicuously had her baps out.

Sirius gaped. “I can’t believe it. Lads, I think we’re aces at Divination.”

Muggle Studies, too, was in the attics, but the classroom was even harder to find than Divination was, tucked away in the South Tower at the opposite end of the castle, through a corridor that looked to be a broom cupboard at first glance. Luckily, Sirius had followed Remus and borrowed enough muggle books from Professor Thomas to know the way quite well. The classroom was very small, and aside from him and James, only one Hufflepuff and two Ravenclaws had signed up in their year. They were each given muggle devices called ballpoint pens and tasked with doing all their assignments with them, but James kept pushing much to hard with his, stabbing the tip through every piece of parchment he tried to write on. Sirius fared only a little better with the strange thing, since he kept forgetting the ink was hidden somewhere inside, and kept dipping it in his inkwell.

Professor Thomas was a very excitable witch, not muggleborn herself, although her mother and father both were. It was with a great deal of nervous energy that she spent their first lesson showing them a very strange looking thing that Sirius assumed was a device for torture, but Professor Thomas insisted was a standing mixer. “It can make whipped cream all on its own when it works,” she enthused. “If only I had a plug and some electricity, I’d show you.”

“So the Muggles have forgotten how to stir?” Benson Brown asked.

Professor Thomas gave this some thought. “Not forgotten, no. I think it’s just that they’re not very good at it.”

James and Sirius both agreed that the class was a delight, enthusing over it all through dinner. “Did you know that muggles press their automobile horns to yell at each other when they’re driving about?” James asked Remus.

Remus looked up from his potatoes. “Yeah, Jamie, I think I’d heard that somewhere.”

James shook his head in amazement. “I always thought the automobiles just made that honking noise on their own. You know, sort of like geese.”

The last of their new courses came on Thursday morning, when they trekked across the dewy lawn to the edge of the lake. Burly Professor Kettleburn stood waiting for them, beckoning them over with what Sirius thought at first was a very skinny hand, but on closer inspection appeared to be his wand, fastened to a prosthetic socket where his hand used to be.

After a gruff round of attendance, which revealed the depressing fact that Snape and most of the other Slytherins would be joining them, Kettleburn gave them all an assessing look. “Right, we’re starting off today with Frogwogs, since they’ve been infesting the lake as of late, and the Squid’s taking none too kindly to them. Still, they’re dead useful since they catch and eat doxies, and Horace Slughorn wouldn’t say no to some of their mucus, either, so take care to catch ‘em without making ‘em too mad. We’ve got the tanks just there, so throw ‘em in once you’ve got one. Everyone get yourself a pair of galoshes from the cart over there, don’t worry if the size isn’t quite right, as long as they’re bigger than your boots.”

What followed was a very wet and amusing bout of tromping through the weedy shallows of the lake, grabbing for the cat-sized Frogwogs. The task was made more difficult since the Frogwogs turned out to have a full set of very human-like teeth. Sirius narrowly avoided having one clamp onto his arm as he watched Remus stand on the shore, calmly immobilizing his Frogwogs with a Petrificus Totalus, then levitating them into the tank.

“We get it, Moony,” said Sirius, stomping about in his galoshes. “You’re a dab hand at Charms and Defense, but this is meant to be Care of Magical Creatures. You can’t care for them if you’re not willing to touch them.”

With a sigh, Remus waded a short distance in, careful not to trip on the rocks. He watched Professor Kettleburn for a moment as the professor gathered great gloopy chunks of Frogwog spawn into a bucket. “I reckon I’m making them feel a lot more cared for than you lot, trying to ambush them.”

James, beside him, had been standing in careful wait, then lunged down suddenly with a great deal of splashing, submerging himself almost entirely before emerging with a lumpy, warty Frogwog, which kicked frantically with its yellow-and-brown spotted legs.

“Can’t be afraid to get your hands a little froggy,” Sirius told Remus, nodding in James’s direction. “Besides, it’s a nice enough day to be half in the lake. I only hope Kettleburn doesn’t have us doing this in the winter.”

“Yeah,” said Remus. “I suppose.” His gaze wandered over to the further shores of the lake, where the Whomping Willow had begun thrashing wildly, its branches groaning and audible even from this distance. A group of younger students had been out enjoying a free period in the afternoon, edging closer and closer to it until it noticed their presence, and decided to try and wallop them for their insolence. “I wish they wouldn’t do that,” Remus murmured quietly.

Sirius might have assured Remus that it was all just a bit of fun, but James at that moment waded clumsily over to them with the Frogwog he’d caught. He held the thing up, examining its bulging yellow eyes and watching its throat sac expand like one of Droobles Best Blowing bubbles. “We're allowed toads as pets,” James mused. “Think these count?”

“I don't think he’ll be much good for a cuddle,” Sirius noted. “He’ll probably try to bite your bollocks off while you’re sleeping.”

“He looks like a Hubert to me,” James mused, trying to stroke the squirming creature on its slimy stomach.

Marlene waded over from where she’d just deposited her own Frogwog in the tanks. “Look at the horny head, Potter. The males have smooth heads. Hubert’s a proper lady.”

“Huberta!” said James happily.

“Thinking about having your first snog, Potter?” asked Snape from a short distance away. He had not taken off his school robes like the rest of them, and he looked quite daffy as he stood holding the sopping hem up. He was shaking out a very red couple of fingers, where Sirius presumed he’d just been bitten.

“Huberta would be so lucky,” said James haughtily. “Who was your first snog, then, Snivellus? Your mum?”

Snape went predictably red as he clenched his jaw. “Keep my mum out of your foul mouth.”

“Sorry, Snivelly,” said Sirius. “Jamie’s being crass. Everyone knows you’ve got a picture of Evans in your dormitory, and that’s the only thing you’ll ever get your slimy lips on.”

Sirius was expecting the jinx from the seething Snape, a “Furnunculus!” that he leapt aside to doge. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for James to chuck Huberta at him, and the Frogwog collided into him with a mucus-y splat, biting very hard on his arm.

“Ow!” Sirius declared, shaking the Frogwog off until it jumped away into deeper waters. He glowered at James. “What was that for?”

“Defending Evans’s good name,” said James with a shrug.

Evans herself had trudged over into earshot, likely drawn in by the obvious conflict between Snape and the others. “Defend my good name from what?” she asked suspiciously, hands on her hips.

“Nothing,” said James, Sirius, and even Snape at once.

“Hm,” said Lily, assessing the scene. She looked about ready to turn away, but she raised her wand at the last moment and aimed it at Sirius with a sharp “Brachiabindo!”

Sirius yelped as invisible chords bound his legs and arms together, and he lost his balance, falling arse-first into the muck behind him. He lay restrained where he was with a scowl, as Evans came to peer down at him, squatting low enough that she could whisper, and only he would hear her.

“You can go around making fun of people’s snogging habits once you’ve kissed something other than your own reflection, Black.”

Sirius couldn't help the unwilling smile that crept across his face. “Maybe your good name is worth defending after all, Evans.”

October 8, 1973

Lily

It was to everyone’s immense surprise that fourth year Benjy Fenwick showed up to Gryffindor’s tryouts for the open Chaser position, and it was to everyone’s immense relief that he was a more than decent flyer, making the decision to bring him on none too difficult. Marlene was very pleased with him at practices, which Lily took to be an excellent sign for their chances at the cup this year. They’d managed the quidditch cup last year, but Potter and Black had negated any points that victory might have brought them, and Lily maintained that it would by nice to spend the End-of-Term Feast surrounded by scarlet and gold for once.

As classes began in earnest, Lily was quite pleased that all of them seemed to have only gotten more challenging. In Herbology, somehow Professor Sprout had miscalculated her orders and ended up getting Mandrake sproutlings a few years earlier than she’d meant to, but Lily had no complaints. The plants were as fickle and dangerous as they were interesting and useful. One cry from the sproutlings could knock a student unconscious, and when the plants grew, the sound of their scream could be lethal. They required frequent repotting as they developed, and Professor Sprout currently had the students sing the Mandrake sproutlings lullabies in the hopes of getting them down for naps. It was very hard to tell if this was effective, since the Mandrakes were under a thick layer of potting soil, and the enchanted earmuffs Sprout had them all wearing made it impossible to hear one’s own singing voice or the plant’s reaction to it. Potter and Black spent much of the lessons trying to communicate wordlessly to each other with a series of rude gestures, but Lily supposed it was nice at least not to have to hear them.

The only class Lily had that was blissfully Black- and Potter-free was Ancient Runes, a fascinating subject that was quiet and focused. It was up in a very narrow tower, with a set of winding steps so tight that they nearly made her ill to climb. Remus, who’d walked with her from the common room, had to rest his head nauseously in his arms that first lesson as soon as they’d found seats. The classroom itself was small and circular, with very high ceilings so that Lily felt a bit like they were sat at the bottom of a tube of loo roll.

Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes instructor, was a harried-looking witch with a great many springy curls escaping a half-attempt at a bun, and very large spectacles slipping down her nose at all times. The shapes of the runes had a great deal to do with wand movements in spell work, and Lily found it all immensely useful. It was pleasant to sit next to Remus as he hastened to scribble down notes, or else made her laugh by inventing his own runes for things like mushy peas or Mrs. Norris.

Of course, Severus was in the class too, sat beside the only other Slytherin to have signed up, Harriet Crowe. Lily had thought it made perfect sense to sit next to the only other student in her house, but judging from the occasional frown she caught on Severus’s face, the arrangement had come as a sort of shock to him. Lily tried her best to keep the peace and do the homework with both of them in equal turns, but it was a bit exhausting, having to study once for Remus’s benefit, and once for Sev’s.

“I can tell you revised this already,” said Remus with a smirk as he sat beside her in the common room. “And I watched you finish the Runes table with Snape in the library when I was helping Peter with Defense. Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Because I feel awful,” admitted Lily. “Who are you meant to study with?”

“Claude,” said Remus, gesturing to the cat that had curled up on Lily’s lap. “Although he’s lousy with the runic pronunciation.”

Claude only looked up at Remus and hissed. The cat seemed to not like him very much for whatever reason.

Lily yawned hugely. “What if I take a kip right here, and you shake me awake if you need help?” she offered.

“What if you go to your dormitory and I manage just fine with it on my own?” Remus countered.

“No,” said Lily, already turning her enormous Ancient Runes textbook into a sort of blocky pillow. “If I leave, you’ll go find Potter, Black, and Pettigrew wherever they’ve gone, and you’ll land yourself in detention again.”

Remus had no apparent argument for that, and Lily was soon asleep and drooling on the cover of her book.

They’d just completed a lesson Transfiguring tap shoes into alarm clocks the next day when McGonagall cleared her throat as the students were packing up their things. “Gryffindors,” she called out. “If you’d remain in your seats for just a moment, please.” She spared a look for Pettigrew’s alarm clock, which was still ticking very percussively before silencing it with a flick of her wand. “As you doubtless know, our first school weekend at Hogsmeade is this Saturday. It is a time-honored tradition where I expect you all to be on your best behaviors in the village. If those with signed permission forms will kindly bring them up to my desk before Friday, I will make sure all is in order for your visits.”

There was an excited clamoring as those with their forms handy, Lily included, rushed to retrieve them from their bags and bring them up to McGonagall. Lily got into line with Marlene, Mary, and Remus but there was a hold up at McGonagall’s desk as Black handed her a folded slip of parchment.

McGonagall opened the form and scanned it with a frown. “Mr. Black,” she said after a moment. “Why has Euphemia Potter signed your permission form?”

“Er…” said Black, looking a bit uncomfortable for once in his life. “Because she’s a parent or guardian, Professor.”

“Yes,” agreed McGonagall with a sigh, “but she is not your parent or guardian.”

“She might as well be,” Potter piped in from where he stood nearby. “And there’s nothing on the form that says the parent or guardian has to be your own; I checked!”

Sirius had gone very still and pale as McGonagall continued to examine the paper, his hands balled into fists. Lily nearly felt inclined to take pity on him.

“Professor,” said Remus from beside her. “If Sirius doesn’t go to Hogsmeade, I reckon he’ll be the only student not there. I shudder to think what he’d get up to, bored and with a castle to himself, don't you?”

Removing her spectacles to knead the bridge of her nose, McGonagall hesitated, then at last nodded. “Fine, Mr. Black. But Euphemia should know she’s personally responsible for whatever trouble you manage to get up to.”

Lily rolled her eyes at the dramatic relief on Potter’s and Black’s faces, eventually giving her own form to McGonagall who examined it without complaint. “Can’t wait for Honeydukes,” said Mary happily as they made their way to lunch. “It’s meant to have the largest collection of wizard sweets anywhere. I’ll be they’ve got loads of strange stuff.”

“Yeah,” said Potter, catching them up. “It’s incredible. The Fudge Flies sound a bit unpleasant, but they’re quite nice once you get past the crunch.”

“You've been?” asked Marlene.

“Er—yeah,” said Potter with a grin.

“When?” Marlene pressed, eyes narrowed.

“Sorry,” said Potter, putting a hand to his ear. “D’you hear that? Sounds like Petey’s calling me. Best be off, then.” He took off a few paces ahead, where Peter was walking with Black and had decidedly not been calling him at all.

When the Hogsmeade Saturday arrived at last, the girls were nearly nearly late, due to Mary’s waffling between smart robes for day use and her muggle clothes. She had decided at last on her robes but regretted it at once when Lily started to leave in her trousers and jumper, tying her hair back in a plait. “Lily,” Mary moaned as they descended the stairs. “Now everyone will see that you’ve got some sort of figure, while Marlene and I look like we’re swimming in bedsheets.”

“Oi,” said Marlene, giving Mary a pinch.

Lily only frowned. “I haven’t got some sort of figure at all. My new day robes are just still too long and I keep tripping. I haven’t had time to hem them, yet.”

To her relief, there was a fair mix of both wardrobes in the Entrance Hall. Black was looking predictably and distinctly Muggle-ish, as was Potter, although Pettigrew and Severus were both in robes, as were many others. They lined up to pass by Filch who checked off each departure with a deep scowl. Lily suspected that he was concerned about how many of them were bound for Zonko’s Joke Shop, which she’d already heard a great deal about.

Lily scanned the ambling line of students, searching for Remus since she did not see him with Potter, Black, or Pettigrew. Mary had noticed the same, and looked around, too. “Where’s Lupin?” she wondered aloud.

“Could be having one of his headaches,” said Lily thoughtfully.

“Or coming back from visiting his mother,” Marlene supplied, chewing her lip. “It’s so awful. I wish St. Mungo’s could do something for her. But every time I ask Remus about it, he just says she’s got something that wizards don’t pay too much mind to.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” Lily agreed. “He didn’t even tell me about his mum, I had to hear about it from Severus.”

“What business is it of Snape’s?” Marlene asked, suddenly wary.

Lily frowned. “He heard it from Avery, and Avery was none too nice about it. He was going on about how this is why wizards raised by muggles shouldn’t be allowed at the school…they’re bound to be weighed down and distracted by muggle-y things.”

“What an idiot,” Mary scoffed. “There are far more distracting wizard-y things, in my opinion. Muggles don’t have to worry a bout getting a Potions assignment wrong and going up to the hospital wing because they can’t stop their eyebrows from crawling all over their face.”

Lily smiled at the fond memory of this happening to Potter. Of course, she suspected that Severus was the one who had dumped a vial of unneeded inch-worm powder into Potter’s Draught of Calm. Still, it had likely been deserved.

“It’s too bad, though,” Mary continued. She swished her robes a bit and winked at Lily and Marlene. “I was going to try and get Remus to buy me a Butterbeer. He’s quite adorable, have you noticed?”

“Oh no,” groaned Marlene. “I thought you had your sights set on Black!”

“Yes,” Mary agreed. “But he’s a bit hard to get ahold of, isn’t he? Remus is so nice. I reckon he’ll do in the meantime.”

“And does Lupin know he’s meant to be your holdover until Black pays you some attention?” Marlene asked.

Mary poked Marlene. “Afraid I’ll break his heart, are you? Have you got a soft spot for Lupin, then?”

“No!” said Marlene very quickly, going red.

Lily smiled, imagining how much more red Remus would be if he knew anything of this conversation.

The walk down to Hogsmeade was a pleasant one, along the edge of the lake with the last heat of the summer peeking through the leaves. They gave the Whomping Willow a wide berth, even if some students threw rocks and twigs at it to see its violent reaction. They took the route they normally passed through on the horseless carriages, walking beneath the wide gates and the stone school crest, underneath which wrought iron letters spelled out Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.

It wasn’t long before they summited the little grassy hill and emerged at the top of Hogsmeade’s High Street, glowing with autumn colors. The rickety houses and shops laid out before them puffed out streams of smoke.

“Oh it’s gorgeous,” said Mary appreciatively. “Now let’s hurry, I’m parched.”

Despite Mary being parched, they had very little willpower to pass by every stop without looking. Scrivenshaft’s offered such lovely quills and notebooks that Lily couldn't help spending a couple of Galleons inside. Then there was Fable and Folly, where the interior was so crammed with books that it looked like the very walls were made of them, and Lily feared that trying to displace one title would send the whole thing tumbling down. Honeydukes was all that was promised and more, smelling absolutely mouthwatering. A bald, rotund wizard behind the till struggled to keep up with the surge of clamoring customers that only came four times a year and surely kept the little shop afloat. Lily, Marlene, and Mary left with a combined bag that was brimming with Sugar Quills, Chocolate Frogs, and Fizzing Whizsbees.

There was Zonko’s as well, hard to miss with its brightly lit signage. It had a veritable crowd inside, but the three of them steered clear, seeing that an unfortunate fourth year had bought a large supply of Dungbombs, then tripped on a cobblestone just outside and set them all off.

Lily waved her hand in front of her nose, eyes watering at the stench, and they finally ducked into the Three Broomsticks Inn, which was very warm and much better smelling.

“I’ll find us a table,” Marlene offered, peering over the heads of the many students who were looking for the same. She ended up finding a corner booth, and waved Mary and Lily over when they came to find her, carrying three Butterbeers. The long bar was tended by a very pretty witch with lovely blonde curls escaping from her braid, and who looked as though she’d only just graduated Hogwarts a year or two prior. Many of the older boys took note of this, hanging around the bar and competing to see who could make her laugh, which made ordering a bit difficult. The rest of the pub was filled with interesting-looking witches and wizards in colorful robes and hats, including Professor Flitwick in very dashing tartan robes, all making way for the large array of students crammed into booths and around tables.

Lily had tried Butterbeer at the parties in Gryffindor Tower, but there was undoubtedly something more delicious about it from the tap, warm when the early autumn air outside had been verging on chilly. They had only just begun to discuss Professor Boonstock’s recent lesson on Vampires—Lily reckoned he was lying about being named honorary Bloodmage of the Midnight Order during his recent peace talks with a London Coven—when the three people she least wanted to see appeared before them.

“Mind if we share a table?” Sirius asked brightly. “Full up in here, isn’t it?”

“Go find your own,” said Lily, taking a sip from the froth in her tankard.

“Oh, don’t mind Lils,” said Mary, making room to Lily’s great disgruntlement. “She’d allow it if Lupin was with you. We can budge over.”

“Where is Remus?” Lily asked, figuring she might as well sate her curiosity if she was meant to share a tight corner booth with Potter, Pettigrew, and Black.

“Should be back from visiting his mum soon,” said Potter, squashing in beside Peter. “We’re meeting him here, hopefully.”

“Will Filch let him leave the castle so late? And on his own?” Mary asked with concern.

Potter shrugged with a smile. “I didn’t say what Filch was letting him do. Just said we’re meeting him here.”

Indeed, it wasn’t long before Remus tumbled in through the door, looking very tired and a little worse for wear. His sandy hair was very tousled, and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look quite pale. Still, when he grinned over at the sight of them, Lily could see what Mary was on about, even if she wished she couldn’t. He was a bit adorable in a gangly way, but it would make things very difficult indeed if she decided to start fancying Remus. Sirius offered up a waiting tankard of Butterbeer, and Remus took it, appearing very grateful for both the drink and the seat. “Thanks,” he said. “The walk felt like it took hours.”

“But the view from the top of the hill is quite nice, isn’t it?” Mary offered.

“The view?” Remus blinked, then glanced at the other three boys who were staring down at their drinks as if they found something amusing. “Oh,” h said, suddenly nodding. “Er…yeah. Must’ve been in too much of a hurry to notice much about it.”

Marlene caught the boys up on their discussion of Professor Boonstock, to which Pettigrew nodded enthusiastically. “I was saying the same. I think the only title the Vampires could have bestowed on Boonstock is Honorary Snack.”

The afternoon passed pleasantly enough, Mary trying to see what the boys had in their bulging bag from Zonko’s. “You’ve got loads of stuff on Filch’s list of forbidden items,” she pointed out as she examined a box of Bashing Bungee Boots which read in small print: Kick-In Faces and Explore High Places. “How are you going to stop it all from being confiscated?”

“Macdonald,” said Sirius with a shake of his head. “You mustn't ask questions you know we can’t tell you the answers to.”

“Why can’t you?” asked Mary, leaning forward and batting her eyes innocently. “Aren’t we trustworthy?”

“You, maybe,” said Sirius giving her an assessing look. “McKinnon, still to be determined. Evans, definitely not.”

“Why not me?” Lily asked. “I’ve already reasoned out that you must have found some secret passageways around and out of the castle, and I haven’t said anything, have I?”

Potter, Pettigrew, and Black all gawked at her, before Black turned on Remus. “You’ve shared marauder business with a girl?”

Remus only looked amused. “I haven’t said a thing.”

“He didn’t have to,” said Lily, tossing her plait behind her. “He’s always showing up right beside me when I know he should have been at least five minutes late for lessons. All of you are. You never leave breakfast or lunch on time, and sometimes you’re at your desks even before I am.”

Potter finally managed to shut his mouth and pointed at her with amusement. “Keeping a careful eye on us, are you, Evans?”

“No,” sniffed Lily. “I’m avoiding the sight of you whenever I can. You all just keep appearing in front of me.”

Mary and Marlene proceeded to demand information from the boys, and they finally conceded that there was an easier way to the Transfiguration wing if you simply nudged the ugly bust on the sixth floor. “You ought to be careful with that information, though,” said Potter, sounding as if he’d been forced to relinquish a very precious, personal treasure. “We reckon McGonagall knows about that passageway and uses it occasionally, or how else would she get up to Gryffindor Tower so quickly to scold us all in the common room?”

When the afternoon grew late, Lily, Marlene, and Mary decided they'd like to take a look at Dervish and Banges, which sold all sorts of expensive magical antiques and oddities, according to Marlene. Mary and Marlene had only just waved goodbye to the chattering boys while Lily tweaked Remus’s ear in farewell, when they stumbled a bit in the crowded hall, teetering into a huddle of standing students and making one of them slosh a bit of Butterbeer down their front. Lily looked up and saw Mulciber looming over them, surrounded by a small group of the other Slytherin fourth years. Severus, alongside Avery, was a few paces behind, watching the scene and looking very pale.

“Look at that,” Mulciber snarled, pulling his damp robes away from where Lily might brush against them. “Muggles can’t even teach their children to walk, it seems." He turned to Marlene, an unbecoming scowl on his puffy face. "McKinnon, you’re from good stock, aren’t you? You might want to stop dallying with these blundering mudbloods.”

Lily startled. She was familiar with the term from passing by the Slytherin table and overhearing their quiet conversations, but she’d yet to hear it hurled at her with such vitriol, and from a boy with such terrible breath. Before she could think to shout an insult back, however, Remus was up from the table and hurling himself at Mulciber, expression set with a blank anger Lily had never seen on his face. He landed a punch squarely to Mulciber’s sneer, and there was a horrible sound, although Lily couldn’t be sure if that was from Mulciber’s nose or Remus’s hand.

There was a terrible moment, in which Remus cursed colorfully, shaking out his hand, and then Mulciber was straightening out and swinging back at Remus, only for Black and Potter to throw themselves into the fray, while Pettigrew clambered up on top of his chair in alarm. The whole lot of them seemed to have forgotten they had wands, but Lily had hers out and was waiting for a clear moment to cast a Full-Body Bind on whichever part of Mulciber she could see. Before she could manage it, however, she was being pulled out of the crowd, out of the front doors of the Three Broomsticks, and onto the cobblestone streets.

She wheeled around, expecting Mary or Marlene, but she saw Severus there instead, looking out of breath and very worried. “Are you all right?” he asked her quickly, pushing dark hair out of his face.

“Yeah,” said Lily, still clenching her wand. “I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.”

“That was really horrible,” said Severus. “He needn’t have called you a…well, he needn’t have called you that.”

Lily nodded, still gathering her bearings. There was another shout from inside the pub. “Yeah, well,” she began. “I wouldn’t have expected any differently, would I? He and his lot have made it perfectly clear how they feel about Muggleborns.”

“Still,” said Severus passionately. “He had no need to say it. He would have sloshed that Butterbeer on himself if you hadn’t. I’ve got no idea how he manages to swing a bat properly on the Quidditch field.”

Lily snorted, calming slightly. “It’s fine, Sev.”

“No, really,” said Severus, seeming glad that she had very nearly laughed. “He’s being an idiot. Anyone in the castle can see that you’d hand him his arse in a duel. Stupid, really, to start that with you.”

Lily let out a jittery sigh, just as Mary and Marlene emerged from the pub, looking flustered.

“There you are,” said Mary in relief. “Marlene was worried that one of those Slytherins in the fight had Transfigured you into a mouse or something.”

“It was only a thought,” said Marlene quickly. “I knew there was no way they could manage it.”

Right on their heels, Mulciber was being led out of the Three Broomsticks, prodded along by a very perturbed looking Professor Flitwick. It was an amusing sight, the tiny wizard marching the very tall Mulciber ahead of him, making him flinch with every jab of his wand. Mary grabbed Lily’s arm at the sight of Mulciber, glancing him up and down with apprehension until he and Professor Flitwick were a way down the road.

“He gives me the real creeps,” Mary said decisively. “Come on, let’s just go back to the castle. I’ve had enough of Hogsmeade, haven’t you?”

Lily nodded slowly, turning back to Severus. “Thanks,” she said, trying for a smile.

Sev smiled back, but it was cut short as Avery stuck his head through the door and scowled at what he found there. “Come on, Snape,” Avery said sharply. “We’ve found a table. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes at Lily and Mary. “…Unless that’s the sort you want to cozy up to.”

Severus looked between Lily and Avery for a tense moment, but Lily sighed, stepping away with Mary still on her arm, grabbing Marlene as well. “It’s fine, Severus,” she said quietly. “We’re leaving.”

The walk back to the castle was very subdued between the three of them, and Mary seemed more shaken than Lily was. At last, when the castle was in their sights, Mary took a deep breath. “It was a really nasty thing, what Mulciber called us, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Marlene fiercely, holding Mary tight under her arm. She’d gotten even taller over the summer, taking on a lanky frame that suited her and her short, roughly cut hair, Lily thought. “A nasty thing that would only come out of a really nasty mouth.”

Mary blinked, her eyes a bit wet. “It doesn’t matter what I wear, does it?” she asked, staring at her feet, at her carefully chosen robes. “I can put on all the nice robes I like, but they’ll know I’m a muggle from a mile off.”

“You’re a witch,” said Marlene, leaving no room for argument. “You’re the best in our year at Astronomy and leagues ahead of me in Charms. You’ve got more magic in your little toe than a ghoul like Mulciber has decency in his whole body.” She gave Mary a squeeze. “And what’s so terrible about muggles? Look at the telly-wizzin, for Merlin’s sake!”

“The television,” said Mary, sniffing and managing a smile. “You can just say telly.”

“See?” said Marlene. “I can’t even get the pronunciation right. You and Lils have taught me so much. There’s loads muggles can do that wizards can’t manage.”

Lily nodded. “I watched Black and Potter trying to write with a biro the other day, and it was like watching a baby with their first spoon of porridge.”

Mary giggled, wiping her eyes and leaning back into Marlene. “Thanks. I’m being a bit silly, is all.” She smoothed down her robes a bit before glancing at Lily. “Did you see Lupin, back there?”

“Yeah,” said Lily, still a bit shocked. It was very unlike Remus to lunge into violence like that, as if he couldn’t help himself, especially when he looked like he’d very recently been ill. Maybe the matter of his mother was weighing on him. “Hope his hand is all right,” she added.

“Really brave, he was,” said Mary with a note of admiration. “Merlin, if he keeps lunging to our defense like that, I might have to start fancying him properly.”

Chapter Text

October 31, 1973

Remus

While the pumpkins this year did not spew down a tumultuous downpour of seeds and guts, there was still a general air of excitement at the Halloween Feast. This year, it had been decided that the party in the Gryffindor common room would have a theme of fancy dress. Remus seemed to be the only student who thought this was a terrible idea, seeing that most students only owned a handful of school shirts, school trousers, and school robes to choose from.

James and Sirius did not share Remus’s sentiment, although judging by the way Peter blanched at all of James’s ideas for the four of them, Remus thought he had at least one ally. So far, the best idea had included each of them Transfiguring their arms to tentacles and combining to make the Giant Squid, but that had been tossed aside when Remus had pointed out that the squid had ten tentacles, while it was an octopus that had eight.

They were in dire straights over dinner, as James and Sirius continued to toss out suggestions. “What about that muggle film, Remus, the one the girls are mad for?” Sirius asked. “You know, where a witch tries to murder that girl over her shoes?”

“The Wizard of Oz,” said Remus with a laugh. “You want to go as that?”

Sirius shrugged “Why not? Professor Thomas was telling us about it during that lesson on muggle cinema. There’s four of them aren’t there? The frightening silver one, the frightening doll-looking one, the…Merlin, they’re all rather frightening, aren’t they?”

“All right,” said Remus with a smirk. “Who’s going to put on the dress and be Dorothy, then?”

Sirius looked like he was considering this, but James interjected. “We ought to just all go as animals. Remus'll be a wolf, obviously—”

“No,” said Remus quickly.

They were still debating this all the way up into the dormitory, settling on a very last minute idea when the growing crowd downstairs was beginning to demand the gramophone. When they’dfinished, Sirius, Peter, and James all hastened to examine themselves in the very small bathroom mirror, proud of their quick handiwork. The bit of Transfiguration they'd done would hopefully last the night, before turning back into the odd sock or torn-down bed hanging.

“Petey, stop itching at your wig,” said Sirius, stroking the beard that had once been a pillowcase, charmed to look a bit more hairy.

When they finally toted down the gramophone, Remus following behind with the crate of records, it was to Frank Longbottom’s apparent immense relief. He had a horrible sort of furry vest on, which only made sense to Remus when Alice came to hang on his arm, wearing a very long dark wig and a vest much the same.

“Sonny and Cher,” he said with a smile, helping Frank clear off a desk.

“Whatever you say, mate,” said Frank with a shrug. “Alice’s mum got them all a telly, and now she’s always on about Top of the Pops. I just put on what she told me.” He looked at the rest of them. “Now that’s good,” he said, taking in their costumes. Peter was in bottle green robes and a pointed hat that was much too big for him, resting on a shock of white hair so that he looked like a generously tall Professor Flitwick. James had an alarmingly thick moustache fastened to his lip with Spellotape, and mutton chops drawn in along his chin to resemble Slughorn’s. Sirius was dressed in spangled crimson robes with a white beard down to his navel so that he was unmistakably Dumbledore. Since Dumbledore wore spectacles and Slughorn did not, Sirius was wearing James’s, and neither of them could see because of it. Frank turned to Remus. “And which one are you?”

With a roll of his eyes, Remus lifted the white bedsheet he held and put it over himself until he was obscured from Frank and the rest of the party. “Professor Binns,” he said.

Frank laughed very hard, thumping him on the back.

Remus had only just set on Skweeze Me, Pleeze Me, to the cheers of the students who had effectively filled every corner of the common room, when Marlene pranced over, looking very proud of herself. She was in her quidditch uniform, and someone had used Sleekeazy’s to cement her hair into very unfortunate spikes. She’d used some sort of eye pencil to draw large spectacles on her face. Remus laughed at her approach. “What happened to you?”

“Can’t you tell who I am?” Marlene asked happily, giving them a spin.

James balked, snorting into his cup of pumpkin juice. He grabbed the glasses off of Sirius and shoved them over his own squinting eyes. “McKinnon, are you meant to be me?”

“Yeah,” said Marlene breathlessly. “Isn’t it just like looking in a mirror?”

Sirius began to laugh so hard that Remus worried he might pass out, while James only looked her over, having her take another spin. “I’ve never looked better,” he decided approvingly.

Lily pushed her way through the Prewett twins to reach them next, and Remus groaned immediately. She’d tied her long hair up so that it rested like a mop on top of her head, and had used the same eye pencil to draw a scar and more freckles across her face. To top it off, she was wearing a patterned jumper that she seemed to be absolutely swimming in, and Remus narrowed his eyes at it. “Did you get that from my room, Evans?”

“Yeah,” said Lily proudly. “While you lot were at lunch. It’s a mess in there, you know. Good, isn’t it?”

Remus measured the top of her head against him, bringing his hand to just under his chin. “You need a pair of stilts for it to be believable.”

She gave him a shove, and Sirius stood tiptoe, trying to see through the crowd. “Which one of us is Macdonald, then?” he asked.

“Who do you think?” Mary asked, appearing under the flailing arm of Xenophilius Lovegood, who was dancing with the Ravenclaw Seeker, Pandora Greengrass. She’d used Sleekeazy’s herself to make her very curly dark hair a bit more wavy, and was wearing a set of tight, flared denims and a collared shirt and sleeveless jumper that were definitely both Sirius’s own from their dormitory. She struck a very pompous expression and leaned on the nearby desk, tossing her head this way and that.

Remus finally began to find the whole thing quite funny as Sirius frowned at her and said, “I don’t stand like that, do I?”

“Don’t worry, Peter,” said Mary, dropping her act so that she could stoop down. She picked up Claude, who looked quite unhappy to be there. The patch of fur on top of his head had been magically turned a honey blonde, and he was wearing what looked to be Peter’s stripey pyjamas, made quite small. “We didn’t forget you.”

“I’m the cat?” Peter asked incredulously. “And are those my pyjamas?”

“Don’t worry,” said Lily. “It’s just a shrinking charm; we’ll have them back to you normal sized.”

“But I’m allergic to cats,” said Peter quietly with a frown.

Remus gave him a sympathetic pat just as Cum on Feel the Noize began to play, and then there was no more time to sympathize, for Sirius was clambering onto a couch, holding his bottle of Butterbeer as if it were a microphone and pointing at Remus as if he were a fan at Sirius’s one man show.

So you think I got an evil mind, well, I’ll tell you honey! And I don’t know why! And I don’t know why!

Remus might have been content to laugh and watch, but Lily had grabbed him by the bedsheet that was still around his shoulders and used it to force him to lurch back and forth until he relented into half dancing, half screaming the lyrics back at her.

Come on, feel the noise! Girls, grab ya boys! We get wild, wild wild! We get wild, wild, wild!

Mary had clambered up beside Sirius with a Butterbeer bottle of her own and was taking great care to imitate every one of his movements, which gathered an impressive audience of laughing students. It was a peculiar sight, Sirius as Dumbledore and Mary as Sirius, both sharing one Butterbeer microphone now as they screamed in tandem,

So you say I got a funny face, I ain’t got no worries! And I don’t know why! And I don’t know why!

James had hoisted Marlene up onto his shoulders, and Peter had somehow gotten swept up in the rambunctious choreography of Xenophilius and Pandora. Remus shook his head at the lot of them as he sang,

Say I’m a scruff bag, well, it’s no disgrace! I ain’t in no hurry! And I don’t know why! And I don’t know why!

Remus had a stitch in his side and Lily's floppy updo had come undone by the time the party quieted enough to watch Frank and Alice perform I Got You Babe, which was very entertaining since Frank was very good at the guitar and Alice was quite horrible at singing. The party had thinned out with the forced departure of the first and second years, and some of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had meandered back to their own houses. Remus had collapsed in front of the fire tangled in his bedsheet, Peter was asleep with his head in Remus’s lap—his Flitwick hat was long gone—and Claude dressed as Peter was asleep in Peter’s own lap. Pete would be a bit sneezy because of it tomorrow, but Remus could always nab him a Pepper-Up from Madam Pomfrey.

Remus had insisted to Lily that he was too exhausted to keep dancing, but Benjy Fenwick had taken up the mantle, and the two of them were partnering quite excellently to Wizzard’s See My Baby Jive. The music was lower than it had been, and a group of sixth and seventh years were playing some sort of game that involved Gobstones, Exploding Snap, and quite a lot of Firewhiskey. While Sirius, Mary, and Marlene watched on with interest, James had settled into an armchair nearby, peculiarly quiet as he stroked his thick, walrus-y Slughorn moustache.

At first Remus thought James was watching Benjy, his team’s new chaser, since Benjy really was an elegant dancer and seemed to be having quite a bit of fun now that there was space to truly dance beside the fireplace. But James’s eyes were tracking Lily, where she’d shoved Remus’s long sweater over her freckled forearms and leaned back to laugh, hair like firelight.

Well, everyone you meet, comin’ down the street, just to see my baby jive!

November 3, 1973

Peter

In Peter’s opinion, Sirius Black became more and more of a menace with every digit tacked onto his age. At newly fourteen, he already spoke as if he held a vast and superior knowledge of manhood, while Peter was doomed to remain at a measly thirteen for the rest of the year.

They’d celebrated the normal way: a large breakfast, cake enough to share with the rest of the Gryffindor table at lunch, obnoxious singing, and an excursion beneath the cloak to the back castle sheds to retrieve large, heaping buckets of goopy Frogwog spawn.

Professor Kettleburn had decided they ought to study every stage of the Frogwog’s lifespan, and Sirius. it seemed, had quickly noted the opportunity. The Frogwog spawn was beneath them now at the Gryffindor table as they served their dinner, covered by the invisibility cloak. While James and Sirius debated in hushed tones the best way to begin catapulting it at the Slytherin table, Remus nudged Peter. “Have you got the map, Petey?”

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Peter patted his robe pockets, where he did not feel the crinkle of parchment anywhere.

“Oh no,” he muttered, double checking his bag to no avail. “Sorry, Moony, I think I left it in the sheds. Needed both hands for the bucket!”

He gave Remus his best, most sorrowful eyes. Remus was still a week or so away from the next full moon, and he was not usually too short tempered around this time, but he could still be a bit of a nutter when it came to the map.

Remus blanched. “If Kettleburn finds that, we’ll be in loads of trouble. It’s got all my notes, and its all in my handwriting. I’d better go and get it.”

“No, no,” Peter insisted, standing up. “It’s my fault. Plus, we can’t use the cloak while it’s covering the you-know-what. I can get in and out, no one will notice.”

Remus chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded. “All right, thanks Pete. Hurry back or you’ll miss everything.”

Peter gave the other lads a quick nod, then hurried from the hall, taking the corridor that led to the boys' loos so that no one would be suspicious. In the third week of term, they’d found yet another passageway off the castle grounds to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, but Filch very definitely knew about this one. It seemed as if he used it as a sort of storage space for buckets of rancid-smelling Doxycide, Ghoul-be-Gone, and Billywig Sugar Traps. There was also a wall where a great many chains and sharp hooks hung, very rusty and neglected, and Peter suspected that Filch was eagerly awaiting the day he might be able to dust off such instruments and use them on the students. It was safe to take now, however, since he’d just seen Filch tucking into his meal in the Great Hall at the end of the head table.

The passageway gave Peter the creeps, but it had another exit point just behind the castle, a gravelly scramble that led up behind a cluster of Flutterby Bushes. Taking a quick look around as he emerged, Peter cleared the short distance on the grounds, opening the shed door that Sirius had already unlocked earlier that afternoon. It was dim in the shed, and the Frogwogs in their magically illuminated tank gave a great cacophony of croaks at the sight of him, but he spotted the map very quickly, pocketed it, and turned back the way he’d come without being spotted.

By the time he’d reached the Great Hall, the madness had already begun, with a great many soup spoons levitating and flinging gobs of Frogwog spawn across the hall at high velocity. One spoon in particular kept dashing back to the Gryffindor table to grab more, then carefully floating to hover just above a flinching Snape before depositing its cargo directly on top of his head. It was not very tactfully executed, and Peter watched from the great doorway as Slughorn approached James, Sirius, and Remus without entertaining the notion of any other culprits. Slughorn still could not make out where the Frogwog spawn was coming from, but it did not take a genius to see that the spoons kept dashing underneath the table right between them.

They received five days detention from Slughorn, who was having them scrub old cauldron bottoms starting that very night. Since Peter hadn’t been present until the tail end, Slughorn refused to extend the detention to him as well, seeming very confused when Peter appeared to want to be included.

“S’all right, Petey,” said Remus, taking the map back from him gratefully as they finished eating. “Just go and get some cake from the kitchens. We shouldn’t take too long.”

When the rest of the boys finally joined Peter in the dormitory, Sirius did not seem disheartened by having spent his birthday evening in the dungeons, presumably using rubber gloves and bristled brushes to scrub out noxious grime. Instead, his mood was bright, perhaps because a good amount of the Frogwog spawn had landed on the lap of a grimacing and disgusted Regulus. There had been no uncomfortable birthday exchange between the brothers this year.

Peter had indeed brought up more cake, and they ate enormous slices while sprawled across the floor, each looking up at the vaulted stone ceiling while the gramophone played George Harrison’s Living in the Material World at a sleepy volume. Sirius had reached beneath James’s bed for a kicked-aside pillow, and he withdrew his hand holding a notebook bound in a green leather cover instead. He examined it with interest. “Jamie, is this the charmed diary I got you two Christmases ago?”

“Yeah,” said James, stretching.

“Why’s it at the top of the pile beneath your bed? Don’t tell me you actually write in the thing.”

“What am I meant to do with it?” James asked defensively. “You’re the one that gave it to me. Of course I write in it. Clears my head.”

Sirius laughed. “I simply have to know what goes on in the crowded mind of James Potter,” he declared, opening it up and stretching his arms above him so that Peter could crane his neck and see as well.

The page appeared to be blank, but then writing began to blossom across the pages. After a moment, the pages said in clear lettering, Keep your paws off of other people’s business, you twit.

Sirius stared at the text, then laughed. “Oh, Merlin, I’d forgotten it could do that. Protected from everyone but the owner. Well, we know it works, now.” He tossed it to Peter. “Here, Petey, you try. Maybe James’s diary likes you better.”

Peter caught it, then turned to another page, sitting up as he did so. This page, again, was blank, until words began to rise into inky existence, reading, Get your grubby nose out of my affairs, if you please.

Peter rubbed at his nose hurriedly, worried a smudge of dirt might have remained there from his trip in the passageway.

“I don’t think the insults are very specific,” said James reassuringly. “But other than that, it works a treat. Don’t think I could keep a diary in a room with you lot if it didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked with a scoff. “What on earth do you need to keep secret?” He took up an imaginary quill, scrawling in the air with a cross-eyed expression that was supposedly meant to be James. “Dearest diary. Today my broomstick gave me a massive wedgie. I only hope the lovely Alice Fortescue didn’t see me scratching my arse in practice.”

“All right,” said James, snatching the diary back from Peter and going pink. “That’s enough. I’ll have that back, thanks.”

“It’s good magic,” said Peter, sparing James from Sirius’s continued cackling. “Keeps your writing private while being a bit of a laugh. If only we could get the map to do that, too, eh, Remus?”

Remus turned abruptly to face Peter. He’d clearly been half listening, too focused on the music, but now he widened his eyes, nodding at Peter. “Now that’s an idea.” He scrambled upright and yanked the diary from James’s hands before James could yelp in protest. Remus turned it over thoughtfully, thumbing the spine. “It’s just a bit of a security charm, clearly, made to respond to whoever first writes in it. Dunno how we’d get something like that to work for all four of us…”

“Password?” suggested Peter. “Like with the Fat Lady?”

Remus pointed his finger at Peter. “Petey, you beauty.”

They spent long hours into the night examining the diary and the way its charm worked, to James’s immense distress. Remus insisted it was for research, and Sirius insisted the same, but with an unmistakably evil smile on his face. Peter watched on, suggesting that whatever insults they came up with be more specific to the person who was snooping.

“It’ll take some time to get it right,” said Remus, rubbing at his eyes, “and I probably need a N.E.W.T.-level charms book. In the meantime, what do you reckon the password should be?”

James cleared his throat, raising a hand in grave salute as if he were being sworn in as Supreme Mugwump. “How about, I, a veritable Marauder of the highest order, solemnly swear that this most troublesome artifact shall be used in the name of highest mischief, until which time said mischief has been managed.”

Remus gave James a bemused look. “You think the password ought to be I, a Marauder, solemnly—”

“I, a veritable Maruader of the highest order,” James corrected.

“All right, you think it should be I, a veritable Marauder of the highest order, solemnly swear that… er…What was the rest of it?”

“What a stupid password,” Sirius interjected before James could offer Remus the rest. “How about just, I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

“Fine,” said James begrudgingly, “but we need a password to clear the map off, too. How about, I hereby proclaim that—”

“How about Mischief managed,” Remus interrupted.

James frowned. “I dunno…where’s the ceremony? Where’s the flair?”

Remus rolled up the map and jabbed it at James. “You named us the godforsaken Marauders, and we all had to put up with that. My map, my password.”

