Chapter 11: The Aftermath

Mysterious disappearances: don't say a word. Magnanimous speeches: one. Ears: all. Political climate: if the problem can't be weathered, the solution must be seized.

"Mr Potter, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said cordially, nodding to each of them. "Thank you for coming in."

James nodded vacantly, watching Lily as she primly took her seat, seemingly riveted by the Headmaster's attention.

"Of course," Lily chimes instantly, her green eyes eager and bright. "How are you, sir?" she added, and James looked down at his lap, struggling not to make a face.

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm well, thank you, Miss Evans," he replied amiably, "and you? How was your Halloween?"

James choked down a snicker as her cheeks reddened; she'd spent the morning after retching in their shared bathroom, which she knew he knew.

Not a word, she groaned threateningly from where she sat hunched over the toilet. Nothing happened.

I know that, he replied gleefully, positively giddy at the sight.

"I was a bit… unwell," she admitted, and James let out a loud cough. "But quite recovered now," she amended, a slow smile (one that James, after several weeks in close proximity, had come to learn was almost entirely forced) spreading over her lips. "You called us in for something, sir? Not because of Potter, I hope," she added, glaring at him.

"Evans, it is barely 9 a.m.," James muttered. "Can you please contain your disapproval until the end of this meeting?"

"That depends," she replied sweetly, "did your—" she stopped, her eyes widening, and James grinned, knowing she was catching herself on the word fuckery. "Did you manage to be disappointing in the wee hours of the morning?"

"Ah, Miss Evans, Mr Potter," Dumbledore interrupted quickly, cutting off James as he opened his mouth to respond. "You're both doing fine."

Lily'' pained smile slipped slightly at that; at the implication that they were both doing equally fine. James, catching the motion, was cheered.

"As it happens," Dumbledore continued, "I have called you both in on account of some rather unfortunate news." At the somber shift in the headmaster's tone, James looked up, eyeing him curiously. "My hope is that it amounts to nothing more than gossip among young people, of course," he added hesitantly, "but I'm afraid I must rely on you as my—shall we say, purveyors of truth."

James' gaze flicked to Lily and she glanced warily at him, both equally attuned to the developing seriousness of the meeting.

"Headmaster?" James prompted, as Lily leaned forward. "Did something happen?"

"Well, as there is no easy way to craft this, I suppose I shall just have to let the phrase exit as it will," Dumbledore said, grimacing. "It appears that Grant Stebbins of Ravenclaw House has been missing as of sometime on Halloween Eve."

Lily frowned. "Missing?" she echoed, glancing at James, who shrugged. "For four days?"

"He has failed to attend his classes," Dumbledore said hesitantly, "and if that were not sufficiently alarming, as you know as well as I Mr Stebbins' dedication to academia"—understatement of the year, James thought, remembering how the git had been practically dragged away from his O.W.L.s—"it seems as though none of his friends or housemates have been able to locate him following his exit from the library on Halloween."

Dumbledore leaned forward, removing his spectacles and rubbing his eyes; James squinted at him, noting that the man seemed very tired indeed. "I only wondered," Dumbledore said after a moment, pronouncing a quick cleaning charm for his lenses and then replacing them carefully on the bridge of his nose, "whether one of you might have heard something."

He sat back at that, and James wondered if he were not secretly crossing his fingers under the desk.

"I had rounds on Halloween," Lily said slowly, looking lost in concentration. "With Mulciber. Neither of us saw him. Pot- er, I mean," she amended with a sigh, turning to him. "James?"

"I haven't seen Stebbins anywhere," James replied with a shrug. "I suppose I could easily ask around; perhaps one of the other Prefects has," he offered coolly, delicately not mentioning the magical map he had enchanted to reveal the whereabouts of everyone at the school.

"Yes, yes, that would be quite a favor to me," Dumbledore responded, though he seemed distinctly agitated. He opened his mouth to say something, and then promptly shut it, his expression hopelessly conflicted.

