It started, as things often do, with a laugh.


Lily Evans considered herself to be a bright witch. Certainly not the brightest at Hogwarts, and not even the brightest in Gryffindor, a title reserved for Marlene McKinnon. But she liked to think that she was well above average, and she was sure many of her professors and classmates would agree with her if she were to ask. Even Slughorn, head of Slytherin, of all things, commended her on her brilliance. She excelled at nearly everything she did, with the obvious exception of flying.

However, at this moment, Lily felt quite dull. She was staring at her Transfiguration book and trying to make sense of it. N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration was proving to be far more advanced than anything she'd studied so far. This shouldn't have been so much of a surprise, but she had expected her sixth year classes to be a continuation of what she'd spent the past five years learning, with the difficulty gradually increasing bit by bit until she could confidently do things like bloody human transfiguration.

It was mad, really, that McGonagall honestly thought they were capable of that. That was far more trust than any of them deserved. What kind of professor thought it was a good idea to allow a group of teenagers the opportunity to attempt to transfigure their own features? Sure, it was just eyebrows for now, but that was only the beginning! Would there be an end to the madness, or would they progress to noses and ears?

Would she end up inadvertently disfiguring her face beyond repair?

The mere thought of it made her shudder.

Why was she even bothering? She'd barely scraped an E on her Transfiguration O.W.L., and she was mystified by how she did that well. Perhaps all of the cramming and crying had paid off in the end. Or maybe she got lucky. That was far more likely. Whatever the case, by some miracle, Lily had managed to get the minimum grade required to proceed. Her E felt like less of an achievement when she was in that class, though; many of her classmates had received Outstandings on the exam, something she felt was absolutely unattainable.

It wasn't the heavy workload that was making it so hard. Potions was a non-issue. Charms was straightforward and easy. Defense Against the Dark Arts was manageable. Mary always assisted her in Herbology, so she never really struggled there. Even with all of the extra homework sixth years were expected to do just to pass their classes, Lily was doing just fine in everything except Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall's instructions were never clear enough. The textbook was confusing at best. Her notes were getting sloppier with each lesson as she struggled to keep up. Everyone around her either seemed to understand it perfectly, or appeared to be just as lost as she was. She rarely finished an assignment, and the homework she was able to complete received low marks.

She was in over her head, and she needed help.

Admitting as much was the first step, and she'd gone beyond admitting to herself that she needed help.

About a month earlier, Marlene and Rebecca had walked in to find Lily sitting cross-legged on her bed, a book in front of her. This was not an unusual sight; their bizarre friend could often be found studying in bed rather than at a table. However, the tears dripping down her nose and dampening the pages of the book were, in fact, highly unusual. Though she had resisted their prodding at first, she had eventually caved and tearfully confessed that she was floundering in Transfiguration and had no idea what to do, and that she was afraid she would fail if she didn't get a grasp of the subject in the near future.

So now here she was in the library, poring over her notes, desperately trying to understand just one concept before help arrived in the form of Remus Lupin. He'd been something of a savior, tutoring her every Tuesday and Thursday for the past few weeks, asking nothing in return but chocolate, an exchange she was more than happy to make. She always had a large supply of chocolate on hand, and it was a small price to pay for improving her skills and, more importantly, the return of her sanity.

As she waited, Lily absently drummed her fingers on the desk, struggling to decipher what she'd written about reversing a spell that had gone awry. If it was as simple as McGonagall made it out to be, her problems would shrink exponentially. Every time she mucked up, she could just flick her wand and reverse it and then correct herself. But that wasn't the case; it typically took her an inordinate amount of time to rectify her mistake, and by the time she fixed it, she'd long forgotten where she went wrong in the first place. This, of course, resulted in her making the exact same mistake over and over.

If she hadn't developed the unfortunate habit of accidentally Vanishing it on occasion, she'd be tearing her hair out in frustration. As it was, it was enough to make her wonder whether Transfiguration was a vital part of her education after all. She was on the verge of giving up her goal of becoming an Auror and pursuing something that didn't require learning how to change the color of her god damn eyebrows.