James sighed in defeat, looking balefully up at Peter. “You see how they abuse me?” he asked.

Peter was very nearly on the brink of falling asleep where he sat. He gave James a reassuring and comforting pat. “It’s your fault for keeping a poncey diary,” he told him, through a massive yawn.

November 10, 1973

James

The Gryffindor versus Slytherin match had the bad luck of falling on the first bitingly cold day of late autumn. James shivered even in the changing rooms as Alice gave her best attempt at a rousing speech. She stood on a bench looking down at them all as if the added height contributed somehow to her authority. James knew she had no need to worry, since the team found her as admirable as they found her adorable.

“Well,” said Alice, appearing to do all she could to stop herself from hopping with nerves. “Finally saw who Slytherin replaced Malfoy with; they’ve been very hush hush about it all.”

“And?” Roger Cattermole asked, stretching his batting arm out over his head.

“Well, it’s a second year,” said Alice. “Which is good, I think. It means he’ll be a bit green, but it also means he was good enough to be brought on so young. It’s Regulus Black.”

“What?” James asked in surprise. “Really?” He did remember Sirius telling him that his younger brother was quite good at Quidditch. Apparently, that had been true. “Sirius is going to have a heart attack in the stands,” James mumbled, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, well, it’s always difficult with new players,” said Alice. “Can’t be sure exactly what will work against them, but we’ve got a new player of our own.” She winked at Benjy. “Just keep on like we’ve done in practices, yeah? You, James, and Aryan have a good formation going, so put that to use. Marlene, Roger, you know what you’re meant to do. And Dorcas, you're loads better every year. Can’t wait to see the look on the Slytherin Chasers’ faces when you stop them at every goal post, yeah?”

Dorcas nodded from above her very padded Keeper’s kit, biting down a grin when Marlene elbowed her encouragingly.

They emerged from the dressing rooms into the whipping wind just as Nancy Spinnet began to call out their names. “Here comes McKinnon and Cattermole, taking some practice swings it looks like, then there’s Meadowes at the goals and Fortescue, who’s Team Captain this year, hope she’s up for the task…And there’s Patil, Potter, and newcomer Fenwick, we’ll see how he manages the Quaffle, or if all our hopes are riding on Potter this year…”

Nancy had already called out the Slytherin team, and James pulled up in the center of the pitch for the toss-off. His eyes darted up to the Slytherin Seeker, faced off against Alice a distance above the rest. Regulus Black looked very small, wind whipping through hair that was not quite as long as Sirius’s, although the two looked distinctly similar. Where Sirius’s face was always on the verge of a smile, however, Regulus’s seemed to always be on the verge of a frown. James glanced down at the stands, knowing that he would not be able to see Sirius, but trying anyway. Sirius would truly never let him forget it if he lost to his little brother.

Before James could scan through the stands for too long, however, Hooch blew her starting whistle, and James was lunging for the Quaffle, knocking it away from the Slytherin Chasers and into Benjy's waiting arms.

James had not forgotten that Mulciber was one of Slytherin’s brutish Beaters, and to James’s disappointment, it looked like Madam Pomfrey had managed to set his nose back to normal again after their Hogsmeade excursion. Remus might have agonized about loosing his temper with the agitation of the full moon still running through him, even going so far as to insist that sneaking out and meeting them at Hogsmeade was a mistake, but James thought it was one of the most brilliant things he’d ever seen.

Mulciber had clearly taken note of James in the air, too, and seemed to blame him for his minor participation in the scene at the Leaky Cauldron. Mulciber sent every Bludger he could James’s way, and James swerved and dodged, nearly enjoying himself.

“Look at that, folks,” said Nancy Spinnet. “Seems like that big ugly Slytherin Beater—can’t remember his name—wants to murder Potter. Fenwick uses his distraction to his advantage and scores a neat couple of goals, proving he’s not a complete cod…Oh, and what’s going on there? Seems like McKinnon is going for blood, too, firing her Bludger at the big ugly one—oh, that’s got to hurt, right in the stomach…”

The game very quickly became nasty, with penalties aplenty on both sides. James, Aryan, and Benjy kept Gryffindor firmly in the lead, but Marlene had clearly not forgiven Mulciber for his comment to Lily and Mary, trying to knock him off his broom. After a few nasty hits from a Budger, James figured Mulciber should have tapped out and let on the reserve player, but he refused, white-knuckling his broom as he grew angrier and angrier.

Regulus, to James’s immense disappointment, proved to be a very good flier, shadowing Alice effectively across the pitch so that any spotting of the Golden Snitch would give them both an equal chance at catching it.

“I need him off my tail,” Alice complained at timeout, scowling at the slight form of Regulus at his own huddle with the Slytherin team.

“I’d be on it, but if we don’t keep those Beaters on their guard, they’re going to start just thwacking our Chasers with their bats, never mind the Bludgers,” Marlene said angrily.

Before they could re-strategize, Hooch was ushering them back into positions.

James started out with the Quaffle easily enough and was about to see how far he could get toward the goals, but with a last-minute change of heart, he passed neatly to an open Aryan. He pulled his broom upward, escaping the cluster of Chasers and Beaters to get into the clear air where Alice and Regulus were hovering, Alice with a look of annoyance, Regulus with a look of extreme focus.

“Sirius said you were a good flier,” said James, pulling up just to Regulus’s left side. “He didn’t say you were an annoyingly good flier.”

Regulus flinched, looking over to James with a surprised scowl. “What?”

“Oh, right,” said James. “That there is called a complement. It’s the sort of thing decent people say to one another.”

Regulus’s frown deepened, if that were possible, and he attempted to pull away in pursuit of Alice. James only kept alongside him.

“Is it hard having practice with the likes of Mulciber?” James asked him. “Do you keep having to explain to him what a broom is, and which direction up is?”

James was very pleased to see Regulus roll his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be down there minding the Quaffle, Potter?”

“Nah,” said James. “I scored enough this match. It’s gotten a little boring.”

Regulus clenched his jaw, trying to keep his eyes on Alice. “A bit up yourself, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes.” James shrugged. “But in this case, your Keeper’s just really lousy. You should tell Yaxley to guard his left side better.”

“Mind your own team,” Regulus grumbled.

“Maybe I will, when you’ve stopped minding our Seeker,” said James. He glanced down at the sound of a ball whistling at high speed through the air. “Ah, here comes a Bludger, you might want to doge, Black.”

“Don’t tell me what to—” Regulus began, but he pulled aside gracefully as the dark ball soared through the space where they’d just been flying. It seemed Mulciber had located James at last and was not afraid of catching his own Seeker in the crosshairs, just as James had been hoping.

“Get off my tail,” Regulus complained when James regathered his bearings, just to pull up alongside Regulus again. “You’re trying to goad Mulciber into pummeling us both.”

“No,” said James in mock offense. “I told you to dodge didn’t I? I’m just trying have a civil conversation.”

“Υeah?” Regulus snorted, ears going pink. “Is that why you and my brother released a colony of Chizpurfles into the Slytherin laundry? To encourage a bit of friendly chat?”

“First of all,” said James, wagging his finger, “We’ve yet to catch the culprits of that disturbing crime. Second, that was meant to be for the bedsheets of the Slytherin third years, not the second years.”

“That’s good to know,” said Regulus with a sneer. “Makes me feel loads better about the bites that required an itching salve for three days.”

James gave Regulus a small smile. “Sorry.”

Regulus opened his mouth, but then paused, confused. “Are you?”

“Oh, not about the Chizpurfles,” said James, waving his hand. “Like I said, no idea who did that. I’m sorry about that.” He nodded his chin toward where Alice had taken off in pursuit of the Golden Snitch and was already halfway across the pitch.

Regulus swore in a way that James thought would make Sirius proud, pulling his broom around and giving Alice chase. He really was a good flier, James thought as Regulus flattened to his broom and made quick work of the distance. But it made little difference as Alice managed to grab hold of the Snitch and the Gryffindor stands broke into ear-splitting cheers.

James swooped low over the stands, finally finding Peter and Sirius, as well as a very miserable looking Remus, wrapped in what seemed to be three jumpers. The full moon was tonight, and James had insisted that Remus did not need to come, but Remus was feverish anyway and hoped the fresh air would do him some good. Perhaps the fresh air had helped hm, but it looked like the jostling crowd and thunderous chanting of “GO! GO! GRYFFINDOR!” surely had not. Lily had shoved one of her lumpy knit creations, this time a hat in crimson and gold, over Remus’s head, and she along with Mary were screaming McKinnon’s name.

“Had a nice catch up with Reg, did you?” Sirius asked, eyes narrowed despite his small grin.

“Did you know he was going to be on the team?” James called back down.

“No,” said Sirius with a frown that made him resemble his brother more. “But I should have figured. The little prick idolized Malfoy.”

“Well,” said James, swooping a bit lower. “The bad news is that I think he hates me. The other bad news is that I don’t reckon that’s ever going to work again.”

“Go shower so you can tell me about the look on his face when he realized,” Sirius instructed, batting James’s hovering foot away. “I want to be able to picture it exactly.”

James laughed, giving a salute to Mary and Evans before turning and joining his celebrating team.

Chapter Text

December 15, 1973

Sirius

It was the morning before their second Hogsmeade weekend, and Sirius was rummaging through his stockpile of muggle clothes in pursuit of something warm to wear. Instead of snow, they’d been graced with a downpour of thick sleet, and the halls and corridors felt drafty with the strong winds that howled around the castle.

“Moony,” said Sirius, watching Remus as he hunkered over his essay atop his bed. “You can’t possibly mean to be doing homework right before we leave.”

“It’s Herbology,” said Remus. “The Mandrakes are interesting and everything, but it’s rather horrible to study how they’re going through puberty. We’re meant to give Professor Sprout twelve inches on how to prevent Mandrake body odor.”

Sirius glanced over to James, who peered back over the top of his glasses with a small grin. Treating Mandrake spots was a bit of a chore, sure, but it meant that the Mandrakes were that much closer to maturity, which they were very much counting on for the Animagus process.

“Cheer up,” said Sirius, opting to grab one of Remus’s jumpers from him while he was distracted. “We could be extracting Stinksap from the Mimbulus Mimbletonia again this year. Now come on, we’ve got to get to the Entrance Hall.”

They left the dormitory and joined the rest of the students as they took off from the castle. The walk to Hogsmeade was much less pleasant than it had been in October, with the perpetual drizzle that had Sirius’s hair plastered to his face. By the time they’d reached the Three Broomsticks, it was crowded with students that had no interest in lingering outside. Sirius made his way to the pretty barmaid, leaning over the bar on his sodden forearms.

“Hiya, Rosie. Did you miss me at all?”

Madam Rosmerta narrowed her eyes at him, suppressing a smile. “Black, was it?”

Sirius clutched at the arm of Gene Macmillan beside him, who was trying to place an order. “She remembers,” he swooned.

Madam Rosmerta smirked, likely despite her better judgement. “How many Butterbeers do I need to get you before you leave these fine people here alone?”

“Three Butterbeers and an Ogden's Old, neat, please,” said Sirius, winking at her.

“Four Butterbeers it is,” said Rosmerta, shaking her head.

When she’d deposited the drinks on the bar, all four full to spilling, he paid her a Galleon and two Knuts, tossed her a salute, and carried them back to their table, two in each hand. “I think she’s very nearly in love with me,” he told the other boys, who were sat waiting.

“You’re aware you’re a paying customer she has to serve, aren’t you?” asked Remus, taking a healthy gulp and ending up with a bit of froth on his nose.

“Yes, but she served me first,” Sirius pointed out, leaning back in his chair. “She’s mad for me.”

“I remember you once saying that if you ever became inclined to snog a bird, we should strike you dead where you stood,” said Remus with an eyebrow raised.

“Eugh,” said Sirius. “I didn’t say anything about snogging her, did I?”

“She’s really pretty,” said Peter, going a bit pink as he watched her tend to other customers. “I’d snog her.”

“Go offer it, Petey,” said Sirius. “It’s nearly Christmas, time of miracles, after all.”

“Speaking of,” said James, clasping his hands together. “Sirius is coming to mine, of course, but will I see the rest of you on Boxing Day? You’re all welcome to stay for a bit after.”

“Am I coming to yours?” Sirius asked, trying to appear merely curious. “Your mum and dad know that I’m not exactly allowed, don’t they?”

“Sure,” said James easily. “I think my parents have realized your mum won’t be stopping by for a cuppa and decided not to bother with asking or even mentioning it.”

Sirius nodded in relief.

“Mum and I will be there,” said Peter happily. We’re spending the New Year with Mum’s squib sister again, but I can stay for a few before we leave.”

“Yeah,” agreed Remus. “Haven’t got any moons to worry about until the new year, thank Merlin. Otherwise I’d have to either come back here or see my da.”

Sirius didn’t think Remus had quite told the other boys about his da and the Werewolf pamphlet—about why he’d been bitten. Sirius wasn’t sure if it was quite a secret, but it was most definitely something Remus did not want to think on too long if he could avoid it. Sirius understood that just fine.

“Anyway,” said Remus, drumming his fingers on his glass tankard. “I’ve been dying to visit Scrivenshaft’s and Fable and Folly, since I missed those last time.”

“Right,” said James, casting a significant look over to Sirius and Peter. “We were thinking we’d all split up for an hour or so, you know, seeing that we’ve all got buy each other our Christmas presents.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” said Remus. “Doesn’t bother me if it’s not a surprise.”

“Moony!” Sirius scolded. “Trying to do away with the whimsy of Christmas morning, are you?”

“You ought to just visit the shops with Lily and the girls,” said Peter quickly. “You know they’d be happy to go with you.”

“Oh,” said Remus, looking between them all with something between suspicion and perhaps hurt. “Er…all right.”

“There the girls are now,” said James, pointing to the group that had just hurried in from the cold. “Oi! Evans!”

Evans did not turn at the sound of her name being hollered thus, but rather braced herself and took a deep breath. Mary and Marlene, however, waved over happily, pushing through the crowd.

“Got a table well away from blood purists and bigots, have you?” Marlene asked, pulling over a chair.

“Yeah,” said James. “It’s just Sirius, this time around.”

“I take great offense to that,” Sirius scoffed. “I’m an inbreed, fine, but not a bigot.”

“I don’t care who we’re near,” said Mary, ruffling Remus’s already wind-mussed hair. “We’ve got Remus here to protect us, don’t we? He’ll keep the Mulcibers at bay.”

“Don’t remind me of that,” Remus groaned, sinking his head into his hands. “I don’t think my hand’s been quite right since. Mulciber’s skull was too hard.”

“We were just saying that we ought to loan Remus to you for a bit this afternoon,” said Sirius, finishing his Butterbeer. “You know, in case you need some threatening muscle on your side.”

“Feeling chivalrous, are you, Remus?” Evans asked with a grin.

“Yeah,” Remus mumbled. “Really knightly. That, and the lads want to be rid of me for some reason.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’ve never met someone who hated the idea of being surprised by his Christmas present so much.”

“Ooh, Christmas shopping,” enthused Mary. “That’s a good idea. Remus, you can help me pick out things for my brothers. I’ve got no idea what boys like. Dirt clods? Slugs?”

“Yeah,” said Remus with a sigh. “Can’t go wrong with those.”

“By the way,” said James, sliding his tankard from hand to hand across the sticky table, “we’re having a big do at our house on Boxing Day. These lads are all coming, and you’re all invited, of course.”

Marlene beamed over the brim of her Butterbeer. “Your mum already owled mine. Can’t wait. Patsy might try to jinx you on sight for taking the Quidditch cup from her in her last year, though.”

“Why me?” James asked. “You’re just as much to blame.”

“Yeah,” agreed Marlene, “and she’s already jinxed me plenty over the summer.”

“What do you say, Macdonald?” James asked, turning to Mary. He continued to fidget in a way that nearly made Sirius think he was nervous. “And you, Evans?”

“Can’t,” said Mary sadly. “Mum’s inviting the whole family from Ipswich and I'm meant to visit with them. I’ve got to give my bed to an aunty; I’ll probably be sleeping in the garden.”

“Bah, too bad,” said James with a frown. “Next year, yeah?”

When Mary agreed, he looked toward Evans expectantly. "And you? What d'you think?"

“Me?” Evans asked, looking around as if there’d been some sort of error. “Has a Hippogriff bashed your head in, Potter?”

“No,” said James with a frown. “We could send over some Floo Powder. Your whole family could come if they like.”

Evans fixed him with a severe look. “The mere suggestion would make my sister keel over on the spot. Besides, I’m busy.”

“Busy with what?” asked James. Sirius thought he was pressing the issue a bit hard considering that Lily Evans thought he was barking mad for the invitation alone.

“Busy enjoying a holiday where I’m free of you,” said Lily with a brow raised.

“Ah,” said James easily enough. “Very dull plans, then. I don’t envy you.”

Marlene and Mary were both looking between the two with interest, so Sirius set his tankard down heavily and said, “Right, well, like I said, shopping to do…”

With assurances that they'd take good care of him, Sirius, James, and Peter left Remus to the care of the girls, slipping out once again into the miserable weather.

Peter looked over at James curiously. “Did you really think Evans would want to come to your party? She’ll probably be out caroling with Snape.”

“I dunno,” said James, shrugging. “Moony will be there, and so will McKinnon—”

“And so will you,” said Sirius very innocently.

“Well…yeah,” said James, brow furrowed as they hurried along the cobblestones. “Obviously. What d’you mean?”

Sirius sighed. “What, were you planning on putting mistletoe up in every doorway? Hoping a quick snog will make Evans forget that she near about hates you?”

James sputtered. “What?! Mistletoe—what does that—Snog?! That’s got nothing to do—”

“Fine, fine,” said Sirius, exchanging a look with Peter. “I haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about.”

“Well me neither,” James huffed. “Was just being nice, is all.”

They continued down the very empty high street until they’d reached the near end. All that was left in front of them beside a few little cottages was a very dingy pub. It couldn’t have been more different from the Three Broomsticks, with its smudgy windows, dim lights, and relative unpopularity. A sign creaked in the wet wind above them, bearing an illustration of a severed boar’s head, leaking blood onto the table that held it. Fittingly, the words above it read Hog’s Head Inn.

“You sure this is the place?” Peter asked nervously. He peered into the grimy window, and leaned back quickly, not seeming to like what he saw.

“Yeah,” said Sirius. “Trust me, I’ve got plenty of experience with places that don’t mind a little bending of wizard law. This place is one of them.”

He’d discovered the place under the Invisibility Cloak earlier in the year with James after scouting out a passageway. They’d watched nighttime patrons come and go with raised hoods and had even witnessed a sort of discreet trade off of some small parcel for gold at the corner of the establishment. James had only noted that it smelled strongly of goat, but Sirius had spotted it for the opportunity that it was. Still, they couldn’t have very well strode in and made inquiries on a night where they clearly weren’t permitted off school grounds, but Sirius had hoped that a Hogsmeade weekend would afford them more grace.

The issue was that the Animagus project was at a standstill until they could find the proper instructions for the potion they needed to brew. Even a browse through the restricted section of the library yielded no results or specifics, and Sirius was coming to suspect that the only way to learn more about the process at Hogwarts was to gain the tutelage of Professor McGonagall. Sirius somehow doubted that she’d be willing to take them all on in their seventh year, let alone now. An ingredient list was all well and good, but they needed to know what to do with those ingredients. The Mandrake leaves would be ready by the end of the school year, and they could not afford for them to go to waste.

“Right then,” said Sirius, dearly hoping he was not about to stumble into some wonky relative of his. “In we pop.”

The door swung open with an unpleasant squeal, and nearly every head turned to see who had entered. All in all, it wasn’t that many heads. There was the barkeep, a very tall old man with a great ragged beard, a group of balding wizards that looked like they might have been related to Mulciber, a spindly witch sitting on her own by the back, and a wizard with matted ginger hair, whose legs did not quite reach the ground from his chair. Aside from those friendly faces, they were greeted by warm, slightly rank air, and many empty seats around the large hearth.

Uneasily, they took the seats, surveying the patrons they found themselves among.

“Reckon I should order us a drink?” James asked.

“Probably a good start,” Sirius reasoned. “Er…maybe we’d better stick to Gillywaters, though.”

James nodded, attempting something like casualness as he approached the bar. The man behind it was wearing very worn robes, and his face looked a bit unwashed. His eyes, though, were a startling blue that made it appear as if there was nothing they missed.

When James returned, it was with four very suspect looking Gillywaters. “I think the glasses were dirty,” said James with a frown. “That, or something’s growing in that cask he poured from.”

All three of them stared at the Gillywaters for a moment, opting not to take a drink.

“Well,” said Peter, “Who do you reckon? Anyone here look like they know how to become an Animagus? Or like they’d take some gold to help us find out?”

Sirius surveyed the options once more. The balding wizards had turned back to their business, muttering quietly over a set of cards. The witch in the corner looked rather tipsy and dazed. The shorter wizard, however, was peering at them with interest from his place at the bar.

“Think I should go see about him?” Sirius asked apprehensively.

“We’ll go with you,” said James, sounding like he wanted to do anything but. Peter slowly nodded, looking very pale.

With a sigh, Sirius stood, taking his Gillywater so as not to offend the barkeep. He tried to look as though he simply fancied a change in scenery as he settled next to the short wizard at the bar. The bar top was very sticky and coated with a healthy layer of grime.

Sirius wracked his brain for some sort of introduction, but was spared as the wizard grinned at him, displaying a few gold teeth. He had a rough voice as he asked, “Shouldn’t you ‘Ogwarts brats be over spending your pretty coins at the Broomsticks, then?”

Sirius shrugged, staring at the shelves filled with very dusty and murky bottles behind the bar as if they fascinated him. “Seems like the only thing for purchase at the Three Broomsticks is a bit of Butterbeer,” he said slowly. “I’d rather spend my gold on more…er…interesting things.”

He had the sense that James was trying very hard not to snort nervously beside him.

The wizard, however, seemed very pleased by this statement. He stuck out a pudgy hand, stacked with rings. “Me name’s Fletcher. I reckon I like your sort.”

Hoping the hand was at least somewhat clean, Sirius shook it. “Black. Are…are you a man that knows how to get information, Fletcher?”

Fletcher grinned even broader. “The very same. What’s it that you want to know?”

“We’re looking for information about a potion,” said James quickly, leaning forward over Sirius’s shoulder. “The Amato Animo Animato Potion. You know it?”

Fletcher’s eyes narrowed at James as if he’d just spoken Gobbledegook. “Er…yeah, yeah…might’ve ‘eard of it…”

“We don’t need you to have heard of it,” said Sirius quickly, elbowing James aside. “We need someone to find us the instructions. There’s nothing in the school, and we reckon the Ministry has it labeled as sensitive information. But there are lots of Animagi out there, on a registered list and everything.” Sirius pulled out a sheet of parchment from his trouser pocket, on which he’d written out the twenty or so registered Animagi that had been available for reference in the library. He wasn’t sure how up to date it was, and based on some of the years marked down, more than a few were probably goners by now. Still, Minerva McGonagall was on there, and some of the names after her were bound to be around. “We just need to know how they went about it,” Sirius continued. “We’ve got the ingredient list already, but we know a lot less about what to do with it.”

Fletcher considered this, taking a sip of a very dark amber drink without ice. “So, you need someone to find this Affagato Potion—”

“Amato Animo Animato,” supplied James.

“—Right, and then what?” Fletcher looked at them doubtfully. “Send it along to a group of bleedin’ tykes? I don’t s’pose you’ve got the funds to pay for that kind of job.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Sirius happily, pulling out a hefty pouch of gold and setting it heavily on the table. “We’ve got entirely too many funds.”

“Ah,” said Fletcher, with much more interest. “Now that’s more like it. Few more of these, an’ I’ll brew you the bleedin’ potion meself.”

“Just the instructions will be fine,” said James, watching as Fletcher snatched up the gold and pocketed it. “We’ve got another Hogsmeade weekend on the second Saturday of February, reckon you could meet us here then?”

“Fine, fine,” said Fletcher with a distracted wave of his hand and a broad smile. He finished his drink and slammed it on the counter. “’Ow about another one, Aberforth?” he asked the barkeep. “You know I’m good for it, now, eh?” he added with a wink.

The bearded barkeep approached, watching Sirius, James, and Peter closely, even as he refilled Fletcher’s glass with something syrupy from a dusty bottle. Fletcher raised his glass to them, finished it in one go, then stifled a belch. “Orright, then, I’ll be seein’ you lads in January, was it?”

“Second Saturday in February,” Peter corrected, voice high.

“Lovely, lovely,” said Fletcher, hopping off the stool. He was perhaps just a bit shorter than Sirius, and he jangled conspicuously with his newly acquired gold. He picked up the list Sirius had copied down from the counter and pocketed it with a wink. “Registered Animagi. The Allotto Affato Tomato Potion. And I’ll be wantin’ another payout for all me hard work, mind.”

With a salute, he teetered toward the door, and it made the same horrible squealing noise again as he opened it, letting in a blast of cold air before he was rushing down the street.

“Well,” said Sirius uneasily. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?”

The barkeep spoke, then, startling them with his gruff voice. “Just how much gold did you fools give away to Dung?”

Sirius blinked up at the man, Aberforth according to Fletcher, and nearly took a sip of the Gillywater before he remembered himself. “Er…not sure that’s any of your business.”

James, however, was frowning at the barkeep thoughtfully. “Dung? I thought he said his name was Fletcher.”

“Aye,” said Aberforth. “Mundungus Fletcher. Least reliable man north of the English Channel. You won’t be seeing him again.” He shook his head with something like amusement. “Been hatching this plan for long, have you?”

“No,” said James, while Sirius attempted to kick him under the bar. “Just had the idea last night.”

“Figures,” said Aberforth, with a roll of his eyes. He was just about to turn back to the glasses he was scrubbing in a murky washbasin, when Peter piped up.

“Aberforth, was it?” he asked, eyes wide. “You're the bloke with the goats. We had loads of detentions with Hagrid where we had to muck out their stables last year when they were on school grounds.”

When Aberforth turned again and fixed Peter with a very piercing glare, Peter cleared his throat anxiously.

“N-not that I minded.” Peter squirmed on his barstool, looking to James and Sirius for assistance. “They were—er—sort of sweet. Loads better than mopping the boys’ loos with Mr. Filch. We fed them lots of cabbage.”

There was a tense moment where Sirius wondered if he should grab James and run, leaving Peter to whatever horrible fate this barkeep had in store for him, but then Aberforth sighed long and slow, sending his gray beard fluttering.

“Listen,” he said, walking back and leaning his tall frame on the counter before them. “That gold you gave Dung is gone, but if it’s advanced and dangerous scrolls you’re looking for, there’s a shop in Knockturn Alley that you’ll have better luck in. You lads know Knockturn?”

“Yeah,” said Sirius quickly. He’d been dragged along the shadowy street many times.

Aberforth nodded. “Ebonhart’s Emporium, got that? If you haven’t got a pureblood’s last name, pretend you do when they ask.”

The boys exchanged glances before James nodded back to Aberforth enthusiastically. “Yeah, thanks.”

Aberforth only grunted, stepping back again. “And tell Hagrid the goats were well taken care of. In good spirits, all of ‘em.”

With more muttered thanks, the three boys left without having a sip of their drinks and hurried back onto the street. The skies had gone a very dark gray, and the streetlamps had been lit early to help the shoppers see as they bowed their heads and ducked under cloak hoods. “Wasn’t exactly what we were aiming for, but we came out all right, didn’t we?” asked James hopefully as he wiped off his glasses.

Sirius looked around, but there was no sign of Mundungus Fletcher, who had doubtlessly Apparated away by now.

“Sorry about your gold, Sirius,” said Peter as they navigated around the large, half-frozen puddles between cobblestones.

“Nah,” said Sirius. “Don’t worry about that. Nicked most of it from Reggie’s room the summer after first year and stashed it alongside the gramophone last summer.”

“Think we can get Mum to let us go to Diagon Alley on our own after the new year?” James asked, thinking. “Maybe if we tell her I need some new Quidditch pads…then you and I can find that Ebonhart’s place. Shouldn’t have any trouble with your last name. Dunno about mine…”

“You two get to have all the fun,” Peter complained sullenly.

“If your mum turns into some sort of hysterical hag, you’ll get to hide out at the Potters’, too, Pete,” said Sirius cheerily.

They made a stop at Dervish and Banges so that they really could get a few Christmas presents before they found Remus and the girls at Fable and Folly. Remus seemed to have forgiven them for their abandonment as he sat on a pile of cushions, deep in a book and entirely unaware of his surroundings. Sirius grinned as he approached, swinging his bags and kicking Remus’s boot with his own. “Miss us terribly, Moony?”

Remus only held out the book he was reading—Animating Charms: Giving Thoughts to the Thoughtless. “Got to try some of this on the map,” he said happily.

“You’ve got a one-track mind,” Sirius sighed. “It’s all girls and maps with you.”

Remus held out a hand so that he might be helped up, and Sirius obliged. Remus was just a bit taller than him now, and he grunted with the effort.

“You’re the ones shoving me off on the girls,” said Remus, giving Sirius a light shove as soon as he was up. “And you’re the ones that made me put all sorts of secrets on the map. It was only meant to help me get to my classes.”

“You’re welcome on both counts,” said Sirius easily. “Now come on, let’s get back to the castle before it starts absolutely pissing rain.”

December 22, 1973

Remus

Remus wouldn’t quite describe what he’d done to prepare for Christmas holidays as packing—it was moreso shoving the closest items to him on the floor into a small trunk, fastening said trunk, and hurrying to catch the carriages to Hogsmeade station. He had a suspicion that a great deal of the clothes belonged to either James or Sirius, since their beds were closest to his, but there was a chance that a sock or two of Peter’s had ended up in the mix.

The pitiful drizzle of December had at last turned into proper snow, and Hogsmeade and the rest of the countryside looked like a gingerbread village from the train window—even the Forbidden Forest looked charming, dusted over in white. He’d somehow managed to sit between James and Peter as they had a loud conversation about the Puddlemere United versus Wimbourne Wasps match that had been covered in that morning’s Daily Prophet. Sirius across from them was reading the advanced Charms book Remus had picked out from Fable and Folly with a furrowed brow.

“Look at this one,” Sirius said abruptly to Remus, speaking over James as he enthused about some Chaser formation he was itching to try. “The Homunculus Charm.”

“Yeah,” said Remus. “I saw that. But it’s loads more complicated than a Security Charm. You have to link the magical item to the heart of another magical entity.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius, “But then it knows everything the thing it’s linked to knows.”

“Which one of us do we link the map to then?” Remus asked, rolling his eyes. “To James? Then it’ll know every Puddlemere United match score in the last five years.”

“Try last ten,” said James indignantly.

“No,” said Sirius. “To the castle. It's a magical entity, isn’t it? It knows where everything is. It bloody knows where every one is.”

Remus stared at him. “You’re having a laugh.”

“Usually,” said Sirius. “But not at the moment. We actually could practice the Homunculus Charm with the four of us first, make sure we can manage it.”

They debated the possibilities and impossibilities, referencing the difficult text as much as they could. Remus argued against it, but James snatched the book away from Sirius as he became more invested in the idea than any of the others, asking even to borrow it over the holiday. If James was going so far as to do a bit of academic reading over Christmas, Remus knew he stood very little chance against his force of will. They dropped the subject only when Mary and Marlene came by to dole out Christmas gifts—sweets from a very large Honeydukes bag.

Remus looked into Marlene’s bulging bag as she leaned forward to chuck a box of Fizzing Whizzbees at James, and he spotted a rather lovely-looking Dragon Egg Crème in a box with a striped ribbon. “That one for Patsy so that she doesn’t Hex you over the holiday?” he asked, admiring it.

“Oh,” said Marlene. She flushed a bit. “No…Dorcas Meadowes gave me a broom servicing kit during our last practice of the season. I reckoned I should get her something really good as a thank you. I’ve still yet to find her on the train.”

“That’s nice,” said Remus. He’d noticed that Dorcas hung around mostly with Benjy Fenwick or else the Prewett twins, and he wondered if she weren’t a bit lacking in girl friends. He didn’t doubt that Mary and Marlene would adopt her easily enough.

“Dorcas?” asked James, overhearing. “She’ll be around for Boxing Day with her family. If you miss her on the train, you can always give it to her then.”

“Right,” said Marlene, smiling. “That’s good.”

“Where’s Evans?” James asked, peering out into the corridor. “Doesn’t she want to give me a Christmas gift, too?”

“Fat chance,” laughed Mary, but then her face took on a more unpleasant expression. “Snape’s going home for Christmas for the first time since starting school, I guess. She’s in a compartment with him. Apparently, he’s in some sort of mood.”

“When isn’t he?” Marlene scoffed.

It was just the beginning of nightfall when the train pulled through London and into King’s Cross Station—Remus had been soundly asleep on Peter’s shoulder for what felt like hours. He gathered his trunks with the rest of them, giving Peter, Sirius, and James hearty goodbyes and a promise to see them in a few days. He found his mam easily enough—it seemed as though she’d been waiting at the other side of the barrier, but Mr. and Mrs. Potter had cheerily dragged her through.

Remus had been expecting to hurry over to St. Pancras for another long train to Swansea, but he was surprised when his mam led him to a nearby car park with a smile. “Mrs. March-Meyers let me borrow her car, isn’t that lovely? Sorry if it smells a bit like dog…I suppose little Victor has a fit if he’s not up in the passenger seat.”

They listened happily to the radio on the dark drive through the countryside as Remus told his mam about the school year thus far, careful to leave out any mention of detentions. His mam seemed pleased about his marks, even if the actual details on spell work and potion brewing made her look a little squeamish. She told him very happily that the shop where sh worked wanted to display some of her paintings of the local seascape and would attach a price in case anyone was interested in buying them. “That’s brilliant, Mam,” said Remus, meaning it.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day passed relatively quietly—the shops had been closed for Sunday on the 23rd, but he’d owled his mam to have her purchase the muggle things he wanted for his friends—primarily for Sirius. She had dutifully purchased a copy of The Princess Bride, which Remus thought would make Sirius laugh, and a vinyl of Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, which she handed over with trepidation. “I don’t like the look of that cover, Remus,” she told him as he turned it over in his hands appreciatively.

They set up a rather scrawny tree in the sitting room, spending some time threading together cranberries, popcorn, and paper chains to dress it. On Christmas morning, he was pleased to look under it and find some larger clothes and shoes to fit him, a heavy stack of secondhand mystery novels, and Goats Head Soup from The Rolling Stones. His mam seemed plenty pleased by the pretty bracelet he’d picked up from Dervish and Banges, and he opted not to tell her that it squealed shrilly when one was at risk of kissing a Selkie, since he hoped the need would never arise.

The elderly Mrs. March-Meyers came by unannounced mid morning, but Remus did not mind since she brought over an enormous plum cake along with a rattling stream of gossip about the neighbors. She stared at his now very pale scar for a moment, but she’d been told the story that he’d taken a bad tumble on the rocks at the seaside. Mostly ignoring her, Remus pulled the gramophone behind the couch so that he could spread out on the carpet and listen to his new record, volume low, while his mam and Mrs. March-Meyers chatted at the table. Victor came by to sniff suspiciously at Remus’s feet, but opted not to bite him, which Remus thought must mean he was overtaken by Christmas spirit.

It wasn’t until Mrs. March-Meyers left in the early afternoon that Remus’s good mood was dampened. He watched as his mam pulled the Christmas turkey from the oven, only slightly burned, and set the table for three.

“Who else is coming?” Remus asked suspiciously.

“Well…” said his mam slowly, wafting away steam from the oven. “I phoned your da and invited him, of course. Families ought to spend Christmas’s together.”

Remus’s heart sank. “What did he say?”

His mam sighed at his dark expression. “Well, he said he’d try and be here. I can’t imagine he has any work on Christmas Day. I don’t know much about his government job, but I know it must give him some holidays.” She smiled as if all of this were good news, continuing to take down the nicer china.

“He’s not coming,” said Remus with finality. “You know as well as I do.”

“Do I?” asked his mam with a furrowed brow. “He’d like to see you, you know. He’s very proud of how you’re doing in school—”

“He’s not proud at all,” said Remus. “He didn’t even want me to go this year.”

“Well,” said his mam, looking a bit unsure at last. “He was only worried for you.”

“He was worried about me,” Remus corrected. “Can’t have students writing their families at the Ministry, suspecting that his son, the git they’re taking lessons with, is a bloody Werewolf.”

His mam tutted at his language. “He says it’s sensitive, is all. You know more than I do that we’ve got to be discreet—”

“Was he being discreet when he wrote that all Werewolves ought to spend half their lives in Azkaban?” Remus asked hotly. The full moon was not until the eighth—he had no excuse for the feverish rise of heat overtaking him. It came only from himself and his own foul mood.

His mam blinked. “What…how did you—”

“Yeah,” said Remus, fists tight. “I know about that. Makes sense why he can’t bear to look at me. He as good as turned me himself. We’d all be together, happy and normal in our old cottage, if he’d just kept his trap shut.”

His mam’s eyes filled with tears, and Remus almost instantly regretted his words.

“’M sorry,” he said gruffly. “I just don’t think he’s coming, is all.”

Sure enough, his da did not come. They made their way through a somewhat tense meal, food gone slightly cold, Remus feeling a guilty jab every time his mam dabbed at her eyes.

“I only…” Remus began lamely as he helped her clear the table and begin the washing up. “It’s only that, for so many years, I felt like it was all my fault for ruining our family. I’m mad that it was maybe his fault, too. And I’m mad that he let me think it was mine alone.”

“Oh, Remus,” said his mam softly, peeling off her sudsy washing gloves to wrap her arms around him. “It’s no one’s fault, cariad. And our family is not ruined. Just a little different.”

Remus tried to nod into her apron, but he did not feel much better.

It was a relief when he received an owl over lunch on Boxing Day, Featherby carrying a pouch of Floo Powder and a handwritten invitation for both Remus and his mother in Mrs. Potter’s tall, angular script. His mam wouldn’t be coming, but it was nice of Mrs. Potter to keep trying, anyway.

Remus was again only staying until just after New Year’s Eve, so he packed a small bag and put on his best new clothes, hoping he didn’t look too much like a prat. His mam looked him over approvingly. “Very handsome. Although you need a haircut. You’re beginning to look like one of those album covers, Remus.” She pecked him on both cheeks and then leaned back, shaking her head. “When I pick you up from the train after your next term, I reckon you’ll be taller than me.”

Grinning, Remus waved goodbye before throwing down the Floo Powder and declaring, “The Potters, Willowick Crescent!”

With a single step forward, he began immediately to spin through the tickling flames. He hoped he was beginning to get better at it, since he managed to stay upright as he landed hard in a bright, warm room filled with voices.

He had not taken one step before Sirius was on him, dusted over with icing sugar. “Moony! Thank goodness. I've been kicked out of the kitchen, and I thought I was going to be trapped in a conversation with Elphias Doge. Come on, then.”

Remus barely had time to greet and thank Mr. and Mrs. Potter, who shouted a hello from the kitchen with James, before Sirius was dragging him up the stairs to deposit his things in the same attic bedroom Sirius had all but claimed for his own.

“Wonder who that’s for,” said Sirius with a smirk, looking at the square, flat parcel Remus still held as he set down the rest of his things among Sirius’s mess.

Remus rolled his eyes, handing it over. “Open it, then. Impatient.”

Sirius tore into it delightedly and kissed the Black Sabbath album he revealed, taking in the artwork. “I love Muggles,” he declared. “Can’t believe this was even allowed. Here,” he added, turning and reaching for a square parcel of his own under the bed. “Got you some, too.”

Remus felt altogether too spoiled by both The Who’s Quadrophenia and Bowie’s album of covers, Pin Ups. “It’s too much,” he said happily.

“Nonsense,” said Sirius, “I’ll get to listen to them, too. Besides, look what the Potters got me.” He moved aside a shirt and jumper that were thrown over a chair, revealing another gramophone, although this one looked a bit newer then theirs at Hogwarts, with a smaller horn. “Doesn’t sound quite as good as ours, but I get to keep it in this room and everything.” He beamed at it, and Remus couldn’t help noting how different he was from when they’d had their reunion after the summer holiday.

Sirius led him back downstairs, saying, “Of course, James gets to use it over the summer holiday, the lucky git. Oh, and you’ll never guess who else coming tonight.” He turned around expectantly, as if he really did expect Remus to guess.

“Farrah Fawcett?”

“Who? She one of the Fawcetts that live by the Lovegoods in Ottery St. Catchpole?”

“Never mind,” said Remus. “Just tell me.”

“Andromeda,” said Sirius. “And that Tonks bloke. They’re married now, I told you that, and they’ve had the baby if you can believe it…”

Sirius prattled on as they descended, passing a steady stream of guests that were coming in and dusting snow off of their hats and cloaks. They found James and Peter in the dining room, already helping themselves to the massive amounts of food, and it wasn’t long before Marlene arrived with her parents and a very tan-looking Patsy, who was playing for the Hollyhead Harpies now. She fixed James with a very doubtful look before tousling his messy hair and giving him a smile.

Gene, Duncan, and their families arrived with lots of noise and excitement, then Marlene was peeling away from the rest of them to greet Dorcas Meadowes, who looked quite pleased to be there alongside her parents.

“Good Christmas?” asked Peter when he could be heard over the crowd.

“Yeah, nice enough,” Remus shrugged. “Just me and Mam. How was yours?”

“Brilliant,” said Peter happily. “Mum got me a racing broom. It’s only a Comet 180, mind, but it’s my own. I brought it here to practice with James, if the snow lets up. You could have a try on it if you want.”

Remus smiled at how much he didn’t want that. “Thanks, Petey. That’s great. Think you’ll go for the team when a spot opens?”

“Oh, no,” said Peter quickly, going a bit pink. “It’s just fun to practice is all.”

Remus had gone in for seconds on just about everything when the flames of the great fireplace went green once more, and two people stepped out, one carrying a baby with a tuft of bright purple hair. It took Remus a moment to recognize Andromeda outside of her Slytherin robes. Her thick, dark hair had been twisted back from her face, and she wore a bright dress in a muggle style, arm in arm with Ted Tonks.

Upon seeing them, Sirius hurried over with a great deal of excitement but stopped short at the sight of the baby. “What’s with its hair?” he asked, head tilted at the sight of the purple baby fuzz.

“Dromeda reckons she’s a Metamorphmagus,” said Ted very proudly.

Remus wasn’t sure what Ted had just said, but figured he might have sneezed.

“I don’t reckon anything,” said Andromeda. “She’s clearly one, and quite talented already. Metamorphmagi are very rare, they can change their appearance at will, you know. She was born with black hair like mine, but not a minute later she was ginger. She’ll be something else entirely by the time we leave.”

Sirius looked approvingly at his new little cousin. “What’s her name?”

“Nymphadora,” said Andromeda fondly.

Sirius groaned.

“I know,” agreed Ted. “There was nothing I could do to talk her out of it.”

“It’s a gorgeous name,” said Andromeda sniffily, elbowing Ted in the side. “I’ve always adored it. Would have gone better with the surname Black, of course, but I couldn’t do that to her. We’re both Tonkses now.”

“Wish I were so lucky,” said Sirius with a grimace. “Ted, you don’t want to marry me too, do you?”

Andromeda finally handed the baby over to Ted so that she could hug Sirius properly, and he let her, even if he squirmed a bit at the kisses on both cheeks. “I’ve got something for you, little cousin,” she said happily, reaching into a large bag and procuring an unwrapped vinyl. Sirius crowed in delight at the sight of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

Mrs. Potter appeared with warm greetings for the Tonkses, making a great deal of a fuss around the baby Nymphadora. “How perfectly bright she is,” said Mrs. Potter, watching the baby blow spit bubbles and sweeping Nymphadora into her own arms at once. “You’re so fortunate, I’ve always wished I had a daughter.”

“What?” asked James indignantly from across the room.

The baby was generally agreeable to everyone it was passed off to, chubby and cute the way Remus supposed a baby ought to be. Somehow, he ended up holding her after Mr. Potter thought he smelled something burning in the kitchen and handed her off in a rush. Remus was quite unsure what to do with the little thing, but the baby just surveyed the party with a bit of drool running down its chin.

“I’m proper jealous of her,” said Sirius, coming to look at how Remus was faring.

“Why?” asked Remus. “Because she’s got a nappy and you have to use the loo?”

Sirius stuck his tongue out at him. “No, because she’s got someone from my family as a mother, but she gets to live a perfectly normal life.”

“She’ll have you as her only family on her Mum’s side,” said Remus, handing Nymphadora off to him. “There’s no way she turns out normal.”

The party continued and grew dense with guests. The neighbors next door, the Fawleys, had brought over their house-elf, Hedgie, but the elf was seeming to have a hard time understanding that she was a guest. She kept picking up platters to tote around the sitting room, and Mrs. Potter kept gently taking them from her. To Remus’s humiliation, Bathilda Bagshot appeared to remember him and asked if he was faring any better in History. He was saved from his stammering response by James, who was demanding to see Peter’s new broomstick in the back garden, and it didn’t take long for him, Marlene, and Dorcas to all want turns on it. Poor Peter watched on nervously as Dorcas decided to see if it would support her and Marlene both, the two of them giggling quite hard as they struggled to steer. Faintly from inside, they could hear the tinny radio playing O, Come All Ye Spellbound.

