Trouble on the Way

Don't go round tonight
Well, it's bound to take your life,
There's a bad moon on the rise.
- 'Bad Moon Rising,' Creedence Clearwater Revival (1969)

The woods were alive even before Remus joined them. And once he did, slinking out through the passage after Peter touched the knot to still the Whomping Willow's rage, the woods quivered with fear. The Forbidden Forest could never grow accustomed to these forays; no creature, no matter how deep they ventured, stood their ground easily against a werewolf. So it fell to Sirius and it fell to James.

Not yet, though. For the moment, Remus bounded through the woodland, paws scrabbling through undergrowth and on fallen trees to leap and hurtle, and they, the stag and the dog, kept pace. It was always like this at the start; freed, the wolf inside wanted nothing more than to run, to feel the world underfoot and the stars overhead, to let the wind rush through fur and all the smells of all the world to fill nostrils. So all they had to do for now was keep pace, make sure he didn't stumble into trouble. And otherwise, the woods were just as alive for Sirius as they were for Remus.

Outside of the full moon, he didn't spend long in his animagus form. There were few opportunities at home and in school and, above all, little reason. Only once a month did he find himself immersed fully into this body, this mind, these senses. He'd walked through the Forbidden Forest as a human, if only for the odd detention, and had found it dark and creaky and disconcerting. Seeing it as Padfoot was like he'd been underwater all that time and only now burst to the surface, out of gloom into bright lights and cacophonous sounds. And the longer he was like this, prowling through the woods behind Remus, the more it felt good and right.

This was only their third new moon this academic year, only one of their first expeditions at all since perfecting the process. Still he found it intoxicating, worth every moment of gruelling study and transformation even without the need to be with Remus. Because out here, like this, he could see.

Or perhaps smell, or hear - it wasn't like being human, where he could draw the lines between senses so easily. Here, like this, everything rolled together seamlessly, scent and sound and sight one glorious kaleidoscope of sensation. From the smallest rodent scurrying away through the undergrowth to the whistling wind in the trees bringing promises of things to come, to the scent not just of animals and plants but emotions, impressions. Here, it was all one, without the interfering thoughts of man, of logic or doubt. Here, there was just action, just being.

So he scrabbled after Remus, yipping with pure joy, and Remus - still invigorated with the wilderness, still in those heady first hours - snapped back at him with a bite more playful than vicious. Sirius still kept his distance, growling back, and they veered around a rise towards an opening in the trees, starlight streaming down -

Until James, antlers silhouetted by the shining silver behind him, swept in front and came to a skidding halt. Peter was on his back, clutching on with small, desperate claws - though James was harder to hold onto, after one venture atop Sirius where he'd forgotten completely about his rodent friend while scooting under a low branch and had almost smeared him into paste, Peter now stuck with a stag mount. This was enough to make Sirius scrabble to a halt, whining plaintively, but Remus sank onto his haunches, hackles rising, growl far less playful. Perhaps they were at this part of the night already, where instinct and hunt and want rose higher in Remus, and on their antics they had to control him as much as join in the fun.

But James swiped his antlers towards Remus, urging him around rather than to stop and, with a heavy huff more dog-like than Remus might admit to, the werewolf shook himself before bounding off in a different direction. Sirius cocked his head at James, who didn't hesitate before leaping after Remus, and only then, looking into the clearing, did Sirius notice the handful of centaur gathering around one of their pools.

The man in him knew it wise to not bring a werewolf crashing into a pack of centaurs. Even if they all emerged from the encounter no worse for wear, there was a risk some more friendly of the herd might bring well-meaning warning to Hogwarts of a werewolf roaming the Forbidden Forest. James was right to keep an eye out, as ever.

But Sirius was the hound right now, and the hound thought it an awful spoiling of fun. Still he yelped, still he burst into the undergrowth after them, and still the play and hunt and stalking of wood and beast and night continued. James was always the more responsible on these evenings, always remembering he was here to keep Remus out of trouble, and Sirius could only marvel at how much he had to be denying himself, how much he had to miss.

How could he see the forests in all their glory if he had to keep a hold of the man? How could he smell the glories of the wilderness, experience it as the beasts they were, if he had to keep reason and logic and doubt in his mind?

So onward they ran, into the forest and into the night.