None of it sat well with James.

"Professor," James broached carefully, ignoring Lily's wary expression at the prospect of his interruption, "is there something you're not telling us about this?"

"Ah, Mr Potter, I always forget how well you read people," Dumbledore declared wryly. "Yes, yes," he said, half to himself. "I suppose there is more I could share. Should share," he amended, looking sorrowfully at Lily.

Oh no, James thought instantly, his brow furrowed. Grant Stebbins—his parents—

"Mr Stebbins is, as you may be aware, of muggle descent," Dumbledore said slowly, confirming James' suspicions. "And given the times—"

"You can't possibly think something's happened to him," Lily gasped, her face paling. "Here? At Hogwarts?"

"I certainly don't want to nudge you towards any ill-begotten conclusions," Dumbledore offered hastily, "but facts being what they are, I do have to prepare for the likelihood that if something happened, I would have to take"—he paused, and James shook his head—"precautions."

"Precautions like what?" James asked, aware his voice was just an edge too loud to be talking to a professor. "Are you trying to tell us that there's real danger here?" He jerked his head at his counterpart, whose fingers had tightened almost imperceptibly around the arms of her chair. "That Evans could be in real danger, even?"

"He isn't saying that," Lily said quickly, though she turned back to Dumbledore. "You're not, are you?"

"I'm certainly not saying that at this moment," Dumbledore sighed. "And believe me, I do hope this is all premature on my part."

"You don't look like you believe that," James said stiffly, and for a moment, he and the older man locked eyes.

"What Potter's trying to say," Lily cut in delicately, easing the bristling tension in the room, "is that it does seem like you suspect foul play in this. Though, I agree," she added quickly, "it's best not to be too hasty."

"These are dangerous times," Dumbledore admitted, his gaze traveling from James' unyielding stare to Lily's' pleading one. "Times I regret that I could not have done more to prevent," he added wistfully, before straightening in his chair. "But as Head Boy and Head Girl of this school, it is your occupation to be aware of potential pitfalls afoot, and to do so discreetly."

Dumbledore's gaze flicked between them. "Am I clear?"

"Absolutely," Lily said at once, nodding reassuringly.

"Yes," James drawled insincerely, "we will be discreet in our vigilance." At that, Lily shot him a look of unfiltered irritation.

"Excellent," Dumbledore declared, unfazed, a spark of a smile returning to his expression. "Do let me know if you hear anything."

It was a kind but firm dismissal. They rose to leave, glaring perfunctorily at each other as they went, but before they reached the door, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Oh, and Mr Potter?"

James turned, offering a curtly respectful nod. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"Perhaps you might walk Miss Evans to class," Dumbledore suggested, and James had the sinking feeling it was about something more than chivalry.

"Ugh, I'm so glad you were able to get away," Lily sighed, plopping down next to Severus on the grass. She leaned over, kissing his cheek. "I've had the worst morning."

"You have?" Severus asked, surprised. "You seem fairly upbeat."

"I'm happy to see you," she said brightly, and it seemed like she was. "It's a relief, you know. Being around you for once, instead of all the other idiots at this school."

He couldn't help being pleased with that. She let him revel in it.

"What's going on?" he asked, draping his arm over her shoulders and burying his face in her hair. "Potter being difficult?"

"Difficult is Potter's permanent state of being," she sighed, "but no, it's just that a Prefect has gone missing, and nobody seems to know where he's gone, or even if we should be worried, and it's all just—" She paused, throwing her hands up. "A mess."

"Missing?" Severus echoed, frowning.

"Yes," she groaned, then turned, eyeing him curiously. "You haven't seen Stebbins anytime recently, have you?"

Time stopped.

He heard his own voice—Stebbins!—and then he heard it again—Sectumsempra!—and again—you can't tell her, you can't tell anyone—

"I—wh-" Severus stammered. "Why—"

"Well, you were partnered with him in Potions, but now that I think about it, that was weeks ago," she said, frowning, before making a careless gesture, waving the thought away. "Honestly, I like the guy, but I have the hardest time placing him."