Remus looked over to Benjy Fenwick, who he hadn’t seen arrive at the party. He had settled on the porch step beside Remus, both of them not paying much mind to the crust of snow that was sure to dampen their rears. “Aren’t you going to want a turn?” Remus asked. “The whole rest of your team is up there.”

“Nah,” said Benjy easily. “I’ve gotten my fill of Potter, McKinnon, and Meadowes flying circles around me, thanks.”

Remus laughed. “Hardly. I was there for the last match, you held your own well.”

“Yeah?” asked Benjy with a smile. He had fairer hair than either Remus or Peter, and his was quite curly, as were his light eyelashes.

Remus shrugged. “Not that I’d know. I spent half a match last year watching an owl hunting over the lake, thinking it was Alice.”

Benjy laughed very hard at that. The doors behind them were thrown open to let out some of the heat from the party, and the colored lights created bright, multi-colored spots across the snow. Mr. Potter had done something with the trimmed hedges to make them glimmer with little pricks of light as well. The snow had mostly stopped, with only a few fat flakes falling every so often.

“You staying here for a bit of the holiday, then?” asked Benjy.

“Yeah,” said Remus, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Until the new year.”

“Cool,” said Benjy. “Maybe I’ll come around and visit, then. I’m just at the other end of the Crescent.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Remus again. “That’d be brilliant.”

Benjy seemed quite happy with that assessment, and Remus was glad. Benjy was a nice enough bloke, and he was friends with Dorcas, who Remus liked quite a bit.

“You’ve got a good record store down in muggle Hollowcombe-on-the-Hill,” added Remus. “I’ve been dying to go back since last Christmas.”

“Yeah,” said Benjy enthusiastically. “I’ve been wanting to go. We pass it every now and then on our way to the shops.”

Remus thought back to that back corner of the store, listening to Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars with Sirius, and he wondered if it would be just as pleasant to do the same with Benjy, or if the enjoyment only came out of knowing the other person so well.

He had no sooner thought of Sirius than he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, jostling him very hard for his attention. Remus looked up and saw Sirius’s face looming above his, expression bright. He’d been inside, talking with Andromeda and Ted, and he was not yet snow-chilled like Remus was. “Moony,” he said insistently. “I need your help with something.”

“No,” said Remus testily. “You’re probably going to stick me in front of Bathilda Bagshot and tell her all my other worst subjects.”

“Why would Baggie care about your miserable marks in Potions?” Sirius asked. “No, it’s something important.”

He waggled his eyebrows, and Remus sighed, looking apologetically at Benjy, who waved at him to go with an amused expression.

The important task, it seemed, involved carrying the Potter’s large toboggan from their basement up through the back garden and to the hill that rose up behind it. The rest of the school-aged party guests were immediately interested, finally letting Peter have his broom back so that they might each have a turn tobogganing down the hill, carving crisp lines into the thick blanket of snow.

Remus, who was a bit terrified of the thing after last winter, decided to construct a snowman nearby with Peter and Benjy, and James and Sirius made it their dearest ambition to demolish the thing by means of brute collision with the toboggan.

When at last the other guests had left and the washing was doing itself in the large sink basin, Mrs. Potter collapsed onto a chair, her wand stuck through her bound hair and her lovely dress robes accompanied by a set of fuzzy tartan slippers. “Thank goodness that's over,” she sighed. “Thought they’d never leave.”

“They might have left sooner, dear, if you hadn’t kept demanding they all sit and have one last nightcap or cup of tea,” said Mr. Potter fondly.

The boys stumbled half asleep up to their own rooms, too tired even to stay up chatting, barely managing to brush their teeth. Remus had collapsed face down into the Potters’ very nice pillows when he heard the sound of Sirius dragging the gramophone on its chair over to them.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to play Black Sabbath now,” Remus groaned, voice dampened by goose feathers.

“No,” agreed Sirius with a huge yawn, setting something on Remus couldn’t see. “Got this one when I got your Christmas presents. Was meant to be part of your gift, but I already opened it and listened to it, and that sort of seemed in bad taste.”

“I’m shocked you didn’t do that to all of ‘em,” Remus mumbled.

“Moony, patience is one of my virtues. Now budge over.”

Remus was decidedly on his own side of the bed, but that hardly mattered when Sirius insisted on sleeping in the middle. Still, he held his own, and suffered an arm and a leg thrown over him as the music began, very low and pleasant. Remus managed to stay awake for all of two tracks, unable to stop himself from nodding off as the third track began and the gramophone played on.

Television man is crazy, saying we’re juvenile delinquent wrecks.
Oh man, I need TV when I got T-Rex…Oh, brother, you’ve guessed, I’m a dude, dad…
All the young dudes…
Carry the news…

Chapter Text

January 4, 1974

James

James reasoned there was quite a lot he was good at, but lying to his mum was not one of those things. In fact, he was coming to realize he was rather pants at it.

“Well, which is it?” his mum asked, eyes narrowed. “Do you need more broom polish, or a new Divination textbook? You said broom polish yesterday.”

“Er…yeah,” said James, nodding his head perhaps too much. Sirius was standing in the kitchen doorway behind James’s mum, giving James a very disappointed look. “I…um…well, I spilled my broom polish all over my old Divination textbook. So…I need both.”

His mum sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me this before I popped into London three days ago? I could have picked up both easily enough.”

“Dunno,” said James lamely. “I forgot.”

“Forgot,” his mum tutted disapprovingly. “Well, I suppose I could make another trip…”

“No,” said James quickly, worried he was breaking into a sweat. “Sirius and I can go. We’re old enough to manage on our own. Wouldn't want to inconvenience you.”

“Wouldn’t want to inconvenience me?” his mum asked, as if this were very suspicious. “That’s never been an issue before.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Potter,” said Sirius, deciding to step in and save James at last. “We’ll be fine. I’ll keep a watchful eye on the young lad.”

“As if I’m the one that needs the watching,” said James huffily.

“Sorry,” said Sirius. “I can’t hear your petulant, thirteen-year-old voice with my very mature fourteen-year-old ears.”

“Going deaf already, old man?” James asked him.

“All right,” his mum interjected. “If it’ll get you out of the house, I suppose there’s no harm in letting you use some Floo Powder. I want you both back in one and a half hours, do you hear me? Supper will be ready by then.”

James nodded happily, and he and Sirius were ushered by his mother into the sitting room, handed a pouch of gold alongside a handful of Floo Powder, and sent on their way. James was still waving goodbye to his sighing mother when he began to spin very rapidly through the green flames, and he knocked his elbow hard enough into the brick to make his eyes water as he stumbled out into the Leaky Cauldron.

Sirius arrived only a moment later, watching as James shook out his arm and brushed at his face. “Aw,” he said with false sorrow. “Ickle Jamie already misses his Mummy?”

“Shut it,” said James. “Not everyone enjoys lying to their mums.”

“Not everyone can, apparently,” said Sirius with a smile.

James merely rolled his eyes, leading the way through the Leaky Cauldron, which was somewhat subdued after the rush of the Christmas holiday. He found the correct brick in the courtyard wall, tapped it three times with his wand, and they walked together through the archway that appeared.

There were many things in Diagon Alley to tempt them, sales on sweets and new racing broom models, but they headed through the sparse crowd as the street grew narrower and more curved.

“You really will need to buy more broom polish and a second Divination book, you know,” said Sirius. “Or your mum’ll catch on. She’s a smart woman.”

“I know,” James agreed. “The polish I can use, but the Divination book excuse came from a moment of panic. I’ve no idea what I’m meant to do with two of them. I barely read the first one.”

He allowed Sirius to take the lead as they passed several store fronts further along the high street that were empty or for lease, with dirty windows and cobwebbed interiors. James looked around to see if anyone was watching them before he and Sirius turned into a narrow space between two abandoned shops, then down a set of steps that led through an archway. James took in the grimy stone walls, where a faded poster had half been torn down. Some words were still readable, however, including the scratchy lettering of Knights of Walpurgis. He frowned at the posters and notices as they emerged at last onto a street that looked a bit like a smaller Diagon Alley—if no one had bothered to freshen up paint or do any repairs for near about fifty years.

There were only a few shoppers on the street here, nearly all with their hoods drawn and faces bent toward their boots. James and Sirius exchanged a glance before doing the same, pulling their winter cloak hoods as low as they could go.

The largest store was a dimly lit, lopsided stone and dark wood construction. Above the frosted windows, in patchy gold lettering, a shop sign read, BORGIN AND BURKES. James could not help but peek in, spotting a sealed black casket on display in the window.

“Lovely little shop, that,” whispered Sirius with a shudder. “Mum’s favorite.”

They continued down a short way, until James stopped abruptly, spotting a tiny storefront with no windows. A creaking sign swung in the slight snow gust, reading, EBONHART'S EMPORIUM.

“There it is,” said James uneasily. “Doesn't look like much. Think that barkeep was just sending us off to get murmured?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” said Sirius, sounding a bit apprehensive himself.

Once again, James peered over his shoulder to make sure they were not being observed. Luckily, the one other visible shopper on the street seemed equally concerned with not being seen, and she held the brim of her pointed hat low over her face, not glancing their way as she passed.

The door was a bit jammed, but when it finally gave with a shudder, they found themselves faced with a steep set of carpeted stairs leading down, only a single candle in a rusted sconce lighting the way. With a steadying breath, Sirius held his wand out and began to descend, James right behind him. With every step, a puff of dust arose from the steps.

The stairway continued down for longer than James thought it ought to, but at last they came to a landing, and turned the corner to find themselves faced with a crammed and rather overwhelming cellar shop. It was very poorly lit, but as James squinted through his fogged spectacles (he really needed Evans to do again whatever charm she’d put on them in second year), he could see what at first appeared to be very strangely textured walls. On closer examination, however, he could see that they were lined with shelves, and that every shelf was burdened with rolls and rolls of scrolls, jammed tightly together. The rest of the store was a disorganized stockpile of furniture and trinkets. It looked a bit like the muggle antique shop in Hollowcombe-on-the-Hill, if the muggle antique shop had an enormous crate filled with foggy, cracked crystal balls.

Among the mess, it was nearly impossible to make out the single shopkeep behind a very heavily laden counter. In fact, when the wizard cleared his throat, it made James jump in surprise, having thought they were alone in the room. The man, when James finally spotted him, was very old looking, with a thinning puff of dark hair that hadn’t gone gray. His face was a map of deep-set wrinkles, and his eyes looked out at them like small black stones beneath baggy eyelids.

“Welcome,” the man wheezed, coming out from behind his counter. “Are you here by appointment?”

James had been humbled enough by his attempts to lie to his mother to know that he ought to leave the speaking to Sirius. Besides, they had planned this out a bit more thoroughly after the disaster at the Hog’s Head.

Sirius assumed his most haughty demeanor as he lowered his hood and cleared his throat. “Not appointment, no. An errand for my father. And I’m hoping you can make it a quick one.”

The wizard narrowed his eyes, which almost made them disappear altogether. “Your father? Do I know him?”

“I should hope so,” said Sirius, standing to his full height. “Orion Black.”

The wizard’s eyes widened again. “Ah, Mr. Black. I’m unsure if I’ve had the honor of having your family survey my wares.” He frowned a bit. “Usual customers of Mr. Borgin and Mr. Burke, are you not?”

“That’s true,” said Sirius. “But we’re looking to expand our suppliers. Anyway, it’s information, not artifacts, my father’s sent me out for.”

“Ah,” said the man—Ebonhart, most likely, James supposed. Ebonhart glanced in James’s direction. “And who is your friend?”

“Evan Rosier,” said Sirius firmly.

Ebonhart looked surprised. “I don’t know any Rosiers with your coloring, boy.”

James tried not to grimace. “Er…I’m a Parkinson, on my mum’s side. Sir,” he added, hoping politeness would get the man’s attention off of him.

Ebonhart might have wanted to press the issue, but the impatient look on Sirius’s face seemed to make him drop it. “What…ahem…information is it your father seeks, Mr. Black?”

James could see Sirius’s fists tighten around the edge of his robe sleeves, but aside from that, he appeared very casual and unruffled. “He’s got a friend, an advocate of his in the Ministry, who’s proved a very dear ally,” said Sirius offhandedly. “Got into a spot of trouble, though, and needs to make a sort of quick disappearance.” Sirius glanced meaningfully at Ebonhart with a brow raised. “He’s thinking he might take a stint as his family’s beloved pet for a while, at least until the matter cools off.”

Ebonhart only blinked at Sirius for a few moments, wrinkled lips forming over the word pet as he considered. Then, all at once, he straightened. “You seek the Amato Animo Animato Potion?” he asked with curiosity.

James considered it a good sign that this man could at least pronounce it correctly.

But then the man shook his head quickly. “I haven’t any in stock, Mr. Black. Besides, a considerable amount of the potion must be executed by the would-be Animagus themselves.”

“Yes, yes,” said Sirius with a wave of his hand. “We’ve got some of the best potion masters on hand.”

James reckoned this was a bit of a stretch, at least in Peter’s case.

“We don’t need the potion itself,” Sirius continued. “And we have the…shopping list, I suppose. What we need is the recipe.”

“You seek the instructions?” asked Ebonhart. He paused and let out a long, rattling cough that James thought might be the end of him until he straightened out again. “It is a complicated text. Many interpreters debate how literally some of the florid descriptions should be taken. But…” he stopped and considered. “Yes, yes, I should have it here.”

Sirius chanced an enthusiastic glance back at James as Ebonhart strode toward a far wall, beckoning them to follow with a bony, liver-spotted hand.

Ebonhart began to pull out scrolls, seemingly at random, having to yank quite hard at a few of them to get them loose. James was worried the frail parchment would not survive his browsing, but he must have had a more gentle hand than James gave him credit for.

What began as James and Sirius eagerly waiting behind Ebonhart turned into James and Sirius poking at the strange knickknacks and ugly furniture with great boredom, and the pile of browsed and discarded scrolls at Ebonhart's feet only grew larger and larger. He did not seem to mind the long minutes of fruitless search, and James was beginning to worry about missing his mum’s deadline. He had no doubt she’d come through the Floo and hunt them down herself if they missed dinner.

As James was picking up a dirty embroidered cushion that read Home is Where the Hemlock Is, Ebonhart at last muttered, “Aha! Here.”

He unfurled a scroll that looked no different from the others, holding it up for James and Sirius to examine. There was nothing on the parchment to indicate what it was, it simply began in spiky, faded writing:

Seize with care the most verdant and resplendent frond from the full-grown and well-matured Mandrake plant; and, with a reverent hand, place this delicate leafy fragment beneath that tender musculature of language…

Sirius and James exchanged another look. The mention of Mandrake was a promising start, even if the scroll Ebonhart held was very long, still being unfurled by his shaky hands.

“Does this seem to be in order, Mr. Black?” Ebonhart asked when Sirius had stopped scanning the scroll with narrowed eyes. He began to roll the thing back up, lest Sirius and James read it fully without paying.

“Seems to be,” said Sirius slowly, “Although I reckon you’ll have my father to deal with if it’s not.” He cleared his throat, as if wielding the threat of his father felt uncomfortable in his mouth.

“Of course,” said Ebonhart calmly. “The price for this particular scroll is 15 Galleons, 3 Sickles and 9 Knuts.”

James and Sirius went quite still. James knew that was nearly all of what Sirius had managed to nick from Regulus, but Sirius nodded after a moment. “How about I give you 13 Galleons, and the enthusiastic recommendation of the Black family?”

Ebonhart seemed to consider this for a moment, twisting the scroll in his hands. “Your family name is a valuable backing to any cause, Mr. Black. I’m sure your father knows this.”

“Er…yeah,” said Sirius, eyes narrowed.

“They have long been friendly to the Knights of Walpurgis, have they not?” Ebonhart continued. “Long leant a sympathetic ear to their complaints, and put gold behind those Ministry officials who aim to make them heard.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius again. He did well hiding his unease, but James knew him well enough to pick up on it.

“The Knights need allies like your family more now than ever,” said Ebonhart. “And the Dark Lord has promised to remember fondly those who helped him rise to his full glory. Remind your father of this, will you?”

Sirius chewed his lip hard enough that James worried he might draw blood. “Yeah,” said Sirius after a moment. “Right. I’ll…let him know.”

Ebonhart nodded. “Thirteen galleons it is, then, Mr. Black.”

As soon as Sirius had shelled out the gold and stashed the scroll carefully into his robe pocket, he and James left quickly, without offering thanks or farewell. They climbed the steps as fast as they could, forcing their way through the stuck door and breathing air that wasn’t thick with dust and crumbling parchment. The sun was setting behind the sinister buildings of Knockturn Alley, leaving most of the street in dark shadow. Neither of them spoke as their trainers crunched through the snow, not slowing their pace until they were back in Diagon Alley. James quickly purchased broom polish and another Divination book. He had been hoping for a warm Butterbeer before they had to go back, but their hour and a half was surely up, and neither he nor Sirius seemed to be in the mood any longer. They still had barely spoken as they used the remaining Floo Powder to return to Willowwick Crescent.

It was not until late at night, when Sirius had clambered into James’s bed, that they dared to speak about the excursion again.

“What did he mean, the Dark Lord rising to his full glory?” James asked quietly in the dark. “What in Merlin’s name was he on about?”

“I dunno,” said Sirius. “But I don’t think I liked the sound of it.”

January 30, 1974

Lily

For Lily, the Christmas holidays had included letters from Mary about her brothers and many talkative cousins, letters from Marlene about Potter’s perfect party, and a distracting amount of worrying over Severus. She had tried to have him round for Christmas supper, but he had refused, which was fortunate because Petunia had thrown a near tantrum at the mention of it.

They had celebrated his birthday quietly on the Hogwarts Express, where Lily had given him a set of knit mittens in green stripey yarn. She thought she’d gotten better at the knitting, and that was confirmed as Severus pulled them on with a grin, wearing them even as they tried to eat their way through a box of toffee buns she’d bought for him in London before getting to the train.

Severus’s usual misery and anger while home had changed—no longer was his father there to scream at him and set him to silently seething. But it hadn’t stopped Severus from being angry. Now, Sev was angered only by his father’s cowardice and absence. And it seemed, too, that he was a bit more bored. The Snape household sounded quiet, and Severus was frustrated with his mother and the poor state she kept things in.

“Can’t wait until I’m of age,” he’d said, kicking his feet up onto the bench across from them, so that his skinny ankles peeked over his shoes. “Just so that I can use magic to clean the place up.”

“I could always bring over a broom and dustpan,” Lily had offered. “That's how Tuney and I do it.”

Severus had only scoffed. “That sounds horrible. As if I’m not miserable enough.”

Back at school, classes had resumed much the same. Professor Kettleburn had turned one of the unused greenhouses into a sort of aviary and had them studying a little flock of brightly colored birds called Fwoopers. He made a careful point to emphasize that they were highly independent creatures and would let out their lovely shrill whistle if approached without need. Lily suspected that Kettleburn had chosen these creatures specifically to keep Potter and Black at bay. After all, they had started off studying Frogwogs—whose spawn ended up on the Slytherin table—then followed that with a colony of tiny Chizpurfles—which had supposedly ended up in the Slytherin laundry. Kettleburn seemed worried that Fwoopers would somehow end up in the Slytherin loos.

Divination was a little wooly, but very entertaining, as long as one ignored Potter and Black in the rear of the class, always predicting that one or the other was going to lose all their hair by the age of twenty-two, or else come into a great fortune after wooing a wealthy Hag. Her favorite of the new courses remained Ancient Runes with Remus, who was attentive and easy to get along with, at least when he wasn’t ill or snoring softly on his desk.

She had continued to give thought to Mary’s point, glancing at Remus sideways when she thought she wouldn’t be caught at it. She didn’t think she fancied him, but it was sort of hard to tell, wasn’t it? She thought him interesting and handsome, clever and funny, but wasn’t one meant to be a bit more frightened of the person they fancied? She always thought that fancying someone would mean that she turned bright red beneath her freckles in their proximity, or else grew a bit more tongue-tied. Perhaps that was very immature of her—perhaps Mary had the right of it and one was meant to giggle quite a lot at the object of one’s affection and find reasons to touch their arm. Lily didn’t feel particularly inclined to do this to Remus, however.

She was comforted only by the fact that she didn’t think Remus fancied her, either. He never turned to peek at her or even complimented her on anything aside from good marks on assignments. He did not seem flummoxed by the issue of not fancying her, so she tried to take the same attitude about it.

When her birthday came round and Remus gifted her a lovely set of notebooks with gilded pages, she thought nothing about it except that it was thoughtful and kind. Mary, however, made quite a fuss about it as they sat through Astronomy, wrapped in winter robes and sharing a telescope a bit away from the rest of the third years.

“I think you ought to try and kiss him,” said Mary, marking down the location of Saturn.

Lily, who had been peering through the telescope, jolted so hard she worried she might’ve blackened her eye on the eyepiece. “What?”

Mary only fixed her with large and innocent brown eyes. “You know. Just sort of lean in one day in the library. Close your eyes a bit so he knows you mean it, and see if he leans in, too.”

“He won’t know I mean anything,” whispered Lily quickly, feeling her face heat. “He’ll think I’m falling asleep. Besides, I don’t even want to kiss him.” Marlene was giggling quite a bit at Lily’s predicament, so Lilyrounded on her. “Why don’t you tell Marlene to kiss Potter? She spends enough time with him in practices.”

Marlene had abruptly stopped laughing, but Mary only shuddered. “Eugh, how odd would that be? Like watching siblings go at it.”

“Exactly,” said Marlene gratefully.

The three of them turned as one to look across the tower, where Potter and Black were making a great show of trying to haul a laughing Pettigrew over the parapet, while Remus stuck out his long legs, trying to trip any of them he could.

“Maybe all of them need a few more years before snogging’s on the table,” Marlene reasoned.

That night, Mary had traded Sirius a box of muggle magazines in return for the gramophone and crate of albums, and so Lily had the immense pleasure of ending her birthday with Bennie and the Jets playing loud enough in their room to tempt Dorcas from the nearby fourth year girls’ dormitories.

Lily’s Flammaris Floris sat in the large windowsill by Lily’s bed, along with a selection of strange leafy and spiky plants she had been lent by Professor Sprout, being one of the best in their year at Herbology. Mary’s corner of the dormitory was a veritable collage of pages ripped from her magazines and muggle photos of her family. Marlene’s side of the room, where they were sprawled out now since it was closest to the furnace, was a mess of quidditch gear, broom maintenance tools, and Hollyhead Harpies posters that now featured her own sister, waving happily with a Quaffle under her arm. Claude was stretched out between them, the happy recipient of an onslaught of pets.

“Ooh, let’s play truth or dare,” said Mary, turning over so that she could prop herself up on her elbows. “Come on, I’m in the mood for scandal.”

“Then you ought to go find Bertha Jorkins,” said Lily with a brow raised. “With the number of students she’s caught at it, you’d think she spends all her time opening every broom cupboard she crosses.”

“She does,” said Dorcas. “I’ve seen her at it. One of these days, she’s going to get hexed.”

“I don’t want Bertha Jorkins’s secondhand news,” sighed Mary. “Please? Please please—”

“All right, fine,” said Lily, determining she could make the call since it was her birthday. “I’ll go first. Mary, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” said Mary immediately, sitting up.

Lily tapped a finger to her lips, thinking. “All right, what ever happened to that boy from the gardening store who you met the summer before second year?”

Mary made a face. “Well, I sent him an owl like I said I was going to, and it rather scared the pants off of him. Won’t say a word to me. Started going with the girl in the house three down from mine.”

The other girls made sympathetic noises.

“No,” said Mary. “It’s fine. If he couldn’t handle a bird and a few owl droppings, then he certainly can’t handle me.”

“Cheers to that,” said Lily with a nod.

“All right, now I get to go,” said Mary, sounding very delighted. “Marlene, truth or dare?”

Marlene moaned in complaint. “Well, I’m too comfortable to move. So truth.”

“Excellent,” said Mary. “Which of the Gryffindor lads do you fancy most?”

Lily had known that this was precisely where Mary wanted the game to go, and she caught Marlene’s eye as she mimed retching.

Marlene laughed, ears going pink. “Er…I suppose…If I have to choose one of them…Frank.”

“Ooh,” said Lily with a nod. “Yeah. The guitar is a bit swoon-worthy, isn’t it?”

Mary sighed. “Frank doesn’t count. He’s with Alice.”

“Frank counts just fine,” said Marlene firmly. “It’s not as if I’m about to do anything about it. You said choose a Gryffindor lad, and I chose one.”

“No fun,” Mary lamented. “Well, it’s your turn.”

Marlene turned to Dorcas beside her with a mischievous look. “Truth or dare, Meadowes?”

“Dare,” said Dorcas immediately. “At the rate this game’s going, you’re going to make me choose between Cattermole or Patil or something, and I’d rather come down with a nasty case of Spattergroit.”

“Fine,” huffed Marlene, thinking. “I dare you to go down to the common room and sing the school song as loudly as you can.”

Dorcas hopped up immediately, making Claude jump, and her braids swung as she hurried out into the corridor and down the staircase. The other girls hastened to follow her, skittering into each other on the landing just as Dorcas hopped up onto a nearby armchair and began to belt, “HOGWARTS! HOGWARTS! HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS! TEACH US SOMETHING, PLEASE! WHETHER WE BE OLD AND BALD, OR YOUNG WITH SCABBY KNEES!”

She made it through the second verse before the studying students began to boo at her unwanted and very pitchy rendition. James and Sirius, who had been bent over a scroll of parchment in the corner, stood up and began a very solemn waltz out of time with the song, and applauded vigorously as Dorcas finally stopped, went red, and turned to hurry back up the stairs, the others following as they laughed.

“Gorgeous,” said Marlene, happily flopping back onto her bed. “Really gave me a boost of school spirit, that. Even if you sing like a Mermaid above water.”

“All right,” said Dorcas, catching her breath, very flushed and smiley. “It’s my turn, and Lily’s the only one who hasn’t gone.”

“Give it to me, then,” said Lily bravely.

Dorcas gave her a dramatic bow. “Truth or dare, my lady?”

“Dare, definitely.”

“Excellent,” said Dorcas with a broad grin. “Go steal something form the third year boys’ dormitory.”

“Easy,” said Lily. “I still have Remus’s jumper from Halloween.” She rummaged through her things, finding it and holding it up victoriously. “See?”

“No,” said Dorcas, shaking her head emphatically. “It’s got to be something new. Tonight.”

Lily sighed, but she pushed her hair off of her shoulders and gave them a solemn salute before she left the room. She was in her flowery pyjamas and holey socks, but she didn’t give herself time to think about this as she slipped into the common room and then hurried up the staircase across the way. The boys’ dormitories were strange in that they were a mirror of the girls’, but distinctly foreign and not-allowed. The fourth year boys’ door was closed, brass nameplates reading one after the other: Black, Lupin, Pettigrew, Potter.

With a deep breath, Lily shoved open the door. As it had been in October when she and Mary had broken in for their Halloween party clothes, it was immediately apparent whose bed was whose. Black’s was a mess, as were Remus’s and Potter’s, but Remus’s featured more library books and Potter’s featured more Quidditch décor and apparel. Peter’s was relatively neat in comparison, except for the large sprawl of Gobstones on the floor that created a constant tripping hazard.

Luckily, James and Sirius were still downstairs, but Pettigrew was in his pyjamas brushing his teeth in the little adjoining bathroom, sticking his head into the dormitory at the sound Lily’s unexpected arrival. He blanched as if she’d caught him entirely nude, jumping about a foot in the air and shutting the bathroom door in a hurry. Remus was still in his school clothes, lying the wrong way in his bed with his head by the footboard, reading a book. He started at the sight of Lily in the doorway.

“Er…Lily? Everything all right?”

Not bothering to answer, she glanced around the room, picking up the first thing she spotted. It was a folded stack of parchment on the foot of Potter’s bed. She half hoped it was some sort of embarrassing letter from his mum, and she knew she’d struck gold by the sound of Remus’s panic as she turned tail and began to run back to her own dormitory.

“LILY! Wait! Er—No! Lily!”

She heard the sound of Remus following her as she careened through the common room, sprinting back to the stairs where Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas were all waiting expectantly. “Go!” she instructed, ushering them back up.

Remus had continued to pursue her, and now he’d gotten the attention of Potter and Black. Lily had only just gotten to the doorway of their dormitory behind the squealing other three, and she’d been expecting Remus to be right on her heels when she heard the loud sound of a blaring horn, followed by a rather startled yell and a disgruntled “Oomph!” at the bottom of the stairs.

Turning to make sure that Remus hadn’t hurt himself, Lily saw that Remus had indeed fallen, but not because he’d tripped or stumbled. The stairs had flattened entirely into a slick, stone slide, and it seemed Remus had been caught halfway up before he was sent slipping back down to the bottom.

Lily and Remus both gawked at the newly-formed slide, transfixed as it made a sort of grinding noise, and then the steps re-emerged. Potter, Black, and even a pyjama-clad Pettigrew had arrived at the bottom of the steps, but didn’t seem to see what the issue was.

“Well?” said Black. “Go after her, why don’t you?”

“I can’t,” said Remus in surprise.

“Well I bloody well can’t either,” said Sirius. “They’ll curse me on sight.”

“That's true,” called Mary from the top of the stairs, where she’d come to join Lily and see what was going on.

“No,” said Remus. “I mean, I can’t. Watch.”

Getting up, Remus set a foot on the bottom stair, and at once, that alarm horn sounded again, and the steps slid away until only a steep, slippery slide was left.

“Oh!” said Mary, clapping her hands together from high above them. “This is brilliant!”

Dorcas and Marlene had joined them now, too, and Dorcas laughed. “Boys can’t visit the girls’ dormitories, didn't you know that?”

Remus gaped. “But Lily barged into ours just fine!”

Lily waved the parchment that she’d nabbed. “Don’t be sore, Lupin. I’m just going to enjoy a nice reading of Potter’s private correspondence.”

With a broad grin, she turned back to the other girls, unfolding the letter.

Unfortunately, it turned out to not be a letter at all, but a very unwieldy conglomeration of parchment, patched together with Spellotape. It was also entirely blank. She frowned at it, then looked back down at Remus. “Did I go through all that trouble just to nick a bit of rubbish?”

“Yeah,” said Remus quickly. “Just hand it down and I’ll toss it out for you.”

“No,” said Marlene sagely. “They wouldn’t have chased you all the way here if you just took some scrap parchment.”

“Good point,” agreed Lily. She held it up to the candlelight in the corridor. There was a chance it was in invisible ink, but that left its traces and faded with time. Such a thing seemed a bit rudimentary for the boys—well, for Remus at least. She reached into her pyjama pocket and pulled out her wand, considering the parchment once more before tapping it.

Words began to appear.

“Aha!” said Mary victoriously. “Not so clever now, are you—”

But Lily raised a finger to silence Mary as the words became darker and clearer.

The Marauders offer their congratulations to Little-Miss-Aren’t-I-Clever, but would be even more impressed if she managed to keep her freckled nose out of other people’s business.

Lily gaped at it.

“What’s it say?” asked Black excitedly. “Did it work? Is it mean?”

“Sort of,” said Mary, reading the note over Lily’s shoulder. “A bit unoriginal.”

“See, Moony,” said Black. “I told you, it’ll be better if it’s four different insults, one from each of us. The bit of you in it doesn’t want to say anything too awful, and it’s stopping the bit of me in it that does.”

“The bit of…” Lily repeated, puzzling through what Sirius had said. “You don’t mean you’ve used the Homunculus Charm on this piece of parchment, do you?”

The words on the parchment quickly faded away, and were replaced with, It would be greatly appreciated if Miss Evans could shut her mouth and finish being an annoyingly clever ginge.

“If everything’s gone right, then we have,” said Potter happily. “Haven’t had the chance to test it yet, so thanks for that.”

“But that’s really difficult,” said Lily in surprise. “Why on earth would you do it?”

Potter smiled in a way that Lily reckoned was meant to be innocent but came off very devious. “Would you believe us if we said it was just to see if we could?”

“No,” said Lily, “but if you’ve gone through all the trouble of learning how to perform a Homunculus Charm to keep it secret, then I suppose you’re not going to tell me.”

The parchment changed again, this time to, Now you’ve got the right of it, Red. Took you long enough.

Lily looked at Dorcas. “Does this still count as my dare? Even if I give this thing back before it manages to hurt my feelings?”

“Yes,” said Dorcas. “I’ll be charitable, since it’s your birthday and all.”

Lily smiled, before turning back to Remus. “All right, have it back you dolts.” She refolded the parchment and held it out to them expectantly from the top of the stairs.

“We can’t get up,” said Remus, confused.

“Yeah, I know,” said Lily pleasantly. “But I want to see how far each of you manages to get trying.”

Chapter Text

February 9, 1974

James

By the time the Hogsmeade weekend came round in February, James, Sirius, and Peter figured that they could leave the Hog’s Head Inn well enough alone. There was very little chance that Mundungus Fletcher appeared there at all, and even if he did, he might be expecting further payment for a job he likely hadn’t done at all. Besides, the scroll from Ebonhart’s, while extremely difficult to parse through, seemed to be the real thing. It made vague references to each of the items in the ingredient list Sirius had managed to find, and so they had no reason to think it would not give them their best shot at doing the thing correctly. At least, it would once James could spend some time away from Remus’s observant eyes in order to actually try and understand the thing.

Remus was on the mend after the full moon two nights ago, and James was glad they wouldn’t have to worry about shaking him off when he was already in a bit of a mood. He had a bad gash down his shoulder that peeked over the edge of his collar, but Remus had seemed relatively unbothered by it. After the scar on his face, James figured there wasn’t much else to hide.

When the morning arrived under a thick crust of frost, the four boys made their way to the village, half-slipping along with the other students down the frozen path. When they made it, shivering, into the Three Broomsticks for a warming drink and a bite, James was pleased but not all too surprised to see Dorcas and Benjy slip in beside them. He'd grown very used to the sight of them, since Alice had them training most afternoons. Slytherin and Ravenclaw were playing in just two weekends from this one, and then it would be Gryffindor’s turn to have it out with Hufflepuff.

“This village has already gone a bit boring, hasn't it?” asked Sirius moodily, downing most of his Butterbeer in one go.

“I see Madam Rosmerta’s still not giving you any Firewhisky,” Remus noted with a roll of his eyes. “Or is it her refusal to giggle at you that has you so down?”

“Both,” sighed Sirius, looking up at her with dramatic wistfulness while she tended the busy bar with a bright smile, chatting animatedly with Frank. Alice sat nearby, watching the barmaid dubiously. Frank, for his part, didn’t seem to notice Rosmerta’s attentions at all.

Dorcas snorted. “Don’t think she’s got much interest in someone who hasn’t even passed their O.W.L.s, Black.”

Peter, too, was watching Rosmerta with high color in his cheeks. “But after that, though?” Peter asked. “You reckon she might be interested?”

James laughed. “What happened to you lot? Did someone slip you all Amorentia?”

“Cheers to that,” said Remus, finishing his tankard. “You both ought to save those soppy looks for Madam Puddifoot’s.”

“Madam Whatsit?” asked James with interest.

“The girls dragged me to take a look last Hogsmeade trip when you lot went off Christmas shopping,” said Remus with an unpleasant expression. “A little tea shop round the bend. I saw Roger Cattermole and some Ravenclaw bird in there on a Christmas date, trying to swap tongues by the looks of it.”

Benjy laughed and shrugged with some embarrassment. “S’not so bad. I took Lydia Bones there on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. It was warm and quiet, at least.”

“Oh?” asked James with wide eyes. “And why aren’t you there with the lovely Miss Bones right now?”

“Merlin,” said Benjy, blushing and shaking his head quickly. “It was horribly awkward. I didn’t even like Lydia, I don’t think, but she’s been a friend of the family’s for so long I thought it was expected. I had no clue what to talk about, so I ended up going on and on about the sixteen valuable properties of Wyvern mucus.”

“Romantic,” said James with a nod.

“Anyway, she splashed cold tea on my front and told me I’d wasted her time,” Benjy added with a smile. “And told me that I’d gotten nearly half of the properties wrong.”

“Lydia told me about that,” said Mary, appearing beside them and pushing on James’s shoulder until he obliged and made room. She had McKinnon and Evans behind her, who were laughing at something that the Prewett twins had said a short distance away. “She said she might have stayed if the information had at least been correct.”

“Typical Ravenclaw,” said Dorcas with a laugh.

James was not paying much attention to the conversation any longer, for Evans had begun laughing again, and this time she reached out and steadied herself on Gideon Prewett’s arm, and the fifth year looked down at her hand there with a smile. James wanted badly to know what was so very funny. He thought wildly for a moment that he ought to get up and demand to know—to see what exactly about Gideon Prewett was so charming that one might find the need to touch him.

The strange thought made him uneasy, so he tried to redouble his focus on the conversation at the table.

Eventually, they left the warm comfort of the Three Broomsticks once it had gotten too loud to converse comfortably, and Dorcas suggested that they take a walk to the outskirts of the town to visit a local landmark. “It’s called the Shrieking Shack, or at least, that’s what Madam Rosmerta said,” Dorcas told James, Sirius, Peter, and Marlene. “I visited last year, but I haven’t been back again this one. It’s meant to be quite haunted.”

Benjy and Remus were talking about Muggle music behind them, not paying much attention to where they were going, and Evans was catching them up. James watched her join Remus and Benjy, brushing hair from her face, before he turned back to Dorcas. “Haunted by what?” he asked.

“No one knows,” said Dorcas excitedly. “It’s sort of new. They brought in some quack from the Ministry two years ago to classify it as one of the up-and-coming most haunted spots in Great Britain. Now all the villagers stay away. Some nights, they say, the most horrible sounds come out of it.”

The walk was uphill, and they were warmed slightly by the time they reached a little crest, clear of trees like the bald top of a skull. Dorcas gestured for them to keep their voices low as they approached, and James saw before them a rickety house in a state of bad disrepair with its windows and doors boarded up tightly. It gave off a dull throb of magic that indeed made him want to turn and walk rather quickly away. “Here it is,” said Dorcas softly, but still managing dramatic flair. “The Shrieking Shack.”

The rest of them stopped short, taking it in. A badly damaged porch had caved in, barring any potential approach to the sealed-off front door. A few sleeping bats clung to the rickety eaves, and a chill wind set the damaged wooden shingles to rattling.

“Bloody incredible,” said Sirius with appreciation. “Let’s go in.”

“No!” Peter said quickly. “They don’t even know what haunts it! What if it’s something really nasty?”

“Reckon it must be,” said James, trying not to show his unease. “What kind of sounds did you say it made, Meadowes?”

“I haven’t heard it,” said Dorcas quickly. “But I suppose it’s got to be some sort of screaming, hasn’t it? With a name like the Shrieking Shack.”

Peter was looking at the house with great discomfort, while Benjy, Sirius, Marlene, and Mary were gazing at it impressed. Remus, however, had gone very, very pale where he stood at the edge of the wood and the end of the rocky path. He stared at the house not quite with horror, but with something definitely like fear. Evans had noticed this, too, and was holding Remus’s arm as if he needed support. Maybe he did need support. James thought he looked like he was going to be sick.

“All right, Moony?” he asked, stepping back to look Remus over.

“Yeah,” said Remus quickly, although his voice sounded as if he’d just been punched. “Yeah, fine.”

James continued to stare at Remus, not believing his assurances, but it wasn’t until Remus meaningfully met his eye that James managed to make sense of his reaction. He suddenly understood where they were—a house on its own out in Hogsmeade, Remus had told them.

Some nights, they say, the most horrible sounds come out of it.

Remus told them that he took a passageway off the castle grounds, and this had to be where he transformed. Remus had probably never seen it from the exterior before. James hoped the inside was rather nicer than the outside.

“Well,” said James very quickly, turning to the rest of them. “I think it’s proper boring. Let’s leave.”

Dorcas looked affronted—seeing the house had been her idea, after all—and Sirius frowned pleadingly. “No, I mean it,” Sirius insisted. “Let’s go inside. This is the first interesting thing in Hogsmeade all year.”

“No,” said James firmly. Sirius bristled, but Peter sagged with relief. When Sirius opened his mouth to argue, James gave him a hard look and cleared his throat. “I reckon the villagers are just as bored as you are, so they’ve started making up stories. It’s just a creaky old house. I’m sure that whatever howling they hear in there, it’s just the wind.”

Sirius hesitated a moment, then his eyes widened, darting over to Remus who still hadn’t moved much by Evans’s side. “Yeah,” said Sirius slowly, biting his lip. “Maybe you’re right. All right, fine.”

Mary looked between them. “Potter, talking sense into Black? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Benjy, too, seemed to sense that something tense was going on, and he was agreeable enough to try and soften it. He glanced at the obviously uncomfortable Remus. “Why don’t we go see about Fable and Folly?” he asked appeasingly. “Fortescue says they’ve started selling muggle records in the back.”

“Yeah,” said James with heart. “Let’s do that.”

“Didn’t know you lot were such skeptics of haunted houses,” said Dorcas with a bit of a huff, following alongside Mary and Marlene.

James was very glad for Benjy Fenwick as Remus’s mood improved greatly in the bookshop. Fable and Folly only had a meager box in the rear of the shop, but that was enough stock to interest him and Sirius. Evans, too, seemed relieved for Remus, and she insisted on them pooling their gold and buying a few records from a band called Faces that even Remus didn’t know.

The shopkeeper at Fable and Folly was one of the few witches in the village who wore muggle clothes, although those muggle clothes included a rather flashy pinstripe suit with a horrible, checkered shirt and a large knit scarf knotted beneath the collar in place of a tie. “I’m glad someone’s buying these,” she said happily. “Some of the other village folk reckon I shouldn’t be doing it. Might make the shop a bit of a target.”

“What do you mean?” James asked, fishing a few extra Sickles from his pocket to cover the cost for both him and Remus.

“Dunno,” said the witch with a weak shrug, even though her face remained in a cheery smile. “It’s not popular to be too muggle-y these days. Not that I agree with that,” she added quickly, likely spotting the scowl on Evans’s face. “But that old group of Ministry fools are gaining traction, you know.”

“The Knights of Walpurgis?” James asked with a frown, picking the name out of old overheard conversations from his parents’ friends and that poster he’d spotted in Knockturn Alley. Sirius, by his side, tensed a bit.

The witch shrugged again, smile slipping as she handed over a few Knuts in change. “If that’s still what they’re calling themselves these days.”

When they were back in the Gryffindor common room, full from dinner and listening to their shared purchase, Ooh La La, James was still considering the witch’s words. Why would one box of muggle music cause any trouble in a place like Hogsmeade?

The album was a fitting distraction after a while, however. James immediately decided he liked it—perhaps mostly because Remus and Sirius both were hearing it for the first time alongside him. He always liked the instruments best in whatever they listened to; he liked pulling the sounds apart and imaging he could hear each piece on its own. Marlene and Dorcas were playing a game of chess that both Mary and Peter were commentating on as if it were a professional match in the Quidditch League. Benjy was nodding intently every time Remus or Sirius commented on something they liked about the music, seeming glad to be included. Remus and Sirius could both get a bit intense about their records.

James, for one, was watching Evans, who did know the album, and she mouthed along to each song as she revised for History on a chair a short distance away. It wasn’t until the last song on the second side of the album that she got up, pulling Marlene and Mary with her to sway in a sort of three-woman box step.

Poor old Granddad, I laughed at all his words. I thought he was a bitter man, he spoke of women’s ways.
They’ll trap you, then they use you, before you even know.
For love is blind and you’re far to kind, don’t ever let it show.

Evans was still in her warm-looking jumper, although she had on her pyjama trousers now and a pair of thick wooly socks as she teetered about, laughing on the carpet by the fireside. It cast her face in colors as bight and deep as her hair, making her freckles invisible one moment, stark in contrast the next. She’d worn her hair tightly braided when he first saw her with Snape on the Hogwarts Express, and it wasn’t until later in the year that she’d started wearing it how it was now, thick and long and hanging over her shoulders, pushed behind one ear when it bothered her. Her eyes were tightly shut with laughter when Marlene tried to dip both Evans and Mary at the same time, but when they opened, they were a very pale green in the firelight. James knew from earlier today that they were a very deep green when they were under a cold winter sky.

Poor young Grandson, there’s nothing I can say.
You’ll have to learn, just like me, and that’s the hardest way.
Ooh la la, ooh la la, la la, yeah…
I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger.
I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was stronger.

James realized suddenly that he'd been staring, maybe longer and harder than he’d meant to. He got up as soon as the song had finished and hurried up to the dormitory without a word of goodnight or goodbye. He might have wanted to stay up with Sirius and Peter after Remus had fallen asleep, deciphering the scroll for the Amato Animo Animato Potion, but he felt very strange as he changed into pyjamas and laid across his bed, not bothering to dim the lights. He wondered if he were getting ill—which he couldn’t afford with the Hufflepuff match just under a month away.

In fact, he felt a bit as he did on the nights and mornings before a match, which made no sense at all. The team had Sundays off, so he didn’t even have practice the next morning. When he closed his eyes, his mind wanted to show him Evans laughing and dancing, so he stared instead at a Rolling Stones poster over Remus’s bed—a big read mouth with a tongue sticking out at him.

