Note: To all my faithful readers and newcomers, I'm back! I have been on a fan-fiction hiatus for over six months now, but I just couldn't get this story out of my head and would keep writing/planning it, so here it is: the first chapter of 'Secrets and Stars,' a Lily/Lysander HP fic canon to my next gen. story, 'Blood of the Birds' (though you'll understand it just fine even if you haven't read BotB). It is set a month after BotB ends (not including the epilogue) and follows both 16 year-old Lily (sixth year at Hogwarts) and 19 year-old Lysander (professional Beater for the Montrose Magpies Quidditch team) as they grapple with grief and are constantly drawn together.

This fic will be quite different from BotB, more character-driven rather than plot and with storylines that are (in my opinion) more grave and grown-up. That being said, you'll see some familiar faces throughout, and hopefully my writing will contain the same voice it always has. I hope you enjoy the first chapter, and of course, this universe and all its settings/characters belong to the wonderful JK Rowling.

-Hailey


1 – Lupus

She hurt. Breathing hurt. Standing hurt. Remembering... remembering hurt harder.

Lily took another swig from the flask he had given her and that she had filled in Hogsmeade last night. It burned, but fire was a pain she could handle. The train of fire that currently hung long around her face had been her constant companion for fifteen years. It was only in her most recent year that she had grown recognizable in other ways. She hadn't wished for the scars, but then she hadn't wished for most of what had come to her this year.

"Cheers, James," she said.

There was no response. Not even the dirt from her brother's grave stirred. There was a plaque there too, lying flat against the ground, with his name written in bold, capitalized letters, followed by the nearly twenty years of his life summed up in a single, short horizontal line. Below that the carved stone read, Talented flier. Brave son. Big brother. Best friend. Apparently, he had played four roles in his life. Lily had known all four, so she must have known all of him, right?

One more swig couldn't hurt.

Stuffing the flask into her knee pads, she turned around to open the chest of practice balls. For now, the Bludgers would remain chained, but she bounced the familiar Quaffle around a few times to get her own bearings, and then she opened a compartment that revealed a shining, gold ball the size of a walnut. She had never held a Snitch before, even a practice one. She reminded herself that James hadn't held this one, that he'd been buried with every one he'd ever caught, but that didn't help. Holding that ball in her hands and watching it spread its silver wings was like holding that dash line from his grave, only this actually meant something. Only this actually was a part of him, maybe even all of him.

"Hey, I got all the Keeper pads," said someone behind her. The voice was followed by a loud thump on the grass and a relieved, boyish sigh.

"Good," she said, standing, the Snitch still trying to escape her grasp. Facing Fred Weasley, her cousin and sub-captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Lily saw behind him a few small figures walking toward them from the castle. "And it looks like you're just in time."

Fred followed her gaze to take in the rest of the team, from his younger sister Roxanne to his new fellow Beater, fourth year number nerd Jackson Smith, whose eyes were lighter than his ghostly skin. Lily had had no say in Jackson's success during try-outs; she'd been too busy finding a new Seeker.

The new and returning players were halfway across the pitch when Lily looked to her sub-captain and asked, "You mind if we split up today?"

"Not at all," said Fred, "Do what you need to do. I'll take Jackson and Roxy can train the others."

Lily nodded but did not smile. She picked up her Firebolt and walked straight into the pack of Gryffindors, yanking the skinny arm of a young brunette in the opposite direction and pulling the girl outside the pitch perimeter. Lily was grasping hard, her fingers indenting the girl's soft skin, waiting for her to snatch her hand away.

"Er, you might want to watch out," said the girl after a few minutes, during which Lily had pressed even harder as she trudged up the hill. The Whomping Willow, as silent yet deadly as ever, stood in front of her. The end of its branches all blended together into a giant fist in Lily's vision.

Blinking until the branches separated, Lily said, "Sorry. I was waiting for you to fight back. You have to be aggressive in Quidditch."

"Funny," the girl laughed, her lips curling into a crooked smile that reminded Lily of secrets. "I was waiting for it to hurt."

Lily narrowed her eyes and mounted her broom, the girl following suit. The Snitch she'd been gripping in her free hand was released and the two girls simultaneously pushed off the ground.

A trail of gold whizzed down toward Hagrid's Hut, where the Snitch flew through an open window by the pumpkin patch and out the other side. Lily hesitated at the window before turning her broom up and flying overhead, the girl with an oversized practice jersey racing ahead toward the Black Lake.

