AN: I'm thinking about throwing ceramic vases against walls and how good it would feel. Oh and hi, I'm still not JK Rowling.


Hope Lupin cleans when she's upset.

On good days the house smelled like books and freshly baked bread. On bad days the house smelled like laundry detergent and Lysol, and when it's like today, Remus feels like either passing out or making a run for it. It's almost like being back in Potions, only nothing is as bad as sitting through Potions and it's sour and acid smell.

Thus, Remus was only left with the option of leaving the house. He left before the boiling smell of sharp detergents would stick and sink into the wallpapers, into the furniture; into his head.. No he wouldn't let that happen. It had happened too many times before, and he'd spent too many hours tending invisible wounds from the horrid smell he knew better.

Whenever he did chose to leave his mother would always chase after him with a spray of cleanser and a feather duster that sometimes made him giggle. Though she didn't like seeing her son leave, it was easier that way. That might sound horrible, but it felt easier to try and wash guilt and pain away when he wasn't there. She didn't want him to see her crying while trying wash it all away.

Little did she know her son was doing exactly the same thing.

Remus was trying to scrub every touch, every thought, every feeling, every memory of a dream away. The moment he'd woken up from his transformation, he'd been stuck with trying to find his way back to something, someone, he'd already lost.

He couldn't take it anymore. He told himself it couldn't go on like this. He couldn't let this burning mark left inside his veins step into his life and crash and rip away every sense of routine and control. Worst of all was that he didn't know why. He didn't know was how a single stupid dream had suddenly made him lose grip on himself; how the wolf inside of him was starting to tear through. He couldn't even remember the dream – just the fragment of warmth and…

No.

He had to do something. He had to stop staring down at his hands trying to remember how it felt being held by… fucking hell, he couldn't even remember her all correctly. Fuck.

Stop thinking about her.

Green eyes scanned the room for anything that could be used as a distraction from the itching sensation under his skin, caused by a dream of something and someone he didn't even remember or knew the fucking name of… no. He needed something to interrupt this feeling of being compressed and trapped by something he couldn't even see. But with his bags already packed with the majority of his few belongings, Remus was left sitting in a nearly empty room.

It wasn't much. Nothing like James' cluttered room with French windows and ornate mouldings.

Remus' room was compact and practical, only a few small details making it look like someone was actually living there. Details like his Polaroid's shoved under the bed into a stack bound with a rubber band. Details like bookshelf. Compared to James' bookshelves filled with first editions, sketchbooks, dictionaries, vases, dime-store paperbacks and translations in numerous languages, the majority of Remus' shelf were records – the vinyl's looking like dilapidated houses leaning against each other for support. Paul Simon, Zeppelin, Carl Douglas, The Who, Kraftverk, Dylan, Carole King, Marquee Moon and Floyd.

The distorted voice from his mother made his head snap up from his crouching position.

''Remus, dear, would you eat the last pancakes before we have to throw them away?''

Great.

Pancakes. He might just do a backflip in excitement. Might just sing out a blessed hallelujah the top of his lungs. Might just summon a confetti canon to celebrate the occasion. But he didn't. Even if he would have, Transfiguration wasn't his strongest subject, and he probably would've messed the spell up anyway.

After a long yawn, a stretch to the roof and a quick rub of his eyes, Remus moves towards the stairs, grumbling over the food he was about to press down his throat. It was always pancakes. Not even waffles, or the American pancakes Alice once showed him, or French toast. No. Just pancakes. Always plain, boring, bloody pancakes.

He learned to flip pancakes in the air when he was 10 years old. On his 11th birthday he learned how to crack eggs with only one hand. At 12 he perfected his recipe with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla extract. When he was 15 and the lads came over to visit he had felt confident enough to flip the pancake behind his back. It was a marvellous trick that earned him standing ovations, hoots and slaps between his shoulder blades. That moment was one of few, rare, good memories Remus had associated with pancakes. (Then there was of course that eating contest that ended with Sirius throwing up all over his homework…)

The kitchen was empty when he got there.

It looked like it had been transformed into an operation room. It looked sterilized and prepared for surgery, all the cutlery and pans shining like silver under the humming fluorescents. He found the scene kind of unnerving, honestly. He even found the stupid chopsticks intimidating. Then again, Remus was never been a big fan of operation tables.

Ducking his head into the fridge, Remus grabs a mason jar full of what looks to be something fancy, but what is actually just off-brand grape soda.

With the soda and the cold plate of pancakes, Remus escapes into what his mother liked to call the office, but what was more of a littered library.