Really, though, what was the benefit of that? They were learning advanced defensive techniques in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Just last week, they'd brewed an antidote that could cure most poisons in Potions. But in Transfiguration, all she'd learned was that she couldn't change her eyebrows from red to brown. In the back of her mind, Lily knew that these ridiculous tasks were likely the gateway to more complex and useful skills, but she was determined to remain bitter for the time being, if only for the slight sense of satisfaction she got from ranting internally about how she wasn't learning anything.

She finished wading through the murky waters of her notes and realized that Remus was late.

Remus was never late.

Of all the Marauders, he was by far the most reliable. You didn't get chosen as prefect by landing yourself in detention approximately three nights a week, give or take. He showed up to class on time, turned in his homework, kept his mouth shut when professors were talking, wasn't caught out of bed at all hours of the night, treated almost everyone with respect, and, above all, he kept his friends in line as best as he could. Lily wouldn't dare go as far as to say that he was perfect, because he definitely had his flaws—his remarkable and seemingly unsubstantiated lack of self-esteem, his addiction to chocolate, his tendency to let James and Sirius get away with a little more than they should before reigning them in, to name a few—but compared to his friends, he was a saint.

This meant that when he did turn up, Lily wouldn't say a word about him being late. As the only Gryffindor boy she could stand to be around for extended periods of time, Remus proved to be a powerful ally, so she could let his tardiness slide.

However, as time slipped by, she was forced to wonder if he would ever show, or if he'd forgotten about her entirely.


"I forgot. How the hell could I just forget?"

Sirius put a comforting hand on Remus's shoulder. "It's okay, Moony. We all let time get away from us every once in a while."

"But this isn't just sleeping through class or forgetting to write home on Wednesdays or not realizing it's three in the morning and you're still studying," he argued. "This is something I can't just forget!"

"You remembered, though," Sirius said. "With time to spare, might I add."

"Hardly! There's barely enough time. Merlin, I can't believe I let myself forget!"

"Remus, it's not the end of the world," Peter said kindly, trying to help.

"But it could have been! Peter, there are consequences to everything, and the consequences can be severe." He put his head in his hands and groaned something incomprehensible.

Before either of them had a chance to ask what he said, the door flew open, and in walked a thoroughly irritated James Potter, covered head to toe in mud.

Sirius and Peter burst into laughter, but Remus didn't so much as crack a smile. "What happened to you?" Sirius inquired.

"Quidditch," he replied shortly. The curious looks from his roommates told him that this was far from a satisfactory answer, considering practice never resulted in such a mess, so he briefly recounted the tale of how it had been storming steadily for several hours but they had to get another practice in because it was getting increasingly challenging to work around everyone's schedules, and when he tried to push off from the ground, he slipped in the mud. "And so," he concluded, "Unless any of you object, I'm going to go wash away the dirt and shame."

"Actually, I do object," Sirius remarked just as James was turning his back.

"What could possibly be going on that is grounds for a valid objection to me taking a fucking shower?" James growled.

"Well, you see, Moony's having a bit of a crisis."

That sentence was all it took to cause an immediate change in James's demeanor. "What's going on?" The switch from furious to anxious would have been alarming if they didn't know him so well.

But they did know him well, and they each had their specific roles to play. Sirius was laid-back and carefree most of the time, even at times that called for more solemn behavior. The good end of this was that he could lighten anybody's mood when it was called for. Peter was a constant worrier, but this meant he played careful attention to detail and could point out the flaws in their plans. Remus was the serious one and they sometimes wished he would have more fun, but he did keep them out of trouble.

James was seen by many as the ringleader of their four-man circus, and he was persistent to a fault. He didn't give up, though; he'd spent weeks trying to fix the last flaw in the Map, and had eventually got it fully working. And when one of his friends wasn't playing their part—when Sirius had a serious moment, when Peter got too bold for his own good, when Remus wasn't the rational Remus they knew and loved—he stepped up and filled in for them until they were back to normal.