It was late afternoon and Lily could just make out the moon's reflection on the water spread ahead of her. It would be full tonight. What Lily couldn't see was the Snitch, so instead she followed the girl, whose posture was prim and proper atop her broom, not at all wild or carefree like Lily's had been called. "Back straight, make a forty-five degree angle with the broom," Madam Katie Bell had always said in Lily's first-year flying classes. That wasn't the first time Lily had been accused of failing to listen.

The girl had just passed above the incoming tide. Lily was still a few yards behind but was accelerating quickly. She planned to use the lake's free current to push her under and ahead of the girl, but she never made it to the water. Her eyes glanced away from the girl for a second and she was staring at the clearing by the shore. With one blink the water had turned to ice and the sand to snow, and there were flashes of green shining from every direction: Hogsmeade to the east, the Forbidden Forest to the west, Hogwarts to the north. By the water was a small bird with a sharp beak and a ghastly squawk. It was a blue jay, and as it flew for Lily and nipped at her shoulder, Lily's teeth started to sharpen and she growled at the bird. The bird didn't dare retreat, and as its beak poked Lily's scars she returned the favor in a green flash before toppling into the water.

Her eyes opened to the chilling liquid, searching frantically for light. Lily was grateful to see that the ice she had envisioned was not a reality, so she surfaced easily and gasped for air. Grabbing her soaked broom, she began to paddle back to the shore. She was surprised to see the girl waiting for her on the beach, in the same spot James's best mate had once stood upon saving Lily from the water's pull.

"Decided to take a swim?" asked the girl, though all Lily could focus on was the Snitch resting peacefully in the girl's hand.

"You caught it," said Lily. "Good."

Lily's knees buckled and she fell forward, staring at her hands half-buried in the cold sand. The hands were familiar – large, pale, dry – but one of her thumbs looked like a claw.

The girl had moved to Lily's level and was reaching out to her, saying, "Maybe you need to—"

"I don't need to go to the hospital wing!" Lily spat at her, looking up.

The girl rolled her eyes. "I wasn't going to suggest that. I was going to say that maybe you should loosen up." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a black polished flask that looked a bit like the one inside Lily's jacket. "This might help."

Lily was skeptical. This girl didn't know her; she didn't know how to help.

When Lily didn't take the flask, the girl opened it and took a swig, keeping a completely straight face as she did so. Then she looked past Lily and toward the water, pointed at something and said, "See that island there? The one right in the middle of the lake. That's where my parents were killed."

Lily didn't need to turn around to know which island the girl was talking about. There was only one piece of land on the lake, and to some it had been an oasis; Lily's own cousin had married there last month. But oases were still deserts. They still cracked.

Without another word, Lily took the flask straight out of the girl's hand and grimaced as the clean taste of vodka raged down her throat.

After Lily had taken three sips, the girl stood up, extended her hand, and said, "Kenna Meyer. I don't believe you ever actually asked for my name at try-outs."

Lily took her hand. "Welcome to the team, Kenna."


Lysander scanned the empty room. Only the walls held any last piece of his late roommate, thanks to the permanent sticking charms James had put on his hangings. Peeling cream-colored paint, Gryffindor banner remnants, battle plans, corner. Montrose Magpies jersey number, creaky bed frame, fogged window, corner. Post-breakup infused hole, butterbeer stain, Rose's picture, corner. Box, door, Lysander, corner.

James's brothers Teddy and Al had come to clear out his things a few days earlier. That had been the first time since James's death that Lysander had stepped foot inside the room; maybe now would be his last. He took one final look, picked up the box of things Teddy and Al had let him keep for himself, and shut the door behind him.

Quidditch practice started ten minutes ago, so Lysander quickly slid the box under his own bed, grabbed a slice of week-old bread off the kitchen counter, and left. The flat was above the Woolworths on High Street, right in the center of town, and he had to walk ten blocks to the Quidditch pitch that was well-hidden amidst the muggle Golf Links. He crossed the street at the corner of High and John, heading down John between the Bank of Scotland and a restaurant with the words "The Creel Seafoods" written in Greek colors above its browning windows. Last year James had discovered that the restaurant was actually a wizarding bar called The Meyer Lemon, disguised with the smell of rotting fish to keep the muggles out. Ironically, the smell had also kept Lysander out.