The library is the only room in the house with a high ceiling. It was big too; big enough to fit two couches (although so far they only had one.) There were two trunks, one suitcase and a leather-shoulder bag arranged neatly at the side of the room. Next to the suitcase was the grubby envelope containing the list of supplies and books needed for this school year. Light was supplied from the big window facing the front drive. Outside the neighbours are mowing their front lawn. An immaculately dressed, eighty-year-old woman was trimming the roses growing across the street, nimble, brisk - and highly agitated. She always looked sad, that woman. What for was still unknown.

He had never asked why.

''You sure you got everything packed?'' a voice called from upstairs.

Remus didn't, nor couldn't answer his mother that yes, his bags had been checked at least three times by now. Even if he tried, at any attempt, only hoarse cries would come out. His voice was gone, his vocal chords still adjusting and trying to fight the swollenness from the moon and the transformation.

Hope Lupin cleans when she's upset.

She always had, ever since she first saw him like this; wrecked by a curse no one could wash away. And even though it would never fix anything, she always makes the house fucking spotless whenever he returned. It didn't change anything. She polished every surface into a mirror and it fix anything. It didn't change the fact that the curse of the moon was pumping through her son's veins and that there was nothing she could do to save him.

He always left.

He left when the windows were drenched in spray and the vacuum cleaner sucked and pushed all the mothy dust around the house like galaxies and stars and the old pancakes and leftovers were brought out from their deep frozen tomb and when the bubbles were still swimming in the air and when the curtains were drawn back letting too much light pour in and when the radio was on full blast and everything everything every thing was just too much, so much, so much noise, all in one big sweep.

It always ended in a headache.

Hope Lupin cleans when she's upset.

Usually he didn't stay this long. He should've left an hour ago, but every time he felt strong enough to stand he could feel the memory of a soft, broken voice uttering his name, Remus, come back. Even though he couldn't remember a face of the dream - the effect was shattering. It was like a black hole – pulling him back in again. There was something in her voice that made it impossible to leave. Maybe even to the point where he was starting to doubt that he'd dreamed in the first place. Usually he forgot about his dreams the first few minutes of waking up, but this fragment of a girl... He was starting to think it was real. It had never been a dream, or he wouldn't still feel the warmth in his palms. But how how could it be real and how could he still not remember it fully?

The wolf was angry. Angry and hurtful, letting it's claws scrape under his forehead. Talon-like fingers were threading through his net of nerves. No matter how hard he tried to scrub the thought it always came back. Getting her out of his head was like prying fungus from a window. He couldn't. Blur. Darkness of a hospital room. Blur. The voice and the feeling of someone holding his hands always drew him back, staying etched to his roots, to his hands, to his thoughts forever. Blurry. It was tormenting. She was like a permanent stain – like candle-wax on fabric, itched into the wire. No.. He couldn't wash her away.

Fuck. He was staring at his hands again. Damn it.

This was getting outrageous. He couldn't let the memory and idea of a person he knew nothing about make him lose grip on himself. No, he had to find something. He had to find someone else. Seek refuge somewhere else.

He couldn't stay much longer. It was time to leave. Now, before this mother brought the mop and chlorine out.

Jumping into his muddy shoes, Remus threaded his arms through his just as soiled coat. The movements were strangled and slow; much like trying to move two magnets together. It seemed impossible.

Despite the out of balance and numb stir, he manage to make it outside.

The wolf was howling by the time he passed the old lady with the wrinkly, trembling hands moving over the roses. The knife-like claws scratching at the back of his head accelerated, but he kept walking down the street with the warm summer with crickets chirping, cicadas chittering, and eventually the dogs barking (like they always did) when he rang the doorbell to Julie Friol.


10:57 AM.

They overslept.

''MOVE!''

Two figures crossed over King's Cross station in a blur.

Maybe oversleeping and being one of the last five students to board the train didn't fit the template of an ideal Head Boy. Maybe racing over the empty platform of 9 ¾ wasn't the smartest way to act next to a reverberating train. Offering stupid grimaces and sticking your tongue out to classmates or booming ''OUT OF THE WAY OR YOU'LL GET SQUISHED'' or almost tripping over someone's trunks or almost tackling a crying student to the ground wasn't part of the Head Boy duties, but you have to remember than even though James Potter was now Head Boy, he was still a Marauder.

''You're buying us breakfast,'' Sirius hissed through his teeth, his toe stubbing yet another trunk as they wandered the train corridor. His stomach let out a growl as if to back up his statement.

They move further down the train.

Voices, boisterous, speak in hushed tones of the upcoming year. In one cabin, a boy has a girl pressed up against the dirty window-glass. They kiss the story of a summer apart, since they have nothing interesting to tell. In another cabin, first-years cling to their pre-school innocence.

''I'm starving.''