Right now, he was having to play Moony's part.

"I forgot," Remus said for what felt like the thousandth time.

"How?" he asked softly, understanding the gravity of the situation.

That was a brilliant question, actually. How had he forgotten? Since the start of term, he'd felt more stressed than he ever had in his life, and that was wearing on him. He rarely slept because of classwork and prefect duties and general worries. From when he first set foot in Hogwarts, Remus had had the overwhelming need to prove himself. He desperately wanted to show everyone that he could be normal—he could be better than normal, despite his affliction. He was determined to become another famous werewolf, but for a different reason than all of the others. He was going to do something remarkable and admirable and impressive with his life, and maybe then people like him would get a little more positive recognition and a lot less bad publicity.

This desire led to him reading countless extra books, practicing more than necessary for classes, and taking things more seriously than he needed to at times. All of the expectations he had for himself were taking their toll and he was this close to cracking, and in fact, he'd already cracked just a bit and certain things were slipping through those tiny cracks, and that is why he bloody forgot.

He didn't say any of this out loud, though, because it was impossible to condense these thoughts into a coherent sentence. So instead, he said, "I don't know."

"Yes you do, and I do too, and I bet if they think about it, Wormtail and Padfoot know it too."

Remus shook his head, because James didn't know, he couldn't know all of the things swimming around in his head.

"You hold yourself to unreachable standards. Don't even bother to deny it. You work your arse off—yes, we notice how hard you work. Don't look so surprised. You're putting too much pressure on yourself to be perfect. You've got to loosen up a little and give yourself a break or you're going to stress yourself to death by age twenty!"

"But the only reason I even remembered is that Peter said, 'shouldn't you be going to see Pomfrey?'" he mumbled, staring at the floor and fiddling with his sheets.

"Listen to me!" James commanded, eyeing him with an intense expression that they all recognized at once. It was the look James got when he was worrying over someone he cared about, this mixture of sympathy and concern and something unidentifiable that all combined together to create the distinct Potter look of absolute loyalty. They'd seen it when he was telling off the Slytherins for trying to shove Peter down a flight of stairs in second year. They'd seen it when they first learned of Lupin's furry little problem. They'd seen it when Sirius told them about his family. They'd seen it time and time again and it was familiar and comforting and a reminder of why he was such an amazing friend to have.

"So you forgot for the first time in your life. You're sixteen, Remus, you're allowed to have lapses from time to time. And I know, it could've been dangerous. But you're surrounded by friends who care about you and will remind you if you let it slip your mind. You haven't endangered anybody, so please quit beating yourself up over this." He grabbed a chocolate frog out of the box under his bed and tossed it to his forlorn friend.

"We'll come visit you tonight," Sirius promised. "Is there anything else you need?"

He was shaking his head when he started panicking all over again. "Damn it!"

They all raised their eyebrows, as if to ask what now?

"Lily's waiting for me in the library. I was supposed to help her with Transfiguration tonight."

"I could go help her," James offered, and they knew he must be in a particularly generous mood if he was willing to venture into that territory.

"Really? You mean that?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Who needs to shower anyway?"

Remus gave him a small smile and waved his wand, cleaning off James's robes in an instant.

"Guess I should've thought of that," he muttered.


Lily had reached a point of hopelessness and had resigned herself to the fact that Remus probably wasn't going to show up. She knew she wouldn't hold it against him in the long run, but at the moment, she couldn't help but be a little angry. He was always true to his word, always did what he said he would. Either something was terribly wrong—in which case she would feel wretched for being mad at him—or Potter and Black had finally succeeded in influencing him into the treacherous world of mischief. Or there was the equally possible scenario that he'd simply, uncharacteristic though it was, forgotten.

He was only human, after all.

As she read over another passage in the book, thinking that it might as well be in Ancient Runes because not a single word of it made sense to her, she saw a pair of legs in front of the table. "About time," she grumbled before dragging her eyes up.