John Street was narrow, which Lysander appreciated. Less space meant fewer people, and fewer people meant fewer smiles to exchange. Montrose was the type of place where everyone smiled at each other, even if they were strangers. Lysander didn't much want to smile at strangers when he could no longer smile to his friends.

He jogged past most of the residential neighborhoods, including the houses near the council chamber building where Hattie Cavendish waved from the front door. Lysander ignored her. He went straight through Union Row, with the football club on one side and the rugby club on the other; he'd never understood why muggles needed so many different sports to play. If sports were about spirit and unity, wouldn't it make more sense to just have one that the whole world could rally around? That was what Quidditch was for the wizards, what it used to be for him.

On Whinfield Road he sprinted the final leg onto the golf course. As soon as his feet touched the green, a stadium bigger than the football and rugby clubs combined appeared before his eyes. Lysander headed straight into the locker room, where he deposited his gym bag and scanned the bulletin board for announcements. Next to the season's match schedule was posted an advertisement that read, "Roommate wanted. Empty bedroom. Good size," above a picture that moved through the entryway and into his village flat.

"I'll take the room if no one's snatched it yet," said a voice from behind Lysander.

He turned around to find a bleach-blonde broad lacing her shoes on the changing bench. Apparently Lysander wasn't the only one who was late today. Harper Frye was the only female on the Montrose Magpies Quidditch team; she'd played Chaser for the past two years.

"Oh, and what's so bad about where you live now?" Lysander asked her.

"Nothing," Harper shrugged. "Just can't afford it. What's wrong with yours?"

"Nothing. I guess it's just more of a guys' place – you know, like a bachelor pad." He smirked.

"Huh," said Harper as she stood up and walked toward Lysander, who was hovering by to the broom stand. "Sounds oddly familiar."

She turned away from him, grabbed her broomstick and started to walk out. Before she made it to the door, though, Harper waved her broom in the air and shouted back at Lysander, "When I move in, be sure to never refer to our home as a bachelor pad again, else I might just stick a few of these up your thick arse!" Her temper was about as short as her hair.

Reluctantly, Lysander followed Harper outside and onto the pitch, where Liam Hardy, the team captain known due to his stocky stature as the Bear, was drilling the other two Chasers, watching them hit red Quaffles into the hoops that were being defended by Keeper Pierre Tottingham. Liam was a Beater like Lysander, only he was a much better one than Lysander would ever be. Every wizard in the country was waiting to see the Bear be drafted for the Quidditch World Cup, but one of the Chasers had told Lysander that Liam hadn't even tried out for the British team for the last championship back in 2022.

"Eight, Twenty-one, you're late!" yelled Liam without even looking in the direction of Harper and Lysander.

Harper said nothing. She wasn't afraid of anyone, but for as long as Lysander had known her she'd never spoken a word to their captain. Liam seemed to expect the silence, looking only to Lysander for a response as Harper inched past them, caught a Quaffle that was plummeting for the grass, and hit it straight through the right-side hoop.

"Sorry," Lysander mumbled while securing his elbow pads.

Liam harrumphed and said, "You know, I'm getting quite tired of hearing that from you. I gave you time, Twenty-one, but your time's up." His arms were crossed and his muscles bulged out of them like popcorn.

"It won't happen again." But it probably would.

Liam ignored him, clapping his hands and calling the team to a huddle back on the ground. The Chasers – Harper, Liam's right-hand man Henry Cavendish, and an American recruit named Grady Sutter – came in a pack, with Pierre lagging behind in his heavily padded practice uniform.

"All right, now that everyone's actually present," Liam started, "I can inform you that McLeod will be stopping by any minute now with our new Seeker."

Everyone's faces dropped, and half of them looked at Lysander. The season had started two months ago and no one had said a thing about the eventual replacement of James's old position. Lysander tried to keep a straight face as Liam said, "McLeod and I have seen him fly and he's faster than any Seeker in the UK. As far as I'm concerned, he's already on the team."

"Well, what about how he plays with the rest of us?" asked Pierre, whose incredible height and dark skin weren't even intimidating once anyone got to know him.

"He's a Seeker, Three," said Liam. "He plays alone."

Lysander could feel Pierre's black eyes on him; James had never played alone.

"Oh, who cares about that!" said Grady, Pierre's best mate. "He's, like, a recruit, right? Who is he? Where's he from?"