It wasn’t until breakfast a few days later, as they were all helping themselves to warm porridge before the frigid walk down to Care of Magical Creatures, that James managed to make a sort of horrifying sense out of it. He was talking to Marlene about the upcoming Puddlemere United match against the Montrose Magpies, covered in that morning’s Daily Prophet.

“Boonesworth has retired, so the Magpie’s haven’t got a shot,” he was telling her with his mouth full. The Magpies, of course, had been something close to undefeated, while Puddlemere was far from its glory days of yore. Still, he found it best to hold onto delusional hope.

“Fat chance,” said Evans across the table with a laugh. She did not look up from her Care of Magical Creatures essay, which she seemed to be reviewing for the tenth time that week. “Everyone knows it wasn’t Boonesworth as Beater that did Puddlemere in last season. It was their own keeper, Wendelley. Once Wendelley gets his vision checked, or better yet gives the position to Rogers on the reserve team, then maybe Puddlemere will stand a fair chance. The Magpies’ll win tomorrow by over two hundred points, or I’m a Horklump.”

James was sat frozen, with his heaping spoonful of porridge halfway to his mouth.

Evans added a last note to her essay before rolling up the parchment. She glanced up at him as she stood to leave for class. “And by the way, Potter, you can shut your mouth while you’re eating. We all know how to chew. You don't need to show us how it’s done.”

Marlene laughed, then quickly gave James an apologetic look as she hastened to catch up with Evans.

As James followed at a distance, with Sirius, Peter, and Remus talking about the upcoming lesson, he stared at the sway of red that was Lily Evans trotting happily down the castle steps, surrounded by white snow.

Oh, he was very much in trouble. James wondered if it was possible to skip straight past fancying someone to being properly in love with them. Then he wondered if he’d skipped past fancying Lily Evans at all, or if he’d rather skipped right to it the day he first saw her and had been at it for nearly three years.

March 9, 1974

Remus

Remus woke up the morning before he turned fourteen with white spots of pain in his vision, head bent at an odd angle, body cold on the hard floor. He could feel the splinters beneath his fingernails, a sure sign that if he could manage to look around, he’d seen the furniture broken to bits and strewn across the floor around him. Sure enough, when he reached for the blanket on the bed, he could feel nothing but air. He must have collapsed far away from it, or else pushed it across the room.

When Madam Pomfrey came, she made little fuss about repairing it all, helping him into a seated position and handing him freshly laundered pyjamas. “No deep cuts,” she said happily, assessing him. “Although your hands are bleeding quite a lot, dear, let me see to that. An easy fix, sure enough.”

There was a sharp sting and then relief as he held his battered hands out to her, and she touched each finger with her wand. She squeezed his hands when she finished, giving them back so that he could look at the stubby fingernails and too-big knuckles where he supposed claws had been just an hour before.

“You’ll have plenty of time to rest,” she told him cheerily as she brought his sore arm over her shoulder and got him to stand. “The rest of the school will be down at the match, so it’ll be nice and quiet.”

By this, Remus knew, she meant that James, Sirius, and Peter, would not be able to jostle his hospital bed and keep him awake with their chatter if they were occupied at the Quidditch pitch. He huffed a laugh.

“You know it’ll just make them all the louder when they come in after lunch,” he told her.

She smiled as they managed their way downstairs and to the passageway. “You must allow me my silver linings, Remus.”

They made it into the Hospital Wing without interruption, and Remus sank gratefully into the comfort of the clean white sheets and the potion for pain. Between bouts of sleep, he could see through the great windows the small dots of the fliers on the Quidditch field, hear the swell of cheers as the crowd approved or disapproved with whatever was transpiring. Madam Pomfrey came by once or twice to smooth sweaty hair from his forehead and give him a cooling potion. She wanted to close the curtains around him to keep out the daylight, but Remus insisted they stay open.

He liked to feel the sun on him after a transformation. It was bright and hot and the opposite of the moon. It was always cold in the cellars and shacks where he transformed, and even with the fever he liked to feel something warm across his face. Seeing the shack from the outside—the Shrieking Shack, the people of Hogsmeade called it—had confirmed what a miserable place it was. It was a place for horrors that couldn’t even be named. Even if he preferred it to the cage he had over the summer, he wasn’t fond of spending time near it when he didn’t have to.

When he woke next, it was to see that the Quidditch pitch had mostly emptied, aside from the tiny specks of lingering students still coming up from he grounds. The snow was finally thawing, giving way to large patches of spring green, and the ice on the lake was now only in the very center.

True to his prediction, it was only a matter of moments before he heard rapping on the Hospital Wing’s door, and then the sound of it creaking open without Madam Pomfrey’s invitation. Sirius, James, and Peter had decided it was no longer necessary to ask for permission to enter. Even the knocking was purely out of habit, Remus thought.

Sirius and Peter indeed appeared at the edge of his bed, faces painted in red and gold, Sirius with a Gryffindor flag draped round his shoulders like a magician’s cape and dark hair mussed by the wind. They both beamed.

“A win, then?” Remus croaked, pulling himself from drowsiness.

“Hufflepuff’s not an issue at all with Marlene’s sister gone,” said Sirius, taking his usual sprawling place across Remus’s feet. “Of course, that seeker Barney Lynch is still quite good…managed to catch the Snitch so they didn’t loose too terribly. Although, Alice really nearly had it.”

“The whole house will be celebrating probably long after midnight,” said Peter happily. “So you’ll have lots of people to sing you happy birthday.”

“Oh good,” said Remus sarcastically, wincing his way through a stretch. “But if my birthday’s going to keep falling on the same day as Gryffindor Quidditch celebrations, I might have to consider switching with James.”

James himself showed up shortly after, showered and in clean robes, bearing a platter of lunch for all of them. “Did they tell you we won, Moony?” James asked happily, climbing into Remus’s bed beside him.

“No,” said Remus, helping himself to a large sandwich. “They forgot to mention.”

“Wish we’d gotten the Snitch, too,” James lamented, still smiling. “But Lynch is good. Consistent. It was a good catch, but still not as good as—”

“Please,” Sirius groaned, cutting him off before James could finish. This was an argument between James and Sirius that had been going on for the better part of two weeks. “Shut it about my brother.”

“I’m only saying,” said James, helping himself to a sandwich and talking through his bite. “That catch from Baby Black a few weeks ago had to be one of the all-time best. Beats anything Malfoy ever did by a landslide. I’d love to ask him about that maneuver at the end there—”

“No,” said Sirius firmly. “He flies so well because he’s a slippery little git and he’s not weighted down by a brain or a personality. Don’t you want to discuss your own match? Why are we still harping on about the Slytherin and Ravenclaw match?”

“Because of that catch of the Golden Snitch!” said James happily. “Today’s match was flat boring.”

On that, Remus could agree, although he supposed it was for different reasons.

Madam Pomfrey deemed Remus in good enough condition to leave the Hospital Wing in the late afternoon. Sirius, James, and Peter had all stayed with him, even though Remus was sure the party was beginning with gusto in the Gryffindor common room. Indeed, things were in full swing when they arrived, opting to go by the kitchens beforehand rather than the Great Hall since the party would doubtless be in need of refreshments. There was a general cheer at the sight of them climbing through the portrait hole, partly because Peter carried a great armful of food and sweets, party because their champion Chaser had arrived, and partly because Sirius could now retrieve the gramophone for all of them.

Once he was quite full of food and Butterbeer, Remus let himself collapse on the couch, ousting a group of first years playing Exploding Snap, and found himself half asleep on Lily’s shoulder when she joined him. Elton John was playing, and much of the common room was swaying and crooning along. In the corner, Frank had his guitar out, but had handed it to James with amusement, teaching him how to very poorly strum along.

“Don’t you get any sleep when you visit your mum?” Lily asked Remus with concern.

“Mm,” Remus grumbled. “Yeah, of course. I…er…just don’t sleep that well, I s’pose.”

“Well,” said Marlene with a grin, leaning against his legs. “You’re going to have to wake up soon enough. It’s nearly midnight.”

Remus grumbled again. “I think midnight is when normal people go to sleep, McKinnon. Not when they wake up.”

“Maybe normal people,” said Mary happily, leaning over top of him. Remus really was somehow surrounded by the girls on this couch, none of whom he remembered being there when he’d collapsed. “But you’re not normal people, Lupin. You’re a birthday boy.”

It wasn’t until James and Sirius had joined Mary and Marlene in their cajoling that Remus finally got up, muscles aching but feeling slowly better. The party was still quite loud even though the music had stopped, but they did not seem to be going into the thick of the celebration, like Remus had been expecting. Instead, he found himself following the rest out the portrait hole, and into the darkened seventh floor corridor.

“Where are we going?” Remus asked groggily, noting that aside from the third year Gryffindor boys and girls, they were now joined by a beaming Benjy Fenwick and Dorcas Meadowes. Together they were nine, which seemed rather too large a group for sneaking about the castle—which was surely a part of what James, Sirius, and Peter had planned for him.

“You'd better not be going anywhere!” said the Fat Lady as she swung shut behind them and cut off the noise of the common room. “I’ve seen my fair share of students in the corridors after hours, but really! For the whole lot of you to go parading—”

“Gid and Fab Prewett helped us with something,” Sirius interrupted her, which wasn’t quite an answer to Remus’s question. He was holding the gramophone, or rather levitating it beside him, and James was doing the same with a wooden box, boarded shut. Judging by the way James handled the box with great care, Remus was quite wary of its contents.

“All right,” said James, looking out over the group of them with an expression of gravity that seemed rather comical on him. Only a couple of candles in their stone braziers lit the corridor, and they reflected mysteriously off his glasses. “In this most special circumstance of Moony’s birthday, we will be permitting you a peek behind the curtain, granting you access to information so sensitive and so secret that—”

“There’s a passageway to the grounds just one floor below this one, behind that tapestry of Hephaestus Hornibee choking on a Shrivelfig,” said Sirius plainly. “Let’s go, and be quiet about it.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” the Fat Lady said, bristling and flapping her painted fan. “You’ll turn around right now and head straight to bed, or I’ll—”

“Oh come off it,” said Sirius, turning to grin at her. “Don’t you have better things to do? You know, I heard that the portrait of Leonard de Guiles in the Charms corridor broke things off with that portrait of Violet Tillyman off the Great Hall.”

The Fat Lady hesitated. “Oh, Leonard, the cad,” she muttered shaking her head. “I suppose I really ought to go see how he’s faring…” Remus thought she looked a bit flushed.

With a great yawn that was at odds with everyone else's giggling, Remus followed the rest of them curiously. Benjy, Dorcas, Marlene, and Mary let out gasps of appreciation when James pulled aside the tapestry to reveal a jagged stone archway. It opened into an unlit staircase that sloped steeply down. Lily only gave Remus a look that clearly said I knew this is what you all got up to.

The passageway twisted like a corkscrew at the tail end, and everyone was a bit dizzy by the time it opened up at the castle’s exterior wall, behind a gnarled oak that was still bare of leaves in the late winter. They were very near the greenhouses, which made it a necessary shortcut when one was late to Herbology. At the base of the oak, it seemed as if James, Sirius, and Peter had thought ahead about the sharp nighttime chill and left a heap of blankets and winter cloaks for them all, including Remus’s own.

The grounds were black and white with the large moon two slivers past full, reflected like a dragon egg in the still, half-frozen lake. There was the occasional hoot of an owl or creak of wind in a tree, including the Whomping Willow which let out a sort of settling shiver after having punted away a bird who tried to land for the night. Down the hill was the warm light of Hagrid’s Hut at the edge of the forest. Sirius held up a beckoning finger and led them in an apprehensive line not toward any of these things, but toward the Quidditch pitch, which was dark and empty, the hoops looming over them.

“You’re not going to recreate the match for me, are you?” Remus asked with a frown, thinking that this was the sort of birthday surprise he wanted least.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said James thoughtfully. “I made a rather spectacular goal just past the quarter line that you should’ve seen. I haven’t got my broom though—”

“No, Moony,” scoffed Sirius. “The Prewett twins helped us with something. We thought about doing it after the match, but it was no good if you weren’t there. Besides, it’ll look much better at night.”

Whatever the surprise was, it was assuredly in that crate James held so gingerly, finally setting it down in the middle of the pitch, and Remus wondered if there was some sort of dangerous creature inside. He reasoned it was better not to ask. Sirius had set up the gramophone on one of the reserve benches and was playing The Punk and The Godfather just loud enough to be heard from where Remus settled himself on the lowest of the Gryffindor stands. Peter had been good enough to smuggle down some squashed chocolate cake, and Remus helped himself to a slice alongside Benjy. The rest of them were very concerned over what was in the crate James had finally opened. Remus wasn’t allowed to come look, and he figured Benjy had been sent to make sure he wasn’t sat on his lonesome.

“Won’t be a minute, Moony!” James called over from the huddle, hair very rumpled.

“They haven’t got a clue what they’re doing, have they?” Benjy asked, amused.

“They rarely do,” said Remus, shaking his head.

“It was too bad you missed the match today,” said Benjy, helping himself to his own slice of chocolate cake that was badly damaged in transit.

“Why?” asked Remus with a grin. “Do you want to reenact all your plays for me, too?”

“No,” Benjy laughed. “It’s just nice to fly knowing that there are friends in the stands is all.”

Remus nodded, considering this as he bundled himself a bit tighter in his robes.

Benjy watched as James did something to the crate that had all the rest of them leaping backward, but then nothing happened, and they all approached again tentatively. “Meadowes said you were sick?” Benjy ventured. “Or maybe she said your mum was sick?”

“Yeah,” said Remus cautiously. “Er—both. I…visit her a few times a year since she’s poorly. And I don’t always feel the best myself. Headaches.”

Benjy nodded. “My mum was an Auror. She died my first year of Hogwarts. If it hadn’t been so fast, if she’d been sick or something, I’d have liked to have left school to visit her, too.”

“Oh,” said Remus with real sorrow. His stomach flipped and sank. “I’m very sorry.” He suddenly felt awful about the excuse, about the lie.

“Yeah,” said Benjy, accepting the condolences without fuss. “Some maniac out attacking muggles, and a spell went stray. She was very brave, though. I’d like to train to be an Auror once I graduate. You know…to be a bit more like her.”

Remus nodded. “That’s very good of you. I reckon you’ll be a good Auror.”

Benjy smiled brightly. His teeth were very straight. His blondness made him all white in the moonlight. “I’m terrible at Defense, though,” he said after a moment. “If I want to be an Auror, I’ll need to get an O in my O.W.L.s next year and then continue into N.E.W.T. levels.”

“It’s my best subject,” said Remus automatically. “I can help with studying, if you like. I’ve already started on the fourth year textbook.”

“Brilliant,” said Benjy happily. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

They both turned to where the others were still gathered around the crate, still unsuccessful with their surprise after a few false starts. They suddenly seemed quite far away to Remus, and in the dark, against the dark sky and the dark grass, he couldn’t even quite make out who was who.

“Why do they call you Moony?” Benjy asked, cutting through the silence.

“Oh,” said Remus, frowning and going red. “Haven’t you heard? According to most the school, it’s because I have a tendency to pull down my trousers and show everyone my arse.”

Benjy laughed so hard that Remus had to bury his face in his hands. “I have a hard time believing that,” Benjy managed to say at last. “According to most the school, you also tried to steal a branch from a Dryad, and she slashed you across the face with one of her branches.”

“Oh, this?” Remus asked, gesturing vaguely to his scar. “No, nothing that exciting. I tried to adopt a kitten from an old bloke in Knockturn Alley, and it turned out to be a baby Manticore. Had to set it free in the Grecian aisles after it scratched me.”

Remus looked up to see Benjy laugh again, and then suddenly Benjy was laughing very close, close enough that Remus couldn’t make out the whole of his face. It was a nice face, Remus thought blankly. And then Benjy was even closer, and Remus realized with a start that Benjy’s mouth was pressed against his own.

For a moment, Remus froze, not precisely sure what was happening. The night was very cold, and Benjy’s lips were very warm and smelled faintly of chocolate cake. His nose was lined up against Remus’s own, and their chins bumped against one another. Benjy’s hand was atop his own where it rested on the wooden bench. It was a kiss, Remus noted, somewhat incredulous. He was being kissed. By Benjy Fenwick.

Benjy’s hand curled around Remus’s wrist softly, and that at last made Remus jolt with surprise. He leaned away suddenly, eyes wide, staring at Benjy who was still leaning forward. Remus glanced over to the others, but they were in a shadow of the stands, and no one seemed to have spotted them.

Benjy had a lot of color high in his cheeks now, and he looked a bit surprised himself. “I…” he began, clearing his throat. “I’m so sorry…I—”

“Oh,” Remus interrupted blinking fast. His insides had been replaced with a lot of writhing snakes, each one very conflicted with the other. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to run away from Benjy or reassure him. “No, it’s—”

“Aha!” came the victorious cry of Sirius from across the pitch. Remus and Benjy both jumped, turning to watch as a figure split off from the rest, coming to pull them closer. Sirius was a bright smile in the dark when he came into view, not noticing the very tense way the other two boys sat. “We’ve done it!”

Getting up quickly, Remus came to see what precisely they’d done. There was a high droning whistle that was starting up, and then Remus could see James leaping back from crate, just as something shot skyward, a tiny dot of amber going higher and higher. Remus watched it, and then nearly had a heart attack as the amber speck exploded in a bright, loud burst that seemed to rattle the stands around them. It was all golden sparkles and scarlet licks of flame illuminating the night sky until Remus’s eyes hurt to watch it, and the impression of lights stayed as dots in his vision even after they had faded away.

Firecrackers, Remus realized, with a grin slipping through despite the muddled pile of mush his brain had become over the last minute. He felt Sirius’s arm over his shoulders, shaking him. His head still pounded, a combination of exhaustion, confusion, and now assault of light and noise, but he found he didn’t mind. James set another one off with a holler, and the girls shrieked, covering their ears along with Peter.

There was another enormous BANG, as the bright shape blossomed into being across the sky. This one was in the somewhat muddled form of a great lion, which opened its mouth and let out a thin trail of sparks before it faded away with a swish of its tail. James shook his head disappointedly. “I told Gideon to order a lion that breathed fire. That’s hardly what I’d call that. Someone ought to improve the design of these.”

At the urging of Sirius and Marlene, James set off three at once, and there was a muddled cacophony of BOOMs, and then the overlapping images of a Quidditch player in scarlet robes doing loops, a Golden Snitch fluttering its wings, and an enormous yellow and black badger keeling over with X’s for eyes. The black night sky became a muddled drawing of bright color. There were a few more red and gold bursts sent up into the air, and then somehow Remus could hear shouting from the direction of the castle, even though his ears were mostly done for.

“Better hurry up with it,” Sirius warned.

James nodded happily, bringing a nervous Peter to help him with the last five rockets, setting them off in quick succession. In somewhat shaky lettering, each spelled out in silver lettering that glittered, one after the other M, O, O, N, Y.

As Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and a livid-looking Mr. Filch came running toward them down the castle steps, Remus figured it was slightly less incriminating than having his real name spelled out in fading letters, enormous in the sky directly above him.

They received a collective month of detention, but split between nine Gryffindors, that wasn't really so bad. The number of house points lost was a bit more of a sting. Still, Remus found it very hard to worry about the House Cup as he finally climbed into bed and stared at the distant stone ceiling. His head was a soupy mess of the taste of chocolate cake, the befuddling sensation of warm lips on his own cold ones, Benjy’s stammered apologies and look of alarm. Remus wasn’t quite sure what he would have said if they hadn’t been interrupted. He’d had his first kiss, then, and it was with a bloke, somehow. Remus hadn’t considered the fact that something like that could happen. In truth, he’d never considered kissing anyone at all. Why would he, when he couldn’t even be sure if he’d survive each full moon?

He’d thought maybe everyone was asleep when he heard Sirius’s voice across the room. “Was it good?” the other boy asked quietly.

“What?” asked Remus sharply, sitting up in alarm.

“Your birthday surprise,” said Sirius, sitting up as well. Remus could only make him out by the light of the furnace. “The firecrackers. Took ages to order them from Diagon Alley, I’m only glad they came in time.”

“Oh, right,” said Remus, swallowing down the jab of fearful shame that had made its appearance for the first time that night. “Yeah, it was incredible. Really great.”

Chapter Text

March 27, 1974

Sirius

Sirius waited impatiently for James to finish Quidditch practice so that they might attend their next detention, this time with Professor Sprout, before they had to hurry up to dinner and then Astronomy. It was to be a rather lousy birthday for James, but James didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He flounced up the castle stairs with a broad grin, carrying his broomstick and his bag while the sun threatened to set over the next hour.

“Reckon I have time to put these back?” he asked brightly.

“No,” sighed Sirius. “You’re lucky McGonagall didn’t assign detentions during your practice times.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” said James. “I think she just wants the satisfaction of winning the Quidditch cup two years in a row, and she knows better than to take the star player out of practice.”

Sirius rolled his eyes fondly. “Wanker.”

Detention in the greenhouses were not as grim as detentions in the dungeons or in Filch’s office. It was some miraculous oversight that James and Sirius had even been paired together for their two turns this week—usually the professors knew better. Indeed, Professor Sprout looked very distressed to see the two of them outside her office, and Sirius had a fleeting hope that she might just let them off in the fear that they’d manage to hurt much more than they helped.

Unfortunately, Professor Sprout steeled her courage and set them to plucking dead blossoms from the Hagvines, which slapped their hands away with such force that protective dragonhide gloves had to be worn. “Ouch!” James muttered, pulling his hand away after a stray tendril had thwacked him across the exposed wrist. “Don’t you want our help?” he asked it. “You’re looking all mangy, you know.”

This insulted the Hagvines even further, it seemed, and pruning them at all became near impossible.

Sirius looked behind them, toward where the Mandrakes were in much larger pots than the ones they’d started in. They were awaiting replanting in even larger pots—ones Sirius could have easily fit in—by the seventh year N.E.W.T. students. Every now and then, a pot would jostle, edging slightly closer to another. Last lesson, they’d had to undergo the dreadful ordeal of hearing Professor Sprout talk about the end of Mandrake adolescence, the physical and emotional changes that were sure to overcome the them, and Sirius had the dreadful feeling, as Professor Sprout looked out at the third years knowingly, that she hadn’t been talking about plants at all.

It would not be long before the plants were as mature as Sirius reckoned they needed to be, and then they’d have to harvest the leaves and hope for the best.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Sirius in a low voice so that Sprout would not overhear in her office.

“Map or Animagi?” James asked, equally quietly.

“Map,” said Sirius. “Now that we know we can manage the Homunculus Charm, I wanted to see about binding it to the castle. I was researching a bit, and I think we’d have the best chance of it at the oldest part of the school.”

“Makes sense,” James nodded, managing to clip a dead twig off the Hagvine while it squealed shrilly. “Where’s that?”

“Well,” said Sirius, who had abandoned his detention task altogether, “the school was built around Rowena Ravenclaw’s study, since she was the one with the idea for it, originally. But that can’t have been the Ravenclaw common room, since that’s up in a tower. It’d be somewhere on the ground floor.”

“Yeah,” agreed James. “That leaves the Great Hall, the Entrance Hall, the Charms Corridor…”

“Exactly,” said Sirius. He hopped up onto the gardening counter so that he might sit. “Charms. Flitwick’s office. He’s the head of Ravenclaw house. Makes sense, wouldn’t it, if his office was once Rowena Ravenclaw’s, too?”

James raised a gloved hand to his lips while he pondered. “You might be right. Worth a try, anyway.”

“Black!” came the sharp shout of Professor Sprout. “Are you pruning vines or puttering about? Get to it, or I’ll have you breaking up the dragon dung fertilizer.”

Sirius sighed, hopping down to help James.

At the doors of the Great Hall later that night, where Sirius anticipated a rousing bout of song for James, as well as the largest cake the house-elves could manage at Peter’s request, they found Remus coming in from the library with Evans.

Remus had seemed a bit odd since his birthday, prone to long bouts of thinking and sudden blushing. Sirius had thought with nausea that maybe Remus was developing some sort of feelings for Evans, which would be horribly inconvenient. But Remus seemed perfectly fine around Evans. His odd mood remained unpredictable, but that did not stop Sirius from paying close attention. He’d gotten used to watching Remus in first year, trying to understand what secret the other boy was hiding, and then he'd continued doing it even when he knew what Remus was, out of pure thrill and fascination.

Indeed, as soon as they made their way to the table, where Meadowes, Fenwick, McKinnon, Macdonald, and Peter were already seated, Remus went rigid and forced his way behind Sirius so that he’d be seated furthest away from all of them. The tips of his ears were very red behind waving hair that had grown shaggy and long. By means of Andromeda, Sirius had gotten Remus several new band shirts for his birthday, seeing that he was growing too quickly to fit into the old ones he was so fond of. Sirius might not have thought Remus was fond of T-shirts at all until this year, but now that Remus was less terrified of his own scarred arms in the comfort of their dormitory, Sirius knew they were all he wore if he could help it.

“All right, Moony?” Sirius asked him, giving him a narrow-gazed once over as soon as they’d finished singing to James.

“Yeah,” said Remus very quickly. “Great. Excellent. Pass the cake, will you?”

In Astronomy, they were in a full and satisfied mood, so James and Sirius entertained themselves simply, merely transfiguring the legs of Snape’s telescope so that it walked speedily away every time he tried to look through it.

“Probably doesn’t want your greasy mug pressed against it,” called Sirius with mock sympathy for the scurrying telescope.

Snape sneered and ended up having to tackle the thing, damaging the lens and loosing five points from Slytherin from Professor Vega.

“You’re all lucky he’s too decent to tattle on you,” said Evans harshly on their way back to the common room.

“Decent, is that what they’re calling it these days?” asked Sirius. He was reasonably sure Snape just didn’t want to suffer the humiliation of admitting they had the ability to pull one over on him. Besides, if Snape kept professors out of it, he had the right to settle the score himself, which Sirius half looked forward to.

“Yes,” sniffed Evans. “Decent. It means you don’t go around making someone’s life miserable just for the fun of it.”

“But Snivellus does make my life miserable,” protested James. “I’ve got to look at him all the time, don’t I?”

“Gouge out your eyes then, you lousy toadwart,” said Lily venomously, before she marched through the portrait hole and up to the girls’ dormitory.

“I think she meant to say, Happy Birthday,” James mused with a broad smile.

In a rare turn of events, James did not want to earn any more detention while Alice had them training near daily for the final match of the year. Instead, he opted for some games of Exploding Snap, a round of chess with Peter, and the Who.

They were curled up on James’s bed, which was slightly less of a mess than Sirius’s. Peter was sitting on a cushion on the floor, his head tilted back against the mattress so that little wheezing snores came out of his open mouth. Remus had managed his way to his own bed, face down in a mass of blankets and pillows, his long legs kicking restlessly every few moments. Sirius was very nearly asleep himself, when James sighed heavily.

“I think I’m in love with her.”

Sirius peeked open an eye, looking up at James where he sat propped up on Sirius’s own pillow, taken from his bed. His hair looked like it had been dried in a tornado; his glasses were half slid down his face. Like Remus, he was getting quite annoyingly tall, and his face was no longer a round, squish-able thing.

“Who?” Sirius asked hoarsely, then ventured a guess. “Evans?”

James jolted, peering over the top of his glasses at Sirius. Sirius was sure that he was nothing but a smudgy shape to James at the moment. “How’d you know?”

“How’d you not?” asked Sirius. “You’re obsessed with the bird.”

This was precisely why he very much hoped Remus hadn’t developed some imbecilic crush on Evans and chosen to act strangely about it all of a sudden. Firstly, Sirius thought it might kill him if all of his mates fancied the swot. Secondly, he reasoned Remus had a much fairer chance at her than James did, and he thought this heartbreak would in all likelihood kill James. Either way, someone would be bound to die.

“Yeah,” James sighed happily. “She’s incredible.”

“She hates you,” Sirius pointed out. “She called you a toadwart. I think she came up with that herself.”

“She hates me?” James asked with genuine hurt. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“If that’s how someone acts when they’re fond of you,” said Sirius, “then my mum must think I’m the best son she could have ever hoped for.”

“She’s just assertive,” insisted James. “I like that about her.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re a masochist.”

James pushed his glasses up, settling into the pillow. “What’s that mean?”

“It means you’re perfect for each other,” said Sirius with a laugh, turning over. “Now go to sleep. And if you try to cuddle me pretending I’m Evans, I’ll kick you in the bollocks.”

April 20, 1974

Remus

A torrent of rain had washed away the rest of the white snow, leaving sludge and mud and a lot of damp, spring green across the grounds. The April moon had passed with a few scratches and bruises and a twisted ankle. The professors had piled on more homework in preparation of exams. And the only other thing of interest that transpired was Remus thoroughly avoiding Benjy Fenwick, who had kissed Remus in the early hours of Remus’s fourteenth birthday, and Remus was pretty sure that Benjy had done it on purpose.

It was a rather rude thing to do, really, Remus thought with a twinge of panic. It would have been rude enough if someone like Mary had done it, making him reckon with what exactly he’d done to merit such a thing and whether or not it had been altogether terrifying or fine. But it was even worse that Benjy had done it, since it meant that the last thing Remus thought he’d never have to worry about was now driving him a bit mad.

When he’d been bitten at six and kept away from other children, he’d accepted very easily that he would never do something as distant and abstract as fall in love or get married, and it hadn’t seemed any sort of loss. As he got older, he’d continued not to fret too much about it, especially since he’d never fancied anyone or wanted to fancy someone. It was fine and easy to count himself out of such affairs.

He really didn’t spend time with the girls because he fancied them. But he also hadn’t thought that could be because he might be…well…

That was why it was best to avoid Benjy at every turn, in the common room, at the dinner table, and in every corridor.

Benjy, to Remus’s immense guilt, looked a bit miserable about it. Sometimes when Remus found himself accidentally nearby, Benjy opened his mouth to speak, and Remus had such a thrill of panic that he often turned and ran, no matter how strange that might look to anyone else nearby. Mostly, however, Benjy contained himself to very downcast and apologetic looks, which Remus tried not to see out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t that he wanted Benjy to feel rotten about it—Remus just wanted to forget it had happened at all and was finding such a thing impossible to do.

It was impossible, because Remus kept thinking about it. He kept thinking about warm breath on his face, soft eyelashes against his own, the way the lips hadn’t been like a girl’s lips. Or, at least, he imagined they weren’t.

He found himself lost in one of these horrible bouts of thiniking as he waited in the Charms corridor, walking idly back and forth. It was a Saturday, and the halls were quiet. Remus hoped that the few people who passed by him thought he was merely headed to or from the library with his bag slung over his shoulder, unaware that he was monitoring this spot for the last thirty minutes without truly leaving it, passing the same broad landscape painting of the Nastily Violent Duel of 1256, wherein one witch from the Welsh Marches had insulted the cap of another, and began a sort of civil war in their wizarding village.

Remus had claimed this job since it got him out of the common room before dinner—which was also Benjy’s common room—but Remus hadn’t considered how much time it would give him alone with his thoughts.

Soon however, his thoughts were thoroughly drowned out. There was a strange cheering that emanated from all around the castle, as if it were the walls themselves making the noise. It sounded for the briefest of moments as if a Quidditch match were going on in the other room, but then a distinct sort of chanting began.

We want Sweet! We want Sweet!

It was then that the guitars began alongside the drums, shrill and disruptive. The only other student in the corridor, a fifth year Ravenclaw, lifted her head in interest and half a grin, nodding her head a bit as she continued on her way. Remus grinned back at her as he ducked into an alcove, doing his best not to tap his foot along with the deafening music.

…At thirteen they'll be learning, at fourteen they'll be burning!
There's something in the air of which we all will be aware!
But they don't care! …No! …No! No! No! So!
Come join the revolution! Get yourself a constitution! Come join the revolution now!
And recognize your age, it's a teenage rampage! Turn another page on the teenage rampage, now!

At last, a very rumpled looking Professor Flitwick emerged from the carved doors of his office, pulling on his pointed hat and shortened robes in bright peacock blue. He had a furrowed and focused look to his bushy brow and did not so much as glance in Remus’s direction as he strode toward the Great Hall, perhaps hoping that's where the cacophony was coming from. Remus himself wasn’t sure where Sirius, James, and Peter were. The plan had been for them to stash the gramophone in that enormous Unplottable room where they hid it over the summers, then to hide under the cloak and make their way to the library so that they could act as befuddled and disturbed as the rest of the students.

Flitwick took care to shove the door closed behind him, which was sure to have been charmed to lock magically on its own, but Remus aimed his wand at it and muttered “Immobulus!”

The sound was lost in the blaring guitar, and Flitwick did not notice the small flash of white light as the incantation froze the door in place, still slightly ajar.

As soon as Flitwick had turned the corner, Remus rushed forward, slipping in through the engraved door. Flitwick’s office was a lopsided square of stone that looked out over the front steps to the castle, plain aside from a lovely, enchanted ceiling that displayed the planetary alignment in an inky sky of stars. There were shelves and shelves of books lining the walls, and not a speck of dust on any of them. Flitwick’s desk was a mess of more books and trinkets—a top that never ceased its spinning, a feather that floated on an invisible wind up and down again.

Remus crouched down in the center of the room, on an ornate carpet of blue and bronze. He wasn’t sure why he felt as though he ought to be sitting, but it seemed right. As he pulled out the map from his school bag, he searched the room with some unknown sense to see if he felt any old magic, anything alive and interesting, but it felt just like any other room in the castle. With a sigh, he tried to concentrate beyond the music that still blasted through the halls and corridors.

…At thirteen, they were fooling! At sixteen, they’ll be ruling!...

Remus laid the map out in front of him, saying, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The blank parchment became a sprawl of lines and notes, until the entirety of the castle was inked out before him in his own hand. Carefully, Remus tapped his wand to it in the complicated motion he’d memorized from James, who’d been the first to manage the Homonculus Charm. “Ligacorpus Hocest!” he said loudly, struggling to hear his own pronunciation over the music. He did the same motion again before tapping his wand to the stone floor in front of him. “Ligacorpus Hocest!”

When he’d done the incantation to himself after Christmas holidays, he’d felt very strange—as if someone or something foreign was briefly and abruptly reading his mind, analyzing every thought he’d had before retreating all at once and making him gasp. He didn’t feel anything at all as he did the same to this old chunk of the castle floor.

He had just decided that it must not have worked, when the door, still slightly open, opened more widely with a creak. Remus jumped but saw no one standing there. That was, he saw no one until James pulled the cloak off of his face, revealing Sirius and Peter as well.

“Come on!” James urged, difficult to hear over last chorus of the song. “Filch! Headed this way!”

Remus scrambled up, clearing the map with a quick “Mischief managed!” before shoving it back into his bag and hastening under the cloak.

Turn another page on the teenage rampage now!
Now! Now! Now!
Recognize your age, it’s a teenage rampage now!
Now! Now! Now!

The four of them had only managed to kick Flitwick’s office door closed behind them when Filch hurried round the corner, nearly loosing his footing in his haste.

“Check the offices, Mrs. Norris!” he screeched to his cat as the guitar continued to blast in one final note. “I know a distraction when I hear one, don’t I?!”

The song had been a carefully selected single, so the corridors rung with quiet when the music finally stopped, and Remus crouched low to keep the cloak covering their feet as they took a shortcut up to the fourth floor. “I thought you were meant to be playing it thick in the library?” he asked them.

“Yeah,” sighed Sirius. “But apparently playing it thick isn’t one of our strengths. We simply ooze intelligence.”

“Besides,” said James in an out-of-breath whisper. “We heard Filch going on about checking all the offices and storerooms. We couldn’t just leave you to be captured.”

They made a stop to the Room of Hidden Things to cast a quick Quietus on the gramophone, as well as to nab it back up to their dormitory. They waited for a while, all four of them cross legged and attempting to look innocent on their four poster beds, in case Professor McGonagall came to accuse them of the disturbance. She did not make an appearance, however. Remus suspected that she was growing rather weary of deducting points from her own house when there was no concrete evidence other than common sense.

When at last they were sure they’d gotten away with it, James hopped up eagerly, throwing aside the book he’d been pretending to read. “Well, Moony? Did it work?!”

“Don’t think so,” said Remus dejectedly. He took out the map again and laid it out before him while the other three gathered around his bed. He tapped his wand to it, murmured the password, and watched as the lines reappeared. It was just as it had always been.

“That’s a shame,” said Peter glumly. “Ah, well. At least the music was good, wasn’t it?”

“Wait,” said Sirius with great urgency, grabbing both James and Remus’s arm as he leaned close enough to the map that his nose nearly brushed it. “Something's happening.”

After a moment, and after James had shoved Sirius’s face aside so the rest of them could see, Remus saw that Sirius was right. Something was happening. Small dots of ink were appearing in clusters all around the castle, some on their own, some in dense groups. At first, Remus was certain he’d ruined the thing, that the dots would continue appearing until they obscured the entire map. But then they stopped, and names in miniscule writing began to appear over them. Remus recognized his own handwriting, but they were names he had not written, and most of which he did not know.

“Merlin’s blasted bollocks,” said James in awe. “What’s it doing?”

It wasn’t until Remus spotted one name, above one dot, all on its own in one of the high towers, that he understood.

“Look,” he said quietly, pointing to it. “Albus Dumbledore. Right where his office is. You don’t reckon all these dots are people, do you?”

“Oh,” said Sirius with great feeling. “This is bloody incredible. Lupin, you beauty!”

“I didn’t do it!” said Remus quickly, filled with awe himself. “I just did the Homonculus Charm, like you said, where you said to do it.”

It was then that Albus Dumbledore’s little dot began to move, and Remus noticed that the dot of Minerva McGonagall was outside the office door. He watched as the Headmaster seemed to welcome Professor McGonagall into his office, the both of them going to the center of the room where Remus remembered Dumbledore's desk to be located. “Merlin and Morgana,” he breathed in surprise. “We can see their every move.”

“Where’s Snivellus?” asked James immediately, scanning the map. “Oh, bloody hell, he’s in the loo! Look there! This is brilliant!”

“There’s Frank and Alice,” said Peter, pointing to their place on the map. “They’re very close together, aren't they? And in a lavatory stall of all places. I wonder—” He cut himself off with realization, going quite red with shock.

“There’s Narcissa,” said Sirius with contempt, finding a dot labeled Narcissa Black in the Slytherin common room. “Oh, Merlin, she’s with Regulus, isn’t she? Yeah, look…”

They continued this sort of scavenger hunt until they were all too starved to continue. With a guilty pang, Remus scanned the length of the little Gryffindor table he’d drawn in, not finding Benjy’s dot until he looked at the whole of the Great Hall and could see the speck labeled Benjamin Fenwick leaving for the Marble Staircase. “Let’s go to dinner,” he suggested quickly.

“Think about it,” said Peter later with a happy sigh, spooning vegetables onto his plate. “We’ll never bump unexpectedly into Filch ever again. Was Mrs. Norris on there? I forgot to check.”

“I saw her,” said James. “Snooping around that broom cupboard all the older students like to snog in.”

“Sod the cat,” declared Sirius. “Now we can ambush Mulciber, Snape, and Avery whenever we like.”

The subject of the map was so distracting and intriguing that Remus forgot to be apprehensive as he entered the common room, forgot to be on guard as James, Sirius, and Peter went upstairs for bed, and he remained comfortable with his book in front of the fire. The common room was quiet tonight as fifth years and seventh years had begun their studying in earnest in the library, and the hour was late enough that the younger students had gone to bed. Remus felt another weight settle in at the opposite end of the sofa, but still didn’t bother to look up from his reading until a familiar voice cleared its throat.

Snapping his head up, he noticed with a nasty shock that Benjy was there, chewing his lip, eyes wide and pale. He tried for a smile, but Remus thought it more looked like he was about to be sick. “Was that you all today?” Benjy asked apprehensively after a moment. “With the music?”

Remus looked all around him, but there were only a couple of sixth years bent over and studying at the other end of the room. He could do what he wanted to do, which was to shut his book and dart upstairs without a word. He could use the map’s new ability to never once find himself in a room alone with Benjy Fenwick again. But that seemed a sort of miserable way to live, so he tried to summon his courage and took pains not to stare at Benjy’s mouth. “Er…yeah. It was.”

“Thought so,” said Benjy with a nod. He seemed greatly relieved that Remus had answered, rather than throwing himself into the blazing fire in front of them. There was a long silence, then Benjy turned away so that he was facing the fireplace and the portrait hole. It seemed easier for him to speak when he was not looking at Remus directly, and Remus was glad for it, since he felt the same. “Look,” Benjy said after clearing his throat several times more. “I’m…I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have…er…I just thought…”

“What did you think?” Remus asked, before he lost his nerve. He wanted badly to know what he had done to spur Benjy into such an action, because Remus knew, deep down in some forbidden pit of himself, that it had been his fault. It was how he’d felt about being bitten when he was very small—that he’d inadvertently but unmistakeably beckoned some sort of evil. That he deserved it.

And yet, another part of him thought Benjy’s kiss hadn’t been evil at all. Still, there was something about Remus that called forth things that might complicate his life. Clearly Benjy had noticed something about Remus that Remus hadn’t noticed about himself. Clearly there was something about Remus that signaled to others that he might like to kiss blokes.

Benjy shrugged, still not looking at him. “It’s really stupid,” he said. “I thought you…er…might like it.”

Stupid wasn’t precisely the word Remus would have thought of. “Did…did you like it?” Remus asked cautiously.

Benjy paled even further, staring into the flames. “I…yeah. Yeah, I s’pose so.”

“Okay,” said Remus, nodding. His head felt light and funny. He was relieved, then terrified of that relief. “How…how did you know you’d like something like that?”

Benjy glanced at him, and this time it was with something other than apologetic fear. He had a sort of sympathy in his gaze. “I just knew. I…er…liked talking to you, and talking to you made me think about it. So, I knew.” He began chewing his lip again and looked away. “I thought it might be all right, but really, I should have asked—”

“And am I the sort of person who would like it?” Remus asked quietly, wanting someone else to give him the answer to this question so that he did not have to think about it himself.

Benjy huffed a surprised laugh. “I don’t know, do I? I suppose that’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Remus shrugged, trying and failing to not go red. “I was surprised, is all. I don’t think I was upset. And…I reckon I’m meant to be upset.”

“You’re not meant to be anything,” said Benjy, glancing back through his very blonde eyelashes.

Did Remus find Benjy handsome? He found him sort of pleasant looking, he supposed. Was that a queer thing to think?

As Remus hastened to stare blankly at the pages of his book, not taking in a word, Benjy sidled a bit closer, and Remus’s heartbeat increased. “Listen, I just…I’m hoping you won’t tell anyone. What I…er…what I did.”

“Oh,” said Remus awkwardly. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t.”

“Thanks,” said Benjy nodding. He stood up abruptly, making Remus raise his eyebrows in surprise. “And you don’t have to keep hiding from me. I won’t…I promise won’t try it again. I’m really sorry, Remus.”

He hurried away toward the boys’ dormitories and he did not look back, leaving Remus there as the book slipped out of his grasp and onto his lap.

Remus figured he ought to get to bed, seeing that he would not be focusing on his book any longer. The lights in the dormitory were still bright as James serviced his broom with loving adoration and Sirius and Peter played chess on Peter’s bed. Remus brushed his teeth and changed into pyjamas without saying a word, then sat cross legged in front of the crate of albums, out of sight of the other boys. With trepidation, he picked through them until he found Jimi Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland, which Sirius, Peter, and James had positively gaped at when they first discovered it in Andromeda’s stockpile. In the room’s corner, behind the cover of his bed, Remus made himself stare at it as if it were some passage in a textbook he’d be tested on later. The nude girls looked back at him brazenly.

He felt something, but it might have been fear or fascination.

He picked through the albums again, this time stopping on Sticky Fingers by The Rolling Stones. They’d reached for this album many times, snickering at the grainy image plastered across the front. But Remus did not feel like snickering now. He made himself look at it as he’d looked at Electric Ladyland, trying to understand if that jolt through his spine was something other than amusement.

Both were somewhat exciting. Both made him feel warm in the face. This information was decidedly unhelpful, and Remus uneasily clambered into bed, shutting the curtains tightly around him without muttering a goodnight. Again, as he closed his eyes there was the thought of Benjy, now accompanied by the image of him glancing over at Remus through lashes stained orange in the firelight. Maybe not accompanied by the savage tug of desire that was sometimes described in Remus's books, but definitely accompanied by some sort of interest. Remus groaned quietly, pulling his pillow over his head.

He did not know why mapping an enchanted castle, unearthing dozens of secret passageways and hidden rooms, devising an original security system, and linking the map to the intangible heart of an ancient magical building, was simpler than sorting out his own feelings.

One thing was certain—it would be just his rotten luck to not only be a Werewolf, but a shirt-lifting Werewolf as well.

Chapter Text

May 11, 1974

Sirius

“Don’t start,” Sirius warned James, holding up a silencing finger as he tried to enjoy his meal. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I just want to know if he’s done something to that broomstick,” said James adamantly. “He’s fast, Sirius—”

“Yeah,” said Sirius harshly, “because he’s so shrimpy. The wind does most of the work. Now shut it.”

The Slytherin versus Hufflepuff match had taken place that morning, and for the first time since joining the Hufflepuff team, Barney Lynch had failed to catch the Golden Snitch. Instead, Regulus had nabbed it in a flat-out race. The prick himself was sitting very flushed and happy at the Slytherin table beside Narcissa, who beamed down at him. The rest of the ugly Slytherin team was thumping his back with a cheer every few moments.