They raced a river, streaming silver through the woods so bright Sirius would swear they could run the surface, until Remus caught a scent of some prey and tried to jump it. He slipped and failed, landing in the shallows on the far side, before scrabbling and bounding onward. Sirius just splashed through after him; James found some good rocks to clear it in one bound, Peter squeaking indignantly from his back.

Then further, haranguing some foxes James drove back before Remus, tauter and tauter as exuberance faded for his maddened werewolf nature, might turn to needless violence. It was not the foxes he'd smelled but the rabbits they found soon after, and while James kept his distance and kept his watch, Sirius joined Remus in lunging on the one, snatching up its form in his jaws and shaking his head wildly to snap its neck.

He didn't know where that instinct came from, but it felt too right to question it, or quash it.

The night descended from there in Sirius' mind, moment and memory and sensation and desire rolling together. He would remember the leap across a wider river, remember Remus' wolf form bathed in silver starlight, muscle rippling under grey fur; remember frustration at James, again and again blocking their way. Remember wind and blood and howls.

They must have turned back before dawn, driven Remus to the Shrieking Shack. That tasted more like conflict in his memory, for of course the werewolf wouldn't want to return, even as his feral fury faded at the promise of sunlight. But back he would be driven, and then back to the castle the trio hurried before they would be missed, animal fading for man to slink back through the entrances they'd found over the years, sneak back to their dormitory.

It was a Tuesday night, Sirius remembered thinking before he passed out, or a Wednesday morning now. They had been awake all night and soon they had classes.

He woke up as a man again, a few scant hours later, with the taste of raw rabbit and fur in his mouth.

'Tea,' said Peter, pale with bags under his eyes as he set down mugs and plates on the bedside tables in th dorm. 'Bacon rolls. Snuck them up.'

Sirius meant to thank him, but instead growled as he rolled over and drained the too-hot tea in one go.

'Cheers, mate,' James groaned, swinging his legs out of bed. 'You're a bloody champ to do this.'

'I am,' Peter agreed. 'But I didn't run around like a mad thing all night. Just stayed awake like a mad thing all night.'

'Did I actually eat a rabbit?' Sirius asked, staring at the bacon sandwich in his hands.

'Yep,' said James.

'Whole,' added Peter.

'In your defence, it was clearly Remus' idea.'

'But in Remus' defence, he's a goddamn werewolf and you're just a lunatic in a dog's body.'

'It seemed like a good idea at the time,' Sirius groaned.

James' lips thinned. 'Yeah. Usually does, I imagine.'

Peter looked between them, then sighed and stood. 'I'm going to start dissembling bullshit downstairs for why we're all walking corpses today and why Remus is in the Infirmary,' he said, and left.

Sirius rubbed his eyes and tried to take a bite of the sandwich. He was unhelpfully not hungry, but at least the bacon didn't taste of fur. 'Something going on?'

James sipped his tea before he answered. 'You remember why we did this?'

'Of course. For Remus.'

'So we could go with him, and keep him in check. So he doesn't have to be locked up in the Shack where he hurts himself.'

Sirius suspected something was coming, but in his muggy, semi-conscious state decided to just chew on his bacon roll and wait for James to get to the point.

James stood, hands on his hips. 'And he's got to be kept in the Shack, because if he's allowed out he might go on a rampage, hurt someone, hurt himself worse.'

'Prongs -'

'So we've got to keep him in check, Sirius! That means we keep an eye on him, that means we steer him away from trouble - and trouble might be something that hurts him or something that he hurts -'

'It was just a bloody rabbit -'

'I'm not talking about the rabbit!' James clenched his jaw. 'I'm talking about the centaur herd you were happy to let him charge headlong into.'

Sirius stood, scowling. 'I wasn't happy to let him charge into it,' he snapped. 'I…'

'You didn't notice them.' Sirius didn't have an answer to that, so stayed silent, insolent under James' piercing gaze. 'You were too busy running around and having fun that you two could have careened right into the whole bunch of them. You know how bad that could have been.'