Severus was breathing hard, picturing first the blood on the floor and then the hour he'd spent in the shower, scrubbing his hands clean like he might peel the skin right off—

"Are you okay?" Lily asked, reaching up to run a finger over his lips. "You look… strange."

"I'm—" Severus swallowed, trying to choke out the word fine. "Have you—did you meet with the other Prefects about this?" he asked desperately, clinging to any sort of normality he could muster. "Do they know?"

"Not yet. You wouldn't believe how difficult it was just to schedule a meeting," she muttered, with a transcendent scowl he regrettably couldn't bring himself to appreciate at the moment. "Honestly, I don't know how many owls flew back and forth this morning—"

"The other Prefects," Severus prompted hastily, "do they know?" He didn't think he could ask the question without giving himself away: Does Darian know?

She squinted at him. He quickly looked away.

"You're quite sweaty," Lily noted, frowning. "Sev, what's going on?"

"Don't know," he panted, pulling at his tie and struggling to form words. "Hot, I guess—"

"Well, yeah," she said, grinning. "Kind of the idea, you know—"

She moved to place her hand suggestively on his chest and he scrambled away, rising to his feet.

"I just remembered," he half-shouted, "there's—something. A thing, I mean, that I—"

"Sev," Lily gasped, "what on earth—"

He kissed her forehead roughly and took off.

Darian hurriedly pressed his lips to Dahlia's neck, nudging her back against his bed.

"Don't tell my boyfriend," she whispered, as he quickly undid the buttons of her oxford.

"I have no interest in ever speaking to Parkinson," Darian grunted back, picking her up and and tossing her onto his duvet. "Break up with him," he advised, reaching under her skirt and yanking her knickers down her slender legs. "Seems best."

"For what? For you?" she gasped, as he dropped to his knees, pushing her back on the bed. "I might, if I ever thought you'd stop disappearing on me every couple of months."

"Not for me," he muttered against the skin of her thigh. "Do it because he's an inconsequential fuck"—he licked up her clit, prompting a moan—"and because you're deeply unsatisfied."

He lowered his hand to his dick; half hard, at best. It seemed satisfaction in general was hard to come by. He put some effort into the foreplay but it wasn't what he came for, he reminded himself, scowling as he brought his hand up to slip a finger inside her. He came to fuck his head right, and Dahlia had done it before. She would do it again.

He brought her to a first, audible climax and then she was breathlessly reaching for him. He kicked his trousers into the corner and her eyes traveled to his cock, eyeing it skeptically.

"Do—" she hesitated. "Do you want me to—?"

"If you want," he grunted gently, and she hesitantly dropped to her knees, eyeing his cock with determination and licking her lips tentatively.

He gripped her hair as she slowly let her tongue slide over his tip; he hissed his approval and gave her a faint nod, closing his eyes. He went instantly back to the darkened room, the glint of the trophies—fucking Caleb, the fucking trophies—his hands on the broadness of Caleb's shoulders, the utter gusto of Caleb's mouth on his dick, fucking hell—

"Get on the bed," Darian growled, pulling out from her mouth and raising her up by her arms. She moved to remove her skirt—he stopped her.

"No," he panted, suddenly desperate to be inside her. "Leave it on."

He was thrusting into her, his eyes on her pretty face, but his mind was elsewhere; even when she cried his name he only heard Caleb's voice, felt Caleb's skin. It was hard now, and fast, probably too hard and too fast but she was pretending to like it, and he was about to come, the festering anger at himself suddenly spilling over as she sunk her nails into his back, arching her pelvis against him—

He came with a strangled groan and fell against her just as the door burst open.

"Fuck," Darian snapped, lunging forward on his bed as she scrambled to hide behind him. "What fucking now?"

"Have you heard?" Severus asked, his face ghostly pale. "Has anyone—"

Darian grimaced. He should have known this was coming.