There might have been a world where Sirius did not begrudge his brother this victory, but in that world, Regulus would not have been gifted a top-grade racing broom and been allowed a summer of flying at Malfoy Manor while Sirius stared at a peeling patch of wallpaper in his room for weeks on end.

James, probably sensing a real argument on the horizon, conceded with his hands raised in surrender, but he still gave Reg an assessing look across the Great Hall that Sirius didn’t like.

James was lost to team practices most days now and would remain so until their final match with Ravenclaw two weeks later, and Remus and Peter were lost to studying—for some reason under the impression that exams required their immediate attention when they were still weeks away. Sirius was pitifully bored, and the warm, pleasant weather only soured his mood. It meant that soon he’d be on the train back to London, and back to Grimmauld Place.

He was not sure what was to become of him this summer. There was the agonizing prospect of being locked away again, and then there was the chance he would be screeched at and scolded until his ears bled, which also seemed unpleasant. The idea of his home tortured him as he wandered aimlessly around the grassy grounds, skipping rocks over the Black Lake that the Giant Squid flicked off course with a lazy tentacle.

The professors, too, seemed to sense the approaching summer and incoming exams. Each of them had piled more homework on them than Sirius thought was strictly necessary or healthy for a growing boy. After breakfast one morning, Professor Boonstock was passing back their ludicrous twenty-inch essays on Hinkypunks, only to assign them another fifteen inches on Will-o’-the-Wisps.

“But they’re the same bloody thing,” Sirius complained to an exhausted-looking Remus. “Just in different parts of the country.”

“Mr. Lupin,” Professor Boonstock cut in sharply. “I didn’t receive your essay last week. That means you’re receiving bottom marks, young man.”

“Oh,” said Remus sleepily. He ducked down beneath the desk and rummaged through his bag until he brought the parchment out, very squashed and rumpled. “Here it is. Sorry, Professor.”

Professor Boonstock frowned at the proffered essay with disdain. “While I can understand one tardy assignment, Mr. Lupin, there have been several times this year where you have either missed a lesson or failed to return your work. I’m afraid the low mark will be fixed into your grade, late essay or not.”

Remus went very pale, lowering the parchment back down again.

“Come off it,” said Sirius indignantly. “It’s my fault. I was meant to get his assignments from him last week, but I forgot to ask.”

Boonstock only sniffed, twitching his sparse moustache in agitation. “Be that as it may, Mr. Black, students cannot faff about and rely on the generosity of other—”

“He was visiting his sick mum!” Evans interjected, turning in her seat beside Snape.

Snape scoffed, still facing the front of the classroom rather than turning to look any of them in the eye. “If he’s allowed to skip off home to his mummy any night he pleases," Snape said sourly, "you’d think he could at least come back in time for lessons.”

Evans fixed Snape with a glower, as James said easily, “Funny how Lupin manages to get better marks than you in Defense without even showing up, isn’t it Snivellus?”

“I show up,” Remus muttered, kicking at James beneath the long table.

“Enough!” said Boonstock, getting a bit sweaty about the brow. “Mr. Lupin, your late work has no value in this class. Your continued absences have been noted. I will have to deduct house points if it happens again so near to exams.”

“Twitchy little Flobberworm,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately, Boonstock heard Sirius quite plainly, and house points indeed ended up being deducted. When class was dismissed, however, it was Remus rather than Sirius who was called to stay behind and approach Boonstock’s desk.

“Close the door behind you, Mr. Pettigrew,” Professor Boonstock instructed them as the other three lingered in the doorway. Remus was looking very skinny and apprehensive in front of the professor's desk, clutching his bag as he waited for whatever unmerited scolding he was about to receive.

Sirius shot the professor one last nasty look before shoving the door closed for Peter. No sooner had he done so than he pressed his wand to the doorframe and muttered “Amplificus!”

He had to compete for space with both James and Peter as they pressed their ears to the door, faces squashed against wood, hearing the sounds from inside the classroom as plainly as if they were still inside it.

Sirius could hear Professor Boonstock clearing his throat in an aggravating way before there was the scrape of a chair, presumably his, from behind his desk. “I find you very curious, Mr. Lupin,” said Boonstock in his whiny whistle of a voice. “Do you know why?”

“Er…no, sir,” said Remus nervously. Sirius could imagine him shifting from foot to foot, staring anywhere in the classroom other than at the professor before him.

“It is because I have found myself in the company of many members of the magical community,” said Boonstock, his tone unreadable. “I have had conversations with even the most hostile of creatures, at least those capable of speech. I have seen all matter of cursed scars and dark injuries. Yours, however, flummoxed me from the first day.”

There was silence in the classroom, and Sirius pressed closer to the door with a scowl that he could see mirrored on James’s and Peter’s faces across from his. After a long moment, Remus spoke again. “Sir?”

“There is only one community of dark creatures that are entirely unwelcome to talks and compromises, did you know this, Mr. Lupin?” Boonstock asked.

A very unpleasant twist ran through Sirius’s stomach as he ground his teeth together.

Boonstock continued. “There is only one group so uncooperative with the Ministry that the only wizards sent to deal with them are those who punish breakers of magical law, when such force is needed.”

There was another long, uncomfortable silence before Remus sniffed. “And…er…what’s that got to do with me, Sir?”

“I believe you know precisely what that has got to do with you, Mr. Lupin,” said Boonstock, and this time his voice was cold. “As I said, I could not make sense of it until your most recent absence. A peculiar night to visit your mother, is it not? In fact, all your absences from my class have been on similarly peculiar nights.”

Sirius was very close to kicking the door in and socking the man in his weaselly face, but James put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, as if anticipating his thoughts. He shook his head minutely, eyes wide behind his specs.

“My thoughts have very serious implications, of this I am well aware,” Boonstock continued. There was another scrape of the chair as if he’d decided to stand again. “And as such, I would not be one to raise a fuss until I am quite sure of what I am saying. But I do believe, Mr. Lupin, that it may be time for me to raise my concerns with the headmaster…Unless you can give me fair reason not to?”

When Remus next spoke, there was a slight grit to his voice that Sirius was nearly proud of. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any reasons, Professor, since I haven’t got the slightest clue what you're raving on about. Now, can I go? I’ve got Ancient Runes. Wouldn’t want my absences to give Professor Babbling any strange ideas, too.”

There was the stomp of angry footfall, and Sirius, James, and Peter scattered quickly, attempting to look innocent just as Remus stalked through the door.

Remus stopped short and looked at them all, sighing as he shouldered his bag and resumed his way down the corridor. “Listening in, were you?”

“Obviously,” said Sirius, catching him up. “I think that tonight we should sneak into Boonstock’s chambers and fill his bed with Screeching Leeches.”

“Excellent,” said James. “I think Sluggy just got some in for his N.E.W.T. students if the Prewett twins can be believed. Fresh stock.”

“No,” said Remus quickly, stopping in his tracks to give them all a serious look. “He’s onto me. Obviously he is, he’s got eyes. And you heard him, he’ll go right to Dumbledore any minute.”

“So what?” asked Sirius with a laugh. “Dumbledore will tell him to mind his own. Come on, just a few leeches in his pants drawer. Imagine his reaction to looking down and finding one latched onto his—”

“Dumbledore might not mind,” Remus interrupted, “but what if Boonstock tells other students? The board of directors?”

Sirius sighed. “Fine. No Screeching Leeches, then. What about just a few Firecrabs?”

“No,” said Remus firmly, continuing to walk, shoulders slumped. “Leave it be. He’s right, anyway. He’s only acting like anyone else would.”

“What if he fails you when it comes time for exams?” Peter asked with agitation. “We can’t let him get away with that!”

“We can if it’ll keep his trap shut,” said Remus testily.

Sirius was sorely tempted to push the matter, but he knew when a Moony mood was coming on. Ruining the life of a presumptuous professor would have been a nice distraction from his own upcoming woes, but Remus had another full moon to face before exams. If it battered him badly, he’d miss yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, which Boonstock would be sure to notice. Maybe then, Remus would let Sirius slip something horrible down the back of the old twit's trousers.

May 26, 1974

James

Gryffindor had played Ravenclaw the day before, and they had won handily and celebrated thoroughly, leaving the whole of Gryffindor Tower a bit groggy this morning. With another Quidditch Cup cinched, the night had been filled with loud music that even McGonagall hadn't had the heart to shut down until the wee hours of the morning. James had barely managed to fall asleep in his own bed rather than on one of the armchairs before the fire. When he awoke in high spirts, it was to find Remus sprawled in Sirius's bed, Sirius mostly on the floor aside from a foot that had managed to catch on the mattress, and Peter curled up catlike on the edge of James's own four poster.

None of them had taken kindly to his suggestion of a bright and lively breakfast, so James found himself alone in the common room, which was a mess of Butterbeer bottles and sticky stains on the carpet where someone had stepped on a Caramel Cauldron. Frank was doing his best with the mess, but James had borne witness to the Head Boy indulging last night in very un-Head Boy-like activities. Frank's normally neat hair was mussed up in the back as he straightened cushions, and he wore only one sock.

"Morning," said James brightly, making Frank wince.

Alice was also down in the common room, wearing polka dot pyjamas, some scarlet and gold paint still on her face. She had her eyes scrunched very tightly closed, and her usually stylishly short hair was a mess. She pointed at James from her window seat perch. "This is your fault."

"I didn't leave all these bottles here," James insisted. "Sirius threw all the ones we finished out the window so that we could try and hit them with Blasting Jinxes."

Frank sighed. "That's worse."

"I don't mean the mess," said Alice. "I mean my headache. It's your fault we keep winning, and so it's your fault we keep having these Merlin-forsaken parties."

"I'd apologize," said James, picking up a bottle that was only half filled with warm Butterbeer and finishing the remnants. "But you're the ones that told the Prewett twins to prepare the witch's brew." He straightened his jumper. "I don't imbibe in the stuff, myself."

"Yeah," said Alice, "because you're still titchy. And besides, it's not as if you didn't try. We had to have poor Nancy Spinnet guarding the cauldron all night from you and your little fiends."

James shrugged good-naturedly. Nancy Spinnet had spent a long time in the commentator stand complimenting the new Ravenclaw Keeper, a very handsome bloke named Dexter Doyle, so James figured the night of watch-duty was well deserved.

Frank seemed to need a break from the cleaning, and so he sank down onto the nearest sofa, where his guitar was still leaned upright from last night.

"You're good with that," said James, eying it appreciatively. "Once you're done with school, are you off to join a rock and roll band, d'you think?"

"No," Frank snorted, peeking at James through one half-open eye.

"Solo act, then?" James asked with a grin.

"I wish," sighed Frank, slumping off of the couch and onto the floor. "My mum would kill me. I'm going right to the Auror Training Academy. It turns out that the reward for working very hard at Hogwarts is to work even harder outside of Hogwarts."

"He's going to save the nation from the workings of dark wizards," said Alice dramatically. "While his lovely guitar collects dust."

"Was it difficult to learn?" James asked, still staring at the thing.

"Nah," said Frank. "Not so hard." He peeked open his other eye. "Come here, I'll show you."

James tried not to feel too much like an idiot as he sat beside Frank and had the foreign thing placed in his lap. He'd seen Frank at it enough times to reason out how it worked, but that did not stop it from feeling absolutely ridiculous beneath his fingers.

"Press here," instructed Frank, pointing. "On these strings. Then strum."

James did so and created a sound sort of like the wheezing of an old bagpipe.

"You've got to press harder," laughed Frank. "Form the chord."

James tried again, this time making a sound that could pass for music to the undiscerning ear.

"Oh no," came a voice from the stairwell behind them. Mary had appeared, yawning, clutching a rumpled-looking Claude to her chest. "You're teaching Potter how to make even more of a racket."

James gave the guitar another horrible strum. "I'll have you swooning in no time, Macdonald," he threatened. "Just you wait."

"I don't doubt it," said Mary with a rather evil smile. She settled onto an armchair opposite them. "Teach him some Paul Simon, then, if we're all going to be expected to listen."

Frank did not quite manage to teach James Paul Simon, but he did manage to teach him three more chords that James alternated between with great enthusiasm—until the rest of the house arose from their sleep and demanded he stop. Evans seemed the least impressed, going up to her dormitory and grabbing one of her knit scarves so that she could tie it around her head and block out the noise.

With the Quidditch season completed and the weather taking a turn for the pleasant, it became very difficult for James to worry about exams over the following weeks. He figured Remus was doing enough worrying for all of them, and Peter fluctuated wildly between lamenting his poor marks and not having the energy to be bothered about them at all.

Care of Magical Creatures had become enjoyable fun again, taught on the warm fields by the edge of the forest, near Hagrid's Hut. The giant man tended to look on with interest, helping Professor Kettleburn round up by far the most interesting study of the year—Puffskiens, or Poffle, as they were called in a group. They were rambunctiously adorable, covered in so much fur that they looked like enormous cotton balls, or at least they would, if it weren't for their very long tongues that kept trying to reach into the nostrils of all the students. Their task for the last bit of term was to try and shear them and salvage the hair. It was quite difficult to do, since the Puffskiens were quite good at lapping the hair up with their enormous tongues, then coughing it back up as hairballs, which rendered the magical properties of the hair entirely useless.

By means of buiscuits smuggled into lessons in his robe pockets, James had earned the affection of one small Puffskien he'd named Hubert the Second, in honor of his escaped Frogwog. It was now allowing him to carry it around in his arms all through class, which earned the admiring coos of Mary and Marlene. Evans, predictably, did not seem impressed at all, laughing only when Hubert the Second wrapped a long tongue around James's glasses and tried to devour them.

They paid special attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and on the afternoon before the June full moon, Remus forced himself to come to class, despite the fact that he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, with purple shadows beneath his eyes and clattering teeth as he shivered with fever. None of this seemed to escape the notice of Professor Boonstock.

"Mr. Lupin," Boonstock began, his round face wearing a sour expression, "can you tell me where one might encounter a Kappa, and what one should do if they are so unfortunate?"

Remus lifted his head from where it had been beginning to droop down over his chest. "Huh? Er…Kappas, you said?"

"Yes, Mr. Lupin," said Boonstock, eyes narrowed. "Are you not well enough to answer the question?"

"East Asian waters," said Remus blinking quickly. James thought he was trying to force himself to look a little less green and nauseous. "Specifically…shallow, still waters. And…you're meant to get it to bow, so that it tips out all the water in its head and loses its balance. So, you should be really polite and formal, try to get it to forget itself."

Boonstock only grumbled and moved on with his lesson, but Evans turned back at Remus and beamed at him for this victory. James, beside Remus, let himself absorb the full, brilliant glow of it as if it had been meant for him, feeling his stomach lurch at the crinkles around her bright green eyes.

James was still feeling rather dizzy from it as he, Sirius, and Peter, walked Remus to the Hospital Wing as soon as the lesson was over.

"What a miserable trout," said Sirius with a snarl, once Remus had been deposited in the care of an anxious Madam Pomfrey. "Boonstock's hung around translating for trolls for long enough that I think the smell managed to cling to him all year."

The only benefit of Remus's last transformation of the school year was his missing Herbology the next morning, where they had a bit of business to take care of without his knowledge. James hated to be glad over Remus's absence, especially because the greenhouse windows were open wide to let in the warm afternoon breeze, and all sorts of plants had decided to begin flowering at long last, turning the space into a tropical array of color. Today, they were watering the Crooning Chrysanthemums, which were singing happily in droning and annoying harmonies. Setting down his watering can, James surveyed the crowded greenhouse before he gave Sirius two winks and the scratch of a nose. This had been the decided upon signal, at least by James. Sirius and Peter had not quite understood why there was any need for a signal at all.

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he poured out the remnants of his watering can on a Chrysanthemum which was chanting out a deep bass line, then made his way to the faucets to refill it. As he navigated through the students, he tripped rather elaborately over Marlene's bag and was sent reeling into a nearby shelf of trowels and small pots. With a flourish, he lost all balance and managed to shove the whole thing over. There was a great clattering of upset gardening tools and shattering terracotta as students stumbled out of the way and loudly complained.

"Oh, heavens, how terribly clumsy of me," said Sirius in a flat voice from where he'd fallen alongside the shelves.

Professor Sprout rushed over to Sirius with a great deal of muttering, already raising her wand for the necessary Reparos. James and Peter, however, did not watch her work, as they'd slipped round the corner to where the Mandrakes were located, now in their largest pots and fully grown. The Mandrakes each had tall, mature stalks, bursting with a great deal of wrinkly leaves in all different sizes. The soil within which they were planted bulged and jostled occasionally as the Mandrake roots beneath stretched or otherwise moved about. Occasionally, a pot would shift a bit to the left, closer to a sunny patch coming in from one of the high windows.

"Which ones should we go for?" Peter asked, pulling out the pair of garden shears he'd pocketed.

"The ones that will fit in our mouths, I suppose," said James.

This was the part of the Amato Animo Animato Potion James looked forward to the least. They would have to keep a Mandrake leaf, at most six months' time fresh from its clipping, under their tongues from one full moon to the next. It would have to be completed over the summer, James and the rest had decided. Sirius figured he could get away with keeping his mouth occupied for an entire month; he even anticipated his silence would be a very welcome change. Peter had plans to pretend he had a contained bout of Spattergroit on his uvula, and he thought his mum would fuss and worry too much to question it. James, however, wasn't sure what he was meant to do. He quite enjoyed talking the ears off of his mum and dad, and they were sure to notice the change. Plus, his mum was very doubtful of his illnesses, since he had feigned them one too many times during primary lessons as a child with Mrs. Abbott down the street.

Peter and James made quick work of selecting three waxy, rough-textured leaves that looked about the right size. Peter flinched horribly, anticipating that one root might surface and emit its lethal shriek, but James took the shears from him and managed it, clipping from the top so as not to disturb the Mandrakes. He carefully tucked the leaves into his robe pocket, and they rejoined the class just as Professor Sprout was wrapping up her chastisement of Sirius's "bumbling buffoonery."

They brought Remus his class notes, along with three different plates to select from for dinner, then decided to accompany him to Astronomy, since he seemed up for it. He only had a patch of bruising on his right arm and a wonky knee that Madam Pomfrey had wrapped very tightly to keep him from limping.

They were just leaving through the great wooden doors when they nearly collided with the squat, silk-robed form of Professor Boonstock in the corridor.

Boonstock looked them all over with an expression somewhat like victory, and Remus hastily withdrew his arm, which had been slung over Sirius's shoulder for a bit of initial support with his knee.

"Coming from the Hospital Wing? Not feeling your best, Mr. Lupin?" Boonstock asked with a horrible squeak to his voice.

"He's just fine," said James quickly. He'd thought the little man was relatively harmless at the beginning of the year, but James had begun to thoroughly detest him. "I snagged myself with the shears in Herbology. Remus was just coming to get me after Madam Pomfrey healed me up."

"Hm," said Boonstock doubtfully. "I see."

"Come on," Remus urged the rest of them, not meeting Boonstock's eye. "We'll be late to Astronomy."

That night in the common room, James had gotten fully on board with Sirius's desire to drop something horrible and bitey into the man's underthings.

"I said no," Remus emphasized, eyes drooping shut with exhaustion. They were sitting near the back window of the common room, far away from where Benjy and Dorcas and the third-year girls were studying by the fire. James was half attempting to study for the History of Magic exam, half watching Frank strum his guitar absently near Alice.

When Remus had fallen asleep, snuffling softly while he sat upright, and Peter and Sirius had ruined most of their notes by playing with Gobstones over the top of them, James left his History of Magic textbook and approached Frank, who'd set his guitar down in favor of letting Alice quiz him with N.E.W.T. note cards.

"Mind if I keep practicing?" James asked tentatively, staring at the instrument where it gleamed in the firelight.

"Sure," said Frank easily. "Need me to show you those chords again? It's been a bit."

"Nah," said James with a smile. "I remember them."

He did remember them, and proved it by going through them all fumblingly, grinning up at Frank once he'd managed it.

"There you go," said Frank approvingly. "You can do Knockin' on Heaven's Door with just those four. Bob Dylan. Do you know it?"

James shook his head.

Frank took the guitar from him, while Alice exasperatedly set down Frank's note cards, turning to her own schoolwork. Mumbling through the lyrics he half knew, Frank showed James how it was done, then handed the instrument back to James. "You try."

James did, and he didn't think he bungled it too badly. "Like that?"

"Yeah," said Frank, with a lopsided grin. "You know what, I've got another one of these at home, and an electric one besides. My mum's already always threatening to throw one away, acting like they clutter up the place. The real clutter is all those horrible hats she keeps buying," he muttered, loosing his thought for a moment before he regained it. "Anyway, I ought to let you keep this one at the end of term. What do you say?"

"Really?" James asked, awed.

"Sure," said Frank easily. "You ought to have another hobby besides Quidditch next year, or you'll drive Alice up the wall."

"He already does," said Alice, looking up from her notes. "Did you know he tried to petition the team behind my back for eight practices a week?"

"Twice on Saturdays," said James happily. "What else is there to do?"

"You're right," said Alice, nodding at Frank. "You'd better let him have that."

June 20, 1974

Remus

"Ladles down!" Professor Slughorn called out jovially, rising from his cushioned seat behind his mahogany desk.

Remus looked down at his cauldron with dismay, taking in the bubblegum-pink mixture that was sticking to the sides of the pewter. At least it was in better shape than Peter's beside him, which was acid green and bubbling noisily without any heat.

Lily's cauldron contained a perfectly lilac-colored mixture, thin and watery, exactly as the Draught of Pleasant Smells was meant to look. She peered over from the desk in front of Remus's, beside Snape, whose mixture was similarly lovely. She made a sympathetic face. "Too bad."

"Don't start," Remus mumbled, helpless to stop Slughorn from summoning the phials each of them had filled. The dungeon classroom with its low ceilings was filled with colored smoke as each third year frantically mopped their brows in the heat of so many burners going at once. Slughorn hadn't chosen a particularly nasty potion to surprise them with for their final exam, but Remus still felt as if he'd be very lucky to scrape by with an Acceptable.

"Well, you topped the class in Defense," said Lily happily. "And came just after me in Charms. And just after Potter in Transfiguration." Her smile slipped a bit as she accidentally acknowledged James's aptitude.

It was true that Remus had done well in Defense, to what seemed like Professor Boonstock's immense dismay. The man's barely-moustached upper lip had twitched with displeasure as he scanned through Remus's exam and begrudgingly marked it with an O. Remus was under no illusions that the professor had let go of the issue of his lycanthropy. Remus was simply waiting for the other shoe to drop with a great amount of apprehension.

Even worse, Professor Boonstock's misgivings seemed to have reignited Snape's own bitter suspicion about Remus. Remus reckoned this was also because Snape had come in second in the class after Remus in Defense.

"It's too bad your Defense marks couldn't translate outside the classroom," Snape had said bitterly on his way out of the final exam, clutching his book to his skinny chest. "Otherwise you wouldn't have that great ugly gash on your face, would you, Lupin?"

"You haven't got any scars, Snivellus," Sirius had said, sounding bored as he shoved past Snape in the corridor. "So what's your excuse for having a horribly misshapen mug?"

Snape had ignored him. "Maybe we'd all have better exam scores if we could all leave the castle whenever we felt off color," he'd continued with a sneer. Lily, a few paces in front of him with Marlene and Mary, had turned around to scold him, but Remus had beat her to it.

"If you were to leave the castle, Sniv," he'd said with a yawn, "I reckon exams would be canceled so that the whole school could celebrate."

Snape's sneer had only deepened, and Lily had huffed loudly, not sure which one of them to reprimand.

Remus had tried to avoid Snape's hateful gaze all through Friday, attempting to enjoy the pleasant weather and the clear schedule. He should have been packing, he knew, like Peter frantically was in their dormitory. But he wasn't inclined to pack until James did, and James would never get around to packing until Sirius did, and Sirius would only pack when he was otherwise at great risk of missing the Hogwarts Express back to London.

Remus had nearly managed to relax by the time dinner came about, only for a school owl to come swooping in from the great windows and drop a very small roll of parchment onto Remus's lap, sealed with purple wax. He looked down at it curiously, then up at James, Sirius, and Peter who were watching on with interest.

Shrugging, Remus opened the roll and was faced with very thin, looping script.

Mr. Lupin,

If convenient for you, I would greatly appreciate your ear for just a moment after dinner. The rest of your body may come along, too.

You may find me in my office, the password to which is Ice Mice.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Remus stared at the parchment until Sirius jostled his arm. "What's it say?"

"Dumbledore wants me," Remus said, his stomach roiling with nerves. He glanced over at the head table, but Dumbledore's seat was empty. This was not uncommon—it appeared the old man frequently had other business. Still, it was strange for him to miss the End-of-Year Feast.

"Dumbledore?" James asked with interest. "Why?"

"Dunno," said Remus. "Doesn't say."

"You don't think it has to do with Boonstock, do you?" Peter asked, face worried.

That was precisely what Remus thought, and it was with a great deal of reluctance that he made himself leave the Gryffindor table once he'd finished eating. The Great Hall was done up in Ravenclaw colors, since they'd nabbed the House Cup this year. Gryffindor might have stood a chance after their Quidditch victories, but the stunt with the fireworks on Remus's birthday had thoroughly done them in.

Climbing up to the highest portion of the castle, Remus tried to anticipate everything that might be told to him. Perhaps Dumbledore and McGonagall had realized their mistake in letting such a dangerous creature study in their halls. Maybe Boonstock had told his concerns to the school's board of directors, and it was they who were forcing him to be ousted from the castle. Every scenario he imagined ended in him packing his things for one last time, never to see the Gryffindor Tower or Hogwarts ever again.

When he found himself faced with the great stone gargoyle, he looked at it miserably, gut twisting. "Ice Mice," he said.

"Cheer up," the gargoyle told him before it leapt aside. "They're not the best things at Honeydukes, granted, but they're not half bad, either."

Remus made his way up the spiral staircase behind the gargoyle and knocked once on the arched door. His heart pounded unpleasantly as he heard a firm, cheerful voice say, "Come in!"

Dumbledore was sat behind his large desk in the middle of the room, his half moon spectacles resting on the tip of his nose as he examined what looked to be a very long letter. With a jolt of surprise, Remus saw an enormous bird with handsome red plumage sitting on a perch just to Dumbledore's side. The bird must be the Phoenix, Fawkes, no longer a bony, featherless hatchling. Fawkes was glancing over Dumbledore's shoulder at the letter, as if he, too, were reading it.

Dumbledore finished the line he was scanning, then looked up. "Ah, Mr. Lupin!" he said with a smile, beckoning him over. "Come, come. Sit, please."

Remus shuffled across the plush carpet and into the chair he'd sat in the afternoon of his first full moon at school. It did not seem so very long ago, but he felt very different. Last time, he'd been cautiously grateful for the opportunity to learn here, and fairly sure that someone had made a grave mistake to allow it. This time, he realized, he'd had nearly three years of taking it all for granted. He had three friends who not only knew what he was but acknowledged it without any trepidation. The last time he was in this chair, such a thing would have been unimaginable. And now he was fairly certain he was about to lose it all.

"Sir," he began uneasily. "Is…er…is this about Professor Boonstock?"

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore happily. He did not seem to notice that his affirmation had struck Remus like a bullet to the gut. Dumbledore continued, "He approached me yesterday in this office, with a very long-winded and well-researched speech about you and his conclusions."

Remus swallowed. "I got top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sir," said Remus anxiously, uselessly. He wasn't sure why it should matter. "I…I didn't give him any reason to think…" He petered off, unsure what he meant to say.

"I rather think your excellent examination scores are what pushed him into action," said Dumbledore with a peaceful nod. "It conflicted with his view of the world in a way it seemed he could no longer abide."

Remus looked down at his lap, unsure what else to say, awaiting the inevitable conclusion.

"Professor Boonstock's recognition of what you are was not your fault, Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore continued gently.

That was a nice sentiment, but Remus could not see why it would have any bearing on the outcome.

"That is to say," Dumbledore pressed on, "that Professor Boonstock is well-practiced at his job as liaison to dark creatures and magical communities, and his realization was in many ways inevitable. It is his reaction, however, that is most unfortunate."

Remus nodded, although he didn't feel like thinking of Boonstock as someone who was good at his job.

"Beaumont Boonstock has decided that you must not be invited back to Hogwarts for your subsequent years of education, or he will refuse the post of teaching you," said Dumbledore.

Remus stared at a long scar that poked out from the cuff of his jumper, down the back of his hand. He had thought that the words themselves, once they were finally spoken, would make him feel much, much worse, but instead they only hollowed him out and left him empty.

"I've summoned you to my office simply to let you know that Boonstock has been regrettably dismissed from his position as professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and to put your mind at ease about the continued safety of your secret," said Dumbledore.

Remus stared at his scar for a moment longer, then looked abruptly back up at Dumbledore, who was leaning on his elbows over the top of his desk, a calm smile on his lined face. His very long beard was bound with a burgundy tassel, which matched the velvet robes he wore.

"Sir?" Remus asked, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"I have made it very clear to the staff at this school that every student with a willing mind is a student deserving of being taught," said Dumbledore, steepling his long fingers atop the desk. "Those who do do not share my view, are unfit to teach at Hogwarts."

Remus, who'd been feeling as though his insides had disappeared, now felt as if they'd suddenly made an abrupt reappearance. "But…but won't he tell the board of directors? Or people at the Ministry?"

"He might've," agreed Dumbledore. "I've found, however, that there are a few benefits to being very powerful and very respected, if you'll forgive my saying so about myself. Often, I've found such a reputation cumbersome. In this instance, it plays to our benefit, Mr. Lupin. Unless Beaumont Boonstock wants to earn himself a very formidable adversary, he shall keep his unfounded suspicions to himself."

"Oh," said Remus, caught off guard by the bluntness of the assertion, along with the benign smile that accompanied it. "I…thanks, Professor. I really mean it. It'd be much easier to boot me from the school."

"It would be easier, yes," said Dumbledore with a laugh. "But, Mr. Lupin, I am not very fond of easy things."

Remus blinked at him. He knew he should be overwhelmed with gratitude, but the numb wash of relief drowned out all else. "I…I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing at all," Dumbledore suggested easily. "And do your best to enjoy your summer holidays. Here, I've got a rather large bag of Acid Pops I'd appreciate you taking off my hands. If I have one more, I am quite sure my teeth will dissolve."

Remus had made it to the door with the large cellophane bag of pops before he hesitated and turned around. "Professor?"

"Yes?" asked Dumbledore, looking up from the long parchment he'd already returned to.

"You weren't at the feast," said Remus. He hadn't posed it as a question, but Dumbledore answered anyways.

"Ah, yes." He nodded. "Missing out on delicious food is always the worst sort of disappointment. But I am afraid the world is very filled with men like Professor Boonstock, and severely lacking in men like you and I."

Remus only stared, so Professor Dumbledore elaborated.

"There are many who think the world should be a very small and ugly thing. I find myself inclined to do what I can to make that world a little larger and lovelier. Sometimes, feasts must be skipped." He gave Remus a small smile. "Now you'd better be off, Mr. Lupin. I have a suspicion that there is much to be packed, and very little time to do it in."

Remus wandered in a sort of daze back to Gryffindor Tower. He found the other boys in the dormitory, still largely unpacked. Everything Peter had put in his trunk had been pulled back out again, as he searched for the sock to match the one he currently had on. All three of the boys looked up quickly as Remus entered.

"Well?" asked James anxiously. "What did Dumbledore want?"

"To tell me Boonstock's gone," said Remus, still having difficulty believing it. "And that the world is filled with people who'd like to do me in."

"That’s incredible," said Sirius, springing to his feet. "Well, not the second bit. Why did he want to tell you that?"

"That's not what he said exactly," Remus clarified, slumping down on his own messy bed. "Well, he did say that Boonstock said either I go or he does, and he got sacked for it. Dumbledore doesn't think he'll tell anyone."

"That's excellent, then, isn't it?" Peter asked happily, unearthing the second sock at last.

"Yeah," said Remus. "But I also don't think Boonstock'll be the last person to want me out of this school. Or out of the wizarding world entirely."

"Well, sod those wankers," said Sirius, clambering into Remus's bed beside him.

Remus wondered if that were sort of Dumbledore's point as well, much more crassly put.

The other boys fell asleep quite late, with the A-side of Diamond Dogs playing very quietly from the gramophone by the foot of Remus's bed. They'd gotten the album on the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, pulled out from the back by the shopkeeper at Fable and Folly. Remus stayed awake, too warm with Sirius crammed into his bed, a foot thrown over his own. Sirius's own bed was too much of a mess with the half attempt at packing that had been done. Wriggling his arm free, Remus used his wand to turn the album over to its B-side without looking at it. His gaze stayed fixed on the canopy of his four poster bed above him, following the grain of the wood.

Two people this year had come to two conclusions about Remus—conclusions that he rather hadn't wanted them to draw. Because of one, Boonstock had wanted to oust him from the school and shut him out of the only place that felt like a true home. Because of the other, Benjy had wanted to kiss him.

The next morning, very few Gryffindors had managed to make it to the Great Hall for breakfast, too concerned with finding spare hats and unreturned library books in the common room, while casting all manner of shrinking spells on their things in order to get them to fit into their overburdened trunks. Remus was no exception, sweaty and out of breath by the time he managed to lug his trunk into the common room for it to be transported to Hogsmeade Station.

There was a great crowd of students in the common room, exchanging goodbyes or fretting over lost items before they'd have to make the walk down to the carriages. Remus scanned the room from the landing of the boys' dormitories, but did not see the face he was looking for. Glancing to make sure that James, Sirius, and Peter were all preoccupied helping Mary search for one of Claude's self-moving mouse toys that tended to scurry beneath chairs and sofas, Remus retreated back up the steps.

He passed their own dormitory, now empty and strange-looking, and went one door over. This dormitory was much the same as theirs, but with only three beds rather than four, giving it a bit more space. It was almost entirely empty as well, except for one blonde figure, standing atop a shut trunk, and using his wand to siphon off a blackened chunk of the bed hangings.

Remus cleared his throat, trying not to startle Benjy, but he was unsuccessful. Benjy jumped a bit, bashing his head into the top of his canopy, and stumbling down from the trunk he stood on with a wince.

"Sorry," said Remus, coming forward quickly to make sure that the other boy was all right. "Er…what are you doing?"

Benjy rubbed at the top of his head, taking in Remus with surprise. After a long moment, he looked back over to where he'd been tearing his bed curtains. "Oh. Was practicing the Boiling Charm last month, and it went a bit wonky. Sort of char broiled my bed a bit instead of the water in my goblet." He looked away from the stain, then back at Remus, color staining his cheeks. "Um, I suppose I didn't want to give the house-elves too much to do."

"That's nice of you," said Remus, although he rather thought the resulting great big hole in the bed curtain would be the harder thing to fix. He cleared his throat. "I might visit Willowwick Crescent this summer for a bit, you know. To see James."

"Oh," said Benjy, nodding slowly. "That's good."

Remus cleared his throat again. "We saw you a few times over Christmas," said Remus uneasily. "Since you're nearby. So I thought I should mention."

Benjy's flush had spread up to his forehead, making him look sort of like springtime with pink reaching his yellow hair. "I see," he said, looking down at his feet. "I understand. I'll make sure I don't come by. You won't have to see me or anything."

Remus knew Benjy's expression well, the expression of knowing one was dangerous or unwanted. Remus had worn it himself just last night in Dumbledore's office. He sighed. "No, that's not what I meant."

Benjy glanced up, confused. His eyes narrowed a bit as he tried to understand.

And Remus was not at all capable of articulating what he actually meant, so he summoned the idiotic bit of nerve that James or Sirius must have instilled in him without him noticing, and he grabbed the front of Benjy's robes, pulled him roughly closer, and kissed him.

As kisses went, it was hardly more than the first, a sort of accidental knocking of lips and a very surprised stillness as both of them realized what was happening.

And yet, Remus thought, it was pleasant. It was warm, and nice, and interesting. Much more pleasant than it should have been if he weren't in favor of kissing blokes.

The kiss ended as Remus finally let go of Benjy's robes, and Benjy rocked back onto his heels again, regaining his balance. He stared at Remus, dumbstruck, light brown eyes very wide.

"Oh," said Benjy after a moment, blinking. "What was that for?"

Remus thought, not precisely sure of the answer. "I wanted to make sure that I did, in fact, like it."

Benjy was very red now. "…And?"

Remus huffed a laugh, not feeling at all like himself. "And I think I did. Might have to try again later to be sure."

Benjy stared at him, but the smallest smile was beginning to overtake his shocked expression. "Oh. All right."

Remus backed away, suddenly very aware that the door was open and that a large and noisy group of students was just downstairs, some of whom might be looking for him. "Bye, Benjy. Have a good summer."

"Yeah," said Benjy, still staring at Remus as he raised a finger to his lips, where Remus had just been. "You too, Remus."

Chapter Text

June 30, 1974

Sirius

Grimmauld Place had been tense and unpleasant for the last week, but not exactly the prison sentence it had been last summer, Sirius thought. Sure enough, he'd been subjected to an unbearable dinner in the formal dining room after his arrival, which had dissolved into his mother hurling the enormous silver serving platter at the nearest wall, and his father causing all the wine on the table to spurt upward in a crimson fountain as he lost his own temper. It was their own fault, since they had brought up his Great Great Auntie Edenea, known for decimating the Centaur population, as a good example of doing things right in the Ministry. All Sirius had done was quietly suggest that Great Great Auntie Edenea had some Centaur blood in her herself, on her mother's side, evidenced by her horrible horse teeth.

He had been sent to his room, but the door had not been silenced this time, so he could hear his mother's continued raging and moaning from the floors below. It was not precisely what he'd call an improvement, but the idea of full and utter silence for days on end made his body seize with panic, so he accepted this as a victory.

At least, Sirius thought with some bitter joy, Regulus looked just as unhappy to be home as he did. With Sirius himself proving a continued disappointment, their mother could hardly bear to let Regulus out of her sight. His constant, scowling silence or agreement to all of her ravings seemed to be the only thing that settled her with Sirius back under the roof. Regulus would occasionally try to go off on his own to the study or the back garden (if straggly rows of thorny roses that tried to strangle anyone who came too close could be counted as a garden), but their mother could be heard from any of the rooms screaming, "REGULUS!"

On these occasions, Reg would sigh and go to their mother's side, but not before he scowled at Sirius as if this were all his fault, which, Sirius supposed, it was.

It had only been one dark, chilly week of moderate torment before Reg knocked on Sirius's door, pushing it open before Sirius could respond. It was morning, presumably, not that Sirius could really tell with his window stil Transfigured to be nothing more than a brick wall. He was laying on his stomach across his bed, trying his best to play music in his head from memory, but stopped in his effort and propped his head up on a fist to take in Reggie in the doorway.

Reg had grown nearly to Sirius's height, but he was very gaunt and angular, more and more like their father. He was wearing starched, fitted robes as if he were off to meet the Minister of Magic. Sirius had seen Regulus at the Slytherin table in normal collared shirts and waistcoats, half-muggle in their style. Even Narcissa had an ugly pinafore dress he'd seen her in during a Hogsmeade weekend. Part of Sirius wanted to tell his parents about these muggle-ish transgressions, just to see if it the shock of it killed them. The other part of him knew this was the sort of weasel-like tattling Regulus and Narcissa abided by, which he himself abhorred.

Regulus frowned at him, tense.

"What d'you want?" asked Sirius, hoping his brother wasn't just here to loom.

"You shouldn't have your friends send owls to the house this summer," said Regulus sharply.

"I already told them not to bother," said Sirius, now slightly angry at being reminded of this misfortune.

"Good," said Reg. "Mother had Uncle Cygnus charm the house to stun any foreign owls that landed on it."

"That's a bit stupid," said Sirius. "What if someone writes Father for business?"

Regulus shrugged. "Then they'll need a new owl afterward."

Sirius rolled over onto his back, staring at the dusty chandelier above him. "If you came just to tell me I won't be getting any letters to save my sanity, then you can leave."

"That's not all," said Reg. "Tomorrow, people will be arriving to the house. I overheard Father."

"People?" asked Sirius, sitting up. "What people?"

"Bellatrix, for one," said Regulus, lowering his voice. "She's having her wedding to Rodolphus Lestrange quite soon."

"Oh joy," said Sirius, frowning at the sound of those names. "Nothing makes me weepy quite like the union between two deranged lunatics."

He'd met Rodolphus Lestrange and his hulking brother Rabastan only once, the summer before Sirius had left for his first year at Hogwarts. The Lestranges, however, had managed to leave their impression. Sirius had once been foolish enough to think that his cousin Bellatrix was singular in her pureblood hysteria, but she'd managed to meet her match in whatever horrible political group she'd discovered the two of them in. They'd entered the house both smelling odd, like something burning. Bellatrix had announced that she'd spent the day showing them muggle London, and they'd amused themselves by setting the muggles' hair on fire. Sirius had been young enough to hope they were joking.

"You won't be here," said Regulus, yanking Sirius back from the memory.

"Oh?" asked Sirius with interest. "And where will I be? Mum and Dad going to off me before guests arrive?"

"They're sending you to Uncle Alphard's," said Regulus, and there was a tightness to his voice and a pinch to his mouth. "I overheard them discussing it. You're leaving this afternoon."

Sirius straightened. "What? Uncle Alphard? The mad uncle that lives in some cave in Northumberland?"

Regulus nodded, that same angry squint on his face. Sirius had never before been sent anywhere, except to Hogwarts. Regulus had gotten to spend some weeks at the Malfoy Manor, but Sirius had never been trusted with such a thing.

Sirius took a moment to take all of Regulus in, evaluating his expression, before he laughed. "And you're…what? Jealous of that?"

"I'm not jealous," said Reg, his tone unmistakably jealous.

Sirius had heard very little about his Uncle Alphard. He knew that Alphard Black was the seldom-discussed middle child between his mother and Uncle Cygnus, who had apparently gone a bit batty and moved up north to mostly never be heard from again. According to Bellatrix's bedtimes stories when Sirius and Regulus had been quite young, Alphard had a beard down to his knees, mad red eyes, and drank sheep's blood from the nearby farms to sustain himself. Sirius had once thought this meant he'd been infected with Vampirism and fled the family. If that were the case, however, his mother would surely have burnt him off the family tapestry as a tainted, mutated disgrace to wizardkind. Alphard Black's name remained on the tapestry for now, even if he was never brought up at family dinners.

None of this quite added up with Regulus's jealousy. Surely Reg did not want to drink sheep's blood in a frigid northern cave with a family member they'd never seen nor heard from. "Why in Merlin's name would you want to visit Uncle Alphard?" Sirius asked with a furrowed brow.

"I don’t," said Reggie hotly. "But…well…you were locked in here most of last summer when the Lestranges came to visit. They've got rather a lot of friends…I suppose that's what you'd call them…"

Regulus's face shifted slightly, from a pointed sort of anger to something a bit paler and more apprehensive.

Reg was afraid of these people, Sirius realized.

"What have you got to be worried about?" Sirius asked with a scoff. "You've got loads in common, I'll bet. A love for inbreeding, a passion for torturing muggles…"

Regulus only sneered, the slight fear in his face disappearing. His hand tightened on Sirius's doorframe. "You always exaggerate. Pardon me for caring about tradition and the sanctity of magic."

Sirius snorted. "That's what you're calling it? Do Bellatrix and the Lestranges use the same pretty words?"

Regulus blanched only a bit as he straightened his robes. "They have a slightly different way of putting it."

Good, Sirius thought savagely. Maybe a summer around those frothing fanatics would force Regulus to see what his tradition and sanctity were all about. Still, he glanced at his brother for a long moment, remembering that flash of fear on his face. "Tell Mum and Dad to send you with me."

Regulus only scowled deeply. "We have to present a familial front. These are important people that we need to curry the favor of. The Black family name still means something, no thanks to you."

"Who gives a rat's arse about the Black family name?" asked Sirius.

"I do," said Reg harshly. "Not everyone gets a sort of twisted kick out of being the family embarrassment." They were his mother's words, coming out of Reggie's mouth.

"Fine, then," said Sirius, his generous spirit gone as soon as it had foolishly arrived. "More sheep's blood for me and Uncle Alph."

Reg huffed, continuing to frown in a way that Sirius knew meant this conversation had not gone the way he'd wanted it to. Regulus turned heel, shutting the door with a loud click behind him.

Sirius looked at his trunk, mostly still packed. It had depressed him to put his things in the tall, finely carved wardrobe of his bedroom—things that reminded him of the Gryffindor dormitory. Besides, he highly suspected that his mother had placed a jinx on the wardrobe to devour muggle clothes, after he'd lost his favorite sleeveless jumper inside it last summer.

He was being sent away, then. He'd barely have to repack.

The idea really should not have excited him. For all he knew, Alphard Black lived like a ghoul in the Northumberland countryside, feasting on cave rats. But Uncle Alphard was not his mother or father, and wherever Uncle Alphard lived, it was not here. So, Sirius smiled a bit, alone in his dark bedroom.

His parents made very little fuss about the news. His father called Sirius down to the study after a lunch he hadn't been invited to partake in, and told him to pack his things, which Sirius already had. "We have family affairs to tend to this summer," his father said, still seated behind the desk. "Affairs that you cannot be trusted to be anywhere near for."