'Yeah,' said Sirius, surly, 'but it didn't. We did this so Remus didn't have to be alone, James, not so we could pen him in like everyone else does -'

'Hey, that's not fair.' James stabbed an accusing finger at him. 'You know I want to be there to support him. But we can have fun with him while keeping him safe, too. And he'd want us to keep him safe. And that means we have to be the responsible ones out there, not just rampaging around doing whatever we bloody well fancy - and that just makes it harder for me, too, having to keep you both in check! Having to worry about not just him, but you being damned foolish!'

Foolish. That wasn't a word James threw at him often, and anything of its ilk was usually said with affection, or applied to them both. James was the one he did stupid things with or for; James wasn't the one who yelled at him for being irresponsible. Even Remus usually groaned at him for being irresponsible, and teachers had by now accepted his antics and gave him detention slips without another word; yelling at him for being foolish was the purview of -

'Guess you would have figured out that's what I do, by now.' His voice was a low, irritable growl. 'Be foolish. Get underfoot.'

James was deflating already, exhaustion and stress visible in his gaze. Sirius knew he wouldn't have yelled that if he'd had more than two hours' sleep, if he hadn't been hurtling around the woods all night. But it was hard not imagine that exhaustion was just making him honest. 'That's not what I mean, Pads, and you know it. We've just got to be a team in this.'

'I thought we already were a team. Or do you make a team with Evans, now?' He regretted the words the moment they were past his lips. Perhaps exhaustion just makes us petty, not honest.

'That's not fair.'

'You're doing these practice sessions with her, you're encouraging her to, what, be more shouty at everyone, you talk to her -'

'Was that -' James hesitated. 'Is that what this is about? Telling her about Dad?'

'Never mind,' Sirius blurted, looked at the door, and stopped. 'I can't storm out,' he realised. 'I'm still in my underwear.'

'Pads -'

'Your family's always been my bolt hole, you know that?' Sirius snapped, turning back. 'No matter how bad things got at home, I always had you and your house and your parents - you said I could stop by any time and you meant it and I used it but now - I know this is worse for you -'

James' shoulders sank with his expression, horror rising in his eyes. 'That's not going to change; we're not going to turn you away…'

'But you've got your own problems now. You guys were - you were the family without problems…'

'I hate to break it to you, Sirius,' said James awkwardly, 'but nobody's got the family without problems. Even with problems, there's always a place for you. You help problems - your jokes, your support, it - it matters. You think I'm going to need you less as things get worse? That's bullshit, and Evans isn't going to - she's not you, Sirius!' He hesitated, looking himself and then Sirius up and down. '…I was going to hug you but we both need way more clothes for that.'

Sirius beamed. 'Nope!' he declared, and bounded forwards. 'Who needs boundaries -'

By the time they made it to class, he didn't feel any more awake, but he did feel better and his mouth didn't taste of rabbit any more. But at least it was Gryffindor Charms, so he and James and Peter could sit at the back and more or less snooze.

This wasn't helped by Evans slinking past on the way in. 'Potter,' she hissed. 'Did you read it?'

James was trying to sleep into his hand before Flitwick got there, and jerked upright. 'Class notes? I am all over the class notes, Evans, you know me -'

'Oh, don't bloody lie to me, and that's not what I mean.'

'Then…'

'For a master of mayhem you are surprisingly uninformed sometimes,' Evans said with a superior tilt of the nose, and slid a folded sheaf of paper onto the desk. 'This goes without saying, but you look dead enough today I'll say it anyway: for the love of God, keep this hidden.'

Obfuscation 101 meant James took the paper without looking at it and immediately passed it to Peter, who slid it then under the table to Sirius. Which meant he was the first of them to get a good look of the latest issue of Gutters.

'Merlin's tits,' Sirius mused. 'Wick strikes again.'

James glanced over. 'He insists it's not him, and Evans agrees -'

'If Evans doesn't know men will lie to her in romance, she's going to get pretty heartbroken pretty quick.'

James flinched. 'I just mean it might not be him.'

'Then who? Nate McKinnon?'

'Could be. What's this one about?'

Sirius unfolded the paper, but that was just as Flitwick came in so he didn't have a chance to do more than glance it over. 'Something about Abernathy,' he murmured. 'And I think Avery and Leo Travers.'