''Hang in there, Pads,'' James muttered, throwing a small levitation spell over a bag blocking their path before advancing at high velocity through the narrow hallway. He had tripped on at least three cases by now. The last car had been nearly clean of them, everyone having tucked them safely in overhead storage containers- this one, however, was a mine field of scuffed-knee, dented-shins, and disfigured-toe inspiring hazards.

"Your mum packed me an extra snack but I forgot it in the hallway."

Mrs Potter usually packed Sirius an extra snack, because unlike most boys his age, he still fell into the same tendencies as a 3 year old who got grumpy if they didn't get fed enough. And usually she wouldn't spoil the son of the wealthy House of Black, but sometimes, especially when it came to food, she allowed it.

"You can calm down, I got it, so whatever got you like this… all… moody, we made it here in time, didn't we?"

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, eyes down. "Yeah..."

The train was moving out of London, the city soon replaced with a night-black tunnel, light exploding into green and pink when the train rushed over a field of flowers, then green patches forests, sunlit spires of shimmer into view, redolent with promise… yellow and orange fields, blue sky with stretched clouds, dark lakes, picturesque villages and ruined abbeys resting on top of hills.

Eventually they found the compartment they had claimed dibs on their second year. James grabbed his Head Boy badge in a swoop, yelled out something nonsensical and disappeared down the hall to go to the prefect's compartment. Sirius slumped down in the seat by the window, tapping his shoulder where it had grown stiff and numb under stress.

He was glad to be on the move – officially moving as far away as he could from all that had happened during the summer. Not most of it had been bad, of course – in fact there had been several golden moments he'd all carefully placed in jars and pockets to save and cherish in his older years, but the end of summer had been a struggle.

Ever since Remus transformation, and St. Mungos, Sirius had been feeling antsy. It was the same feeling he'd had right before his mother had approached him, telling (or rather ordering him) how he was to follow in the footsteps of people he hated. It was the same feeling he'd had the night he'd ran away.

It was change, and like any reasonable wizard, he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Hogwarts would be a good escape though. It always was. So for a moment, he let himself get carried away with the train, gently falling back in his seat as he listened to the familiar sounds leading him home.

The Hogwarts Express was an old train, by all rights a disaster waiting to happen, and only because the city wanted to placate its elder citizens that it wasn't scrapped for the junkyard already. As it is, Sirius liked it just fine, thank you very much. Regardless of its faded exterior, decrepit interior, and lack of emergency exits… it's was an alright train.

It rattles as it goes.

Rattle, rattle. Whoosh. Rattle, rattle. Whoosh. Rattle –

And so on and so forth.

Somewhere along the way he must've fallen asleep, because he flitted back into consciousness an hour or so later. Looking outside the sun had danced across the sky and the forest was gone and replaced with forbidding cliffs and mountains hiding in the horizon. Sirius blinked, eyes adjusting at the harsh light. Lazy hands rubbed the sleep away. There was movement at the edge of his vision again, miscellaneous floaters, consolation prizes for actual sight in the light. He rubbed again, resting his head back against the wall behind him. Sitting opposite to him, the empty seat across from him was no longer empty, but occupied.

''You're up,'' Peter observed, lowering the Transfiguration book to his lap. ''I had to sit with Alfred Ledin from Hufflepuff for 24 minutes and yesI counted,'' he added miserably, as if it was Sirius fault. Lacking any physically intimidating attributes, Peter masked a very complicated and dangerous anger.

Sirius stretched in his seat. A yawn pulled on his mouth and limbs, eyes squeezing shut before sighing in content.

''Could've been worse.'' Peter huffed. ''Could've been Gallagher, talking your head off about stars aligning and clouds falling,'' Sirius argued, taking a closer look at his friend that was now sitting nose-deep into his book. One curious eyebrow quirked up disbelievingly at sight of a cushy cashmere and a rib-knit texture vest fitted around Peter's round figure.

Oh.

This was new. The contemporary tailoring and the sumptuous fabric was definitely new. Sure, it looked like Peter had found inspiration from the 19th century, only a top hat and a cane missing to complete the outfit, but nevertheless, it was new.

''You look like my grandfather,'' Sirius sniggered.

Peter didn't miss a beat.

''Oh, is your grandpa super cool?''

Though he shouldn't have, Sirius was happy with Peter's sour answer and that the book was now snapped shut and put away. ''No, he's an filthy, affluent idiot,'' Sirius answered, leaning forward to catch all the details in the crisp shirt and the soft sweater and the slim (and perhaps too small) vest. Sure, Peter was one of the better dressed in the group – but this was different. Maybe even a little bit over top. ''Honestly though, who are you trying to impress? Alfred Ledin from Hufflepuff?''