The Magpies were professional Quidditch players; knowing their strongest opponents from around the world was part of their job description. "He's from Germany," said Liam. "His name is-"

"ERICK LUDVIG," said a thickly-accented voice from behind Lysander. He turned around to see the Magpies manager, Carl McLeod, coming from the locker room alongside a much younger man with a layer of brown scruff hanging from his chiselled chin and bushy eyebrows that swallowed intensely focused eyes.

"The Lazer," said Grady in utter awe.

Erick "Lazer" Ludwig played for the Heidelberg Harriers, a team fiercer than a dragon and twice as clever. He'd been recruited as a starter straight out of wizarding school five years ago, and he'd caught the Snitch for the German National team at the 2022 World Cup, winning the championship for his country and leaving the United States in the dust.

"How can we afford him?" Henry asked Liam as Erick slowly approached, his every step firm, purposeful, calculated. "We didn't even trade anyone."

Liam didn't answer, but gave Henry a look that said, I'll tell you later. Which meant that Liam didn't want the team to know, or, as Lysander's Ravenclaw wit urged him not to overlook, Erick didn't want them to know.

Erick and McLeod were with the rest of them now, the latter patting Erick's shoulder until Lazer shrugged him off and saying, "I suppose Mister Ludwig needs no introduction. Assuming all goes well, his new position will be revealed at the Falcons match next month."

Grady looked like a puppy whose master just came home from a week's vacation. The rest of the team was not so thrilled about the news, or perhaps they were just more loyal than the American. Pierre and Harper were crossing their arms and scowling, which Lysander appreciated since he wasn't sure what to do with himself.

That was until McLeod raised a hand that Lysander hadn't noticed was holding a fresh jersey and gave it to Erick, shaking simultaneously with his free hand. Erick unfolded the shirt as Liam extended his hand to shake and said, "Welcome to the team."

"Danke," said Erick, pulling the shirt over his head, the number seven plastered across his chest. Erick looked down at his hand, which was still locked in Liam's, and gestured for the captain to let go, but everyone was still… everyone but Lysander.

He lunged forward without thinking, anger sizzling through his body in the exact wrong direction. He felt it in his extremities first, his toes allowing him to balance and his fingers grabbing hold of the jersey's collar and attempting to pull it off Erick's head. As the shirt ruffled against Erick's pectorals but was blocked by his shoulders, the feeling seeped through the same part of Lysander's body, and he finally felt it in his core when multiple pairs of hands pulled him off his new teammate. Pierre and Grady were strong on their own, even stronger combined, but Lysander put up a good fight, thrashing persistently until he was on the ground and had nothing to thrash at but the pitch itself.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?" yelled McLeod, not waiting for an answer before he turned to Erick and apologized for his player's behavior. "I am so sorry; Mister Scamander has gone through a great deal this past year and is still overcoming his anger management issues."

Lysander scoffed from the grass, where he was lying on his back and wriggling against the heavy hands of Pierre and Grady. "Just take it off!" he said through gritted teeth and fierce green eyes, confusing McLeod even more. McLeod had no idea what Lysander had been through this year, because his anger had been well managed through all of it. Until now, anyway.

McLeod looked at Erick bewildered, but Erick was looking down at the number and was beginning to understand. The rest of the team didn't need an explanation, but Lysander was still surprised to hear Liam's voice come to his defense. Stepping forward, the Bear looked Erick directly in the eyes – both pairs brown but completely different shapes – and said, "There's been a mistake. That number belonged to James Potter. And we do not recycle our players."

"James Potter was-" McLeod started to say, but Erick interrupted him.

"I know," he said, still looking at Liam. James's name was the most famous in the world, but it was his talent he was truly known for. "I understand. I vill take a different numba."

McLeod thanked him and the two shuffled off to the locker rooms to get an old practice jersey for the day. Harper offered her hand to pull Lysander up and patted him on the back once he was still again. Then she turned to Liam for a moment, as if silently communicating something, before returning to her Quaffle. Lysander moved to follow her but was stopped by Liam, who pushed him slightly and said, "Take the day off, Twenty-one."

There was no point in arguing. Lysander grabbed his broom from where he'd dropped it and walked back to the locker room, surprised to find Erick still inside even though he had already found a different jersey to wear, this one with the number five. He had his back to Lysander, but must have heard him as Lysander walked in, because he said, "Do you know if zis has been taken?"

Lysander looked up from his feet and saw that Erick was reading the roommate ad. He didn't much like the idea of Harper moving into James's old room, but after what had happened today, Erick would surely be worse. "Er, yeah, it has actually," he said. "It's my flat. One of the Chasers is moving in."