On any other day, they would have read it in between pretending to pay attention, in between breezing their way through Flitwick's charms. But there had been so little sleep, and with Remus in the Hospital Wing Sirius knew they'd need to provide him with decent notes. They were, none of them, in a condition to be discreet, and so actually kept their heads down and their mouths shut. It was enough that at one point Flitwick asked if Sirius was ill, and the only way Sirius could think of being witty back was to be polite and well-measured and assure the professor that he just had a keen, ready mind, eager for learning. It did disquiet everyone, so it wasn't a complete waste.

They stumbled into a stairwell during the break, the three jostling for enough space to share the sheet of gossip and drama that had once, already, set Hogwarts metaphorically ablaze.

'Do you think we can sneak this in to Remus in the Hospital Wing?' Peter wondered. 'He'll want to see it.'

'We don't want him caught with it in a place he can't ditch it,' Sirius pointed out.

'We can bring it up with us, let him read it when we visit, take it away,' said James. 'Let's do it tonight, let the poor guy sleep.'

'Poor guy,' Peter grumbled. 'He's getting more sleep than us up there.'

'Oh ho ho.' Sirius beamed as he read. 'Avery's big brother was caught last year doing Muggle baiting? Not even Muggle-born baiting, lowered himself to baiting actual Muggles? And all charges mysteriously went away after Papa Avery visited Canary Wharf?'

'Not sure that's going to embarrass them,' Peter grumbled. 'They'll probably take it as a badge of honour that he did it at all, and a sign of influence that they got away with it.'

'Sure,' said James, 'but it reminds everyone else what a piece of shit Avery is, and reminds everyone that the bloody DMLE, the bloody Ministry, aren't keeping an eye on anyone, are they? Aren't looking out for anyone.'

That turned Gutters less from hilarious sniping at hypocritical Slytherins, and more the gritty reality of an uncaring world, which Sirius wasn't sure he could cope with on this little sleep, fresh off a raw argument and reconciliation. That and it always took time to shift his mind from the dog's, from the simple pattern of identifying what he wanted and then, for lack of a better word, hounding it.

This was never more apparent than at lunch, when he detached from James and Peter to wander across the Great Hall towards the Ravenclaw table, and without ceremony pounced onto the bench next to where Marlene was sat at the periphery of her brother's group. He crouched on the landing and leaned in. 'Morning, darling.'

She was scribbling notes in between taking bites of her sandwich, and frowned at her quill. 'It's half twelve, Sirius.'

'Then… midday, darling.'

'Technically that was half an hour ago -'

He cut her short and won the argument by kissing her. 'There,' Sirius proclaimed. 'Best part of the day already.'

'Sirius.' She swatted ineffectively at his shoulder. 'You don't - not - someone will see -'

'Everyone,' Sirius agreed.

Across the table and a little down, Nathaniel McKinnon sipped his tea. 'Don't stop on my account. Seems you found the only surefire way to shut her up, Black.'

Marlene went bright pink as her brother turned disinterestedly back to his gang. 'Nate -'

'She's cute when she babbles,' Sirius proclaimed, and kissed the tip of her nose. 'So how are you, darling?'

'I'm fine. But you?' She looked him up and down, blue eyes unwelcomely piercing for this time of day with this little sleep. 'You look a state, and so do James and Peter, and Remus is in the hospital wing again?'

'You know Remus. He's clumsy.' He paused. 'And sickly. He's doing better these days, though.' He made his eyes go pleading, pitiable. 'We stayed up most the night with him, making sure he was alright.'

It turned out he was right to gamble on such a cheap tactic as that working on Marlene, as she wilted. 'You shouldn't need to do that, Madam Pomfrey should be - you look exhausted Sirius, really.' She shuffled her papers. 'You will get an early night, won't you?'

'Of course,' he lied.

'And she should let you have a Pepperup Potion or somesuch just to get through the day - it's the sort of thing they're for, I should go have a word with her.' Polishing off her sandwich, Marlene stood with a sudden, determined air.

'Uh, you don't need to go chase her up…' If Madam Pomfrey started to realise James, Peter and Sirius were all suffering the same nights Remus was supposedly locked up in the Shack, that'd do no good. 'She won't, I asked her - I mean, that's the sort of thing I'd have to get from Slughorn.'

Marlene put her hands on her hips. 'Then I'll go and see Slughorn! And brew it myself if I have to!'