Peter moved to stare out the window as he delivered his next line. ''Just because you're wearing the t-shirt you slept in doesn't mean I have to.''

Sirius was just about to call out objections when the door to the compartment was opened. He turned around to tell whomever miserable first year it was to scat. Only it wasn't a first year. It was James Potter, re-joining his friends by casually leaning against sliding door with his head tilted.

''You-'' the Head Boy pointed his finger directly at Peter. ''-young man, need to explain yourself.''

''Wha-?'' Peter was just about to start campaigning for his clothes once again, but as it turns out, that wasn't what he was being accused of anymore.

''I just ran into... S-S-Suzy T-Taube on my way here,'' James imitated the girl's stutter with a goofy smile, eyes glistering with anticipation as Peter's hands started to dance over his book like a Juilliard pianist warming up. He'd hit a nerve. ''And she just shoved this-'' A small transparent box filled with biscuits comes out from hiding behind his back. ''-into my chest and told me to say hi to P-P-P-Peter.''

Peter suddenly turned into a vivid red, cheeks burning and eyes wide. ''I… uh…'' Scratching the back of his head, he seemed to gulp down something as big as a golf ball. ''W-Who?'' he lied.

''That's a load of old crap. Who is she?''

''Oh we've hit the jackpot.'' An impatient (starving, mind you) Sirius quickly got up and swiftly stole the bundle of biscuits away from James. ''I mean who cares? Suzy is great,'' he breathed, eyes wide and filled with joy. Cuddling the box close to his heart, Sirius collapsed down into his seat again. ''I say 'eep 'ergh!'' he added, his mouth already filled with the sweet treat.

Marine, sceptical and tactful eyes watched him from the other side, debating whether Sirius was joking or not. In the end, Peter decided that it didn't matter.

''I might ask her out. I mean. I've been planning to…. I think uh… I've been t-thinking about it.''

''Guwd for yuh!'' A shower of biscuit crumbs flew out as Sirius spoke, his face twisted into a deep concentration as he weighed his next biscuit in his hand, chewing maliciously. ''While you're at it, make 'er do moh biscuits.''

Peter sighed and pulled up his book again, silently hoping they would give up the interrogation. Thankfully they did. Sirius made a pause in shoving biscuits into his mouth. The thick taste of burnt biscuits had finally caught up to him and it made him feel sick. Condensation was found in the window, his eyes fixated on the sky outside.

"How did the meeting go?"

James grinned. "Lily was amazing. She is. Really."

"Tell me something new, mate… Like how did you manage to loose Moony?''

''Dunno. He was at the prefects meeting. He took notes,'' James shrugged before digging up two packs of chocolate frogs from his pocket before throwing them, graciously soaring through the air. ''Breakfast.''

Sirius caught the pack with his left hand, quickly pocketing it. He didn't feel like eating.

Peter didn't catch his – the pack falling to the floor with a depressing thunk. Chubby fingers instantly dived down and started to rip the box open, the frog gone within minutes. For someone who's inner animal was a rat, Peter wasn't being very careful with his portion. He ate like a bear.

"Did he look okay?" Peter mumbled. This was a question that more than often bounced back and forth between the three animagi. Only now, as of lately, especially after the latest Mungo's incident and transformation, it was asked about every five minutes. "How's he holding up?"

A shrug. "He was quiet, then again, he was taking notes of what everyone said, so there wasn't really any time to let anything out… I think he's fine though. I mean, he will be." James gulped, and after some thought, he added; "But if he doesn't get in here within the next 10 minutes I think we should check."

"Sounds like a plan," Sirius nodded, adjusting the collar of his shirt, hand aimlessly trying to massage the knots in his shoulders.

While waiting for the last Marauder to arrive, Peter went back to his reading, Sirius stared at the sky and James started scribbling and sketching in a notepad, humming a soft tune while tracing abstract designs on a paper and adding the familiar initials to the top corner of the page. He usually started to hum after spending time around Lily.

BAM.

The peaceful moment passed, a very stressed Remus Lupin scrambling inside like he had just been chased by a flock of pixies. The door was quickly shut, drapes pulled down over the windows.

''I.. uh…''

James' jaw dropped to the ground by the sight of the prefect. He was shocked. Just 15 minutes ago Remus had been fine, the hair at least somewhat tamed and the face- well… not this pink.

''How do I look?'' Remus rasped through swollen lips.

''Good Godric.'' Peter scratched the back of his head. ''Honestly? You look like…''

''Like you put that lipstick on by eating it,'' Sirius grinned from ear to ear before the three Animagi burst out laughing until they couldn't breathe, wheezing out mispronounced words that was supposed to spell Who did you try to eat this time?, tears starting to leak - eventually vaporizing into silent giggles.