Erick turned around and bounced his broom in his hand. With a shrug, he said, "Zat is fine. I vill take de couch."


Lily's eyes burned as she stared into the fire. She was playing the blinking game with herself, and she was winning. The dryness was no longer just a threat to her retinas; it was absolute, like a cold so consuming that it made you wonder if you would ever feel healthy again. Perhaps she would never need to blink. What would happen if she simply kept her eyes open? Would they burst into flames? That would be an exciting development. Would they go blind? At least then she wouldn't have to see a world without him. Or would they just continue to burn, serving as a constant reminder of the pain of life, of deciding to live, of continuing? The idea reminded Lily of grief.

"Hey, earth to Lil," Hugo's voice woke her from her reverie.

"What?" she asked testily, hating him for making her blink, hating him for pulling her from such a brilliant distraction.

"Squirmsnail asked you something," said Hugo, "and you don't get to ignore him anymore."

Lily looked back at the fire, which was roaring inside the Gryffindor common room. Between two flames was the image of an appositely orange head, covered in spots that were something of a mix between youthful freckles and old age marks. Nigel Creevey, like Kenna and so many other young people, had lost his parents in the war. Before that he'd just been a normal kid wizard – going to Hogwarts, dealing with bullying friends, and falling in love. He'd since dropped out of school to study wandlore, but he and his boyfriend liked to chat via Flu powder nearly every night. Lily found it rather vomit-inducing, but she indulged them nonetheless. She owed them that.

"Sorry, Nigel," she said. "What did you say?"

Luckily, Nigel was quick to forgive. "Oh, I just asked how Quidditch was going… no injuries yet, I hope?"

Nigel had been a Beater on the team for one season, and he'd been bloody good at it, too, in the most literal sense. The violence he'd brought had helped Gryffindor win many a match, but it had also given Nigel too much guilt to continue with the sport.

Lily thought back on today's practice and almost answered yes, for herself, but instead said, "No. Everything's great. I'm training a new Seeker and Roxy's helping with Bert and the new Keeper."

"Yeah!" said Roxanne upon hearing her name, interrupting just when Lily hoped she would. "Olivia's great. She's so small, but her agility really helps her block. She can get from the low hoop to the high hoop in less than a second!"

Once Roxanne and Nigel were deep in discussion, Lily tuned them out and pulled herself onto the sofa she'd been leaning on from the floor. Its fabric was crimson red and velvet soft, and she liked to think it acted as her camouflage. No one could find her or touch her here, not in Gryffindor Tower where the birds sang and the lions roared.

Lily could just barely see the west-facing window, over by the spiral staircases that led to her dormitory. The sun had nearly set, and soon the moon would take its place. She wondered what it had in store for her tonight.

She was still gazing at the window when Kenna came hopping down the stairs, catching Lily's eye and making her way over. Kenna too was agile, her feet pointed like a ballerina as she skipped comfortably through groups of rowdy Gryffindors without stepping over a single toe. She was at the sofa quickly, bouncing over the cushion and sitting beside Lily. She took one glance at Lily's three friends, known to most as the Gryff Group, laughed at their cheerfulness, and whispered to Lily, "Want to get out of here? Excite the flames, so to speak?"

Confused, Lily searched Kenna's uniform and set her sights on the flask Kenna was slyly pulling out from under her skirt. Suddenly Lily felt as though her eyes were burning again, and this time she knew that an explosion was their only potential fate. She nodded.

The two girls were off the sofa and halfway out the door when Roxy yelled after them, "Lily, where are you going?"

"Out," Lily shrugged. "We're sixth year now, Roxy. We don't have stupid curfews anymore!"

Roxanne gave Hugo a concerned look and Hugo, ever the logical one, said carefully, "Lily, are you sure it's the best idea for you to go out tonight? Sounds a bit ill-advised to me, considering the circumstances."

Lily scoffed, but it sounded like a growl. "What does, living?" she asked, adding, "You're probably right," and walking out of the tower.

She felt freer as she and Kenna stood in the middle of the seventh floor landing. No other students were around, and the castle was quiet with possibility. It reminded Lily of when she used to sneak out at night and escape from the world, from her name, from responsibility, from time.

After assessing that the coast was clear, Kenna took out her flask and offered it to Lily, who noticed that it had been refilled since that morning. Lily took a swig and asked, "Where do you get your supply from?"

"My sister's a bartender," Kenna answered. "How d'you feel about heights?"