'You don't… have to…' But she was gone, leaving Sirius floundering at the Ravenclaw table, bereft of girlfriend or reason to be there.

Wick had been sat on the other side of Marlene, and now leaned down with a wry grin. 'Is she escaping you, Black?'

'She's just so overcome with concern for me she had to be elsewhere.' Sirius' eyes latched on Wick's plate, and he slid down the bench next to him. 'What's in that sandwich? I want it.' The smell had hit his nostrils with full, dog-like force, and he didn't bother fighting the urge to just snatch it up and take a bite.

'Ham and chutney - oh, well, if you must help yourself…'

'Chutney. Ugh.' Sirius took another bite.

'I know, how very working class of me. You wizards think it's us Muggle-borns coming up here and cheapening your culture, but if my father knew Hogwarts had imparted upon me the occasional craving for a ploughman's lunch, well. The fury of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would be nothing in comparison.'

He looked up at Wick, eyes narrowing. 'But you like the fury of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Or you wouldn't have written that little rag of yours again, Wick.'

Wick turned his eyes skyward. 'I insist, yet again, that I didn't write Gutters.'

'That's exactly what someone who wrote Gutters would say.' Sirius tossed the sandwich down, deciding he didn't much want it after all, and leaned in to sniff him. 'You smell of parchment. Must be you.'

'I'm a Ravenclaw,' Wick pointed out. 'Parchment comes with the territory. I'm sure Marlene smells of parchment and why, Black, are you sniffing me regardless?'

'Smelling out lies.' Sirius helped himself to Wick's pumpkin juice. 'It was pretty sneaky, you know, getting that information about the Travers family spending far more time with the Ackerleys right before Papa Ackerley gets himself locked up in Azkaban with Death Eatering on his record.'

'It is rather sneaky and unfortunate news for Leo Travers to be smeared with that brush at a time like this,' Wick agreed mildly, reaching to reclaim his cup. 'But why would I know with whom his family spends time? I'm a Muggle-born, remember? I wouldn't have an excuse to know about that, or to know about the Avery family's bribery at Canary Wharf, or anything about Abernathy being a one-time member of the Knights of Walpurgis -'

'He -' Sirius gave a bark of laughter. 'I didn't read that far.'

'Only about fifteen years ago, when they were nothing more than a rather melodramatic little gentleman's club, but it's no good for Hufflepuff House, really, is it?' Wick smirked and sipped his drink. 'I keep saying this, and it's a frightful compliment you think I'm turning the school upside-down so much, but I have not the resources to gather all this information being posted in Gutters. You need someone altogether more connected to wizarding society and the Ministry. I'm sorry, but I'm not your man.'

Sirius glanced across the table, to where Nathaniel McKinnon kept half an eye on the conversation as he laughed with the other Ravenclaws. He's got the connections, though. No reason to think this is a one-man job. He leaned in to Wick again and gave another sniff. 'You smell like my man.'

'I'm flattered, Black,' said Wick with a slow, sly grin. 'But push that point and I imagine you'd have to contend with a very upset Lily and a most upset Nathaniel.'

'Wait,' said Nathaniel, looking over. 'Am I supposed to be defending you, or my sister?'

'Your sister, Nate. I can fight my own battles. And I'm sure,' said Wick, looking Sirius up and down, smirk intact, 'that I can handle Black.'

'Don't make promises you can't keep,' proclaimed Sirius, the smell of chutney still reigning in his nostrils, and in one smooth move he bounded to his feet again. 'I should get my own lunch.'

It was hungry work, after all, grilling Gutters' author.

§

'…never seen her like this, Fletch.' Cecil's bag had a hole in the bottom, so he had to carry it clutched in his arms to stop the books from falling out - which, in Fletch's eyes, rather defeated the object of a bag. 'She's been skipping Care of Magical Creatures lessons.'

'She still goes down to see to the bloody horse, though. Just not when anyone else is going to be there.' Fletch waved a hand. 'We're not her mum, Cec. What am I supposed to do about it?'

'We should talk to her.'

'Talk. To Amy Hargreaves.' Her lips thinned. 'Sure, I can do that. In fact, let me play that through for you right now.' She raised both hands, fingers pressed against her thumb like mouthpieces. 'Hi, Hargreaves,' she said in a squeaky voice, right-hand 'talking'. 'You look down! Do you want to talk about it?'