"I have a guest, Severus," he warned tightly, the words escaping through gritted teeth. Severus, who was decidedly not an idiot, quickly nodded, backing towards the door.

"I'll wait," he said, running a hand through his hair and twitching with nerves. "Dahlia," he muttered, nodding to her without looking up, "congratulations on the engagement—"

Darian turned sharply. "You're fucking engaged now?"

She glanced down sulkily.

"Do you care?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.

He tried to think about it, but the only thing filling his mind was the relentless grin on Caleb's face.

"No," he admitted, then turned back to scowl at Severus. "And you. You can wait outside."

"What is it?" Darian snapped, letting the door slam shut behind him, and Severus glared at him.

"Are you telling me you haven't heard?" Severus seethed tightly, beginning to pace the hallway. "We shouldn't talk about it here," he realized, pausing. "In your room, maybe—"

"Well, I've got somewhere to be," Darian replied stiffly, glancing up as Remus Lupin's door opened; the haggard Gryffindor flashed them a curious glance, and Severus glared back. "Prefect meeting."

"Yes," Severus said emphatically, remembering the point, "and it's about a missing Prefect." He glared meaningfully at Darian, hoping he grasped the implications.

Darian's lips twitched momentarily before a smooth, glassy layer of indifference glazed over his expression.

"So?" he asked. "If I remember correctly, and I do," he added, smirking, "last time I saw"—he paused, careful not to disrupt their facade as the rest of the Prefects made their way through the hall—"whoever this is about—"

"Come on," Severus slid through gritted teeth. "Don't be coy, Darian, you know what this is about—"

"I actually fucking don't," Darian snapped, "considering I don't know anything about a missing person." The corridor was empty now, but he looked around before stepping in closer, his voice low near Severus' ear. "As memory serves, we left him very much in the castle, and very much alive," Darian pronounces grimly. "If he's missing, that's not on my head."

Severus grunted inaudibly; what could he say to that?

"After all," Darian added, turning to exit the corridor, "I think you'll find I wasn't the one who cast the—" He paused, acting at innocence, "Sectumsempra, was it?"

At Severus' blanched expression, Darian shrugged, evidently satisfied. "A useful tool," he determined facetiously, and then smiled. "Hope I don't have to use it on anyone of… similar circumstance."

Severus' stomach turned with revulsion. Don't tell me that means what I think it means, he thought, recognizing a threat when he heard one and blinking away the image of Darian, his knife pointed at Lily's chest.

"Darian," Severus said helplessly, "you aren't—"

"No," Darian replied briskly, shaking his head. "I'm not."

He turned, about to walk away before glancing back, tossing his parting words carelessly over his shoulder.

"Not yet, anyway," Darian murmured, and Severus felt a chill at the words.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Lily said graciously, "it is—"

"—your fucking job to come when called," James cut in obnoxiously. "So ten out of ten for performance to you all."

"As I was saying," Lily continued tersely, pausing to flash him a glare of disapproval, "hopefully this won't take long, but there's a bit of a problem. It seems," she broached hesitantly, turning back to the group, "that Grant Stebbins hasn't been seen in a few days—"

"Has anyone checked his room? Or the library?" Rosier asked lazily.

"Being that we are not idiots, yes, we have checked," James snapped. "Pipe down, Rosier."

"It just seems a bit unreasonable for me to disrupt my day because somebody's lost a Ravenclaw," Rosier sniffed. "Mulciber's missing—should we schedule a meeting for him too?"

Lily rubbed her forehead, sighing. "Where is he?"

"He was talking to Snape in the hallway," Remus told her quietly. "I'm sure he's on his way."

Lily gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you," she said, and then turned back to the group. "So, Stebbins? Anyone?"

"Saw him on Halloween," Abbott said, shrugging. "Not since."

The rest of the room nodded their agreement.

"Great," James said glumly. "Fantastic. Meeting adjourned."