''Brilliant work, but I'm sure Lily would love to give you a tutorial,'' James managed between his chuckles, his voice growing incredibly soft as he added a small smile. ''Her lipstick looks great.''

Peter turned to James. ''But Lily doesn't wear lipstick.''

''She did once. In fifth year.''

Sirius sighed. ''Guys, Moony here needs our words of wisdom. Focus.'' The laughter was gone, but the teasing atmosphere stayed, buzzing through the three boys. ''It looks like our friend has ditched the idea of celibacy.'' Sirius slammed his hands together in a loud clap before slowly rubbing them against each other like he usually did when planning an elaborate scheme. Together, James and Sirius leaned closer – elbows resting on their knees for leverage.

''Soo… Who's the lucky lady?''

James was pulling the biggest shit eating grin Remus had ever seen so far.

''No one.''

Remus felt like punching James when the smile only grew wider.

''Your clothes are ruined,'' Peter noted. Which was true. Most of his beige jumper had smudged marks from lips, the itchy fabric covered in polka dots shining in the same bright colour as grapefruits. ''Wouldn't recommend going to the Great Feast like this. You look like a Dalmatian…''

James raised a finger. "A pink Dalmatian."

''No shit.''

''Hey, none of that!''

''Fuck you.''

''Daydreaming again, Moony?''

Remus huffed. Daydreaming was the last thing he was doing. Quite the opposite, really… Because as soon as he let his thoughts wander, they were always led back to the girl he had spent five days trying to wash away and forget. Unfortunately the wolf was just as stubborn as he was.

"How are you feeling? When did you have breakfast? Hold on, do you want a Suzy-biscuit?"

James didn't wait for an answer, only a second passing before he flung a biscuit straight at Remus. Quick reflexes made the werewolf jump, instantly distracted from his conflicted thoughts. He caught the biscuit just a few inches away from his face while Peter got hit square in the nose.

Getting things thrown at you was something every marauder had grown used to by now. Being friends with a Chaser usually did that. Because basically anything light enough to throw became a quaffle in James' eyes. In this case: biscuits.

''You don't want one?'' James frowned as Peter threw his back. With one quick glance to Sirius sitting next to him, he noticed how veiny hands and fingers now moulded over the box like bars in a prison. ''They'll be gone in a minute,'' he warned. ''You should take one. They're for you, after all.''

''No thanks. I will take one when Suzy stop putting raisings in things I would otherwise enjoy eating.''

Remus sniggered. ''You're being unraisinable,'' he smiled, earning a long boo and a bewitched paper airplane attacking him.

Peter gasped, though Remus wasn't sure whether it was because of the terrible pun or because of the insult. Maybe both. Either way, Remus earned a slap to the back of his head, followed by a shove and very upset words roaring: ''Am not!''

With a small incarnation and a tap of his wand, James threw a new biscuit over to Peter. To his delight, this time the raisins were replaced with chocolate. He leaned over it like a prayer. Neat. Yum.

Remus inhaled his biscuits in record time, leaving him time to analyse the compartment. It didn't take long for him to connect dots, or connect blanks rather – seeing it as even after eating a full meal of biscuits and snacks supplied from Prongs – Sirius was still moping.

"What's wrong?"

"Hm?"

"You're nervous," Remus concluded, letting theories stack up. "If you're worried about my polka dots, it's no one serious, and it's no one of importance to you, so you can stop chewing the inside of your cheek and you can stop staring out the window."

Sirius shook his head. "That's not it. I'm just… thinking."

"I already told you a hundred times! I'm alright, okay? I'm fine. So stop." Remus released a heavy breath. "I really don't need more people to worry about me. I hate it. You already know that."

"I know… sorry."

The remaining time spent in the compartment was loud and boisterous, mainly debating where they could get their hands on Bowtruckles and how to interpret them into a prank. Peter was eager to import some Streelers from Africa and set them free during a Quidditch game. The idea was quickly shot down by Sirius who argued that Bowtruckles was the obvious choice. After that Peter got quiet and grouchy, sinking into his seat as if hoping to melt into it. While Sirius prompted for one last game of Exploding Snap before arriving at the station, James decided to spend the last 30 minutes on cheering Peter up.

And that's why James was Helium.

''What are you on about, Casanova?''

Remus hadn't realized he'd said it out loud, but nevertheless, he shrugged like it was obvious. ''You're Helium.''

After spitting out a sardine Bertie Bott's, Sirius threw one over to hit Remus square in the face. Remus glared, and Sirius glared back because it wasn't the most obvious fact. ''What are you talking about? And what the hell is a Helium?''