Cecil groaned. 'Fletch…'

'No,' said Fletch in a deeper, grumpier voice, the other hand doing the talking. 'I want to sulk and stomp around in my big boots and look like I'll shank someone for coming too near.' She swapped to the other hand and the squeaky voice. 'Okay! Let's get back to pretending everything's okay!'

He narrowed his eyes. 'Is the squeaky voice you or me?'

'That's you. Because I don't even waste time trying.'

'Fletch -'

'Stop saying my name like it changes reality. I don't have that power. If I did, I wouldn't be in this shithole of a school.' She sighed as they rounded a corner, Astronomy lessons clashing with the mid-evening traffic of students scurrying out of dinner or up to the library or enjoying mingling outside their common rooms before curfew. 'She's only mad because she'd really like Mulciber to fuck her and it's kind of a turn-off that he's an enormous racist. So that's leading to one confusingly hateful lady-boner.'

'Oh, Merlin, Fletch, did you have to - great imagery there,' Cecil groaned.

'I'm just a truth-sayer. It sucks for her, but she's going to have to deal with it like a grown-up and go wank the bathrooms.'

'Why,' muttered Cecil, 'am I only friends with girls.'

'You could try being friends with Rufus and Angus. I bet they'd elevate the level of debate around here. Or, wait, no, it'd be grunting and Quidditch and music.'

'I like music.'

'And grunting?'

'I'm worried about her.'

'So am I, but what are we supposed to do? Mind-wipe Graham Mulciber so he's not an asshole? Mind-wipe her so she's not so keen on him?'

'We could find her a fella,' said Cecil. 'Or, I don't know, a girl, I'm not really sure how she swings - is "angry" a sexuality?'

'If it is, then she's pretty much constantly frustrated.' Fletch pursed her lips. 'But, you know, not a bad idea, Cec. We could find her a bloke. Someone to scratch the itch so she doesn't have to rub one out -'

'Merlin, Fletch, please, no more.'

She grinned and threw an arm around his shoulder. 'So how come you're not waltzing through the ranks of the ladies, Cec? You're a man of intellect and means. Chicks dig that.'

'I'm enjoying being a free spirit,' said Cecil. 'It gives me the time to focus on my more aspirational, intellectual pursuits, and avoids soul-crushing rejection. And I could ask the same of you, Fletch.'

'Me? Don't commit, it makes it harder to play people. You know me, Cec. Don't let them see the real you. Only you and Har are so lucky.'

His cheeks went a bit pink. 'Honoured, Fletch. And, I know, you want to keep people at arm's length, but ever wonder if that's what's got us, and Hargreaves, all wound up like this?'

'I'm not wound up.'

'Yeah, but I mean - if you were - maybe we could band together a bit more effectively - I don't mean all three of us, but if Amy's being all grouchy and we want to - I mean - we could, like…'

Then they rounded the corner and almost ran flat into the poised, angry, stalking figure of Saul Avery. Despite herself, Fletch let her arm around Cecil fall, as if she was doing something wrong instead of joking with one of her best friends, and found herself straightening.

Avery stopped short, handsome features for once twisted out of wry amusement or wry indifference into a definite scowl. If anything, this deepened when he saw her. 'Fletch. Excellent timing. Do come with me.'

Cecil puffed himself up. 'Hey, she's not here for you to just -'

'It's fine, Cec.' She patted him on the arm, and without another word followed Avery as he stalked off.

She suspected what this was about, but when he led her into an empty Charms classroom, realised this was about more than him just blowing off steam. Despite herself, she drew a deep breath and only spoke when he'd shut the door behind them, trapping them in the gloomy class. 'So what's a gentleman like you doing in a place like this?'

It was the usual banter, the usual masks they wore, and still it didn't move his honest scowl. 'I'm only going to ask this once.' Avery's voice was a low hum as he turned away from the door, and she was suddenly acutely aware that he blocked the way out. 'Do you have anything to do with that damned paper?'

Fletch swallowed hard. 'Gutters? No.' His dark eyes remained locked on her, and she squared her shoulders. 'No, Avery. I don't shit where I sleep. Why would I want to turn the school upside-down, upset the people who pay me for things?'