"Good call," Sirius said happily. His mother was standing just behind his father, face livid and bloodless, lips pinched together as if she were physically restraining herself from hurling insults.

There was a Portkey arranged that afternoon, the half-gnawed bone of a roasted boar. Sirius suspected it had been taken from Kreacher's rubbish pile, and he looked at it with a vague bit of disgust before he reached out to touch it, trunk firmly clenched in his other hand. He had the sense that Regulus was watching from the doorway, but he did not turn to check. His mother had retired, claiming a headache that Sirius suspected was brought on by the mere sight of him. Only his father watched on as he laid a finger upon the bone, and the room began to spin a moment later.

It swirled around him, faster and faster, until it disappeared and his feet flew out from underneath him. He might have been flung into the sky that surrounded him now, if not for the fact that his finger remained firmly fastened to the Portkey. When the spinning finally slowed with a lurch of Sirius's stomach, he found himself coming to a rough halt on his hands and knees in a patch of long, green and amber grass. He tumbled awkwardly over his trunk as he struggled to get his bearings. It was a bit chillier than it had been in London, or at least he thought as much. It was in fact warmer than it had been inside 12 Grimmauld Place, even with the wind that rustled around him.

As he looked up and around him, he saw a landscape somewhat similar to what he saw each year from the window of the Hogwarts Express, except there were no nearby train tracks. There were only two thin cart tracks, running parallel away from him, down through long, hilly grass as far as he could see. There was the occasional outcropping of rock, jutting like a black knuckle from the brush. The sky was very grey and very large above him, seeming to turn into tendrils of mist that gathered around some of the more distant hills. He turned, half convinced his father had sent him to a random point in the English countryside. Perhaps his parents had tricked him, hoping he might starve or freeze to death in the night. But behind him, Sirius at last spotted a black iron gate, just where the wheel tracks ended.

Sirius kicked the now-useless bone into the tall grass and picked up his trunk uneasily. The gate, he told himself, was a good sign. Very few cave dwellers bothered to put up things like fences and gates, he reasoned. He started toward it.

He was only three paces away from the gate when it swung open on its own with a piercing squeal, the only sound aside from wind that Sirius had heard in this landscape. He looked at the gate, but it was not particularly threatening or imposing. It reached to about his shoulders, tipped with spikes. It was another good sign that those spikes did not impale decapitated troll heads or have some other barbaric feature.

There was a sort of beaten path through the grass, but it did not look very well-trod as Sirius took high steps, blades of grass tickling up his trouser legs. It was not until he crested a little hill that he could look down and at last see a dwelling. To call it a mansion might have been generous, even though it was large. The stone had gone very dark with age, half obscured by black lichen. The roof was very angular, in several distinct peaks. The windows were small and deep set, dark little pits within the face of the house. There were stables behind it, seemingly empty. Sirius was very sure that the place was abandoned, until the black wooden door swung outward, and the shadowy figure of a man stepped squinting out into the gray afternoon.

The man was dressed in wizard robes, but the thick wool of a turtleneck jumper rose above the collar, and he had on a set of muddy wellies that peeked out below the hem. He was gazing out at Sirius and seemed deeply unhappy to be doing so. Sirius stared at him. The man had a bit of his mother to his face, a bit of Bellatrix and Andromeda as well. Sirius supposed this meant that he also looked quite a bit like him. Alphard did indeed have a beard, but it did not reach his knees. It was very short around his jaw, and it was shot through with whitish gray, along with the hair at his temples.

Sirius froze where he was, trunk handle slipping in his sweaty grip. He thought about calling out a greeting when the man cleared his throat.

"You're the boy, then?" he asked. His voice was perhaps softer than Sirius had expected it to be, as if underused. "I told them not to send you."

They were a bit too far away from each other to have a conversation at a normal volume, but Sirius was weary at approaching further. "Well," he began, "they've sent me anyway."

"I can see that," said the man. He turned around and re-entered the house. He did not, however, close the door behind him, and Sirius supposed this was meant to be some sort of invitation.

The interior of the house was as dark as Grimmauld Place, but it was at least warm. The stone walls of the exterior continued inside, and Sirius was faced with a large empty room, taken up mostly by an enormous fireplace. He looked around. Uncle Alphard, it seemed, had not inherited the family's love of ugly décor. He seemed to have no love for décor at all.

Alphard had not waited for Sirius, so Sirius ventured further on his own. The house looked in need of some repairs and maybe a sweeping, but it was standing in one piece. One room that Sirius reckoned was meant to be a sitting room featured an armchair, a table, and a threadbare carpet.

Sirius jumped as he heard a voice coming from the nearby set of wooden stairs. "Rooms are up here."

After seeing the rest of the ground floor, Sirius had very little hope for the bedrooms, but he was pleased at least to see a narrow bed, table, and chair in the room Alphard pointed to from his place a little further down the corridor. One of the little windows was set into the far wall of this room, and Sirius looked out of it at the bleak moors.

"Dinner's in a few," said Alphard gruffly, who had come to stand in the doorway.

Sirius turned, and saw the man looking at him very skeptically, as if he were a sort of apparition that bore bad omens. "What is it?" Sirius asked, setting his trunk down.

"Huh?" Alphard asked, expression blank.

"What's the dinner?" Sirius clarified. "Something more substantial than sheep's blood, I hope? I'm starved."

Alphard's gaze narrowed. "Dinner's dinner," he said, before he turned and left.

Sirius was at no point summoned for the meal, but he meandered down after poking around in the upstairs rooms, checking to make sure that there was indeed a washroom of sorts, even if the plumbing looked dubious. He found his uncle in a room with a long table, one chair, and a stool. Alphard was already eating, but Sirius saw that the table was set for two.

Sirius took the stool, looking down at the plate before him. It looked to be a game bird and some very stewed vegetables. Watching his uncle as he chewed, making eye contact only with the large scratch on the table's surface, Sirius decided to take a bite. It was not nearly as good as what was served at Hogwarts, but it was a bit more seasoned than what Kreacher put together for his parents.

"You haven't got a house-elf," Sirius noticed, picking a bone from his bird. Now that he knew his uncle did not in fact live in a cave but a rather large house, the idea of a Black without a house-elf seemed very strange.

Uncle Alphard did not respond, only kept at his chewing with a frown.

"D'you ever miss Wenchley?" Sirius asked, recalling the name of the elf his mother had grown up with. "She's mounted on our wall, you know. She looks well."

Alphard stopped his chewing for a moment, gaze sliding over to Sirius. "Eat," he instructed.

Sirius nodded. "I've been told many times by the rest of our family that I am rubbish at mealtime conversation," he told his uncle.

Alphard frowned, finally setting down his fork. "That why they sent you?"

"It's probably part of it," said Sirius. "But they could have just locked me in my room like they did last summer easily enough." He tapped his chin. "I've no idea why they sent me here. Maybe I'm meant to be some sort of punishment for you, just like you're meant to be for me."

Alphard's beard twitched. "Why am I being punished, then?"

"Dunno," said Sirius taking another bite. He was very hungry, having not been served any lunch. Or breakfast. "Likely because you haven't put any of your inheritance toward paying off Ministry goons and buying in anti-muggle legislators," he decided after a moment.

Alphard went quiet again, but his eyes stayed on Sirius.

"Not that I'm inclined to punish you for that," said Sirius easily. "If I were old enough to live in some decrepit shack in the wilderness and be gone from my family, I'd have done it, too. But maybe just my being here is punishment enough, eh, Uncle?"

Alphard didn't respond right away, but he seemed drawn into the conversation despite himself. He finished the last of his vegetables, then said, "Your mother said nothing of my inheritance?"

Sirius paused his eating as well, and looked around at the very sparse room, as if to convey that whatever inheritance Alphard had, it could not possibly be on the top of anyone's mind. "My mother told me that I was a rancorous little snot rag this morning when she spotted me in the corridor, and that was about the sum of what she said to me today," he told his uncle.

"I see," said Alphard. He did not exactly appear brightened by this news, but he did sit up a bit straighter as he looked at Sirius. "I breed Thestrals," he told Sirius abruptly. "You may come and go as you please, but do not disturb them, and do not wander out of sight of the house. You may get lost, and there is a good chance I will not think to come find you."

Sirius remained transfixed on his uncle's first point. "Thestrals? Can you see them?" Sirius thought back to the empty stables, realizing now they might not be so empty.

"Yes," said Alphard flatly.

Sirius wondered who Alphard had watched kick the bucket, since that was the only way Thestrals could be seen. Maybe it had been his own grandmother and grandfather, gone before Sirius had been born. Or it might have been Wenchley herself, in which case Sirius slightly regretted bringing the old elf up.

When the dinner was finished, Alphard cleared the plates, then vanished the plates themselves with a flick of his wand. He retired upstairs without announcing as much, even though the sun was still hovering above the horizon, creating a sort of orange glow over everything. Sirius wandered out the back door, looking at the stables. Half of him wanted to wander over, but the other half worried that he might collide with one of the beasts without seeing them. He settled for walking along the iron paddock fence. There was a wooden trough just on the other side, horribly stained by a dark liquid that pooled inside. It did not take much examination for Sirius to determine that it was blood. He jumped back as he heard a muffled snort, and the blood in the trough was disturbed by what seemed to be the hungry lapping of an invisible creature.

Duly disturbed, Sirius went back into the house before night could fall properly. At least now he knew where the sheep's blood rumors had started.

Sirius spent a restless night jumping up at sounds that came through the thin glass pane of his window. It was very dark in the countryside, and he was used to the diffused glow that always seemed to radiate from muggle London all through the night, or else the glowing of their furnace in the dormitory. He wondered what time tomorrow his cousins and the Lestranges would arrive at Grimmauld Place, maybe with the stick-up-their-arse Malfoy family as well. He wondered what it was about their business this summer that meant Sirius could be nowhere near. Sirius often thought that he gave his family something fun to do—that he provided a sort of common enemy that they could all screech at and berate. If his parents were unwilling to participate in that little family tradition this summer, then they must be more concerned with their image than usual. In the very back of his mind, Sirius wondered if Regulus was right to be apprehensive about it all.

The next morning, Alphard was already in the yard. Sirius watched him from one of the rear windows. It very much looked like he was raving mad, moving about through the paddock and the stables, interacting with things that Sirius could not at all see. Down in the dining room, there was a waiting bowl of porridge, kept warm under a Stasis Charm. Sirius looked at it with pleased curiosity. He'd never had such a thing waiting for him before.

Aside from walking around the house in a wide loop, however, there was little to do, and Sirius found himself very bored. It was better than the silence of his locked bedroom, undoubtedly, but at least last summer Regulus had come by occasionally and reacted delightfully to Sirius's jabs and comments. Alphard, whenever Sirius found him in the house, was much harder to rankle. He offered no comment about why he'd run off to Northumberland to breed Thestrals, nor any response to Sirius's questions a bout the legality of his enterprise, seeing that Thestrals were highly monitored by the Ministry and classified as Four X dangerous creatures.

"Don't you have an owl?" Sirius asked, finding his uncle coming out of the kitchen after a brief lunch.

"Why would I?" Alphard grumbled. "Who would I want to write?"

"Do you get the Daily Prophet?" Sirius asked. Perhaps he could tempt a delivery owl into getting something to James.

"No. Got no use for that tosh," said his uncle unhappily.

This was the first news about his summer accommodations that truly managed to depress Sirius. All this new freedom, and he still could not write to James, Remus, or Peter. He very much doubted that their owls would manage to find him here, stranded in the North Pennines. Besides, he'd told his friends not to write unless he wrote them first, signaling that he'd found a way to manage it.

"What about books?" Sirius asked after another bland but filling dinner.

"What about them?" Alphard asked after he'd chewed and swallowed.

"Do you have them?" Sirius clarified with a roll of his eyes. He'd already decided against asking about records or a gramophone. A single glance at Uncle Alphard and this estate made it very clear no such thing was located here.

"I have them," said Alphard.

"And?" asked Sirius after a moment, when it was clear Alphard was not about to elaborate. "Can I read them?"

Alphard was quiet for a long couple of moments. "They're from the town fifteen miles from here," he said finally. "A muggle town."

"All the better," said Sirius. "As long as it's not Dickens. Had to read that for Muggle Studies, and he's terribly depressing."

Alphard looked at him strangely for a few moments. "I'll bring one to your room."

That was how Sirius found himself with a copy of Wuthering Heights—very bleak, hardly better than Dickens—and a lot of open field within which to read it. His second full day managed to be a bit sunny, and he brought out his stool to enjoy the weather, something he'd never been able to do in the summers before. He sometimes looked up from the pages to watch Uncle Alphard work, presumably mucking out the stables. It seemed that Thestral manure was as invisible as the creatures that produced it, and Sirius only saw him toting around an empty shovel, which was amusing enough.

When Alphard came in from lunch and spotted Sirius outside the door, he sighed and Transfigured the stool into a more suitable rocking chair for reading in.

They talked very little, except when Sirius fancied hearing the sound of his own voice to add some variation to mealtimes. Uncle Alphard did not seem to enjoy having Sirius there, but he did not take this fact out on Sirius, which made him unique among their family.

When Sirius had finished Wuthering Heights after the second day and asked for another, Alphard huffed. "I don't remember Walburga being such a reader."

"My mother?" Sirius asked incredulously. "What in Merlin's name does she have to do with me?"

He was fairly certain that this had nearly made his uncle smile.

On the night of the fourth, Sirius approached dinner with a bit more trepidation. There was a sort of stew in front of him this evening. How Alphard did his shopping, Sirius couldn't be sure. Perhaps he Apparated to the nearest muggle town when Sirius was not paying attention. Sirius sat, clearing his throat. His uncle continued eating as if he hadn't even entered the room.

"Uncle Alphard," Sirius began uneasily.

Alphard looked over. Sirius didn't usually bother to address him. He usually just started speaking. "Hm?"

"You haven't got a glass phial, have you?" Sirius asked. "I need it for a sort of school project. Summer homework."

"Mm," said Alphard, turning back to his food. "Should be something in a storeroom cupboard."

"Excellent," said Sirius, picking up his spoon. "And…I might be a bit quiet for the next few weeks. I might not talk much."

"Thank Merlin for small blessings," was Alphard's only reply.

That night, Sirius went up early to the little bedroom where he kept his things, watching through the window as the the sun dipped down behind the jagged landscape in a flash of darkening red. He set the glass phial his uncle had absentmindedly given him on the sill, watching as the light in his room went silvery, sunlight replaced by moonlight.

He would keep it there for a month, since the scroll hadn't been all too clear if the phial was meant to bask in the moon's rays on the first night the Mandrake leaf was placed beneath his tongue, or the last night. He reasoned it was better not to take any chances.

He looked out at the great orb of the full moon, almost too bright to look at against the rest of the very dark sky. Opening his Transfiguration textbook, he found the Mandrake leaf he'd tucked between the pages for safekeeping. It'd held its color, even if the weight of the book had squashed it out a bit. Sirius folded the thing into quarters, made a hasty prayer to some unknown force that James and Peter were doing the same, then stuck the leaf into his mouth.

The flavor was a bit foul, bitter and sour at the same time. Wincing, he lay back onto his bed, trying to get the thing in a comfortable position beneath his tongue, but then he remembered James teasing him for sleeping with his mouth open and drooling. He rummaged through his trunk until he found a roll of Spellotape, then used a strip to seal his mouth shut.

He adjusted on the thin bed until he could see out the window and watch the moon move slowly, incrementally across the sky. There was a tapered candle in its holder atop the little table beside him, but Sirius did not bother to light it. Somewhere, Remus had just turned from boy to wolf, unimaginable pain transforming into unimaginable hunger and energy. Hungry was always the right word to describe Remus, although he was hungry for different things at different times—in different forms. It occurred to Sirius that whether Remus transformed in the boarded up Shrieking Shack or in the cellar of his mum's let, his wolf form had never actually seen the full moon. He fell slave to it each month, without ever getting to look it in the eye.

I'll show you the moon, Sirius thought adamantly. And then, the Mandrake leaf and its unpleasant taste seemed a very small burden to bear.

August 4, 1974

Peter

Peter awoke just before dawn to the sound of the honking Hippogriff-shaped alarm clock he'd set to rouse him. His room, painted a horrible shade of lilac by his mum, was still mostly dark, although the first bit of sunlight was seeping in through the checkered window curtains. The room's floor was covered with an assortment of trays, empty bowls of soup and bottles of cough tonics that Peter's mum had picked up from the apothecary, leaving them outside his door with a great deal of fuss.

He leapt up, tripping only once on his tangled bedsheets as they clung to him, peeling back the curtains and revealing the phial that had rested on the sill overnight. The full moon was only just still visible low in the sky. With a great breath of relief, Peter unstoppered the phial, then leaned over it, spitting out the damp remnants of his Mandrake leaf in triumph. He hoped with all of his might that he hadn't awoken too late, That the horrid Mandrake leaf hadn't stayed in his mouth even a second too long or too little. He looked at the phial. It was a bit disgusting, half filled with spit and the mushy leaf gone a bit brown at the bottom. He grinned at it, plucking a hair from the top of his head and adding it to the phial, watching it settle into the mixture, making it foam slightly. There was more still to add to it, and then a great deal more time for brewing and waiting and incanting. Still, that was the first and perhaps nastiest step done. Peter had succeeded at this at least. His first order of business this morning: brushing his teeth properly for the first time in a month.

He'd just stepped out of the little, pink-tiled bathroom he shared with his mum, taking the toothbrush to his mouth for a second time just because he could, when there was a sharp and urgent knock at the door.

Peter's first alarming thought was that it was the Ministry of Magic. Somehow, they'd sensed him performing illegal underage magic, even though he hadn't used a wand. Perhaps they'd found out that he had been dragged into a plot to become a very illegal underaged Animagus, and he suddenly felt very foolish for agreeing to Sirius's plan. Sure, it had seemed a bit of fun at the time, but now he was surely bound for a life sentence Azkaban.

He was still frozen in terror at the top of the stair when his mum, always early to rise and read her Witch Weekly, appeared at the bottom to open the front door. She was in her dressing robe, hair in a bonnet full of self-heating curlers. "Who on earth at this hour…" she muttered, opening it.

It was with great relief that Peter saw the doorway filled not with Aurors, but with a very eager looking James Potter, Mrs. Potter just behind him and looking exasperated.

"Oh," said Peter's mum in a tizzy. She made to remove the bonnet, then realized her curlers were beneath, and so she left it where it was. She gathered her robe around her a bit more tightly. "Oh, Mrs. Potter, I'm so sorry, I wasn't expecting…"

"Don't you dare apologize, Dorothy," said Mrs. Potter with a kind smile. She herself seemed to be hastily dressed with her robes askew and her hair unbound, as if she'd only just been in bed. Peter noticed she was wearing house slippers. "It's James. He's having some sort of fit about seeing Peter, which is very strange because he's barely asked for a thing for weeks…"

"Is he here?" James asked, making to come in through the open door. His manners overtook him, however, and he paused, grabbed Peter's mum's hand very urgently, and shook it with a great deal of gusto. "A pleasure to see you Mrs. Pettigrew, you're looking well, what a lovely home and all that. Now, is Peter awake?" He stepped around Peter's mum and came inside, looking around.

"I'm not…" said Peter's mum distractedly, shaking out her hand from the thoroughness of James's handshake. "I don't think…"

But James had spotted Peter at the top of the stairs, still clutching his toothbrush. James grinned wildly in a way that made Peter feel very warm and seen, then scrambled up the stairs to shake him by the shoulders. "Hiya, Petey!" he said breathlessly, looking him over. "Well?"

Peter grinned. "Done."

"Brilliant!" said James, clutching Peter to him. He stepped back with just an arm slung over his shoulder, still beaming. "And happy birthday, you old man! I've brought you your own broom servicing kit, just like mine." James held out a wrapped package Peter hadn't noticed him holding until that moment.

Peter flushed happily. He had thought the day might be forgotten, what with the ordeal of their task this summer. James, at least, had remembered.

"Oh!" Peter's mum squawked from the bottom of the stair. "I wouldn't get too close! Petey's got a nasty case of Tonsillar Spattergroit!"

"It's all right mum," said Peter happily. "Feeling much better now."

"Oh!" said Peter's mum again, hand to her heart. "Listen to you, Ducky! You sound loads better! Couldn't barely get a word out, before this morning!"

"Not to worry, James has already had Spattergroit when he was little," said Mrs. Potter. She pulled out a heaping tray of scones, seemingly from nowhere. "I've brought pastries, Dorothy, to soften the blow of our sudden and very rude arrival."

Peter's mum smiled and might have asked to continue to evaluate Peter and his remarkable recovery, but James dragged him into his room, shutting the door behind them firmly. "Did you add the hair?" he asked Peter, eyes very serious behind his smudged spectacles.

"Yeah," said Peter breathlessly, taking the servicing kit from James and setting it among his things. He'd had nothing but Quidditch magazines, an old radio, and the Wireless Wizarding Network to entertain him over the last several weeks. The company was a welcome change, even if he was still in his wrinkled pyjamas. "It fizzled a bit. Yours?"

"Same," said James happily, tossing himself onto Peter's unmade bed. "Merlin, am I happy to see you and be able to talk properly. I told Mum and Dad that I was taking a vow of silence to meditate on Quidditch success and focus on discipline. I saw an interview with Norbert Knowlbridge of the Kenmare Kestrels where he said something similar about going on a retreat to the Isle of Man. As soon as I'd spat it out this morning, I had my mum Side-Along me to yours. Had to make sure you didn't sleep through it."

"I wouldn't," said Peter indignantly, even if he himself was very glad the Hippogriff alarm clock had worked. It was a gift from his mum that he hadn't used in a very long time.

"Wonder how Sirius did," said James, sitting upright again with concern. "You haven't heard from him, have you?"

"Not one letter," said Peter. It was laughable to think that somehow Sirius had been corresponding with him and not with James. If Sirius could only manage one letter for the rest of his life, Peter knew who it would be addressed to.

"Hope he's all right," said James with a frown. "I worry about him. What about Remus?"

"Yeah," said Peter. "I got responses to my letters. None too long though." Peter had written Remus twice to tell him about the non-Mandrake leaf parts of his summer, and Remus had replied with the perfunctory comments, revealing next to nothing about his own summer. The last letter had barely taken up four lines of parchment.

Pete,

That sounds wonderful, and I'm glad you and your new racing broom weren't spotted by any muggles. Would hate for you to have the thing confiscated so soon after getting it. Sorry your mum has been on your case about your marks from last term; you can tell her that I only got a P in History since I dozed off in the middle of the exam. As for your question about my furry little problem, I'm managing as best I can. See you on September first.

Yours,

Remus

"Same for me," said James thoughtfully. "Benjy Fenwick came by to see if he'd be visiting this summer; I didn't even know they were mates. I had to tell him I'd no clue. Thought Remus would be bored out of his mind in muggle Swansea, but it's as if he's too busy to write. He was so quiet on the train ride back to London, too."

"Yeah," agreed Peter. "At least your letters are nearly novels. Took me three days to finish your last one."

"What else was I meant to do?" James asked with a grin. "I was taking a bloody vow of silence, wasn't I? Had so much pent up to say." He picked up the Hippogriff alarm clock with interest and examined it before another thought occurred to him. "You haven't heard from any of the girls, have you?"

Peter blushed, wishing desperately that he were not so prone to going red. "No, of course I haven't. Have you?"

"McKinnon wrote a couple of times," James said. "And Macdonald, although I think she only did it because she wanted me to pass along a letter each to Remus and Sirius. Think she fancies one of them?"

"I dunno, do I?" asked Peter, going even pinker. Mary Macdonald was very likely the prettiest girl in the entire school, and the fact that she'd written James, Remus, and Sirius, excluding only him, made him want to go stick his head in a nearby lake.

"I think she'd go for either, but she flirts a lot more with Sirius, doesn't she?" said James thoughtfully. Then, abruptly, he added, "I wish Evans would write."

Peter laughed a bit despite himself. "What, write you?"

"Is it so funny to think?" asked James with a frown. He shrugged a moment later. "Probably hasn't got the time, what with Snape breathing down her neck all summer."

Peter highly doubted that this was why Lily Evans hadn't written James. He'd been suspecting that James was a bit gone for Lily ever since December of last year, although he hadn't yet reasoned out why. She was pretty enough, certainly, but Peter thought that if one was going to spend one's time worrying over girls, they should probably aim for the ones that didn't go red with rage at the sound of one's name. Especially James, who could probably get letters from a great many girls if he wanted them. An unpleasant twinge of jealousy tugged at Peter, not unlike how it felt to watch James on the Quidditch pitch, the crowd around Peter chanting James’s name. No one seemed to care that Peter was among them, that James flew down and greeted Peter once the match was done. Peter was James's friend, perhaps one of his very best friends, as he was to Sirius and Remus, both widely admired in their own rights. Peter was the fourth of them, and sometimes it felt like he was jostling amongst giants, barely reaching their knees.

Still, Peter wanted to cheer James, to feel as though he had the approval of the one person everyone else approved of. "The only girl that's written me this summer has been Professor McGonagall," he said with a raised brow. "And that was just to tell me that with the number of Poors and Dreadfuls I got, I'll need to spend some real time revising this year and next if I want to pass any of my O.W.L.s."

James laughed brightly, successfully distracted. "Just get Remus to tutor you in Defense and Charms. I can help with Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures, and Sirius can help with History and Astronomy. Although maybe you don't want to pass History, at least that would give you a good excuse to stop taking it at after fifth year…"

After taking a quick look at Peter's spitty Mandrake leaf phial and nodding with approval, James showed Peter how to use the tools in the servicing kit, enthusiastic about the topic of racing broom upkeep. At last, he and Peter went downstairs to partake in the scones Mrs. Potter had brought. Peter's mum was trying her best to tidy up, as if Mrs. Potter was some sort of royalty that had stopped by. Mrs. Potter, on the other hand, seemed very comfortable at their messy little kitchen table. She admonished James a bit more for dragging her from bed and forcing her to Apparate unanticipated to the Pettigrew's doorstep, but then quickly softened, saying how glad she was to catch up with Peter's mum. "Hardly had the chance to ask after you at the Boxing Day party," said Mrs. Potter after insisting that Peter and his mum keep the remaining pastries.

When at last James and his mum had left, along with an invitation to meet them at Diagon Alley for school things and a tight hug from James, Peter's mum shut the door behind them and rounded on him. "Oh, Ducky, I'm so relieved you’re feeling better. I was on the brink of owling St. Mungos. Now I get to make you some birthday cake, since you can swallow properly."

"Yeah," said Peter happily. "I'm excellent. Must have shaken off the last of it in the night."

"Good timing, too," said Peter's mum with a smile. He thought she might mean because he had some sort of special birthday treat before him, but then she continued, "Was just going to get round to Degnoming the garden today. The little pests have gotten into my begonias and done a number on the parsley."

"Oh," said Peter, smile slipping. Hunting down the devilish little garden gnomes and chucking them over the garden fence to bother their muggle neighbors was one of his least favorite chores. He suddenly wished he hadn't insisted on such a full recovery.

"Get your wellies and your gloves on, then," said his mum brightly. "Let's hop to it."

Chapter Text

August 14, 1974

Lily

Lily sat in the cool, darkened theatre, glad for a respite from the summer heat. The single-screen cinema in Cokeworth was not nice by any means—it stank of burnt and stale popcorn, the seats creaked loudly—but at least it was air conditioned. The large screen was showing something involving several muggles in a big house with American accents, along with just enough romance to have Severus beside her hiding his head in his hands.

They'd arrived to the movie more than ten minutes late, which greatly reduced the price of the tickets, and so Sev had agreed to enter the proper way rather than having her sneak him in through the rear door. Because of that, however, Lily barely knew what was going on, having missed what seemed to be important character introductions. She wasn't sure what the name of the movie was, but as two characters began snogging in earnest, she began to suspect that it was one Petunia had raved about last week when she'd gone with the gaggle of mean-faced friends that Lily suspected all despised each other.

"Eugh," Severus hissed, covering his face. "Tell me when it's over."

"It's over," Lily lied, just to watch Severus look up and flinch passionately when the two characters continued to go at it. She snickered, kicking his foot. This summer, he was wearing a very ugly set of charity shop trainers, since his old, ragged ones no longer fit. He was growing very slender and tall, like his father had been the few times Lily had spotted him, not that she was going to mention this to Severus. She wasn't sure why he didn't just wear his school shoes, a set of slightly tattered wingtips. They were a bit formal, but assuredly better than these. Or, Severus could have saved for a nice pair of trainers, and worn those at Hogwarts, too. Merlin knew that's what most of the students did. But Sev seemed very determined to keep everything about muggle Cokeworth separate from school. Everything except Lily, that was.

Outside the theatre, back in the bright heat of the afternoon, she and Severus began their walk back to their neighborhood along the train tracks, stopping for a fizzy drink from the nearby Railview Inn lobby. "Don't students in the Slytherin common room ever snog?" Lily asked as Severus continued to bemoan the film. "It can't be that much of a shock to see."

"Sure," said Sev with a grimace. "But they have the decency to be discreet about it. They're not doing it blown up to an enormous size, inches away from my face."

Lily laughed at his expression. She kicked at a pebble, and Severus made an effort to track it down and kick it back when it rolled too far away. "You ever fancied trying it, then?" Lily asked, giving Severus a sly look.

Severus went instantly and incredibly pink, eyes widening. "W-what?"

"Snogging," Lily clarified with another laugh. "Harriet Crowe in your year isn't too unpleasant to look at, I s'pose. If she brushed her teeth."

Snape looked down at his feet, face still blazing. "Oh. Snogging Harriet Crowe? No. Absolutely not. Never." He had on a coat for some reason, and it was much too large. Lily figured he had to be sweltering in it, but he probably wanted to conceal the shirt he wore. Severus's mother seemed only able to shop for the ugliest shirts in England.

"Someone else, then?" Lily asked.

Severus did not move his gaze from his feet, but from what Lily could see of his profile, he looked panicked. She felt suddenly guilty. She herself was none to fond of Mary's wheedling in the same vein. "I dunno," said Severus after a while. "I mean…no." They made it a few more steps before his head snapped up, and he looked at Lily with concern. "Have you?"

"Snogged someone?" Lily asked, brow raised. She shook her head. "Of course not. Can you imagine it? Half the boys in our year are horrible gits."

Severus nodded in cautious agreement, but his frown deepened. "You've not…er…thought about it with Lupin, then?" He asked this question with clear disgust.

Lily had thought about it, but she was not going to tell Severus this. Besides, she'd finally settled on the fact that she did not fancy Remus. She could do much worse, to be sure, and she might enjoy looking at him from time to time, but she did not think of him when she closed her eyes, not like she'd once thought about George Harrison when she was younger and sillier. "No," she said clearly. "Remus and I are just friends, of course."

"Well," said Severus, seeming appeased. "Good. We've got O.W.L.s to focus on, anyway."

Lily snorted. "What, Sev, are you waiting to snog someone until after fifth year when you've achieved a full set of Outstandings?"

Severus smiled, even though he was still blushing. "Of course not," he said, looking at her sideways. "I'm going to wait until I've got top marks in my N.E.W.T.s, too."

Lily couldn't help the loud laugh that escaped her, and Sev seemed to forgive her for dragging him to the cinema. When they reached the fence of her front garden, they both stopped. "Want to come in for dinner?" Lily asked pleasantly. "Tuney's out at the shopping centre with those friends of hers. Won't be back until late."

Severus looked like he was considering it. "I ought to go make sure my mum eats," he said after a moment, smile disappearing. "And I've got letters to respond to, for once…"

Lily had anticipated the bit about his mum, but the letters surprised her. "From who?" she asked, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Harriet Crowe's been owling you all summer, hasn't she?"

"No, nothing like that," Sev scoffed. "It's just Avery. And some of the Slytherin blokes in the years above us. They like to hear themselves talk, mostly. Or see their thoughts in writing, I suppose. They asked if they might keep in touch over the summer."

"Blokes in the years above us," Lily repeated, the teasing gone from her tone. "Like Mulciber."

"Not just Mulciber," said Severus quickly. "He wrote, yes, but I didn't answer. But you know, there's Nott and the Carrows, too, in sixth and seventh year. They're quite good in school and know loads about magic—"

"Dark magic, maybe," said Lily with a scowl.

"It's all just intellectual," Sev hastened to explain. A crease appeared between his eyebrows. "They're my housemates. I haven't got any issue with you writing McKinnon and Macdonald all summer. Or Lupin."

This wasn't precisely true, since Lily took great cares to avoid mentioning Mary and Marlene so as not to upset Severus. She'd be meeting both of them in London again in just one week's time and hadn't said a word about it to him on purpose. And Severus did complain often about her correspondence with Remus, even though she did not bring it up. Still, all she said was, "That's because they're all perfectly lovely and don't go around hurling insults at anyone with lower blood status than them."

"They hate me plenty," said Severus, his jaw tight. "They hurl insults at me, don't they? Besides, the other Slytherins just want to talk about things going on at the Ministry, mostly," he added quickly. "It's boring stuff."

"And what about when they want to talk about how I ought not to be let into Hogwarts?" asked Lily hotly. "What about when they think I should have my wand taken away and snapped in half?" She'd heard such things mentioned in corridors, even if Marlene tried to drag both her and Mary well away from it.

"They're just blustering a bit," said Severus, going pale.

Lily was unmoved. "Don’t write back to them. Make sure your mum is fed, then come back round here for pudding. Mum made a whole gateau this morning. We can read, or do some summer homework, or watch telly."

Severus looked conflicted. She knew she was treating their friendship like a distraction, but she'd continue to do it if it meant he spent a little less time reading the words of Mulciber and his friends.

"All right," said Severus at long last, chewing his lip hard enough to turn it white. "I won't. I'll be back later in the evening."

"Good," said Lily, and she watched him give her a small nod and smile in farewell before he continued down the street lined with brick houses. The setting sun made his shadow even more long and angular than he already was. She hoped very much that he was telling her the truth, and that those letters, whatever they contained, could be forgotten.

August 31, 1974

Remus

Remus tried not to garner the attention of the little man behind the till at the corner shop he was currently browsing through. The lights were bright and blue-tinted, at odds with the dull heat of Swansea outside. One other customer browsed the aisle next to his, selecting a bag of crisps before giving Remus a strange look as he walked to the counter to ring it up. Remus knew he looked sort of a mess, and he felt a bit off kilter, not only because the full moon was in two nights, but also because the beer—the two beers—inside him made the shop too bright and fuzzy around the edges.

He watched as the man working the register distracted himself hunting for change for the man with the crisps, and when the clerk's balding head was bent, Remus shoved a box of Jaffa Cakes up his sleeve and began to quickly walk out of the shop. He'd just passed through the doors with a jingle of the bell overhead when the checkout clerk called out.

"Hey!"

Without turning back, Remus began to run, his long legs happy to be moving, his vision still softened pleasantly by the beers. He knew the clerk would not bother to chase him, but he turned corners at random anyway, until the corner shop was far out of sight. He barely dodged a bicyclist as he stumbled into the road while catching his breath. The cyclist swore loudly at him, and Remus only laughed, finding everything a bit funny. He'd turned another corner in the direction he thought was where he'd come from, when a hand shot out, pulling him out of the road and onto the footpath.

"There you are, Lupin," said Alfie, grinning broadly. "Thought I'd lost you. You said you were off to piss."

"Yeah," said Remus, letting himself be pulled along the pavement. "Then I got hungry." He shook his arm until the Jaffa Cakes came tumbling out of his sleeve, and he barely managed to catch them.

"Forget having to piss," said Alfie with a laugh. "You're pissed."

"No'm not," said Remus indignantly. "Just starved. And I didn't have any quid on me."

You never do," said Alfie, shouldering the shopping bag he carried. It clanked a little, with the two other beers left to them. "Come on, let's go be pissed at the ocean."

Alfie was a boy perhaps a year older than Remus himself, with dark skin and bight eyes and amicable gaps between his front teeth. He had his hair shaved very close to his head, and most appealingly and interestingly, he had a hoop through one nostril. Remus had encountered him late at night when he'd been wandering a good distance from his mam's let, back at the beginning of the summer. Remus had felt especially queasy and feverish in the days leading up to that first full moon of July, and that—along with some other factors—led to him wanting to be out of his mum's home and clearing his head on the darkened streets that stank of sea salt. At first, Remus had been relatively sure that Alfie intended to mug him. In fact, he still suspected that this had been Alfie's reason for emerging from a shadowy corner and approaching him. But Alfie had only looked him over for a long few moments, then asked if he could bum a smoke.

"I haven't got any fags," Remus had said, blinking. He did not even have a jacket; he'd climbed out of his bedroom window without one, wanting to feel the chill night air on his too-hot skin.

"That makes both of us, then," said Alfie, although Remus hadn't known his name at the time. "And we both look like we could use one."

Remus, not quite sure why, other than a sort of amused curiosity, had gone with Alfie to one of the closed corner shops, watched him jimmy the lock, slip inside without ringing the bell, and return with a carton of cigarettes. Alfie had opened the box and then shook out two, handing one to Remus.

"Need a light?" he'd asked with a cigarette already between his lips, holding up his silver lighter.

"Yeah," said Remus, still looking at his own cigarette. "Don't have one, seeing as I've never smoked before."

"You're having me on," said Alfie with real surprise, lighting the one in his mouth. It was dark on the street corner they'd wandered to, and all Remus could see was the red glow at the end of the cigarette and the way it barely lit up the other boy's dark face. "I thought you looked like you were coming off of summat much stronger than nicotine," said Alfie with a laugh. He handed the cigarette he'd already lit to Remus, slightly damp from his own mouth. "Just breathe in, slow and even."

Remus had done his best, but that did not stop him from hacking until he thought he might be sick on the pavement.

Alfie had laughed, clapping Remus on the back. "You'll get better, mate."

The next night, when Remus had snuck out once again, only a day before the full moon, he wasn't sure if he was out looking for Alfie. But he had found him on the same corner and had gone to him without hesitating. Alfie had raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Looking for summat, mucker?"

"Yeah," said Remus. "I've never had a drink, either."

And so Remus had filled a summer on the streets of Swansea, away from his mam, away from the letters from James and Peter and the notably absent letters from Sirius, and away from the one letter that had come in from Benjy early in the summer.

Alfie had revealed very little about himself in the last months, which Remus didn't particularly mind. He knew that Alfie had a father who he called a rank old bastard, and that they'd moved for a shipping job that had dematerialized as soon as they'd found a flat here. He knew that Alfie technically attended a secondary school where he'd be in form five come September, and he also knew that Alfie made very rare appearances at this secondary school. He knew that Alfie exhaled smoke through his teeth or through his nose when he laughed, and that he drank bitters very slowly and carefully and held the bottles up to the sky to ensure they were entirely empty.

Remus tripped a bit over his trainers, shaking a Jaffa Cake out and shoving it in his mouth whole before offering one to Alfie.

"Dunno why you're so skinny," said Alfie with a smile, taking one. "You eat like a bear."

It reminded him of something Sirius might have said, so Remus laughed, mouth full of crumbs. Sirius, of course, would have said wolf.

They crossed the busy road to the bland stretch of beach beyond, where the smell of fish came off the dark waters. The sound of gulls screeched overhead, hard and unpleasant to Remus's ears. Maybe he was a bit sloshed, he thought as he collapsed into the sand, gobbling down two more Jaffa Cakes.

Alfie sank down beside him, laying back in the sun for a moment before he reached into his bag and opened one bottle of beer with the top of the other. He took a long sip, then clenched the bottle between his knees so that he might light a cigarette. Remus looked over at him, holding out a hand for his own.

"You're lucky I haven't got any other friends," said Alfie with a laugh. "You're a right mooch." Still, he handed Remus a cigarette and leaned over him to light it.

Their eyes met for a moment too long, Remus looking up at Alfie and the bright cloudless sky behind his face. Alfie watched Remus inhale, then leaned away only when Remus threatened to blow smoke up into his face.

Remus suspected this was another reason the two of them got on, although he didn't think Alfie knew it. It wasn't the sort of thing one wanted to speculate on until they were forced to; Remus would know firsthand.

It was not a very crowded day at the beach, in the middle of the week, but there were still several people there, some of whom gave more than a passing glance to Alfie and his attire. He wore great thick black boots like the ones Sirius had, and a leather jacket so studded it looked like it would hurt to touch. It did hurt to touch, Remus had discovered by jostling Alfie with a laugh during some of their nighttime walks. The leather jacket, however, was off now and laid like a threatening picnic blanket behind them.

"You're off to your posh boarding school on Sunday," Alfie pointed out, taking a pull of his beer between drags of his cigarette. He had the slightest remainder of his American accent, apparently having been born there before his mum had sent him to live with his father. "Off to your far-off northern estate where they train little lords and ladies."

"S'not posh," said Remus sleepily, the previous beers beginning to make him lethargic and give him a slight headache. He wanted another one. "All right, it's sort of posh."

"How the hell do you bloody pay?" Alfie asked, the thought occurring to him for the first time. "You can't even afford your own Jaffa Cakes or fags."

"It's free," said Remus. He considered for a moment. "Er…scholarship."

"Oh, so the mucker's a genius then, is he?" asked Alfie delightedly. "You never said."

"I'm not," said Remus, peeking open an eye. Alfie was still smiling brightly at him, so he shrugged. "I do all right."

Alfie leaned over him, close again. "Tell me you don't go up to your posh boarding school and study books in some posh library and act like a bunch of nancy boys swatting each others' arses."

Remus considered this. "We don't swat each other's arses."

Alfie leaned back to laugh, nearly spilling his beer. When he'd recovered, his cigarette was almost burnt out. "Have you got friends there, then?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Remus propping himself up so that he might grab the last of the beers. Alfie had shown him how to open them using the zipper tab of his leather jacket, so he did just that before taking a drink. "I have."

"And are they like you?" Alfie asked.

Remus paused. Werewolves? No. Possibly very queer? No. "Sort of," he settled on saying.

"Meaning they haven't had a smoke or a drink, either," Alfie surmised.

Remus thought of Sirius, pestering Madam Rosmerta for a Firewhisky every time he entered the Three Broomsticks. "No," he agreed, "but they'd probably like to. They'd like you," he added.

Alfie snorted. "Doubt it. What would some high-class posh boys like about a yob like me?"

"I like you," said Remus, grinning around the top of his beer bottle before he took a sip. It had gone warm and frothy.

"Yeah," agreed Alfie, "but something is seriously wrong with you, I reckon."

Remus felt a shiver as the approaching fever jittered through his body. It was his rotten luck that the next full moon was on September first, the start of term. "Yeah, I s'pose you're right."

"And what about a girlfriend?" Alfie asked after a moment. "Got one of those at your fancy school, Loopy?"

"No," said Remus firmly, taking his third beer slowly. Two months had not made him suddenly spectacular at holding alcohol, and he did not want to be sick. It would not be the first time he'd chundered after a beer too many, too close to the full moon. The first time, he'd been sick on the cold night after a transformation, spewing in the gutter with Alfie patting his back. The second, he'd been sick just hours before transforming, in his own toilet, after a long night on the streets the evening before. Neither smoking nor drinking eased the transformation any—in fact Remus highly suspected that it made the process worse. He just found it difficult to care, when the transformations were so horrid already. At least it made the time on either side of them more bearable.

Alfie's question had made him think of Benjy and his reckless kiss, along with the reckless things he'd said before leaving for the train. In any other scenario, Remus imagined it would have been nice to say that he had someone at school who fancied him and who he might fancy back, given the chance. If Remus had snogged a girl, it might have been something to brag about to Alfie—something James, Sirius, and Peter would be jealous of. Instead, Remus had wanted to kiss a boy, and so it was something he could never mention out loud to anyone, under any circumstances. Luckily, Remus thought with a bitter pang, he had a great deal of experience with secrets like that.

"No?" Alfie repeated with a smirk. "A tall handsome git like you?"

Remus narrowed his eyes, stubbing out his finished cigarette in the sand and taking another drink. "You forget, I'm horribly disfigured." He looked out at the calm sea, at the frothy white peaks of the distant waves and the birds that landed upon them. His head felt light and loose again.

"Horribly disfigured my arse," said Alfie. "Can't even notice on first glance. Besides, you look like you've fought in some bloody glorious battle."

"Yeah," said Remus uneasily. "A glorious battle with an untied shoelace and some rocks."

Alfie snorted on a laugh, finishing his beer and then nabbing Remus's from him. "Careful with that. Thought you were meant to pack for posh school today."

"I was," agreed Remus. "But the house was a bit crowded."

"The boyfriend?" Alfie asked with half a smile.

"The boyfriend," Remus agreed.

The nastiest surprise of the summer had come in the form of Mr. March-Meyers. Not the husband of Mrs. March-Meyers, dead four years now, but her son. Apparently, he and Remus's mam had met at the New Year's Eve do that Mrs. March-Meyers had put together while Remus was at the Potters. Mr. March-Meyers had moved in with his elderly mother to help her with a new bathroom installation but then had stayed when he saw she needed his help a bit more in getting around town. He and Remus's mam had gotten to talking over the garden fence, and then at some point, Mr. March-Meyers had started coming over the garden fence. By the time Remus had come home from King's Cross Station, again driven in Mrs. March-Meyers's borrowed car, Mr. March-Meyers had been waiting for him and his mam on the sofa, introducing himself as Seth, his mam's very good friend.