It was too late to backtrack – too late to take back the words he hadn't meant to slip in the first place, considering that it would take a lot of explaining on his part to make the three purebloods understand what he had been studying over the summer. They didn't know much about Muggle chemistry. Remus, however, did. Especially now after spending most of his summer researching the textbook Lily had loaned him.

It was a struggle explaining the periodic table to the three wizards, explaining how he had technically brainwashed himself in a method trying to memorize all the elements. It was a simple system; he just labelled all his friends and classmates as elements to reference back to. So far the technique had proved to be working. He went on explaining that Sirius was Neon and that Peter was Thallium. The list went on describing Caradoc Dearborn as Titanium because he was so strong and Rodolphus Lestrange as Uranium because he was perilous.

''This settles it, you're insane.''

Mary Macdonald was Silicon because she was brittle yet had a very cocky hard surface and Marlene McKinnon was Quicksilver because of her speed. Lily Evans was Strontium because her firework red hair and Dorcas Meadowes was Iodine because she always killed negative vibes whenever she entered the room.

''Honestly, get some help,'' Peter cried, reaching over to knock on Remus head as if expecting it to me made out of a coconut shell. Like he was hoping for hollow sound effects.

''And James. James is Helium.''

''Screw Helium. I don't want to be a gas!''

''What do you want be then?''

James paused, sinking back into his seat like a sulking child. ''I don't know. Something else.'' His lower lip was pouted, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to think of an element. He didn't know many. ''Oh. What about Iron?''

''Already taken.''

''Steel?''

''That's not a chemical element.''

''Oh come on. What do you mean I'm Helium? That my head looks like a balloon? That I have a high-pitched voice? … no. You be Helium! Your mum can be Helium!'' James shrieked and both Sirius and Peter gasped at the outburst.

Remus just shook his head. ''No, you are Helium because you always make everything... I don't know. Lighter.'' It was always James who effortlessly made everything seem easy. It was James who had spent whole summer between fifth and sixth year with constant patience and effort to convince Remus to re-join the group after the Prank because not only had he been furious at himself, but at everything.

James visibly relaxed. ''I get it. So Helium is good?''

''It's great,'' Remus assured with a nod, but apparently it wasn't enough of an answer.

''Is Helium cool?''

Remus hesitated. ''Cool?''

''Yeah, cool! Is it cool?''

''It's cooler than cool. It's ice-cool.''

''Sweet!'' James beamed, deeply satisfied. It was like being chosen by King Arthur, ruler of Albion, the once and future king, gifted with Excalibur, born of blood and magic. ''I'm Helium, Padfoot is Neon and Wormtail is.. T-something-ium. And what are you?''

''Huh?''

''What element are you?''

''Me?''

''Yes! You! Come on, Moony, you have to have one too.''

''No. I… I don't have one.''

Sirius smiled so much his cheeks started to hurt. ''I swear you're Sand cause you're about as dry as a desert, or wait, no! You're Water cause you always start to cry when…''

''Unnilpentium,'' Remus interrupted, not bothering to mention that neither Sand nor Water was actual elements of the periodic table. ''Maybe.''

''What? Unnil…?''

''…pentium. Unnilpentium.''

''What's that?''

''It's a temporary name for a synthetic element. Atom number 105. Chemical symbol Unp.''

Sirius scoffed. ''Still think you're better as Sand.''


It only took seconds after the train's piercing screech for students to leak out of the narrow doors of the train, some of them not even waiting for the train to make a halt. They all jumped out onto the Hogsmeade station, packs of First years herded like cattle towards the end of the platform where the boats were docked along with the giant groundskeeper. Some gave the Black Lake dubious looks, the water looking like ink more than anything, to which prefects and older students taunted that going to the Forbidden Forest wasn't ideal either.

James Potter moved through all of the students determinedly, methodically, and unemotionally —like he doesn't even notice anyone else there. If it hadn't been for Peter walking beside him, naturally making people move aside, he would most definitely had tripped. He made it as far as to the carriages, his eyes skimming the clearing for the Hufflepuff prefect they had promised to share a carriage with.

That is until he suddenly felt a small hand wrap itself around his wrist, pulling him back. Or well… The hand was trying to hold him back, the fail resulting in almost being dragged behind him instead. Thankfully, he stopped, making Peter do so as well. Turning around, the petite hand was presented with a tiny Gryffindor who was still short enough to be mistaken as a first year.

''Oh, hi Florence,'' James greeted her. ''Is something wrong? You alright?''

She didn't look very happy: distressed blue eyes ogling him like an owl, her hand trembling on her slightly twisted red tie and her breath ragged. Hiding behind her short spiked hair her overly large ears was starting to turn in a tint of pink. She was biting the edge of her fingernails.