Lily furrowed her eyebrows but said, "They're great, I suppose. Why?"

Kenna smiled, and it made her bug eyes squint in the corners, almost like she was winking. When Kenna started running down the stairs, Lily didn't hesitate to follow.

They ran all the way to the ground floor and didn't see a soul; Lily had a theory that most students had grown fearful since the war, herself included. Much of the castle had been rebuilt since its destruction last May, and it was about time somebody made a mark on its fresh marble.

Lily had her sights set on the giant double doors that opened out of the Great Hall, so she was caught off guard when Kenna spun around and started the long ascent up the Astronomy Tower. This time it was harder for Lily to follow her.

The tower was technically closed off outside class hours, but that wasn't what was stopping Lily. She had specifically opted out of taking Astronomy this year because of what that tower had meant to James.

"What is it?" Kenna asked, noticing Lily's frozen posture behind her.

Don't say anything, Lily thought, just go. But her feet wouldn't move. Frustrated, she sighed and said, "My brother used to go up there."

"Oh, right," Kenna nodded. "Him and his friend, the blond bloke-"

"Lysander. Lysander Scamander."

"Yes, that's the one!" Kenna was snapping her fingers like she'd just won a game. "He was quite fit, wasn't he?"

At first, Lily wanted to roll her eyes at Kenna. This wasn't about Lysander, this was about James, her dead brother… but then she thought, was it really? Not everything had been about James when he'd been alive, especially the Astronomy Tower, which had been Lysander's look-out before James had started using it to spy on other Quidditch teams. Why should everything be about him now that he was dead?

"Yeah," Lily laughed, walking past Kenna and onto the stairwell. "You should see him now."

"Ohhh," said Kenna, "I'd like to."

"He, er, gave me my flask actually," Lily said. "Back before the battle, at the Longbottom wedding."

"Oh, speaking of which, is it true you actually fought in the battle?"

Most young witches and wizards had been instructed to stay home when the battle began, but those who'd attended the wedding hadn't had anywhere else to go. "Yeah, I did," said Lily, taking another swig from Kenna's flask. "But it's not the most exciting story. Other people were fighting dragons and storming the castle. I spent most of the night running." She wasn't trying to be modest; she just didn't want to tell Kenna the whole truth: that she'd killed someone and almost killed herself, and would have had Lysander not jumped into the freezing Black Lake to save her.

Kenna was pensive for about ten steps until she muttered feebly, "I wonder what my parents were doing."

They didn't speak again until they reached the top of the tower, and both were out of breath by then anyway. The platform that overlooked the grounds was closed off by a red rope, much like the restricted section in the library, but just to be safe Lily used a Revealing Charm to see if it had any spells on it. It didn't, so they passed easily.

Leaning over the railing, Lily could see almost all of Hogwarts: the Black Lake with its island oasis, the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid's Hut, and the Quidditch pitch with its stadium lights. It looked so small from here, yet it meant a great deal to so many people – not just Lily's brother James, but her late grandfather too, and her parents. Even after James had died, she hadn't considered the idea of quitting. Quidditch was in her blood.

Above the pitch, the moon was beginning to rise through thick gray clouds, and something deep inside Lily was drawn to it, like animals to shiny objects. She craved the night, waited for it, wished for it. What she dreaded was the morning that followed.

Knowing she only had so much time, Lily looked at Kenna and asked, "So, what are we doing here?"

Kenna leaned half her body over the railing, taking in the view of the courtyard directly below. Then she straightened herself, held up the flask, and said, "First, we drink. Then, we jump."

"Jump?" asked Lily, taking a step back. The tower was the tallest in all of Hogwarts, at least fifteen stories up from the ground.

"Loosen up, will you?" Kenna laughed. "We're not trying to kill ourselves. Before you go, just use a Summoning Charm to call for your broom, and then see how far you get before you land on it and fly off. Perfectly safe."

Lily was skeptical, but she tried not to show it. "So, you've done this before?"

"Loads of times. Ever since my parents died, it's been harder to get any sort of adrenaline rush, but trust me, this'll do it."

Lily took a deep breath, not daring to look down again. "Okay, then," she said, holding up her own empty flask for Kenna to fill. "Hit me."

"Accio death," said Kenna.

"Accio death," said Lily, clinking their flasks together.