'It's anonymous,' rumbled Avery, approaching with a slow, deliberate gait. 'And well-researched. It could be someone like you isn't quite as happy as they pretend to be. Maybe you take my money and then use it to sniff around - because you're good at sniffing around, aren't you?' His hand shot out, quicker than she'd expected, to grab her by the arm, and she couldn't help but make a small noise of surprise. 'You're the one who finds out everything for everyone. So maybe someone's just paying you to find things out. And I could understand that, Fletch, I know it's just business. That wouldn't make me angry.'

She tried stepping away, found the teacher's desk hitting her lower back and pinning her in place. 'Avery - even if it were business, I don't screw around like this -'

'Not for business. Alright.' Now she'd stopped, he stepped in, face uncomfortably close - and this near, in the darkness and the anger, gone were the cheerful good looks of the polite, friendly front of Slytherin House, of the charismatic one of Mulciber's gang. Now the fury had twisted him into sharp, ugly edges. 'Maybe you're not happy with our arrangements, then, Fletch. Maybe you take my money and laugh at me behind my back.'

And that's the worst thing you can imagine, isn't it, Avery - being laughed at by people you look down on. But he still had a hold on her, was still angry, was still close, and her heart was still pounding in her chest enough to deafen. 'I swear this wasn't me, Avery. I didn't feed anyone any information on you, I swear.'

He leaned in, his voice now a knife's whisper. 'Good. So you're going to be a good girl and find out who is doing it, aren't you?'

Her breath caught. 'It's just a rag -'

'It's a rag throwing my family's private business around. And that of my friends.'

'If Randal Mulciber wants me finding out -'

'Fuck Randal.' Avery's jaw was tight. 'I mean me and I mean Graham. You find things out, Fletch. Find this out. Find the little sneaky rat who thinks it's fun to score points by using our families.'

She'd never seen him like this, so sincerely taut and furious, and for once she didn't think it was a good time to haggle or play games. Wordlessly, she nodded.

He didn't let her go, but the knot in his brow loosened, and then his free hand came up to brush the back of his knuckles against her cheek. She tried to not shudder. 'Good,' he whispered, and he was the Avery she knew again. 'You know I can be generous to my friends, my dear. So it's in your best interests to make sure you are a friend, no?' Velvet was back in his voice, and her heart rate slowed as the masks came back down, clouding the anger, putting her once more on footing she was familiar with.

'I imagine,' murmured Fletch, and forced herself to look up and meet his gaze. 'That we can talk about your generosity when I have something for you?'

'I would never, my dear, expect something from you for nothing. But then, we always have had an understanding, haven't we?'

Normally she could wriggle away at this point, but his grip on her arm was still iron-tight. This time, when he kissed her, his lips insistent, mouth commanding, she had no means of turning the tables. Not that she always escaped, but normally there was some playfulness, some dabbling with control, some illusion that perhaps she could, sometimes, call the shots - because sometimes he wanted to be toyed with. This time there was no toying. But he was angry and frustrated and there she was, ever the one pretending she was making the most of the needs of the petulant, rich pure-bloods. This time she couldn't pretend she could pull the strings, not with his grip so insistent, his hands so demanding, his body pinning her so needily against the desk, and her unable to wriggle free in a way which wouldn't bring down every carefully-constructed piece of her security tapestry.

In the end he left the classroom first, and she gave him five minutes' head start before she followed, clothes rumpled, hating herself. Normally Saul Avery wasn't so overt, but there was a wound in him running deep, a wound to his pride and his own sense of security, and she'd spent so long making herself there to soothe the insults and ease the needs of these kinds of rich boys that it was inevitable, she supposed, it would backfire some day.

She was beyond late for Astronomy, and didn't fancy sliding up to the Tower in shame, not when Avery was also going to be there late. It was bad enough putting up with Cecil's pained looks, but she didn't need the rest of the classroom, either. Far better to act as if she'd brushed class off and head back to the Ravenclaw common room, and make up for it from Cecil's notes later. So long as she took the discreet way back to Ravenclaw Tower, she'd be fine. The discreet way meant slipping outside, a shortcut along the paths and hedgerows rather than taking winding corridors indoors all around the castle, and it meant she ran straight into the pack of other Slytherins.