It wasn't that Remus begrudged his mam a boyfriend—he thought she well deserved one after his da had all but fled them—it was that Remus wished she didn't have this particular one. Mr. March-Meyers reeked of cologne, the sort that made Remus positively nauseous when his senses heightened around the full moon. When Remus had undergone his first transformation of the summer, he could still smell it in the cellar from his cage while his bones began to twist and snap, adding insult to injury. As usual, his da had come by just an hour before sundown, and Mr. March-Meyers had to be convinced to leave for his own home across the garden fence. Remus's mam had insisted that Remus was coming down with a nasty illness, and that he'd better clear out before it was catching.

"It's a poor constitution," Mr. March-Meyers had said when he came round for dinner the next night. Remus was still bleary and stiff with pain, bleeding a bit from a new gash beneath his jumper. "See it all the time with boys who don't partake in active sport. You've got to get him on the field with lads his own age, building muscle and kicking a football."

The fact that Remus and his mam had not taken his advice only made Mr. March-Meyers double down on it when the full moon came around again in early August. During that transformation, Remus had been so hostile toward his own da that Lyall Lupin had left with a huff the next morning after giving Remus only a single potion for pain. As a result, Remus was unable to leave his bed for an entire day and night, so exhausted and tender that he felt like the slightest movement might tear him apart at the seams.

"You've got to get out of this room," said Mr. March-Meyers sternly, looming over him after lunch, when Remus had been finally settling into sleep. "You cannot build up health and endurance by lazing about."

Later, when his mum had brought him a glass of water and broth for diner, Remus had cracked open an eye and croaked, "Do me a favor. Don't let that git look at me for at least a week."

His mum had blanched, mouth tightening. "Cariad, I know you're in pain, but please do not speak about Seth in that way. He's only concerned about you." She took a breath and then smiled hopefully at him, giving him some muggle pain relievers from the shop. "I think he's always wanted a son, you know."

That was all well and good for Mr. March-Meyers, thought Remus, but he was in no way fit or willing to be that son. Not while Mr. March-Meyers wore that cologne and went on about the rousing benefits of participating in sport. Not when Remus had to conceal more than half his life from him. Remus could not even speak about his courses or do his homework freely, now that Mr. March-Meyers kept appearing in the small rooms of his mam's let.

Perhaps the last straw for Remus was Mr. March-Meyers's opinion on his music. "Noisy racket," he called it, complaining about the decline of good music at most meals he intruded on. Whenever Mr. March-Meyers and his mam watched telly downstairs, Remus took great care to play Old New Borrowed and Blue as loud as it could go from up in his room.

Here on the beach, Remus could pretend that Mr. March-Meyers wasn't stomping about in his mam's house, waiting to cajole him into watching footy matches or disparage his music.

"Well," said Alfie with a long stretch that sent his shirt riding up. "You can't hide out like a drunkard on the beach forever."

"Sure I can," said Remus, settling deeper into the sand.

"Aren't you baking in that thing?" Alfie asked him, eyeing the thick, ragged jumper Remus pulled down over his hands.

"Yeah," agreed Remus, too sleepy and filled with beer to pretend otherwise. "But I'm not taking it off."

"Have it your way," Alfie sighed, stretching out to enjoy the sunshine in his own thin t-shirt.

Remus was pretty sure he slept, for the next time he opened his eyes, the sun seemed lower and the wind coming off the ocean seemed chillier. He looked over to see Alfie, halfway through another cigarette, looking thoughtfully at the dissipating beach crowd.

"What's up?" Remus asked, rolling onto his side and poking Alfie in the knee. "You look like you're thinking."

"Nothin'," said Alfie, exhaling smoke in a long stream. "I reckon I'm not going to have any friends once you leave, is all."

"Come off it," said Remus, propping himself up. His head had cleared a bit from the rest, but his aches were back with a vengeance, and he wanted a cigarette. He reached out for Alfie's, still too bleary to try and light his own. "Just go up and mug some other hapless berk who happens to be wandering 'round in the middle of the night."

Alfie looked down at him from the corner of his eye, not bothering to turn his face. He let Remus grab the cigarette, then took it back from him after he'd had his fill of it. "I didn't mug you," he said, biting down his grin.

"Nah, you didn't," said Remus. "See, that's the first step in making friends. You've got that down."

"Come on," said Alfie, laughing and starting to stand. "I'm proper hungry. And I ate all your Jaffa Cakes."

They wandered back to town, bumping shoulders as they made their way to the street where they'd have to split ways for their separate neighborhoods. Remus thought about asking Alfie round for dinner, but he knew what his mam and Mr. March-Meyers would think when they saw the scrawny youth with his piercings and his leather and his shaved head. They were already starting to think the same about Remus.

Alfie and Remus didn't make a fuss out of the goodbye, they just appraised each other with a nod.

"Think you'll call?" Alfie asked. "I could give you my number."

"Er…" said Remus, not quite sure how to say that the magic that permeated the very walls of his school interfered with the workings of any muggle technology. "I can write," he said at last. "There's a post office we can visit a few times a year." He hoped that the Hogsmeade post office had some options aside from owl delivery. Alfie wouldn't ever let him live down the strangeness of sending a letter tied to a bird.

"Few times a year," Alfie scoffed. "Tight laced, innit? This a corrective school for troubled boys or summat?"

"If it is, it doesn't work to well," said Remus, thinking of Sirius, James, and Peter. He missed them horribly. But now, he realized, he'd miss Alfie, too. He was a different sort of trouble when he was with Alfie—a simpler kind.

"Okay, then," said Alfie, taking a step back and looking at Remus for a long moment, something searching in his dark eyes. Remus felt examined, and not in an unpleasant way. "You write me, Loopy, and let me know how to write you back. My writing's shite, though. Don't go showing it to your posh friends."

"Won't," said Remus with a laugh. "Looking forward to it. Go to school, and maybe you're writing will get better."

Alfie only laughed back. "Pisshead." He took out two cartons of cigarettes and tossed them Remus's way. Remus only just managed to catch them, coordination still a little fuzzy from the beers. "Don't use 'em all at once."

Remus nodded, pocketing them. They both grinned, then turned and walked in separate directions. Remus looked back twice. The second time, Alfie was looking back, too. They both waved, and Remus thought maybe Alfie laughed again, and then Remus had to turn a corner and Alfie was out of sight.

Remus knew that the tug he felt somewhere around his middle at the sight of Alfie was a bit damning when it came to the investigation of his own queerness. It made him feel strangely guilty when he thought of Benjy's bright smile and soft hair, which he found objectively appealing, too. He could not disentangle his own interest in either of them from the thrill of knowing that they were looking at him and that he thought he could read their interest, too. He thought it would be much simpler if he could just look at a bloke and fancy what he saw all on his own.

Simpler, maybe, but probably worse. Until that happened, Remus could try to pretend he was a bit like every other boy, at least for a while.

His mam's let was a shabby building, but clean and with a nice garden. It was two stories but didn't look it, since the ceilings were so low. The little doorways were beginning to make Remus feel out of proportion. It did, however, make jumping down from his upper-floor bedroom window quite easy. The bush below his bedroom window was looking pitifully squashed because of it.

Remus considered lifting himself onto the low roof and climbing back in through that window, just to avoid the lights he saw turning on in the front sitting room. But his mam surely knew he was out, and there was no use pretending he hadn't been. So, he let himself through the garden face and opened the front door, rubbing his eyes and hoping they weren't too red.

Luckily, Mr. March-Meyers was not there. He had footy with some of the other neighborhood men, who were all too old for it, Remus thought, on Saturday nights. Afterward, they'd get a pint and chips at the pub, which meant he'd be out of Remus and his mam's hair at least until after dinner. Remus tried to savor this small blessing as he entered the house, and his mam wheeled on him immediately.

"Where've you been?" she asked. Her voice was very rarely sharp, but Remus had heard it take that tone more and more often this summer. "Your train leaves tomorrow, you know! And Seth is driving us all early so that we might get some things in London…" she trailed off as Remus tried to slink by her to the stairs. "You reek of smoke," she said, voice quieting to disappointment. "Remus…Remus look at me."

Slowly and unwillingly, Remus raised his gaze to meet hers. His hair had once been exactly the same color as hers, but now it was darkening to look like his father's. Hers, in turn, was lightening with the occasional grey strand. She was wearing her housecoat, clearly in the midst of making dinner. He was taller than her now, and it felt strange to see her from this new angle, one that made her look smaller than she had been before.

His mam approached, lifting his chin and turning his face from side to side. Remus unsuccessfully tried to jerk away. "Have you been drinking?" his mam asked him, voice tight. "Where on earth have you gotten alcohol from?”

"I haven't," Remus lied. "Some one just bummed me a cigarette. I walked around on the beach and got sunburnt. And I'm ill with the moon tomorrow."

"Mm," said his mam, clearly not believing him. "You and your da might know about moon cycles and bone strengthening tonics and all of that, but I know about cigarettes and beer, Remus John Lupin." Her small hand tightened on his chin, and Remus felt very young again. "I don't know what's gotten into you."

"Just lycanthropy," said Remus, stepping away. This time he succeeded, and her hand dropped back to her side. "I've got to pack."

He could feel her watching him all the way up to his room, and so he closed the door behind him and laid Caribou on the tinny gramophone he'd dragged in there. The album was a recommendation from Lily, who'd been writing him this summer the muggle way. He felt a guilty twinge, thinking about how he hadn't yet written her back. He'd make it up to her by bringing the album with him to school and letting her listen to it as many times as she liked. In the meantime, he tried to let the music wash over him.

Eat meat on a Friday, that's all right! I even like a steak on a Saturday night!
I  can bitch the best at your social do's! I get high in the evening sniffing pots of glue!
I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, oh the bitch is back! Stone cold sober, as a matter of fact!
I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, 'cause I'm better than you! It's the way that I move, the things that I do, ooh!

At dinner, laid out just for Remus and his mam, Remus tried not to look too ravenous or sloppy as he ate three pieces of chicken and vegetable roll while it was still steaming and hot enough to burn his tongue. The approaching moon usually made his stomach roil, and the beer had one advantage of making him hungry again while the cigarettes eased his nausea. His mam looked at him apprehensively as she ate, not bothering to pay any attention to the telly that was on behind him.

Remus finished and took both plates to the kitchen. He was trying to scrub them quickly and disappear back into his room before Mr. March-Meyers returned, but his mam stood in the kitchen doorway, trapping him there.

"Cariad," his mam began carefully. "I know it has been tricky adjusting to a new man in the house. I know Seth is not your da—he's not Lyall—"

"Yeah, and thank fuck for that," said Remus before he could help himself, the beer in him still making his tongue do funny things.

"Remus!" His mother admonished. "Don't speak like that!"

"Sorry," said Remus, bowing his head. But then he added, "Mam, I don't miss Da. I don't wish he was here. When he comes round once a month, I wish he'd leave."

His mam's eyes narrowed, but they seemed a little sad. "What I mean is that it's normal to reject the idea of someone taking his place. I know it's difficult—"

"Look," Remus interrupted. He knew his temper was short, and he felt unable to help it. "I don't care about Mr. March-M—I don't care about Seth," he told her. This wasn't precisely true, Seth irked him a great deal, but he was too tired to get into that with his mam. "I'm just tired is all. I'm fine. Tired, but fine."

"Remus," said his mam carefully. "Why on earth are you out drinking? Did something happen at school?"

"No," said Remus roughly. Aside the fact that he'd been kissed, then had kissed in turn, and felt as though his own brain was at war with him because of it, he was telling the truth. He wished she'd move aside so he could disappear. Mr. March-Meyers was due to come by very soon. His mam, however, was only looking at him appraisingly, and he knew he'd have to give her more. "Mam, I'm just exhausted. It's like I've not recovered from the last full moon and now there's a new one that'll be starting the second I get off the train. And I'm fairly sure the wolf is going to tear me a new one since I—"

There was a sound by the front of the house, and his mam flinched harshly, holding up a finger to quiet him as she looked toward the front entry. They both stayed silent, wary that Mr. March-Meyers had entered and overheard that last bit. When it was clear it was only a bit of noise from the street, his mam looked back at him apologetically.

Remus frowned. "And I'm tired of having one less place I can talk freely about transforming into a bloody Werewolf," he told her.

This at last made his mam shrink back a bit, and Remus shouldered past her to the stairs.

Laying in his bed, he wished very badly that he could open one of his two precious cigarette cartons, that he could smoke through all of them methodically, while his muscles spasmed with anticipation of what would happen to them tomorrow. But the symptoms were always a little worse in the night, in the moonlight, he told himself. Tomorrow morning he'd feel marginally better. Besides, the house was too small to cover the smell of smoke. Remus knew his mam smoked on occasion, but Mr. March-Meyers was not fond of it at all, and she'd mostly stopped since he started coming round. Now the smell would be obvious, even if he leaned out the window. And he did not have the energy to lean out the window.

They were right on the brink of late to King's Cross the next morning, with only fifteen minutes until the train departed. Mr. March-Meyers had done them all the favor of seeking out the London train schedule, only to tell them that there was not, in fact, a train bound for Scotland at eleven A.M. that morning, and that they must have had the date wrong. It had taken Remus and his mam's combined, adamant insistence that his timetable was outdated for him to finally get into the little car that smelled of dog and drive them the three hours to London.

"No time to find the car park," Remus insisted, eyeing the dashboard clock. His head was pounding, and he knew he looked a right mess after the frenzy of last-minute packing this morning. "Just let me off here."

"Nonsense," said Mr. March-Meyers. He had thinning hair which he had oiled to the side for their outing, and Remus had thought this morning that he could have benefitted from Mr. Potter's Thickening Sleekeazy Solution. "We'll want to meet the other parents, of course," Mr. March-Meyers added jovially.

The use of the words other parents sent Remus careening off an edge he'd been very near all morning. It was not as if Mr. March-Meyers had any right to meet decent people like the Potters, to act as though he had anything to do with Remus, when in reality he did not and could not know the first thing about him. Remus opened the car's rear door as soon as it slowed. "I've got to go, or I'll miss it. You've already made us late enough."

Mr. March-Meyers spluttered but slowed the car to a full stop to prevent Remus from clambering out into the traffic before the station. With a groan of his aching shoulders, Remus heaved his two trunks out after him, making to leave without a farewell. His mam, however, climbed out after him, nearly tripping over the nice shoes Mr. March-Meyers had recently bought her. "Remus!"

Remus sighed and turned. "What?"

He realized with a horrid pang that her eyes were brimmed with tears. "Let's have a kiss goodbye," she insisted, weakly.

Remus chewed down on his lip, but set down his trunks and allowed himself to embrace her. She clutched him very tight. They both knew the December full moon fell over Christmas holidays, and that Remus would opt to stay at Hogwarts and transform in the Shrieking Shack this year, as he had the first. He squeezed her back, as either an apology or an indication of forgiveness, he wasn't sure.

"Write?" his mam asked him near his ear. "Let me know you're all right?"

"Think Seth will take well to a great owl pecking at the kitchen window?" Remus asked.

His mam laughed a little. "He'll have to be."

Remus had already decided to look into muggle post for Alfie, but it made the squeeze on his heart lessen to know that his mam would take his letters any way she got them, even if they were attached to James's pushy owl, Featherby. She gave him two pecks on each cheek, mashed his face between her small hands and gave him a serious look. "No cigarettes. You're young, yet."

The two packs in Remus's trouser pocket seemed to be burning a hole there. "Fine," he lied. The two cartons would be run through fast enough, and then he'd try to keep his promise.

"All right," said his mam, huffing out a breath. "Take care of yourself tonight. Find your school nurse, I can't remember her name, as soon as you can. And get lots of rest tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's the first day of term," said Remus. "I'll fall behind in all my classes."

His mam grinned at him. "Your school sent me a letter—an owl. I'm not sure what kind of mark an O is, but your deputy headmistress seemed pleased. You can afford one day of falling behind." She kissed his forehead for good measure, then pushed him off to the station. "Don't be late!"

Mr. March-Meyers honked the horn once after his mam had climbed into the passenger seat, and Remus was feeling charitable enough to give him half a wave before he took off into King's Cross Station and weaved through the dense crowd there. He looked for a sign of a family with an owl or a broomstick or a heavily laden trolley, but he was late enough that the rest of the wizard folk must have already passed through the barrier.

He looked around the space tentatively, the high ceiling that let in the light from the late summer, the clatter of trains arriving on other platforms, making sure that no muggles were paying him any attention before he hurried toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten. He did not hesitate or blink like he usually did, he simply collided into it without flinching and found that there was nothing there at all to collide into. Suddenly, he was surrounded by platform nine and three-quarters, the sight of the scarlet steam engine on the tracks in front of him and the sea of robes and pointed hats all around him.

As he slowed his pace, Remus nearly bumped into the family he recognized as the Macdonalds, where three younger boys who looked quite like Mary were pulling gruesome faces at one of the carriage windows, behind which Remus guessed Mary, Lily, and Marlene were sitting. He was proved right as he hurried closer, and Lily opened the window to lean out of it. "Finally decided to attend your fourth year of school, have you Lupin?"

Remus grinned at her and flashed her two fingers, making her stick out her tongue. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were talking enthusiastically to the McKinnons, but Mrs. Potter leaned away from them as he passed, reaching out to pat his head fondly. "Too tall," she said by way of greeting, then gave him a fond shove toward the carriage door.

Sweating under the effort of his two trunks, Remus pushed the hair from his forehead as he made his way down the corridor, rattling the door of Lily's, Mary's, and Marlene's compartment just to hear them laugh, then opened the next one down, their usual place. He was rewarded with three familiar faces turned toward him, and a chorus of, "Moony!"

James stood up immediately, wrapping wiry arms around Remus and shaking him about. He, too, had grown over the summer, but at last Remus thought he had maybe half an inch on the other boy. James's spectacles were dangerously close to falling off his face when he pulled away and looked Remus over. "You're all freckley," James notified him. "And what happened, did you forget how to hold a quill halfway through the summer? Didn't respond to my last three letters."

"Sorry," said Remus, slightly abashed. "I tried not to be home, much."

James scoffed, but Remus was passed over to Peter, who had grown, too. He might have even grown the same amount as James, but he had started off short enough that he felt much the same. His hair had grown from the very round cut that had made his face look very round, and he looked more like a teenager and less like a cherub. "Good summer, Pete?" Remus asked with a smile. "You look like you've been on the broom a fair bit."

"Do I?" asked Peter happily. "Yeah, I reckon I got some good practice in. Still can't manage left turns too well, though…"

Peter was being nudged aside by Sirius who was finally demanding his turn.

Without warning, the train seemed to lurch forward, taking Remus's stomach with it. He was nearly about to reach out and brace himself, but the train in fact hadn't moved at all. It was sitting perfectly still; it was Remus's thumping heart that seemed to have set off at an alarming pace.

Sirius was smiling much more broadly than he had at the end of any summer before, and it was that very crooked, very white-toothed smile that usually preceded him saying something Remus did not want to hear. He was pale—he always was—but not colorless or ill-looking like he sometimes was after too much time with his family. He had some sun on him, like he did by the end of the school year. It seemed like no one had bothered to trim his hair into the same neat line Remus had grown used to, and instead it hung past his jaw, pushed back behind his ears. His face, too, had changed shape slightly, gotten more angular. He looked older, Remus realized with alarm. Suddenly, Remus hoped he looked older, too.

"Moony, you're a giant!" said Sirius happily. "A giant in that same horrible jumper, though."

Remus braced himself for a hug, feeling suddenly very nervous, but it didn't come. Sirius only gave him a laugh and a shove. "Sit down so I don't hurt my neck looking up at you, you enormous numpty."

Remus did so, as James took his trunks for him and swung them into the overhead racks, nudging a complaining Featherby aside to make room. Remus also noticed a guitar in a battered case, taking up a prized spot beside James's broomstick.

"You all right, Moony?" asked Peter, head tilted. "Look like you've had a fright."

"Of course he's not all right," said Sirius. "The full moon's tonight, isn't it? But not to worry, Moony, I've already planned out what to do if there's a delay on the train and you transform before we get to school. We'll lock the compartment door with everyone else outside it, and I'll keep you busy with my fists if you try to tear me apart."

Remus's gut gave an alarming twist for some reason, but he finally managed a laugh. It came out sort of breathless. "You're going to try and fight me alone in here? I'd kill you."

"Nah," said Sirius, flopping down beside him and kicking his feet over Remus's lap. The boots did not look so comically large on him anymore. "I reckon I can handle you."

The train let out its departing whistle before Remus could reply. James pressed himself against the window to wave a very enthused goodbye to his mum and dad. Sirius watched him, then looked over to Remus with a grin and a roll of his eyes. Swallowing, Remus grinned back, hoping it appeared natural. The real issue was that Remus was suddenly not at all sure he could handle Sirius Black.

Chapter Text

September 1, 1974

James

Before Remus had entered the compartment, James, Sirius, and Peter had all only had a moment to put their heads together and confirm that they'd all kept their Mandrake leaves under their tongues properly, thrilled by their success thus far. Of course, as James had pointed out, there were loads more rare ingredients that they'd somehow need to get their hands on—the chrysalis of a Death's-head hawkmoth, untouched morning dew, powdered wyvern claw, phoenix eggshell, and loads more that wasn't sold in Diagon Alley. James hoped that Professor Slughorn's private storeroom might yield some results, since he didn't much fancy trying to barter with anyone at the Hog's Head Inn again.

When Remus had entered, they'd had to shut their mouths about the affair, but this was not difficult since Remus's appearance was adequately distracting. Remus had seemingly grown up nearly a year over the two months of separation. He was more freckled than ever, his hair longer and shaggier, and most importantly, he'd gotten tall. He was still very thin, but he didn't look quite so scrawny, either. He carried himself a bit differently, too. He used to always look like he was terrified of being spotted by anyone else. He didn't seem quite so afraid of that anymore, James thought.

Still, he seemed tense in a wholly different way that James couldn't make sense of. James's squinting focus was cut short before he could reason it out, however, as Remus blinked back at him from across the compartment and said, "Blimey, Jamie, why're you staring at me like I've got a horn growing out of my head?"

"No reason," said James quickly, leaning back on the bench. The train was picking up speed, leaving London behind. "You know, after this year, we're losing Roger on the team. And you're starting to look like you could wield a bat just fine, you know."

"Not happening," said Remus immediately.

"Just because those limbs are long doesn't mean he knows how to use them," Sirius pointed out helpfully. Remus responded by shoving Sirius's legs off his lap.

James turned on Sirius. He, too, looked older after the summer. "So," James began gravely. "How were the old bint and the old bastard this summer?"

"Mum and Dad?" Sirius asked with a grin. "No idea. I spent the summer with my Uncle Alphard."

"Your who?" Peter asked, setting down his Quidditch Quarterly magazine. James, too, sat up straighter in surprise.

"My uncle," said Sirius again. "Old codger who lives out on his own in the middle of the moors. He breeds Thestrals, and I don't exactly think he does it legally. Spent the entire summer there kicking rocks and communicating with him through grunts. Well, he grunted. I managed complete sentences for the most part."

Sirius was describing what sounded to James like a very bleak summer, but he couldn't help noticing that Sirius looked rather enthused by what he was saying. "Is he like the rest of your family, then?" James asked.

"Dunno," said Sirius. He frowned. "I don't think so. He had muggle books. I got the sense that he wanted to be rid of the rest of the family entirely. Didn't take kindly to my showing up." He tossed his feet in their boots back over Remus's lap, and Remus looked down at them in exasperation. "Might've won him over in the end, though," Sirius continued. "It's hard to be sure. I don't think the part of his face that does the smiling works properly."

"Sounds a bit boring, mate," said Peter sympathetically.

Sirius shrugged. "Seemed a nice change to me. Three meals, a view of the sky, and being left well enough alone."

"Well my summer was a bore," said Peter. "Was cooped up in my room for most of it, and after the muggle neighbors nearly spotted me on my broom, Mum didn't allow me to keep practicing."

"At least you probably got your summer homework done, then," James pointed out.

"Oh," said Peter, turning pink. "Yeah, I reckon I could have done that." He looked to Remus. "Can I take a quick look at yours, Moony?"

Remus shrugged. "Didn't do it."

"What?!" asked James in alarm. "What's become of our resident swot?"

Remus frowned, looking down at his hands as they fidgeted. "Wasn't home, much. My mam started going with the old neighbor's son across the fence. He was a pain in my arse all summer. I wandered about, mostly."

"Ah," said James, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "And they didn't have any quills or parchment around the areas you wandered, I reckon? Not a moment to spare for a letter or two?"

"I really am sorry," said Remus a bit more quietly. "I'm a lousy mate, I know. I just felt a bit…off this summer. I didn't even respond to Lily."

James froze. "Evans wrote you?"

"A couple of times," said Remus, eyeing him.

"What did she say?" James asked, hoping his tone was casual. "How was her summer?"

Remus looked a bit amused. "Mostly just complained about her sister."

"Her sister's a muggle," James supplied helpfully.

"Yeah," said Remus, now looking like he was trying not to laugh. "Well spotted. Her whole family is."

"Right," James agreed. So, Evans had a sister that she sometimes complained about. James wondered if the sister was older or younger, and what precisely about her merited complaint. He wanted to know what it was that bothered Evans, what sort of things she found unpleasant. Of course, there was evidence that Evans found James himself unpleasant, so maybe her sister was quite like him. He speculated on this until he realized the trolley witch had come by, and he was distracted by shelling silver Sickles out of his pockets for Remus and himself.

Remus, however, declined the Pumpkin Pasties, Licorice Wands, and even Chocolate Frogs James purchased en masse for the four of them. James noticed that the clammy sweat which had coated him from exerting himself with the trunks did not go away, and Remus stared out the window at the sun, which was still high in the noontime sky, as if it were threatening him. The full moon was tonight.

"Tell Pomfrey to get you some aconite root over the summers," said Sirius, also watching Remus carefully. "You said chewing it helped a bit before a full moon.”

"Yeah, I know," said Remus shortly, rubbing his temple. "My da was supposed to buy some on her instruction. But he said the Ministry is on careful watch for anyone buying Wolfsbane. They've deemed it a monitored substance. He thinks it could lead them to suspecting me."

"Then he ought to steal it or smuggle it," Peter suggested decisively.

Remus laughed. "He wouldn't."

"The useless git," James declared. "Fancy some pumpkin juice, at least? I can chase the trolley witch down."

"No," said Remus, sounding pained. "Thanks." He watched them all eat for a moment, devouring a mixture of the sweets they'd purchased and leftover masala dosa from James's mum. James watched Remus as he opened and closed his mouth twice, glancing occasionally at the window.

James swallowed the bite of Cauldron Cake he was currently chewing. "Out with it, Moony. You want to say something."

"No," said Remus reflexively, wincing. He cleared his throat, relenting as James only raised a brow at him. "It's just…well, there is something that sort of helps."

"Get on with it, then," said James. "Is it a cuddle? A scratch behind the ears?"

"No," said Remus again, rolling his eyes. He reached into his pocket, and he pulled out a small rectangular box. It took James a moment to understand what he was looking at.

Sirius caught on faster than James did. "Fags?" he asked with great interest. He pulled his feet at last from Remus's lap so that he could sit upright and sidle closer. "Moony, what are you doing with those?"

Remus gave Sirius an incredulous look, scooting away to replace the distance between them. "Smoking them, obviously."

"You've been smoking fags?" Peter asked, eyes wide. "Since when?"

"Since you've been wandering about this summer, I'll reckon," said Sirius with a broadening grin, scooting closer once more.

James blinked. "Muggle cigarettes? How did you get those?"

He'd seen Elphias Doge partake in a large pipe at every Boxing Day since James had been a boy, blowing multicolored smoke rings up to the ceiling. His dad, too, sometimes took a puff out in the back garden. James hadn't, however, seen cigarettes in the hands of anyone but the muggles they passed in Hollowcombe-on-the-Hill, or else in London on their way to King's Cross Station. And he hadn't seen them being used by anyone their own age.

Remus gave him a very small smile. "Nicked them."

James's mouth dropped open in surprise, although he wasn't sure what else he'd been expecting.

Sirius was staring at Remus as though he'd never seen the likes of him. "You're telling me you haven't done a lick of the summer homework, and instead you spent the holidays lifting fags?"

Remus turned the box over in his hands. "Er…sort of?"

"Bravo, Moony," said Sirius, eyes wide. "All right, show us how it's done then."

Peter looked around. "Here in the compartment? Surely it's not allowed!"

Sirius gave Peter a look that was as disappointed as his gaze had been admiring toward Remus a moment earlier. "Of course it's not bleeding allowed, Pete. That's the appeal, you dolt."

Peter frowned, slumping down in his seat. James gave him a consoling pat on the knee, but he, too, was leaning forward in anticipation of the demonstration Remus might be about to give them.

Remus looked between them, bemused, but he shrugged and opened the box, tapping the bottom until one slid out. James was impressed by how often it looked like Remus had done this, and it took only one glance at Sirius's expression to determine he was thinking much the same. Remus reached into his pocket again and this time brought out a lighter. He set the cigarette between his lips, nudged the window open a bit with his elbow, and then produced a bit of flame, bringing it closer to the end that poked out between his lips. He gave them all another look, wary this time. "Don't all stare, or I'll get nervous and choke," he told them from around the cigarette.

But Remus did not choke; he didn't even cough a bit as he lit the end and inhaled deeply until the end glowed all on its own. He leaned over and blew a stream of smoke through the crack of the open window. When he faced them again, he had his eyes closed, as if something were settling within him.

They were all silent for a moment, until Sirius sat up straighter, reaching out. "All right, let me have a go."

Remus took another drag, exhaling through the window again, before he glanced over at Sirius. "You'll cough a lot."

"Says who?" demanded Sirius. "Come on, give it here."

"Fine," said Remus, frowning. "But I've only got so many of these, and I'm meant to make them last."

Sirius looked greatly satisfied when Remus finally handed over the cigarette, and he took it from him eagerly, immediately putting it to his mouth and inhaling hard.

Any temptation James might have felt to try the thing for himself disappeared as Sirius immediately began to hack, nearly dropping the cigarette before Remus had a chance to grab it back and flick ash out the window. Sirius looked up at Remus accusingly, eyes watering as he continued to double over with racking coughs. James leaned over, thumping him on the back, which only seemed to make Sirius cough harder.

"What in Merlin's saggy bollocks was in that thing?" Sirius demanded, wiping tears from his eyes. His voice came out hoarse.

Remus shrugged, smiling a bit. "I told you you'd cough a lot. I did, too. Took me ages to get used to it. You've got to take much smaller breaths when you start out."

"You've got a death wish, Moony," Sirius decided, finally managing to sit upright. "Here, let me try it again."

Remus laughed, blowing more smoke out through the open window. "No, you'll cough it all out again and the compartment will begin to smell."

"It already does," James noted, waving a hand in front of his face. "Is this what our dormitory's going to start smelling like, now?"

"We'd be lucky if it did," said Remus easily. "The last two years, it just smelled like your sweaty Quidditch kit."

"My Quidditch kit smells only of success," James told him, opening another Chocolate Frog.

"Come on, Moony," Sirius pleaded. "Let me try again. I actually did my summer homework for once, and you can copy off me for a change."

Sirius eventually wore Remus down, managing on his third try to expel the smoke somewhat gracefully, blowing it out the window, leaning across Remus, with only a bit of a cough. Remus smoked through two cigarettes and looked very much like he wanted to begin a third, but he ended up throwing the butt out the window just as Marlene and Mary knocked, wanting to compare summers. Evans was not with them. James bitterly hoped this didn't mean she was off with Snape in some other compartment, but he knew that was likely the case. Mary, James noticed, wedged herself happily between Sirius and Remus, prattling on to both of them about her summer job babysitting for some posh family in Bristol. Marlene watched on with a roll of her eyes, then turned to James and Peter to discuss Quidditch.

The train ride passed pleasantly enough, even though Remus grew only more and more fidgety as the sun began to set. The train was still rolling to a slow stop at Hogsmeade Station when he leapt up, cutting Mary off in the middle of her story about a child who had been sick at the fair all over her lap, and mumbling a hasty goodbye before hurrying along the corridor.

"What's gotten into him?" Mary huffed, as the compartment door slammed shut behind him. "Barely said a word about what he got up to this holiday."

"He hasn't done any of the summer homework," said Sirius easily, waving a dismissive hand. "I reckon proximity to the school's got his swot instincts reactivating."

Mary continued to tell them about the exact colors of the child's sick, and Peter pretended to be interested while James and Sirius both snuck glances out the window. As they stopped beside the platform, barely before dusk, they could see Hagrid already standing there beneath the overhang with his lantern held aloft, and then beside him was Madam Pomfrey, looking apprehensive and quite small in comparison. Other students were only just beginning to clamber out of their seats and into the train's corridor when James spotted Remus darting across the platform to where Madam Pomfrey was waiting with open arms. They collided somewhat tenderly in a brief hug, then were hurrying toward the wooded path, led by Madam Pomfrey's wandlight. James sighed in relief, nodding to himself.

Leaving their bags behind to be transported to the castle, James offered Featherby a parting owl treat before they took off toward the carriages. Mary and Marlene joined them, and they quickly found an empty carriage among the line that awaited the students along the road. Sirius stopped for a moment at the front of the horseless carriages, pointing to the empty space where the reins and bridles hovered, attached to nothing.

"Thestrals," he said, eyes wide in surprise. "Don't know why I never thought of that. These are pulled by Thestrals."

"What?" asked Peter in alarm, going pale. "Really? How can you be sure?"

"I can smell them," said Sirius, making a face. "They smell like my Uncle Alphard's."

"Can't be," said Marlene, although she took a hasty step away from the carriages. "Thestrals are really dangerous. They wouldn't be allowed near students."

"They're not dangerous at all," said Sirius. "They like their raw meat already dead, and they prefer the blood they drink to be slightly cooled."

"Oh," said Marlene, looking a bit queasy. "You're right. That sounds perfectly pleasant."

James snorted, helping her and Mary inside, even though they both looked like they might rather walk to the castle now. The rest of them loaded in, and there was space to spare without Remus or Evans.

"Where is Evans, anyway?" James asked, as soon as the carriages began to move down the bumpy cobblestoned road. The headlamps on each carriage shone a little pathway through the quiet village, toward the castle gate.

"She probably found a spot with Snape," said Mary with a frown. "She left halfway through the train ride to find him. I reckon she's afraid he might be hanging around those other Slytherins a bit too much. She knows they don't want to be anywhere near her, and so she thinks she can act as some sort of pureblood repellent for him."

"Why's that her job?" James asked, annoyed by this thought. "Why can't Snivelly tell those idiots to shove off all on his own?"

"I dunno," said Mary, frowning deeper. "He doesn't seem to be particularly good at that, does he? I think he just wants to be noticed, and he'll take that wherever he can find it."

"We notice him," said Sirius with a thoughtful expression. "How can we not, when he leaves a trail of grease and slime wherever he's been?"

The carriages let them off in front of the castle steps, and James took a moment to savor the familiar sight of Hogwarts looming above them. If he squinted up through the mist high above, he reckoned he might be able to see Gryffindor Tower, already glowing warmly with firelight and candlelight, waiting for them. He looked behind them, toward the lake, where the gaggle of boats were just entering the inlet beneath the castle, lanterns uplighting the faces of the new first years. Even from this distance, it was possible to make out their expressions of awe mixed with dread. Behind the lake, the Whomping Willow rustled slightly, knocking aside some perceived threat of a woodland creature. Somewhere far along that passageway that began at its base, Remus had already turned.

They made it to the Great Hall, where the Hogwarts crest hung from banners above every table. The enchanted ceiling reflected the stars and tendrils of mist that obscured them, and candles bobbed at varying heights, warmer than the starlight. The moon, of course, was full where it hung above the head table.

Evans at last rejoined Mary and Marlene at the Gryffindor table, making space for herself between them and chatting happily as if she hadn't been gone at all. She only glanced away from the other girls to scan James, Peter, and Sirius before frowning. "Where's Remus?"

"Lovely to see you, too, Evans," said James with a toast of his empty goblet. "You're looking well and very ginger. Yes, my summer holiday was lovely, thanks so much for asking."

"I couldn't care less," said Evans, crossing her arms. "Where's Remus?"

"Off doing homework," said Sirius, sticking with the lie from earlier. They couldn't very well say he was off visiting his mum, not when he'd only just left for school. "He played the rebel this summer and hasn't done any of it."

"In the library?" Lily asked with interest. "Oh good. I'll go by after the feast and—"

"No," said James quickly. "He's…er…up in the dormitories already, I reckon. Not hungry."

Evans narrowed her eyes. "How did he get the password?"

James cast a glance a little further up the table, spotting Benjy Fenwick with the Prewett twins, wearing a new gold and scarlet Prefect badge. "Fenwick told him," James invented quickly. It was feasible, since the two might be mates now, from what James had been able to gather.

Evans frowned deeper, but didn't seem to have an argument. James watched her as she finally turned toward Mary and Marlene, her expression softening through the conversation until it was bright and smiling again. She laughed heartily at something Mary said, then used her fork to threaten to jab Marlene as she made her point about something. James's heart did a funny sort of thing where it tried to punch him in the stomach.

"Mate, you're staring," Sirius pointed out, poking him in the side of the face. "Close your mouth, at least."

"Shove off," said James, pushing Sirius away.

Sirius only snorted, turning to Peter instead. James wanted to continue staring in peace. He'd had two full Evans-less months, after all.

When the Sorting Hat had finished its song and the line of nervous first years had been sorted into their houses, James's hands hurt from applauding the ten puny students that joined their table, more than any other house that year. When Dumbledore stood to bid them welcome, James wondered if he was imagining that the old man looked a mite more tired than usual. The headmaster's words were cut short, however, when Peeves rocketed into the hall, crouched behind Mr. Filch's chair at the end of the head table, and emitted loud flatulating noises every few seconds.

"I do believe that the sounds of a troubled stomach call for the end of blabbering, and the start of feasting," Dumbledore decided happily, winking at them all, and taking his seat once more.

"It’s Peeves, Headmaster!" said Filch miserably, trying and failing to swat away the cackling poltergeist. The rest of the students were giggling, finding it all the funnier since they felt they ought to keep quiet.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Argus. And I am not one to point fingers, especially not when it comes to such perfectly natural bodily matters."

The feast appeared before them then, and the first years gasped appreciatively while the other students cheered. There was the clanking of flatware as plates were loaded and goblets were filled and faces were stuffed.

Nearly Headless Nick swooped down to greet them, hovering in the middle of the potatoes. "I probably needn't tell you all this," he said, straightening his neck ruff self-importantly, "but if you hear a suit of armor passing gas, I urge you not to investigate. Peeves's humor has regressed a bit over the summer, and it seems he's had a resurgence in his passion for crass noises and accompanying stink pellets."

When the feast had concluded and the students meandered sleepily up to the common room, they did indeed receive the password from Benjy Fenwick, surrounded by a small crowd of Gryffindor first years—Toad in the Hole, as it turned out. James was just about to pass through the portrait hole when Benjy stopped him. "Hey, Potter."

"What's up?" asked James. He grinned and flicked the new prefect badge on Benjy's chest. "Didn't know they'd made you Prefect. Your rounds had better not conflict with Quidditch practice, though."

"Nah," said Benjy with a responding grin. "Rebecca Fawley's Head Girl this year, and I got her to put me on evening rounds. Hey, where's Lupin? Haven't seen him yet."

"Right…" said James, trying not to look shifty. "Think he said he wasn't feeling well. That and he had his summer essay to finish. Why d'you ask? You two mates, now?"

Benjy's eyes widened, perhaps out of concern for Remus's health. "Yeah. Um, yeah, we're mates. And he told me last year that he'd help me with Defense. Now that I've got O.W.L.s coming up, I'm planning on holding him to it."

"Right," said James pleasantly, stepping past him. "I'll let him know you asked."

"Oh," said Benjy somewhat awkwardly. "Right. Yeah, do that. Thanks."

Shaking his head, James moved past the other boy, crouching through the portrait hole and emerging to find the familiar and very welcome sight of the Gryffindor common room, filled with excited students.

Up in their dormitory, their trunks were waiting for them and the unpacking began without method and with much madness. James showed Peter how he'd improved at Frank's old guitar over the summer while Sirius went to retrieve the gramophone and record collection that had only grown in size over the last two years.

When Sirius returned, shrugging off the cloak and depositing the gramophone on his bedside table, he began rooting through Moony's things, coming out victorious with a stack of six new albums. "Knew he'd be good for it," Sirius murmured appreciatively, examining each one.

"Well?" asked James, setting Frank's guitar down on the already-messy bed beside him. "Are you going to stay up until the early hours listening to it all like usual?"

Sirius considered. "Nah," he decided. "Can't without Moony. I need to see his listening face in order to truly appreciate it."

"What's Moony's listening face?" Peter asked with a laugh.

"Dunno how to describe it," said Sirius, collapsing back on his bed among the new albums. "But yours, Petey, is like you're trying not to wee yourself."

"What's mine?" asked James eagerly, while Peter flipped Sirius two fingers in indignation.

"Yours is sort of the same as how you look when you're gawking at angry redheads who hate your guts," said Sirius.

James sighed, leaning back on his own pillows. Perhaps that was true, but he reckoned it was only true when he really, really liked the song.

September 2, 1974

Sirius

Sirius was very fond of the feeling that overtook him whenever he woke up to his first morning of the term and found himself in the warm red hues of the Gryffindor common room, listening to James's soft snores in the bed beside his. That feeling, however, was dampened slightly by the sight of Remus's bed, cold and empty across from his.

They barely had time to stop by the Hospital Wing on their way to Double Transfiguration after breakfast, Sirius carrying a napkin filled with bacon and toast, as well as a copy of all his summer homework for Remus to reference whenever he felt up to it. Remus barely opened one groggy eye as they approached, and Sirius suspected it was the smell of breakfast more than their company that roused him.

It wasn't until Divination in the afternoon that Remus came stumbling into class, clearly winded by the climb up the rope ladder. Professor Dewhurst had them beginning on Xylomancy, the befuddling practice of throwing a lot of twigs into the air and seeing how they landed. As a result, the class was a bit of chaos as students ducked the more energetic twig tosses, or else quarreled with each other for stepping on twig piles and snapping one in two. By the time Remus came to join Sirius, James, and Peter, he'd taken more than one twig to the head.

"What in Merlin's name is this?" Remus asked, smiling a bit despite the shadows under his eyes. A bit of a summer tan had done him good, Sirius noted. His uniform shirt was buttoned over what Sirius knew to be a Bowie shirt, one he recognized from the worn collar alone, beneath his loosened tie.

"Remus," Peter said quickly, "Come take a look at this and tell me if you think it means I'll lose a limb. James insists it means I'll suffer some sort of bodily loss."

"I don't like it either, Pete," said James, shaking his head. "But it's right here in the book. Look how those two are crossed toward the bottom."

Remus looked down where Peter and James were pointing, at the pile of sticks before them.

"I think it looks like you're trying to start a campfire and doing a poor job," said Remus.

"Speaking of campfire," said Sirius, catching a whiff of Remus's robes, "you've had another smoke, haven't you?"

"Just one," said Remus, looking down at his trainers under Sirius's attention. "Might have gone back to the dormitory for a moment rather than coming straight here." He glanced sideways at Sirius. "Looked like you found the records."

"Yeah," said Sirius happily. "They look brilliant. Didn't listen to them, though, we can do that tonight, I reckon. Didn't want to start without you."

"Oh," said Remus, again looking somewhat shy for some reason. Sirius had no understanding of why, Remus knew very well that Sirius never judged his music taste with anything but approval. "Right. Brilliant."

Sirius was very much looking forward to it, the quiet lull after dinner, sat with his back against the end of Moony's bed while music played. Maybe they'd share a cigarette if Remus could be convinced, and Sirius could watch Remus listening, and Remus could watch Sirius listening right back.

When the lesson was completed, James had a twig sticking from his hair, and no one bothered to let him know about it. In the common room, Remus was hastily attempting to do his History essay from the summer, borrowing liberally from what Sirius had written. Whatever had compelled him to skive off this summer, Sirius noted with amusement, had seemingly disappeared when he was back at Hogwarts and faced with the prospect of failing to turn in work. He was still working on it at dinner, when Sirius spotted Regulus leaving the Slytherin table, alone.

Sirius had arrived at King's Cross by Side-Along Apparition with his uncle, who had been very perturbed by his parents' failure to re-summon him by September first. No sooner had Alphard arrived with Sirius beside the busy London station than he Disapparated once again, leaving Sirius with his trunks and without a farewell. He'd avoided any sight of his parents when he got to the platform, looking only for James and his enthusiastic, suffocating squeeze and wallop of joy. As a result, he hadn't seen Reg get on the train, only spotting him for a moment at the Start-of-Term Feast from across the hall, wedged as usual between the skinny Crouch and Rosier boys.

This was Sirius's first time seeing his brother properly, and alone, and before he was quite sure what compelled him, he stood up from the Gryffindor table, giving James a pat on the shoulder to let him know he was all right, and then perused Regulus into the Entrance Hall. Regulus was just beginning to climb up the Marble Staircase when Sirius called out. "Good summer, Reggie? Did Mummy and Daddy miss me?"