"No, no, meeting not adjourned—did anyone notice him having any problems?" Lily asked, pressing them. "Would he have run away? Could he have gone somewhere without telling anyone?"

Everyone grumbled incoherently in response.

"I'm sensing a pretty resounding no, Evans," James said, leaning over to mutter in her ear. "Just tell them to keep an eye out or something—"

The door opened and Darian breezed in, slightly out of breath.

"Sorry," he grunted. He did not look sorry in the slightest.

"Mulciber," Lily sighed impatiently, "have you by any chance seen Stebbins?"

The remainder of the room turned, eyeing him as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ravenclaw Stebbins?" he asked, then shrugged. "No fucking clue."

"You checking the map, Wormtail?" James asked, nudging him. "See him yet?"

"I don't," Peter admitted, frowning. "He's definitely not in his room, or the library—"

"I fucking checked there," James snapped, "but a resounding debt of gratitude to everyone who finds me incapable of simple problem-solving."

"I don't see him," Peter offered resignedly. "Sorry, Prongs."

"Fuuuck," James declared slowly, huffing into the word. "Damn, I was sure that'd be an easy fix."

"You seem unusually concerned about this, Prongs," Remus remarked. "Not another unrequited love, is it?"

"I hate you," James said, pointing at him, "and in a similar vein, no." He sighed, fidgeting with his fingernails. "Dumbledore made a point to mention Stebbins is muggleborn."

The others stared at him.

"And?" Sirius prompted.

"And he seemed pretty fucking nervous about it!" James retorted, scowling. "Muggleborns going missing? That's got to reek of—"

"I don't know," Remus cut in skeptically. "Surely he would know if You-Know-Who had any sort of following at Hogwarts, wouldn't he?"

"He certainly has a following, Moony," Sirius snorted. "Dumbledore fucking put Prefect badges on them, too."

"Rosier, you mean?" James supplied. "Mulciber?"

Beside him, Peter went a bit pale; James frowned at the expression, but was quickly distracted by Sirius' exceptionally derisive scoff.

"Among others," Sirius confirmed darkly. "Easy enough to tell, isn't it? Look at their families."

"Look at your family!" Remus countered, seemingly aghast at the judgment, and Sirius grunted a tacit touché. "Surely You-Know-Who wouldn't want some school-aged children running around doing his bidding, would he?"

"Maybe they're doing it of their own volition," James proposed, then made a face. "Though, fuck, that's bleak."

"It's all bleak," Remus returned, clenching his fist; the next full moon was approaching, James recalled. He wasn't in his best shape.

"When did he go missing?" Peter interrupted quietly. "Stebbins, I mean."

"Halloween," James said flippantly. "Look—friends, Marauders, citizens of the world—should we talk about the werewolf registration thing? I know you both know it exists," he warned, glancing between Remus and Sirius, "and I know full well you're ignoring it—"

"Weren't you just worried about muggleborns?" Remus cut in, rolling his eyes. "What are you trying to do, Prongs? Save everyone?"

"Look, we're not going to be in this castle forever!" James reminded him brusquely, thumping a hand against the table for emphasis. "And if Dumbledore's genuinely afraid, then the real world is creeping in, and we're in danger."

"Not you," Sirius pointed out.

"No," James agreed, his eyes traveling to the door upstairs. "Not me."

"Are you going to be normal now?" Lily asked, sighing as she placed her arms lightly around Severus' neck. "You're being unusual twice in one day."

She was thinking of the words scrawled on the parchment—I need to talk to you. Now.

"Well, you were, um," he fidgeted, not quite looking her in the eye. "Frustrated. This morning, I mean."

"Is this about me?" she asked dubiously, relaxing back in his arms. "I'm fine, you know. Just an ordinary level of inconvenienced," she grumbled, shrugging.

"Mm." He nodded, eyes still downcast. "How's it going?" he asked. "With Stebbins?"