''My cat is missing!''

''I'm sure that-''

''Your patch… I… You're the Head Boy, so… If anyone asks, can you please tell them that I've gone back to the train to look?''

James frowned, considering her words for a moment. Next to him, Peter rolled back on his heels, looking anywhere but at Florence. Usually Peter was good with little ones, but James could only assume his awkward posture and flushed face was a side-effect of the fact that Biscuit Suzy had just walked past them. He would've teased his friend about it, maybe he would've proposed a shared carriage, but both of them were already called dibs on.

Turning back his focus to Florence, James bit his lip as he shook his head no, and Florence visibly broke. ''No, you can't go there alone,'' he spoke as a matter of fact. When tears started to swell from her eyes, he hurried to add his solution. ''I'd love to escort you down though. Head duties call.''

"Really?''

With a light poke to Peter who was more than distracted looking for Suzy's silhouette disappearing amongst a sea of Hufflepuffs, James cleared his throat. "You coming mate? Mission update."

Peter was quick to shake his head. "I…I… No thanks. Sorry." Peter really didn't like cats. Never had really. Not since the incident of last summer. "Good luck on finding the thing though." And then, with a wave, he rush away before neither James or Florence could convince him to help.

"Thanks for helping, James."

''My pleasure, madam,'' he smiled. ''So. What's your cat called?'' he asked.

''Dingo.''

It wasn't a long way back to the station, but nevertheless, Florence seemed to appreciate his company. Especially when he lit his wand in a warm Lumos to guide their way along the small poplars lining the curb. The street was deserted and wet, drying in splotches scattered around. Hogsmeade was shining around them.

''I can't wait for third year when I get to go on weekend trips here,'' Florence sighed happily. ''My sister used to work at Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop. They have the greatest peach tea.''

''They also have terrifying cupcakes with chocolate spiders on them. Last one crawled into my robe until it melted." He paused, enjoying the sound of Florence's full on giggling when he explained the inconvenient position of the stain.

Florence was in the middle of describing the kitten, hoping James would help her look- only to stop in mid-sentence when the Head Boy stiffened like a plank next to her. She didn't know what for. The station was empty and she hadn't even mentioned that Dingo was a scratcher sometimes. She watched in awe as the calm hazel eyes filled with fright. The intense, soulful hazel eyes captured her into some kind of shock, her eyes staring as his expression hardened. Then, before she could ask him what was happening, James swung around, his long feet striding over the platform. She called out his name, which was enough to break his weird trance.

"I'm just gonna go check on something, look for Dino, yeah?"

"Oh…Oh-kay."

With that, James set off after the figure he thought he'd just caught the glimpse of. The girl who he recognized from the duel with the Auror. The girl who Peter had deemed responsible for Remus' collapse, only to be shut down by Sirius who'd time after time told them to stop talking about her. Because according to Sirius, as long as they stayed away from her, so would she. Now, that wasn't the approach he would usually take, so James was fairly certain there had to be something else going on with the girl. There had to be a reason Sirius went blank and grumpy whenever Peter brought her up – or why he was acting all nervous whenever he'd been inside his own head alone with his thoughts for too long.

He called out for her to wait, hold on, and when she stopped, so did he.

When she turned around, James didn't know whether to feel scared or not. Maybe he didn't notice, but he developed the same nervous fidgets Sirius had been sported the whole trip.

Her voice was soft. ''It's you.''

"I'm uh.. James."

She was watching him with curious eyes, clearly not expected him to find her. She looked so calm – a completely different person from the person he had held last time he saw her. She was steady, precise and very much alive. He didn't know how to react. It felt like he was meeting her for the first time.

She didn't seem to have the similar experience. Sure, she was looking at him very intently, as if checking every detail, every mole and dimple and messy curl, but she seemed so familiar with it already. It felt odd, and James shifted anxiously, hoping that she would say something soon.

"I'm Hermione."

Nerves get the best of him and his eyes shoot down his shoes. Feeling very self-aware of himself, James tilted his head up to watch her again. When he found her smiling everything felt stupid. He was being stupid. So stupid.

''I… uhm… hi. You… Uh… how are you?''

There was an infinitesimal pause, a smile, then, ''I'm okay. You?''

''Good! That's good. Good. Good! Super good,'' fervour words tumbled out like a waterfall. "I'm good as well, actually. Splendid. Well-fed, well-rested and all, so it's good."

Hearing himself repeat the word like a broken record, James mentally facepalmed. Then, taking a big load of air he manage to stop them from falling out, gathering his thoughts for a moment. He tried to recall any of the questions he had been stuck with ever since he last saw her. He was trying to sort out the biggest question mark he had about her. There were so many.