"What happened to your face?" they asked at the same time.

James took the chair across from her. "What do you mean, what happened to my face?"

"Besides that it wasn't the face I was expecting, nor one I particularly wanted to see?" she quipped. "It's rather dirty."

"That little bastard!" He'd assumed Moony had cleaned all of the mud off, but they were all known for doing small favors halfway and no further, mainly for their own amusement. And at a time like this, he didn't fault him for it. "Well, no matter. That little bastard, by the way, sends his deepest regrets that he was unable to assist you tonight, but he's fallen ill."

And here came the guilt for being cross... "Oh. Er, not to be rude, but why are you here?"

"Well, as you undoubtedly don't know, I'm the best in our year at Transfiguration, and—"

"I did know that," she interrupted. "Remus has told me a half dozen times. He told me I should get you to help me because you're the one he goes to when he can't figure it out."

"Right. So, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to your face?"

Her cheeks flushed and she unconsciously ran a hand across the feature in question. "I was practicing earlier. Well, trying to practice. I meant to turn one of my eyebrows brown like we were supposed to learn in class but McGonagall lost me halfway through the explanation. I really thought I had it this time after all the extra studying. But, well, as you can see..."

"You Vanished your own eyebrows?" he finished for her, sounding amused.

"It's not funny!" she wailed, earning herself Madam Welles's famous death glare. "It's not funny," she whispered.

"I must say, I disagree. I find it quite hilarious. But it's a simple fix." He lazily flicked his wand.

She flinched, as though she was expecting a curse. When she found that she hadn't been murdered or maimed, she dug around in her bag for a mirror. "You did it!" she crowed quietly.

"I have to ask: how long had you been going around without eyebrows?"

She mumbled an answer.

"Sorry?"

"About five hours."

He chuckled. "Let's make a deal," he started.

"Let's not," she protested.

"Hear me out, Evans. You're struggling in Transfiguration. Now, I know your former tutor asked only for chocolate in return but I'm not quite as easy to please."

This was a test. Surely the universe was testing her to see just how much this class was worth to her.

"I'd like for you to help me in Charms in exchange."

That was nowhere near as awful as some of the thoughts that had crossed her mind in the few seconds he'd paused, and she gladly agreed.

For at least two hours, they worked diligently, each doing their best to teach the other.

Lily thought about how peculiar this situation was. James Potter, of all people, had agreed to help out, and he hadn't mocked her botched attempt at basic human Transfiguration nearly as much as he should have. In fact, if the roles were reversed, she was positive that she would've had a good laugh at his expense before offering assistance. He'd barely chuckled. Was he terminally ill and trying to make up for all of his past wrongdoings by taking in a charity case such as herself?

Or maybe, just maybe, he'd grown and matured.

But he was probably dying.

James thought about how normal it felt, the two of them studying together. Almost like they were friends. And he'd been needing help in Charms for years but had been too proud to ask any of his friends for help. A perfect opportunity had presented itself; who was he to refuse?

"I'm curious about something, Potter. Your Charms work tends to come out about like my eyebrows until you finally figure it out. What's your worst Charms mishap?"

"And why should I tell you this?"

"You've seen me without eyebrows and will forever cherish that memory. Surely you can spare me one story of an atrocious spell so I feel a little better about myself." It was only fair.

"I was practicing for O.W.L.s and Professor Flitwick offered to help me after class. All he wanted me to do was turn his hat magenta, but I reckon I panicked, because it stayed the same color but grew until it was enormous and just about swallowed him whole. Also, it sprouted fangs. I didn't know what to do so, naturally, I did the wrong thing and tried to Stun it, forgetting that it was still on top of Flitwick. I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

And for the first time, she was genuinely laughing at something James said.

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, but his smile faltered and he abruptly stood up and left, leaving behind his wand and a thoroughly perplexed redhead.


I apologize for the terrible description. I'm awful at summarizing things.