They raced to down their drinks and Kenna won by a millisecond, which only made Lily more ready to impress as they faced their impending doom. Simultaneously summoning their respective Firebolts, Lily and Kenna climbed atop the railing and counted down from five. On five, they looked at each other. On four, they looked down. On three, they heard a shout from the platform and were startled but not stopped. On two, they shut their eyes. On one, they jumped.

The echoing yells of Lily's father Harry, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, could just barely be heard above her screams as she fell feet-first toward the hard ground. She knew why he wanted to stop her, and it wasn't because she was breaking the rules, so she decided to ignore him. She decided to feel.

For the first time since Christmas, she let in every emotion that came her way: fear, excitement, anticipation, darkness, and for a brief moment, light.

And then it was over, and she was back on her broom, her legs instinctively straddling it before her mind had time to think of what to do. She leaned forward and zoomed toward the forest, glancing back to make sure Kenna had made it. She was right on her tail. As if to get her off it the way any good Seeker would, Lily pulled her whole body down to the broom and accelerated until she was turning around trunks and under branches.

The moonlight scattered across the forest floor like snowflakes, and they grew larger as Lily passed them, so she must be getting closer. She followed them until they were one full circle of white and she leaped off her broom and into the clearing. It had been a girl riding the broomstick, but it was a wolf that touched the ground. It was a wolf that howled at the moon. It was a wolf that ran off, bursting into flames, exploding into the night.


"Okay, pivot a bit here," said Harper near the top of the stairs. Lysander and Erick were halfway up the flight, holding the corners of an enormous armoire that Harper insisted on putting in her new bedroom.

Lysander grunted and Erick shoved himself and the armoire into the wall so that they could turn it around the corner. "Might I remind you that the move could have waited till morning!" Lysander said. It must have been honing in on 3AM; his two new flatmates had taken most of the evening to pack and had been hauling their things into the apartment for the past four hours. They hadn't even signed the lease yet.

"Yes, well, I've never been one to take things slow," said Harper as the boys made one final push and set the armoire down on the second floor landing.

"Noted," said Lysander, his head poking out from behind the piece of furniture.

"Oh, shut it," Harper said. "You're such a pig!"

"Focus, people!" Erick's stern voice came out of nowhere, his German grunt sounding even grittier with his throat dry from the move. "Zis is the last of eet!"

Lysander wished he was more annoyed, but there was something oddly charming about Lazer's determination. For a moment, just a moment, he reminded Lysander of James.

The trio all shared looks and nodded, ready for the final stretch. Together, they pulled and pushed the armoire through the hall, over the threshold, past the open kitchen and living room that would soon belong to Erick, and turned another corner to get into Harper's room. Lysander was careful not to push past this second threshold, having promised himself that he wouldn't step foot in there again.

"You got it from here?" he asked Harper.

"Yup, I'm all set. Thanks!"

Lysander and Erick turned back and headed into the kitchen, Erick veering off to unpack a suitcase full of books onto an empty shelf above the grimy fireplace. Lysander rummaged through the fridge to find an old pizza and swallowed the last two slices.

"Is zis important, or should I dispose of it?" asked Erick, holding something Lysander couldn't quite see.

Walking over to get a better look, Lysander took the book from Erick's hand. It was vaguely familiar, with fur along its binding and odd spots on its cover that looked eerily similar to a pair of eyes. Remembering something about stroking the binding, Lysander petted the fur and opened the book to read the title on its first page: Monster Book of Monsters: Care of Magical Creatures, Year Three. Below that was a small signature in perfect cursive, and Lysander thought he might literally break apart as he read the name: Lorcan Scamander.

Not thinking, no longer able to think, Lysander didn't say anything to Erick before he shut the book gingerly, sprinted to his room, took out the box that he was storing beside the one full of James's things, and set the book inside, next to a skinny red tie that Lysander had stolen off his twin brother's corpse the night he'd been killed.

Lysander stared at the two items, hoping that his heartbeat would stop racing, but it didn't. It kept going, thumping against his chest like Bludgers in a trunk, and then he couldn't breathe. Everything was tightening around him, from his veins to his ribs to the walls of his own home. He needed to get out.

He managed to run out of the flat without catching Harper's attention, and if Erick saw him he mustn't have cared, because he didn't follow either. Lysander still couldn't breathe as he jogged through the streets, but it didn't matter because he also couldn't think. And if he couldn't think, he couldn't order himself to stop moving.