"Nobody's seen him," Lily sighed. "Which is truly bizarre, I have to say, though I think some people are taking it more seriously than others." She thought of the flash in James' eyes, the worry on Dumbledore's face. "I can't say I know what to think."

"What do you mean?" Severus prompted, which she should have been prepared for, but wasn't. She paused, trying to piece her thoughts together.

"It has been brought to my attention that Stebbins is muggleborn," she said slowly, feeling a rush of apprehension at the term. "And," she added, feigning brightness, "as you may know, so am I."

"I'd heard a rumor," Severus said faintly, swallowing a little at the joke. "And it worries you?"

"I haven't decided," she said quickly. "It could just be coincidence, of course, but—" She grimaced. "You know as well as I do that things aren't exactly safe in the world."

"If you think something happened to him," Severus began, his gaze resolutely fixated somewhere around her clavicle, "are you worried about yourself?"

I always worry about myself, Sev, and isn't that the problem?

"No," she lied, "I'm fine. I just hope nothing bad happened to him," she said defensively, taking a moment to silently wish that were true.

"Well, better him than you," Severus muttered under his breath.

"What?" Lily asked, startled.

"Nothing," Severus sighed, though when he finally looked at her, his gaze was sorrowful. Heavy. Like something was weighing on him.

"Sev," she whispered to him, "what are you not telling me?"

He was quiet for a moment. Her uneasiness festered.

"Nobody's seen him?" he asked, his voice tingling with urgency. "Nobody knows anything?"

"Nothing," she confirmed, shaking her head. "Isn't that strange? And a little bit tragic," she added sadly.

He looked lost in thought, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Severus?" she prompted gently.

"Unfortunate," he determined after a moment, nodding as he pulled her close. "That's the word I would use for it," he sighed. "A true absence of fortune."

Okay, Lily thought uncertainly, letting him fold her into a tight embrace. If you say so.

"Mulciber," Peter called insistently, "I need to talk to you."

Darian stopped, pivoted on the spot, and stalked towards him, pressuring him into an alcove. "Do not speak to me," Darian muttered, his voice low and venomous. "Do you understand? Ever, without fail. Let that be a rule you live and die by—"

"I need to know something," Peter insisted stubbornly. "I need to know whether you and Avery had anything to do with the fact that Stebbins went missing on Halloween—considering it was an eventful night for all three of us," he hissed purposefully, and Darian burned at the implication.

"You need to refine your extortion capabilities," Darian muttered. "You're bound not to discuss it, so unless you want to invoke your favor now—"

At Peter's hesitation, Darian nodded, coolly satisfied. "I thought as much," he remarked icily, turning to leave, and then paused. "Don't threaten me," he warned in a low voice, "don't fucking threaten me, don't talk to me, and don't push your flimsy leverage." He thrust his shoulders back, bitterly final. "It was just a one-off."

The lie burned in his throat. He pushed it down.

"And nothing else happened that night," Peter suggested dully, his voice ringing with a markedly helpless skepticism.

"Correct," Darian pronounced, exiting the alcove at a near-sprint and colliding with someone as he turned the corner.

Ah, he thought, nearly growling with frustration. Of course.

"Darian," Caleb offered, before offering him an infuriatingly enticing smile. Darian nodded back.

"Caleb," he said uncertainly. They had pointedly avoided each other since the events of Halloween, which was not outside their usual routine—but there was no telling how this interaction would play out.

"I understand you had some recreation this afternoon," Caleb ventured, the smile not fading from his face.

"I may have," Darian permitted, his voice clipped.

"Dahlia again?" Caleb prompted.

At that, Darian caught the hint of amusement in his voice, feeling a sudden ahh at the purpose of the exchange. "Perhaps," he replied, gradually permitting a smirk.

"Did it work?" Caleb asked casually.

Darian hid a swallow. "No," he admitted, his shoulders stiffening at his own honesty. "It never fucking works," he added, looking up to suffer the full effect of Caleb's startlingly blue eyes.

"Damn," Caleb lamented, smiling. "Better luck next time."