Fletch thought they were just lurking together, laughing or smoking or staying out of sight, stood in a patch of the path shrouded in darkness. Either side was flanked by golden light streaming from the tall windows of the school, so it was hard to make out the details, hard to see anything than a few big shapes moving around. Only by the familiar laugh of Randal Mulciber did she realise who it was, and that would have been enough to make her turn around and go the other way.

Then she heard the yelp of pain, and froze in the shadows.

It was seventh year Slytherin boys, Mulciber and Carrow and the others. The ones she didn't try to play, because they were either too dumb and mean, or they were Randal Mulciber, and she didn't like the way he looked through her. The man himself was stood a step back, tall and broad, arms folded around his chest, and the laugh was short, sharp, unamused as Amycus Carrow dragged a squirming shape to their feet.

It took Fletch a moment to recognise him, and in the darkness she probably wouldn't have if it weren't Bertram Aubrey, weren't a Ravenclaw in her year, weren't someone she saw day-in, day-out. He was a skinny kid, inconsequential, running around behind Rufus Burke and usually being found wanting, not as cool as him or Dodd or Wagtail, and not enough of a reject to slip through the cracks with her, Cecil, Hargreaves. But worst of all, Fletch realised she'd missed her window to turn around and run, because the only thing worse than seeing this would be being noticed.

'That's enough,' said Randal Mulciber, and stepped up to Aubrey, bent double, clutching at his gut. 'Do you see what you did wrong?'

Aubrey was wheezing. Silhouetted against the golden light in the patch beyond, so she could see him fine but nobody looking out the windows would, Fletch could see the blood dripping from his nose. 'I'm sorry,' he croaked. 'I was…'

'Singing. You might have thought it clever. This subtle insult of yours. But subtle's just a word for thinking us idiots.' Mulciber had been stood still as stone - but when he moved it was in a blink, like lightning, and then he had Aubrey grabbed by the front of his robe, wand pressed into his gut. 'Thinking me an idiot. And I've been nice. I thought you all saw how the tide flowed. Perhaps I need a reminder.'

'No,' babbled Aubrey. 'I'm sorry, you don't need -'

'I don't what - you're telling me what to do?' She couldn't see Mulciber's expression, but could hear the anger. This wasn't Saul Avery, with his masks and games; this wasn't Amycus Carrow, simple and straightforward. This was an anger burning brighter and yet darker. 'No, Mudblood, you need a reminder.'

He must have gestured to the other Slytherins, because then they stepped forward, and Fletch shrank against the bushes and hoped they wouldn't see her. She heard the rip of cloth, saw them tear Aubrey's robes off enough to bare his chest, saw him struggle and heard him yelp, and how, how was this not heard inside, how was nobody coming to look into this, how come nobody was arriving to stop this -

- how come you're hiding in the bushes -

Then Mulciber stepped forward, wand raised to press it to Aubrey's bare skin, and the night was filled with screaming.

Fletch didn't come out of the bushes until they were gone, all of them, except for Aubrey, left flat on his back on the path in the darkness of gathering winter, robes a torn mess around him. The Slytherins had gone the other way, the bulk of them laughing, Randal Mulciber at the head in stony silence. Only once she couldn't hear the sound of them did she slink back onto the path, only when nothing drowned out Aubrey's gasping sobs did she creep along the gravel, bag and wand clutched tight.

He writhed in whimpering pain on the path, but had to hear her step on the gravel, and she stopped, poised in the darkness, not yet stepping out into the light from the windows spilling onto the path like an illuminating abyss stretching before them. A weak hand came up, grasping, desperate, and his voice was hoarse from screams and pain. 'Help…'

Aubrey hadn't recognised her, she didn't think, with her still in darkness. But she'd been staring at him for so long her eyes had adapted, and now, a bit closer, she could see - see the pile of torn robes next to him as his chest had been bared, see the blood streaming down, just a trickle, not as bad as it could be - because while Mulciber wanted to hurt, he mostly wanted a message, wanted a reminder.

And there it was, carved in flesh, the word MUD across Bertram Aubrey's chest. Again, he croaked at her. 'Please - please -'

That beg, that fresh sob in his voice, along with the realisation of what Mulciber and his cronies had done - that was enough to jerk Fletch from frozen panic, make her finally able to move again, shove her into action.

She ran.