His legs brought him to the harbor, but they did not take him onto the docks or into any of the houseboats that sat there. They marched right past a little girl who was dipping her toes in the Atlantic water and headed for the nearby lighthouse, and Lysander still wasn't thinking as his right hand flicked a wand at the lock and opened the door without any incantation. Then he was climbing steps all the way to the top, and as he climbed, his blood started to rush through the rest of his body like it was supposed to. He was breathing again – panting like a dog on every step, but breathing nonetheless.

When he reached the top, Lysander was reminded of the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts where he'd spent so many hours during his school years and where he'd gone after discovering the deaths of both James and Lorcan… his brothers. He suspected he'd just experienced a panic attack, and the height was the only thing that had managed to calm him.

He liked having a view of everything: the harbor on his left with that little girl who was now staring up at him curiously, the night sky above from which the moon was disappearing, and the beach right below the Lupus constellation that was meant to look like a wolf. The beach was peaceful, the waves washing the sand in and out, in and out, dragging sea glass and mussel shells and driftwood with it and then delivering it all once more. Along the beach, a few gulls were beginning their morning search for crabs and clams, and someone was sleeping amongst a flock of them, her red hair buried in the sand.

Someone was sleeping on the beach? No, that couldn't be right, thought Lysander, squinting his eyes to gain a better look. Red hair? Oh no, not her.

He rushed back down the steps, not bothering to lock the door behind him, and ran along the beach until he fell to his knees at her head. Just as he'd suspected, it was Lily Potter, unconscious and beaten to a pulp by whatever she'd run into that night as a werewolf. She'd shown up in Montrose during a full moon before, late last year when she'd tracked James's scent all the way here from Hogwarts. Lysander suspected the same thing had happened now.

"Lily?" he said. "Lily?"

She didn't respond, and her heartbeat was faint, too faint. She couldn't have transformed very long ago, though, so Lysander tried not to worry. Last time it had taken her hours to wake up.

He hoisted her into his arms and carried her into town and up to the flat, where Erick rushed to make a temporary spot on the kitchen counter on which Lysander could lay her down.

"Who is she?" Erick asked worriedly.

"Lily Potter. James's little sister." The last time this had happened, James had been here, and Lorcan too.

Shaking his head to get that image out of his mind, Lysander inspected Lily for her largest wounds and started to magically mend her cuts and bruises. He was feeling for broken ribs when Harper strolled in from the hallway, having heard the raucous and come out to see what was going on.

"Good lord," she said upon seeing Lily. She must have recognized her; Lily's face had been in the Daily Prophet plenty of times, and her mother Ginny's similar features could be found in the author's box of the Quidditch column every week.

Lysander didn't stop his inspection, but he also didn't protest when Harper shoved Erick out of the way and put her ear to Lily's mouth. Erick was too confused to ask questions, but Lysander dreaded the idea of telling Harper that Lily was a werewolf. The information wasn't exactly undisclosed, but it was private.

He was waiting for her to ask what had happened, but she never did. Instead, she stood back up and looked at Lysander as if she understood, and for a split second Lysander thought perhaps she did. But then Harper said, "She's drunk. I can smell the alcohol coming from her pores."

Perfect. Pretending that was all that was wrong with Lily, Lysander nodded and said, "Don't worry. I've got this." Then he picked her up once more and took her into his bedroom, shutting the door and placing her in the middle of his bed. He covered her with James's Gryffindor blanket and took his Ravenclaw one for himself, curling up into a chair facing Lily and the bed and watching her soft breathing as he fell asleep.

He woke when she did, sometime later. She grunted and her eyes opened with his, and after Lily looked around and figured out where she was she started to wince and opened her mouth in a desperate attempt to say something, but words were too painful, too difficult to form.

"Shh, it's okay," said Lysander, leaning forward and pulling the blanket up around her bare shoulders. She looked back at him, her eyes wide with fright and her hair a radio of static on the pillow. She was gulping for air when he said again, "You're okay. You're not alone. I hurt too."


Note: What did you think? Please leave a review and let me know; all feedback is appreciated, especially constructive criticism and questions about the story (I'll give spoilers if you want them), and I'll reply to every one I can. I'm not sure what my updating schedule will be like for this fic yet since I'm waiting to see what the response to this chapter is like, but if you like what you read and say so in a review, I'd be happy to keep you in the loop on the update timeline.

If I do continue the story, the next chapter will be called 'Gemini,' so you can probably guess that it will focus on Lysander and the loss of his twin brother, Lorcan.

Thanks so much for reading! It feels good to be back; I missed you all :)

-Hailey