Reg turned around very slowly, with his eyes closed in exasperation, as if he'd been expecting Sirius to follow him. He looked down at Sirius on the landing just below him, and Sirius noted that he looked even skinner and sallower than ever before. If he didn't start eating something this term, he'd start looking like a well-groomed Snape, soon. "What do you want?"

"Precisely what I just asked," said Sirius. "I want to know if your summer was improved by having me done away with."

Reg narrowed his gaze. "It was fine. Better than a cave in Northumberland, I suppose."

"I'm happy to report there were no caves," said Sirius. "Uncle Alph lives in a proper house, if you can believe it. Well, proper might not be the right word, but it's got four walls and a roof, anyway."

"Oh, good," said Regulus expressionlessly. He turned around again. "I'm going to the library."

Sirius sighed, then followed him. "How was the wedding, then?"

"Long and boring," said Regulus, not turning around as he continued his upward march, then turned along a corridor.

"I can just picture the lovely bride," said Sirius. "Looking positively corpse-like in Aunt Druella's old moth-eaten dress. Tell me, did Bella and Rodolphus do the old-fashioned dark magic bit where they drink each other's blood from a chalice? That's always where I get teary eyed."

When Regulus didn't respond to this question, Sirius tried again, still tailing his brother along the corridor.

"What sort of nasty business got discussed at our house, then?"

Regulus finally stopped in the entryway to the library, looking back at Sirius doubtfully. "Why do you want to know?"

In truth, Sirius could still picture that tight flash of fear on his brother's face at the thought of being around Bellatrix, the Lestranges, and whatever demented friends they'd managed to gather. But Sirius only shrugged. "Morbid curiosity."

Regulus turned and walked into the great library, past where Madam Pince was watching them with suspicion, but Sirius could tell by the way Reg walked slowly that he was expected to follow. When Regulus slumped into a corner seat surrounded by tall shelves, pulling books from his bag, Sirius sat down across from him, leaning his elbows on the table expectantly.

"Just a lot of meetings," said Regulus with a slight frown. "People coming in in and out, some of them Ministry wizards and witches, some of them not. I wasn't allowed to sit in. But everyone kept talking at dinners or in the study, so I figure I picked up on most of it."

"Knights of Walpurgis?" Sirius asked distastefully. It stood to reason that his ugly, highly secure house in London would start to serve as a sort of hub for those old, hateful quacks as they resurged in numbers.

Regulus glanced up at him. "That's not what they called themselves."

"What do they call themselves, then?" Sirius asked, curious despite himself.

"They've got some sort of new leader," said Regulus, paling. Of course, he was already quite pale, so Sirius didn't think anyone other than he himself would have noticed it. "But they don't say his name."

"They don't say his name?" Sirius asked, half amused. "What, is it hard to pronounce?"

"No," Regulus snapped. "They call him the Dark Lord."

Sirius hadn't thought about what he'd heard at Ebonhart's Emporium for some time, but it came back to him now. The Dark Lord has promised to remember fondly those who helped him rise to his full glory. Sirius hadn't heard the name uttered again, and he'd settled on thinking of it as a load of tosh. But Regulus's expression said otherwise. "All right," said Sirius slowly. "If they're not the Knights of Walpurgis anymore, what are they?"

Regulus was gazing fixedly down at his book without reading it, but his eyes flickered up to Sirius's. "Death Eaters."

Only the gravity of his brother's tone stopped Sirius from outright laughing. "Well, that's a pleasant name, isn't it? They sound like a jolly old club."

"It's not funny," said Regulus quickly. "Next summer, you'd better behave yourself and try and listen to what they have to say."

Sirius balked at the idea. "I'm not listening to an ugly crew of bigots that call themselves Death Eaters of all things."

Reggie's expression came off a little desperate. "I heard them, Sirius. They've got a new order for the way the wizarding world will be, and we'd best find our place in it as a family. We're already in their good graces thanks to Bellatrix, and if we want any chance of finding ourselves at the top of things, you'd better be in their number by the time you come of age."

Sirius leaned away from his brother in incredulous surprise. Surely Regulus didn't think Sirius was any kind of tempted by that proposition. "Why would I give a rat's arse about finding myself at the top of things, if those things are run by Bellatrix and whatever idiot she's thrown herself at the feet of?"

Regulus scowled. "Because if you don't, it'll be the ruin of the family."

"Yeah," said Sirius, raising a brow. "Don't know if you've caught on, Reggie, but that's sort of been the whole of my act for a while, now."

"I don't mean a bit of school pranks and muggle clothes," spat Regulus. "I mean that our family is too close to the center of it now. If you don't join, we're a liability. They'll do away with us without thinking twice."

Sirius assessed his younger brother, surprised yet again. Since when had Regulus gone from worrying about pleasing their mum to worrying about being done away with by some political cult? "Have mum and dad joined in, then?" Sirius asked.

Regulus looked away. "They're sympathetic."

Sirius snorted. "You mean even mum and dad think it's all a bit extreme, and you expect me to lend Bellatrix and her new Lord a patient ear?"

Regulus finally looked back at him evenly. "It's what I would do, to make sure our family isn't left behind."

"Yeah," said Sirius, grimacing. "I reckon that's why you got put into Slytherin. Make sure you're looking after you and your own, and to hell with anyone else."

"Like you don’t do the same," said Regulus, with a sneer that made him resemble someone else entirely. "Like you don't do precisely what serves you—run off all summer—"

"I didn't run off," Sirius scoffed. "I was banished, you little prick."

"Look," said Regulus hotly, fingers gripping the sides of his book entirely too hard. "All I mean to say is that, from what I've gathered, if you don't join these people, you're against them."

"Yeah," said Sirius, standing up. "Then count me bloody well against them, Reg."

Regulus turned to his book again, expression very dark. "Then good luck next summer. Don't say I didn't try to help you."

Sirius stormed all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower, forgoing the rest of dinner, which he figured was over now anyway. He spotted Peter at a desk in the common room, frantically trying to complete his summer essay now that Remus had finished with Sirius's copy, and James in another corner, talking to Alice Fortescue and Roger Cattermole, undoubtedly about the Quidditch practice schedule. He ignored both of them, stomping his way into the dormitory and slamming the door shut behind him.

Remus was sprawled out on his bed, Defense textbook open in front of him. He looked up at Sirius's arrival and sat up, likely catching his dark expression. "What's wrong?"

"He's a twitchy little coward," said Sirius, throwing off his robes and tie, then coming to clamber into the bed beside Remus, not bothering with his boots. "A spineless git."

"You could be talking about any number of people," said Remus, making so much room for Sirius that he himself nearly toppled out of his bed. "Snape, Filch, James or Peter if they've really peeved you off…"

"Regulus," said Sirius.

"Ah," said Remus, nodding. "That one."

"Just wanted to ask how he survived the summer without me," said Sirius, knowing he sounded huffy. "Instead, I got an earful about how our family is hosting political extremists that call themselves Death Eaters, and that I'd better join their ranks. He practically told me he would, if I didn't."

"Call themselves what?" Remus asked. "What is it they're eating?"

"Death apparently," snorted Sirius. He told Remus what his brother had said about the Dark Lord and family liabilities. Remus listened patiently, brow furrowed.

"They sound a bit bonkers if you ask me," said Remus. "And I've never heard of a Dark Lord, before, have you?"

Sirius could not say he had without mentioning Ebonhart's Emporium, and he could not explain that visit without mentioning the Amato Animo Animato Potion.

"No," Sirius lied. "Let's hope it stays that way." He turned onto his side so that he could look at Remus. "Now put on some bloody music before I start feeling homicidal."

Remus grinned, flashing slightly too long, wolf-like canines that Sirius could never mention to him, not if he wanted to have any hope of ever seeing them in the other boy's smile again. "Quiet or loud?"

"Loud," said Sirius decisively.

"I was hoping you'd say that," said Remus, grinning again and setting on the new Slade album Sirius had been eyeing.

They listened to the chaos of the first track, Remus with his eyes closed, Sirius looking at Remus's profile until his eyes unfocused and Remus became only a ridge of nose, chin, and forehead. The window was open behind him, nighttime air battling the furnace on the opposite side of the room.

When the music quieted a bit, Remus peeked open an eye and flinched at Sirius's attention, finding him staring intently. "What?"

"Nothing," said Sirius, trying to look innocent. "Just think this would be greatly improved with a fag, is all."

Remus rolled his eyes, but he turned onto his stomach and reached below his bed to rummage through the top contents of his trunk. He resurfaced with the carton of cigarettes. "You're going to have to find a way to get me more, you know. These were a gift."

Sirius watched with rapt fascination as Remus put the cigarette in his mouth, pushing it to the side with his tongue, then looked around for his lighter before settling on taking his wand from the pillow beside him and lighting it with a mumbled "Incendio!" instead. He took a slow inhale, then handed it to Sirius before exhaling smoke out his nose.

"Cheers," said Sirius happily, propping himself up on an elbow to concentrate on not coughing. He managed it for the most part, swallowing against the burning and only clearing his throat a bit. "A gift from who?"

"Huh?" Remus asked as the second track began. He'd been watching Sirius's meager attempt at smoking critically.

"You said they were a gift," said Sirius. "A gift from who?"

"Oh," said Remus, blinking. "Er…a muggle bloke from Swansea. Our age. He kept me company when I was avoiding home."

"Oh," said Sirius in surprise. "What's his name?" It shouldn't have come as a shock; he reckoned all of the boys aside from himself had to have mates over the summers. James had plenty.

"Alfie," said Remus after a moment. "He's American, sort of. Although he's lived here for longer. He's new to Wales, though."

Sirius waited for the cigarette to be passed back to him. "And he taught you how to do this, then?"

"Yeah," was Remus's only response. He inhaled twice before giving Sirius his turn. "He knew good music, too, although I never went to his to listen to it, and he never came to mine. I'll have to see if Andromeda has any of the American stuff he talked about."

"Oh," said Sirius, chewing his lip. "She might. A boy in her year, Shacklebolt, went to New York over one summer."

Privately, the thought of Remus discovering new music with someone else seemed a bit strange to him. He found himself glad they hadn't listened to any of it, glad that even if this bloke had seen Remus try his first cigarette, even if he'd watched Remus nick others, he didn't know Remus through and through like he and James and Peter did. This muggle boy didn't know that Remus had shadows beneath his eyes before every full moon and slept like the dead after it was through.

"Yeah," said Remus with a smile. "That's right, I'd forgotten you mentioned that. I hope he brought back some of the Doors. I've never listened to them, have you?"

"Yeah," said Sirius, snatching the cigarette from between Remus's lips. "That's how I spend my summers. Listening to the Rock and Roll they've got over in America. My lovely mum and dad even let me Portkey over there a few times to catch a show or two."

Remus snorted. "Right. Sorry."

Sirius laughed in return, passing the cigarette back. They fell quiet as the third song started up.

Gotta find some way out of this town tonight! There's a hot-shootin' mama gonna crack your skull on sight!
She keeps hangin' onto your tail, makes it hurt and makes you wail!
You've been hidin', you've been achin', you're ready to fight!

Remus got up once the cigarette was done for, tossing the filter into the furnace. He stretched, no longer in his school things but just his Bowie shirt with his scared arms exposed. "I'm knackered," he said with a yawn, standing by the foot of his own bed. "Last night wasn't too bad, but I think the wolf must have run up and down the stairs near about a hundred times judging by how sore I am."

"I don't mind if you fall asleep," said Sirius, patting the empty space beside him that Remus had just vacated. "You don't snore half as loud as James does, and I can turn the vinyl over myself."

Remus looked back at him, expression unreadable. "Wouldn't you rather listen in your own bed?"

"Nah," said Sirius. "Better acoustics over here."

Remus rolled his eyes. "The acoustics are the exact same as anywhere else."

"You don't have a discerning ear," Sirius decided. Really, he liked that this bed was closer to the window, and now he liked that it smelled faintly of cigarettes. "You can either fall asleep standing up or put up with sharing it."

Remus sighed, but he did get back into his own bed, careful not to touch Sirius. He must have still been feverish from the full moon and looking to stay cool. Sirius nearly felt bad for not thinking of this, but by the end of the next song, Remus was asleep, and Sirius contented himself to listening to the rest of the album, accompanied by Remus's even breathing.

Chapter Text

September 3, 1974

Lily

When Lily arrived at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with Mary on one arm—still talking about the fairground worker she'd briefly snogged—she had very little idea of what to expect. There had not been an unfamiliar new professor at the head table over the last two days of meals. Instead, there had been a conspicuously empty chair at the table’s end, which Professor Boonstock had occupied the year previous.

Upon stepping into the classroom, it was clear that it was much transformed. Every wall was covered in pamphlets, bearing flashing letters or else moving illustrations. The shelves were filled to brimming with knickknacks and oddities Lily couldn't begin to identify, but she was fairly certain one of the items was a very large jar of pickled radishes. Another item seemed to be the wired-together skeleton of a house cat, but bizarrely conjoined with the skeleton of a bird, so that a beaked skull emerged from where the tail might have been. From the ceiling, several bundles of plants were hanging to dry, alongside baubles strung up by wire. Each item looked as if it might have been fished out from a rubbish bin.

"Oh dear," said Marlene from Lily's other side. "It'd be nice to have someone normal instructing this class for a change, wouldn't it?"

They found seats toward the front. Lily's priority was to be well away from Potter and Black, while staying close enough to Severus and Avery that she might hear their conversation if they decided to talk about pureblood nonsense, picking up where those summer letters had left off.

The class had been waiting for their new professor long enough to grow antsy, and Potter was now giving the other Gryffindor boys a tour through the strange things on the shelves as if he were some sort of knowledgeable museum curator.

"Sorry," Black was saying, pointing to what Lily was very sure was a muggle yo-yo with a set of doll arms fastened on either side. "What is that meant to be?"

"Ah, well spotted, Mr. Black," said Potter self-importantly, nudging his glasses up his nose. "That would be a…er…Grabby Go-Go. It keeps one's trousers up when one finds they've purchased a size too big."

"Not at all," said a reedy voice, coming from the doorway of the adjoining office. "It is an unnamed item of my own invention! Nogginclogs have a nasty habit of crawling on the ceilings here. I've got some improvements to make on that contraption, but my hope is that it shall rocket from one's hand and mash the nasty things to a pulp."

Potter blinked over at the new Professor. He was very tall, Lily noted, unlike Boonstock. Also unlike Boonstock, he was not well-kept at all. His colorful robes appeared rather dirty where they fell from his shoulders. The man's long, pale blonde hair hung in a messy plait down his back, woven in with some sort of dried vine of small white berries. He looked faintly familiar to Lily, although she was sure she'd never seen the man about the castle.

"Sorry," said Potter, head tilted. He hadn't yet bothered to return to his seat. "What's a Nogginclog?"

"A Nogginclog, of course, is a nasty little magical insect with a drill-like nose. They drop from the ceilings and worm through one's skull and feast on one's dreams," said the professor easily, making his way toward the chalkboard. "Dark creatures, indeed, and this castle is ridden with them. I won't set foot in the Great Hall until something is done about the infestation. I take great stock in my dreams, after all, and I shan't have them eaten!"

Mary, from where she sat beside Lily, looked up at the ceiling in alarm. Lily chanced a glance upward, too. She saw nothing but stone, and she'd not read a single thing about Nogginclogs in their fourth-year Defense textbook. She'd never read about such a creature anywhere, in fact.

The Professor had turned his back to them, and wrote on the board in large, looping letters, Professor Philagros Lovegood.

"Oh no," said Marlene, her voice low. "A Lovegood."

Black, also still standing, grinned broadly, however. "Sir, are you by chance related to Xenophilius?"

"Ah!" said Professor Lovegood, turning around. "You know my nephew! My proud progeny. He urged me to take this position, you know. He said the Defensive education here has been severely lacking."

Lily realized why she felt she recognized this professor. He was very much like his nephew, the older Ravenclaw student who dressed so strangely and sometimes danced bizarrely and exuberantly at the Gryffindor Halloween parties.

"I heard Xenophilius started dating Pandora Greengrass over the summer," Mary whispered to Lily and Marlene while Professor Lovegood vanished his name from the board and began to draw a very disgusting-looking beetle, which Lily could only assume was a Nogginclog.

"Why?" Lily asked, brows raised. Pandora Greengrass was the Ravenclaw seeker with a somewhat unpredictable flying pattern. "I thought Pandora seemed like a sensible girl."

"Sensible girls fall in love, too, you know," said Mary with a raised brow. "Maybe she was won over by that funny hat he's taken to wearing. He told me it keeps off Ghostly Head Lice."

The following lesson proved to be vastly uninformative. Professor Lovegood was very easily distracted from one subject to the next and was very fond of elaborating on dark rituals or troublesome dark creatures that none of them had ever heard of. If a student dared to point to their textbook and dispute any of his claims, Professor Lovegood was prone to approaching them and tearing the page right out of its binding. It seemed that this year, they'd be much less focused on anything cited by any credible sources, and much more focused on the advisory pamphlets and posters Professor Lovegood printed himself from his own home.

Lily stopped taking notes near about halfway through, when she realized how useless they were likely to be. Potter, however, seemed to be taking great enjoyment in taking avid notes, nodding along to the general gibberish Professor Lovegood said, and raising his hand to ask clarifying questions while Black and Pettigrew snorted with laughter. Remus looked slightly amused, too, although he mostly looked tired. He hadn't been well enough for their morning lessons yesterday.

"Sorry, Professor," said Potter, lifting the hand still holding his quill. "Is that Borkleblimp spelled with a K or a C?"

"It does not matter," said Professor Lovegood gravely. "If you ever come across one, you shan't live long enough to spell its name."

When they left the class, Lily hung back to walk beside Severus, who looked as disappointed as she felt by the lesson.

"What a load of rubbish," Sev grumbled as soon as they were in the corridor. "Can't believe Dumbledore hired that crackpot. How are we supposed to prepare for O.W.L.s next year when the professor has us studying dark creatures of his own invention?"

"None of the others have lasted more than a year," Lily pointed out. "Maybe he'll be gone soon enough."

"I hope he sticks around forever," said Potter, unhelpfully interjecting from behind them. "I learned loads."

"I'll bet you did," said Lily with a roll of her eyes. "You've probably got some Nogginclogs in your brain, Potter, eating all your good sense."

"Nah," said Potter. "You yourself have told me many times that I've got a particularly thick skull. I think I'm well defended against them."

Severus turned, scowling. "You won't think it's so funny when the time comes for examinations, and you're thick enough to write four pages on nonexistent Snorklechimps—"

"Borkleblimps," Potter corrected, tapping his notes. "They've got beady little eyes, slimy skin, and they reek of old cabbage. I'd say they exist. I might be looking at one right now."

Lily pulled a glowering Severus away before the boys could all start firing spells at each other.

The next day brought about Double Potions in the morning, and Lily was dismayed to see Remus sit beside Pettigrew again. Even Avery might have given him a better chance of improving his scores. Today, at least, Professor Slughorn had them brewing their potions individually, since they were making simple Hair Replenishing Draughts. Still, Lily kept sidling over to Remus and Pettigrew's desk to give Remus tips.

"Don't add the Kneazle hair in clumps like that," she advised him. "Go one hair at a time."

Remus scowled at the textbook. "It doesn't say anything about that in here."

"It wouldn't," said Lily patiently, "but look, the potion is on low heat. Ingredients take longer to absorb on low heat, and it's better to add them in slowly."

"Don't bother helping him brew properly," said Severus, watching them unhappily. "It’s no use. Lupin's just going to sleep through half the lessons again this year."

Remus flushed, grinding his teeth almost audibly. Lily turned around to scold Sev, but Black had beaten her to it from his seat a desk behind them, aiming a Flippendo at Severus that narrowly missed him, sending some of Severus's potion equipment clattering.

Severus flinched harshly, then looked embarrassed to have done so. "You missed," he told Black with a sneer. "Maybe you can borrow Potter's ugly specs to improve your aim."

Black shrugged easily. "Ah, well. I suppose you're just a scrawny target, Sniv. Let's hope I get you next time."

"I wish you'd all lay off each other," Lily muttered to Severus as she returned to her own potion beside his.

"If Lupin hasn't reasoned out how to work with a cauldron yet, you might as well give up on him," Severus argued back. "You'd do better to make sure your own draught turns out all right."

Lily fixed him with a glare. "If you stop me from helping Remus, then I won't help you either," she warned. "See if you manage to deseed your Fursap pods properly without me."

Severus didn't meet her eye, peering into his cauldron with a scowl as he added the root he'd been mincing. "Fine. I'm sorry." He didn't sound very sorry at all, Lily thought, but the apology was a good start.

All the distraction led to a potion Lily was not quite satisfied with by the time Slughorn ordered them to set their ladles down. It should have been a hearty burgundy, but she thought it looked slightly too dark. Severus's, on the other hand, looked entirely wrong. She frowned at the watery puce shade it had taken on. "You've forgotten something," she told him.

"No, I haven't," said Severus testily, looking back over the ingredient list.

"Professor," said Black, raising his hand lazily. "I think we all could do with some follicular fortification, don't you? Might we test the success of our potions by drinking them ourselves?"

Remus looked very startled by this proposal, glancing at the blood-red film that had formed over the top of his potion and giving it another hasty, surreptitious stir.

"Not a bad idea at all, m'boy," said Slughorn happily. "Nothing toxic in these at all, so even if you've bungled it a bit, the worst you'll be faced with is a nasty taste." He chuckled, taking a peek into Avery's smoking cauldron. "Some, I'm sure, will be more unpleasant going down than others."

Slughorn supervised as they all filled their phials, and Lily downed hers quickly in one go. She felt a pleasant tingling along her scalp but little else. Slughorn, however, nodded at her in smiling approval. "Just right, Miss Evans. What a lovely effect it's had."

Remus and Pettigrew both gagged on their solution as they drank, but nothing seemed to change about them otherwise. Mary and Marlene tapped their phials to each other in a toast before sipping carefully, and Lily watched with a grin as Mary's curls sprang to perfect life, and Marlene's choppy cut seemed to gleam in the low dungeon light. She didn't bother to turn around and look at Black and Potter, but based on their cheerful responses, Black likely looked as infuriatingly good as ever, and Potter's hair was probably sticking even more on end. Severus was quickly becoming the last to try his, since he was still eyeing the pale potion doubtfully.

"It looks better than Avery's did," Lily reasoned comfortingly.

Severus only sighed and nodded.

Just as he was raising the phial to his lips, Lily realized that Black and Potter had gone strangely quiet behind them. Indeed, when she turned, they were watching Severus attentively.

"Wait," Lily snapped, flinging out a hand to stop Severus from drinking. She took careful stock of the supplies still laid out on Severus's desk. Only a few ingredients had been overturned by the Flippendo jinx, but she tried to remember which ones they'd been. With a growing sense of suspicion, she scanned for the glass bottle of mole-rat whiskers and only sighed when she found it empty—undoubtedly overturned into Sev's cauldron in the chaos.

She grabbed the phial out of Severus's protesting grasp and turned toward where Professor Slughorn was complementing the effects on Mary. "Sir," she called over brightly. "Black had the brilliant idea that you ought to try this last dose. He says he's prepared it special for you."

"Oho," said Slughorn, approaching with a broad smile and smoothing his moustache. "I wouldn't say no, of course."

"No!" said Black hastily, his eyes going very wide. He hastened to step around from behind his desk, tripping on the chair a bit.

Professor Slughorn gave him a quizzical look. "No? Why ever not, m'boy?"

"Er—you don't want that, Professor. I can get you a better phial. That one looks a bit dirty, don't you think?"

Slughorn only looked amused. "Seems perfectly cleaned to me. The color is pale, perhaps, but don't fuss yourself too much over that, Mr. Black."

"No," said Black urgently. "You'd better toss that dose out. It tasted awful, and I don't think it works besides."

"Nonsense!" said Professor Slughorn cheerfully, gesturing to Black's own perfect hair as he took the phial from Lily. "You're overcome by modesty, I think. It seems to me you've done a lovely job. And I haven't yet mentioned how pleased I was with your cousin Narcissa after N.E.W.T.s last term. Such talent in those concoctions. After seeing her exam results, I'd be a fool to turn down a brew from your gifted family."

"Don't!" Black tried to protest as Slughorn raised the phial and tipped his head back. But he was too late; the contents of the phial disappeared down Slughorn's throat.

For a moment, nothing at all happened. Slughorn only winced slightly upon swallowing, finding something off about the flavor. He lifted up the phial and examined the remaining film curiously. "Hmm," he said, clearing his throat. "Not quite right, Mr. Black. You might have forgotten the kelp water."

He lifted a hand to run through his great thatch of blonde hair, and as he did so, an enormous and alarming clump of it fell right from his scalp.

For a moment, the class went very quiet, and Slughorn only glanced at his hand, now covered in loose hair, then at the stone floor where a majority of it had fallen. He frowned, reaching up to pat his head once more. All at once, every strand on his head slid off of it, falling in tufts down onto his shoulders and his bulging waistcoat. He was left only with a gleaming scalp, which reflected the greenish light of the dungeons. Lily clapped a hand to her mouth before she could laugh or gasp, she wasn't sure which. Severus by her side had gone pale with shock, glancing down at his potion in alarm, then at Lily, and then finally back at Black with growing realization.

The shade of Professor Slughorn's face was quickly going from white to red to purple as he stared at where his full head of hair had fallen. He ran a hand slowly across his very smooth head, his moustache beginning to twitch in agitation.

"Mr. Black," he said with disturbing quiet. "That'll be a detention."

Black looked too shocked to protest. "Yes, Sir."

"Twice a week, from now until Christmas, should do it," said Slughorn, still very quietly.

"Yes, Sir."

"Professor," Potter began tentatively. "It's all my—"

"Mr. Black," Slughorn interrupted. His usual jovial tone was nowhere to be found. "Please tell your housemates that if they try their usual trick of spreading the blame, your detentions will last until Easter holidays.”

Black grimaced. "Yes, Sir."

"And thirty points from Gryffindor," Slughorn added. The rubbing of his perfectly smooth head had grown somewhat mournful.

It seemed Gryffindor would be starting off the term with negative house points somehow, and Lily felt a mite guilty about that. Still, it would have been Severus without any hair on his head, Severus near dead from the mortification, and Black and Potter would have been crowing with laughter rather than cowed by a punishment they well deserved for what they'd tried to do.

"It doesn't look so bad, Professor," said Lily, trying for a consoling tone. "It sort of suits you."

Slughorn did not respond; his gaze remained fixed to the flagstones and the blonde hair that was still fluttering down onto them.

Taking pity, Lily refilled her phial with her own potion, and quickly vanished the contents from Severus's cauldron before they could do any more harm. "Here," she offered. "Try some of Severus's. Works a treat."

They left the Potions classroom with Slughorn only slightly cheered by the sprout of peach fuzz Lily's potion had managed to bring forth. His moustache, at least, hadn't gone anywhere at all.

October 2, 1974

Remus

Remus hadn't been precisely avoiding Benjy Fenwick, he'd only been checking the map before he left the dormitory to see if the other boy was clear of the library whenever he intended on visiting. He'd only been sitting himself precisely between James and Peter, or else between Sirius and Marlene to make sure there was no opening beside him at the Gryffindor table during meals. He'd only been making sure James, Sirius, or Peter were with him at all times in the corridors and common room so that if he were approached, the conversation would have to stick to things like classwork, the weather, or Quidditch as a last resort.

It wasn't the same sort of avoidance that Remus had been practicing at the end of last term, where the sight of Benjy made him nearly jump a foot in the air. Instead, it was simply careful attention to his surroundings. He wasn't terrified of Benjy's advances anymore. He was only very, very nervous about them.

At the start of the holidays, he'd gone to Swansea thinking he might not be so nervous anymore. After a summer with Alfie, he'd felt even more sure that he could get used to that strange, tenuous feeling of knowing he was desired by a bloke.

But that had all been before he spotted Sirius on the train, and before he'd realized what it might feel like to desire a bloke in turn. A bloke that happened to be one of his closest friends. That was new, and that was far too frightening to think on.

His not-quite avoidance had worked passably all through September, with Benjy and Dorcas occasionally sitting near them for meals, meeting them out on the grounds, or studying with them by the fireplace. Occasionally, Remus caught Benjy's eye, and the other boy smiled, and Remus did his best to smile back. It was friendly enough, but they hadn't had a private word since the school year had started.

It did not come as a surprise when Remus's questionable luck finally ran out. He was walking slowly from Herbology, his funny knee acting up in its binding after yesterday's transformation. Sirius had run off in order to not be late for Professor Slughorn's detention, and James and Peter had been pulled aside by Professor Sprout for a scolding, since Lily had caught them trying to smuggle jars of Stinksap into their bags. Lily, as a result, was stomping back to the castle a good distance ahead. Remus might have pretended to be in on the machinations to collect Stinksap so that he could stay behind as well, but he'd been sound asleep with his head resting on the potting counter, and this was a rather damning case for his innocence in the whole thing.

That was why he was alone, favoring his right leg, trying to heave his way up the castle steps when Benjy nearly collided with him, holding a broomstick and pulling his Quidditch robes over the rest of his kit.

"Oh," said Benjy with surprise, hastening to straighten his robes out. "Hiya."

He was rather attractive, dressed for Quidditch, Remus noted with a twist in his gut. And he was more broad shouldered after the summer, Remus thought. Remus tightened his hold on the strap of his bag, trying not to linger on that observation. "Er…hi."

"You feeling better, then?" asked Benjy, pushing the pale hair off his forehead.

Remus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Noticed you weren't at meals yesterday," said Benjy with a shrug. "And you weren't with the others leaving your classes. Thought you might be ill. Happened a few times last year, too, didn't it?"

"Oh," said Remus, looking away. "Yeah, a bit. I'm better now, though."

"That's good," said Benjy, nodding. He hesitated on the stone step above Remus for a moment, apparently considering what he wanted to say. "I haven't seen you much," he settled on.

"Really?" Remus asked, as if this were news to him. "I've been around."

"Yeah," agreed Benjy, easily enough. "But you've been busy, it seems like.”

"Well," said Remus. "Start of term…you know."

"Yeah," said Benjy again. He cleared his throat. "Listen, I really would like to study together. Especially with that new prof we've got for Defense…I could use the help."

"Oh," said Remus, swallowing. "But you're learning O.W.L.-level stuff, aren't you? And I'm still a year behind. I'd probably only slow you down." He knew he sounded a bit like a coward, but he was a bit of a coward when it came down to it.

Benjy looked as though he'd anticipated this response, and he only lifted a blond eyebrow. "I know for a fact you've read the fifth and sixth year textbooks. Saw you in the common room."

"Er, right," said Remus, chewing his lip. "It's only that—"

"Look, Lupin," Benjy interrupted, shouldering his broomstick. From the step above him, Remus thought Benjy looked every bit the fifth year that he was, not quite as prone to blushing as he'd been the year previous. "I'm not suggesting we go off and snog behind the bookshelves. I'm not even suggesting we snog at all. But you're confusing me a bit. You kiss me, then do a runner all summer. Would you like to spend time together or not?"

Remus blinked. He felt guilty, when it was put simply like that. He finally met Benjy's eyes fully, taking in the half embarrassed, half annoyed expression he wore. "I would," said Remus after a moment. "Sorry. Yeah, I would. It's all just a bit…new."

"That's all right," said Benjy slowly. He cleared his throat. "Okay. Good. I've…er…got practice right now, of course…"

"Yeah," said Remus. "James'll be late; Professor Sprout is turning out all his pockets for Stinksap. Tell the rest of the team not to wait up."

Benjy smiled a bit. "What did he want with Stinksap?"

"How am I meant to know?" Remus shrugged. "I think at this point, James spots anything nasty you wouldn't want dumped over your head and thinks he ought to have a healthy supply of it just in case."

Benjy laughed, his posture relaxing.

"I'll be going to the library tomorrow afternoon before Astronomy," Remus added carefully. "Er…see you there?"

"Yeah," Benjy agreed happily. "See you."

He tucked his broom under his arm and gave Remus a parting wave before trotting the rest of the steps down to the Quidditch pitch. Remus continued on his way, too, nearly forgetting about his twitchy knee all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Studying with Benjy, as it turned out, was not the scandalizing, flirtatious affair that had sent Remus into a panic. It was not so different from afternoons on the Swansea beach with Alfie, except Remus was much more sober, and he was left wishing he had a cigarette rather than smoking one.

He and Sirius had gone through an entire pack already as they listened through the Doors albums that Andromeda did indeed have within her collection. Remus was mad about them, while Sirius was less sure, perhaps because they were American. That did not stop Sirius from listening carefully, laying side by side with Remus, passing a cigarette back and forth with the window thrown open. Remus tried not to focus on the fact that Sirius's arm was very warm whenever it pressed against his, or that Sirius's ankle sometimes hooked around his when he wanted Remus's attention, or that the cigarette he was pulling from was often damp from Sirius's lips.

Whenever Remus did find himself thinking those things, he bit his cheek hard. He would not—could not—have queer feelings for one of his best mates. Remus was beginning to worry he might chew a hole through his cheek before Christmas.

True to his word, Benjy at no point strayed from the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts or other friendly conversation whenever they met in the library or walked together from the common room. He did not at any point tug Remus behind a bookshelf and attempt to snog him. Sometimes, when Remus was fresh from an afternoon with Sirius sitting a bit too near in their dormitory, Remus almost wished Benjy would.

All the same, Remus knew that the accidental brushing of hands whenever notes were exchanged made both he and Benjy jump a bit. He knew that when Benjy's eyes drifted down Remus's face, they were both thinking the same thing. Remus let himself be very relieved of this knowledge, since the same feeling with Sirius was an utter impossibility.

When the first Hogsmeade Saturday came about, Remus nearly forgot to write out a letter for Alfie, remembering very late the night before. It wasn't until he was halfway finished that he realized he was writing on a parchment scroll with ink and a quill. James and Sirius both had biros from their Muggle Studies class that he might have found at the bottom of one of their bags, but the point stood that he didn't have any muggle paper. Alfie was sure to take note of the fact that Remus was sending a letter that looked like it was written in the fifteenth century, but there was nothing to be done for it. Working from his bed with the light of a Lumos and his wand clenched between his teeth, Remus reread the last bit to make sure it was suitable.

You probably think I'm an enormous swot—so do my other mates—but I've always got time on my hands since I don't care half as much about Quid the school's footy team as the rest of the students.

Your parting gift just about saved my life over the last months, but I'm absolutely going to need more, and soon. Afraid you might have created a monster, but I reckon you already knew that. We're allowed to visit the village nearby—that's where I'm sending this from—and if they haven't got any smokes there, I just might try to make a run for it all the way to the nearest city. Edinburgh, maybe. I actually don't know.

By the way, I've got some Doors albums here. You were right about them. You never mentioned that Jim Morrison was dead, though, had to find out from my classmate, Lily. Feels a bit strange, like realizing I'm never going to meet a friend I was just starting to make. I've got to find some Velvet Underground next.

Go to school,

Remus

P.S. Shut it. This is all the paper we've got here, all right?

The next day, when he made James, Sirius, and Peter wait outside the Hogsmeade post office so that he might see about muggle mail, James scoffed incredulously.

"Oh, so now you write letters, do you?"

Remus shrugged. "Sirius didn't write you over the summer, either."

"Yeah," said Sirius with a roll of his eyes. "Because my uncle was an old kook who didn't have an owl, and my feet wouldn't have lasted a walk to the Cotswolds to deliver one myself. What's your excuse?"

"I wrote," said Peter proudly and unhelpfully.

James nodded. "That's right. Pete's the only mate I've got that appreciates the value of the written word."

"Oh, go on," said Remus, shoving all three of them away with a laugh. "I'll meet you at the Three Broomsticks."

The Hogsmeade post office was lively and full of movement, not because it was so very crowded, but more because the entire rear wall was covered in cubbies filled with bright-eyed owls, all sticking out their legs eagerly whenever the post witch passed them by with a letter in hand.

"Sorry," Remus said, approaching the frenzied looking witch behind the counter. She had more than a few owl feathers in her hair and an owl dropping on her uniformed shoulder, and Remus was certain she was unaware of this fact. "Have you got a spot for muggle post?"

"Muggle post?" the woman repeated, holding an ink stained finger to her lips in thought. "Yes, yes, we've got the slot for it somewhere. Let's look, shall we? Have you got the stomps?"

Remus hesitated, not sure what she was asking after for a moment. "Oh," he realized. "Stamps. No, have you got those?"

"Somewhere," said the witch pleasantly.

It took the better part of half an hour for the stamps to be uncovered, and the post witch waved them about triumphantly when she'd discovered the strip woven into an owl's nest. She took the folded letter from Remus, and began sticking postage on all four corners, around where Remus had scribbled down Alfie's address.

"Muggles are very fond of this woman, aren't they?" asked the witch, admiring the profile emblazoned on each stamp. "Do you know her?"

"That's the queen," said Remus, trying not to laugh. The witch was filling all available space of the letter with stamps now, then she turned it over to the side with the wax seal so that she might continue.

"Is it?" asked the witch. "How nice."

"Er…I think you've got enough on there," Remus told her after a moment.

"You never know with these things," said the witch calmly. "It's a very imprecise science. Better to be safe than sorry."

When she'd deemed the letter properly stamped, Remus helped her move aside a few carts filled with parcels and packages until they'd located a metal slot in the wall, the flap over which read, NON-OWL CORRESPONDENCE.

"Once it's through here, the letter is transported to a collection pile in the nearest muggle village," said the post witch, helping him slot it through. "At least, I think that’s where it goes. In any case, I never see them again."

"And what if the muggles write back?" Remus asked, curiously.

The post witch frowned. "Well, it's usually a very confused muggle postman that shows up on the outskirts of town. We've got to obliviate him each time he comes round, about once a month."

Remus thanked her, feeling equal parts amused and dismayed by his very small chance of hearing back from Alfie. He meandered down the high street toward the Three Broomsticks, navigating around the students that streamed in and out of Honeydukes.

He was passing by the stone alleyway that wove between Zonko's Joke Shop and a little cottage with an impressive front vegetable garden, when he spotted a head of scraggly light blonde hair, emerging from beneath what might have been a mink pillbox hat, except the fur was a very bright pink in color. At first, Remus thought it might be their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but then he realized from the younger face that it was the Ravenclaw seventh year, Xenophilius. Xenophilius was beside a pretty girl with sandy hair, wearing muggle clothes and watching Xenophilius extrapolate on something with a fond, bemused expression. Remus recognized the girl from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, although he couldn't say which position she played.

Remus was about to leave them both alone, seeing that they seemed deep in conversation away from the hubbub of the crowd. However, he had a Defense essay on Throttlethroat Yoddlecrusps that was meant to be turned in on Tuesday, and Remus hadn't the slightest idea on how to begin. Both he and Benjy had been working their way through the normal curriculum for O.W.L. students in the library, but that studying had very little to do with Professor Lovegood's assignments.

He decided he might as well try to find out what the Throttlethroat Yoddlecrusp was meant to be, since the only other student that might know was right in front of him. Remus cleared his throat, stepping a bit into the broad alleyway.

Both Xenophilius and the girl looked up from their conversation, falling quiet.

"Er…hello," Remus began. "I…er…like your hat."

Xenophilius reached up to straighten the horrible thing upon his head. "Thank you," he said, wide eyed. "But I wear it for practicality, not appearance."

The girl nodded, winking at Remus. "It keeps away Ghostly Head Lice. He suspects the Gray Lady has a nasty case of them." She said this as though she found it all quite funny.

"Yes, indeed," said Xenophilius. "But the great Blibbering Humdinger has notoriously sour blood. With a hat made from its pelt, I hope the lice will overlook me, thinking me one of the Humdinger's younglings."

Remus blinked. "…Right," he said very slowly while the girl bit down a grin. "That's good to know, thanks. Listen, I was wondering if you knew anything about the Throttlethroat Yoddlecrusp, since I've got an essay on it. Is it meant to be a type of bird?"

Xenophilius tilted his head, considering. "It depends," he said at last, "on your definition of bird."

Before Remus could try to respond to that, however, another student had entered the alleyway to join them—an older Hufflepuff with a lot of thick, dark hair. The boy was glancing over his shoulder at the high street as he approached, and so he nearly collided with Remus. He paused just before doing so, however, looking Remus over in surprise. "Sorry, Xeno," said the boy after a moment. "Are you helping somebody already? I can come back."

"No, no," said Xenophilius easily. "I've got it ready for you here. Have you got the gold?"

"Yeah," said the boy quickly, pulling out three gold Galleons. "Here."

Xenophilius took the gold while Remus pressed himself against the stone wall, trying to stay out of the way of this odd exchange. He watched as Xenophilius examined each coin with care, then nodded to himself before pulling out a pouch from his robe pocket. He opened the pouch before holding it out, seemingly for the benefit of the other boy. Remus wasn't particularly trying to peek in on the contents, but he could not help his interest as he spotted what appeared to be five hand-rolled cigarettes within.

"Thanks a million," the boy said, taking the pouch from Xenophilius and cinching it closed again. He was grinning broadly as he gave Xenophilius a salute, and nodded to the girl. "Later, Pandora."

Remus waited for the boy to disappear around the corner before he turned back again. "Sorry, are you selling fags?" he asked them excitedly, his earlier question about the Thrtottlethroat Yoddlecrusp forgotten.

"Spliffs," the girl, Pandora, corrected him with a smile.

Remus's eyes widened. "Really?"

Alfie had mentioned trying such a thing, once, and Remus suspected he would have sought it out again if he could've afforded it.

"It's good for confusing the Nogginclogs," said Xenophilius quite seriously. "Which I suspect all of our heads are riddled with, based on my uncle's observations."

"Excellent," said Remus, nodding along. "How much?"

Pandora narrowed her eyes a bit. "What are you? Fifth year? Sixth?"

Remus was very glad for his recent growth spurt as he nodded. "Yeah. Fifth." He dug through his trouser pocket and pulled out a Galleon. "What'll this get me?"

Xenophilius considered the question. "I've got two spare, if you like."

"Brilliant," said Remus with enthusiasm. One moment later, he was the owner of two neatly rolled spliffs. He pocketed them carefully, giving Xenophilius and Pandora both a smile. "Thanks. I'll leave you to it."

"Wait," said Xenophilius as Remus was about to turn the corner back onto the high street. "You inquired about the Throttlethroat Yoddlecrusp!"

"Yeah," said Remus over his shoulder. "Sort of a bird. I think I've got it."

Chapter Text

October 19, 1974

Remus

"I don't get it," said James, examining the spliff as if it were some sort of artifact. He was sat on the thin carpet at the foot of his bed. "It's a magic cigarette?"

"No," said Remus. "It's muggle. It's sort of like ale or Firewhisky, but different."

"How is it like Firewhisky?" Peter asked, looking at it from over James's shoulder, crouched on James's bed.

"It's like Firewhisky because it's going to make you an idiot, but in an enjoyable way," said Sirius impatiently, his knee jostling with excitement. "Now let's get on with it."

Remus knew the whole thing was ridiculously ceremonial as he joined the other boys, seated facing each other on the floor, bringing along his pillow to sit on. Sirius had dragged his entire quilt off his bed and thrown it over the shoulders of him and James to protect against the autumn breeze that was coming in from the window they'd opened.

Remus had brought a battered lighter from home, stolen from a corner shop, but it was somewhere at the bottom of his trunk and he'd gotten more used to lighting cigarettes with the tip of his wand anyway. He gave the other three boys an expectant look as he brought the spliff to his mouth and lit it, inhaling. They all watched him in turn, quiet and still for once. As the purchaser of the goods, Sirius had relented into letting Remus be the one to try first.

Remus coughed a bit at the new taste, then wrinkled his nose even more at the new smell. He waved a hand in front of him to waft away the smoke he'd nearly choked on. "Gah," he said irritably. "It's not very pleasant."

James only gave Remus a doubtful look as he reached forward and took the spliff from him. "Oh, and those other things you smoke are? How different can it be?"

Remus watched as James found out just how different indeed. James had only managed one pitiful puff of a cigarette some weeks ago after watching Remus and Sirius and demanding to know what the fuss was about. Now, Peter was still thumping him sympathetically on the back when his turn with the spliff came around agin. Peter fared a little better, but Remus figured that was because James inhaled athletically, like he was trying to Hoover the whole thing into his mouth, while Peter barely breathed in at all.

Sirius, of course, smoked obscenely. He inhaled with his eyes closed, brow pinched, then leaned his whole head back to exhale, blowing out a thin stream at first between pursed lips, then opening his mouth fully and letting it out in a rush over his tongue. Remus felt as though his mouth was very, very dry watching him. The third hit of the spliff did not help things.

At first, Remus was not sure it was having any effect, aside from the fact that he felt a bit heavy. His head seemed to be turning very slowly as he tried to look at the others. But then, Peter sneezed just as he was sucking in, and the spliff rocketed into James's lap across from him. Remus began to laugh until he wasn't sure he was capable of stopping. He toppled off of the pillow he'd been sitting on and stayed where he'd fallen, half leaning, half laying.

Peter watched them cackle at him, his eyelids very heavy. "I think it's making me sleepy," he told them. He considered for a moment. "No, it's making me starved."

On this point, Remus greatly agreed. James nodded, too, springing up. "We should go to the kitchens. I want shepherd's pie. Think they've got shepherd's pie?"

"Why on earth do you want shepherd's pie of all things?" Remus asked, eyes wet with laughter.