''At St. Mungo's… You talked to Sirius… just… What did you say to Sirius?'' he finally said. "People usually don't have this effect on him."

She smiled. "I asked him to trust me."

Knowing his best friend, his brother, better than anyone, that was a really bad way to start of with Sirius. Honestly, it was probably the worst. Then again, she was trying. And Sirius could be tough at first introductions.

And with Sirius, you had to earn the trust.

Looking at her, James suddenly realised that her presence wasn't something she was willing to offer him. She wasn't keeping the flow of questions and answer. She was waiting for the silence to conquer him and almost desperately he jumped at it. ''Are you here for Hogwarts? Or are you on the move?'' James knew that there was a little chance of the girl to be here for school, but then again, he'd heard Professor McGonagall get mentioned in the small debrief of Aurors. ''Hogwarts is great, you know. Safest place in the world.''

The girl stopped smiling.

''I don't know,'' she answered after some thought. ''They haven't told me anything yet.''

''They?''

''The people who's been looking after me. Aurors.'' she explained. ''They still don't know what to do with me.''

James carefully watched her, trying to find answers. If he played this right, he could find enough clues to piece together with whatever Sirius had found out. If they worked together, maybe the could find enough pieces to see the whole picture.

''What happened to you?''

She stilled, giving him a look like he already knew too much. Like he had already seen too much.

Like he was the one withholding information from her. ''H.. James, I'm fine,'' she stressed, as though he had already asked a million times before and that she had already answered him this a million times before. ''I already told you I'm fine.'' The second time she said it he didn't believe her. The second time he couldn't decrypt her.

James frowned. ''Do you trust me?''

When she nodded she almost looked guilty about it.

''Then please tell me what is going on. Why is Sirius all quiet?''

She didn't give him the answer he was looking for. ''He's worried. About me.''

''Can I trust you?'' James asks. Or maybe it was a question if he should or not.

This time she smiled. ''I hope you do.'' Chocolate eyes fell down to her hands, slowly scratching knuckles. Then something changed. As if her own words just made her realize something. ''You need to get back to Hogwarts, or you'll miss the feast.''

Their time was running out. She was ending it.

"And where are you going?''

She swallows. "The Auror, Jiggers – you remember? He has a house here in Hogsmeade. He doesn't want me in London – I could go hide with Muggles and disappear,'' she nearly laughs, rolling her eyes at the idea. "I'm staying here until I'm cleared with all the documents and alibis."

James remembers. The gruff looking Auror was the last person he had expected to be her mentor. It didn't make any sense. He tried to tie and connect the girl and the Auror together, but it didn't seem to fit.

"Wasn't he the Auror who… I mean, it sounds like a strange choice, I think. Didn't he attack you…? Or vice versa?"

"It was a messy night."

"A wreck," James nodded in agreement, biting his lip anxiously. "For a second I was scared to follow you just now. Thought you'd might start another duel, and I'm really not up for that," he admitted. At least not a duel like the one she'd had with the Auror. Fuck that.

"I would never," Hermione shook her head. Her smile fading little by little before being replaced by a indifferent look. "Besides, they've stripped me from my wand… I'm pretty sure they've snapped it."

The Head Boy cringed. Before he could stop it he imagined the feel of his wand splitting, the way the end would spark, just once, and then fizz out. He imagined it would feel like something dying. Losing a part of yourself with it. He could understand that she was hurting. It was twisting on her lips and hiding in her eyes. He wanted to help her, console her, but he didn't move. He didn't get a chance to, either. Which probably was for the best.

''JAMES!'' a voice yelled, and Hermione's sad eyes turned wide. Turning around, the two of them found the tiny Florence cradling her orange cat to her chest, eyes filled with worry. ''We'll miss the feast!'' she squeaked. ''The carriages..!''

He didn't have much choice but to fall in defeat under the tiny girl's words. It was time to leave, and as he gave Hermione a slow nod, he felt how this wasn't the end of anything. This wasn't a closure - not at all. Nowhere close. And yet this meeting had been cut short. She gave him a polite nod, softly bidding him and Florence goodbye and to take care, watching as the two students moved away from the scene, maybe relived that the Head Boy hadn't had enough time to cause a scene.

On their way back, Florence asked who the girl was, and James repeated her name. He smirked as he did so – at least now he knew where she was hiding.

''Why do I get the feeling you'll go back if I don't force you onto the carriage?'' Florence muttered up at him, and James snickered because she sure as hell was right.


AN: WAKE UP, THE BEATLES ARE ON SPOTIFY AND LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL! For those of you interested, I've got chapter five prepped, so yay. Mangoes for everyone ! ! !