Writings on the Wall

When you believe in things that you don't understand,
Then you suffer.
- 'Superstition,' Stevie Wonder (1972)

Breath burned in his lungs like the news, enough to choke and smother him, enough to set him ablaze from the inside. The embers had glowed for some time now, flaring as he watched, listened, brightening as he tried to ignore them. But now had come the spark, and his throat tasted of smoke.

Even the frozen air of the Astronomy Tower didn't quench the flames. Even the sight of her here, where he'd known he could find her, find her before anyone else did, doused nothing. So Graham's breathing still shuddered in his chest as he burst onto the top of the tower, having run all the way, and faced Emmeline Vance. 'What did you do?'

She, long hair as black as the overcast night sky stretched out above, flinched back, and the flames spread to his gut to sicken him. 'I didn't think they'd send you.'

'Nobody sent me.' Despite his words, Graham's hands were fists by his side as he advanced. 'I heard what you did.'

Her dismissive smile was forced. 'Then why'd you ask -'

'This isn't a joke, Em! This isn't like telling Randal he's wrong or pulling away from Alecto! You fought for Evans!'

Emmeline's chin tilted up a half-inch. 'Yes,' she said, now more firm. 'Fought to protect her from Alecto, sent by your brother to do his dirty work because he couldn't risk it going wrong in his face. Which was your suggestion, Graham! Why? You don't care about Evans. You don't care that she confronted Amycus, you don't like the attacks, you don't care when they're stopped -'

'Because before it was just petty bullying or vendettas like Snape and Potter. Political arguments and everyone trying to look big before they go out into the real world. But this is different, this is serious, we're all going to have to pick a side!'

'Funny,' said Emmeline, not sounding at all amused as she looked down her nose at him. 'I was going to point that out to you, Graham.'

He stopped short. 'I don't - you can't stand against Randal.'

'Is that where you've landed?' She padded across the open top of the Astronomy Tower, the winter wind whipping through her hair and in his face. Unlike him, she didn't seem to feel the cold, didn't seem reached by it. 'Randal and Saul made the choice for you, so now you'll stop sitting on the sidelines and get your hands dirty for them?'

'I've not sat -'

'Don't act like I don't know you, Graham. What did we do, all last year? Sneered at your brother for playing politics in school, laughed at Saul for wanting to be better than him, looked down on Alecto and Amycus for being brutish followers. You don't care about this war. You don't believe in it. You don't like Muggle-borns, but you don't hate them. You don't wish them harm or want them dead. And you don't see the Dark Lord's crusade as a way to redeem your family name, raise your family's social standing, not like Randal does. So now you're hedging your bets. Giving Randal advice like you're his good little soldier, but you're not his good little soldier or you wouldn't be here trying to save me.'

'Save you?'

'That's what this is about, isn't it. You're hoping you can somehow make me see the error of my ways so I'll crawl before your brother and Alecto and then you can vouch for me and it'll be just how it was. But it's never going to be, Graham. And it's only going to get worse from here. If you want the quiet life with your brother, with Saul, you're going to have to get your hands a hell of a lot dirtier than they already are. You'll have to give Randal all that advice which that cunning, nasty little streak of yours can give. You're going to have to stand by and watch as he and Amycus do worse than what they did to Aubrey.' She was stood right before him now, and while her arguments had come quick and thudding like a train carriage's rattle, now Emmeline softened, voice dropping, face falling. 'Or do those things yourself. And that's not you, Graham.'

His breath now caught in his throat, and still it burned. He swallowed hard, and his voice came out rasping. 'Who's trying to save who now, Em?'

'Please, Graham.' Her hand came to his arm, and he had to work to not flinch back at her touch, white-hot against the cold winter wind. 'People don't deserve what Randal would do to them. You know that. We can help, we can stop him -'

'How?' He jerked away now, lip curling. 'How am I supposed to stop my brother? How am I supposed to tell him to not do these things, to leave Muggle-borns alone, to walk away from this? Or Saul, or Amycus and Alecto? There's always going to be someone doing this, and I'm not like you, my family's not like yours. I go home and this is still my life, Em! I can't just cut myself out of things I don't like and act like they won't touch me.'

'You're in a damn sight better spot than me,' she said, eyes flashing again. 'If you try to stop them, you're not going to get attacked in your own dormitory -'

'I think you sorely underestimate Randal if you think I can stand against him, against the Movement, and he'll do nothing to expunge a threat to the family name,' spat Graham before he could stop himself.

Emmeline straightened, frowning. 'He's your brother -'

'And you really don't know what you're up against.' He straightened, arms folding across his chest. 'For what we were, I can give you a couple of days. I can keep everyone off you until you go home. And then you're going to do the smartest thing possible: you won't come back.'

He didn't wait for a reply, turning on his heel to stalk out of the Astronomy Tower. He didn't stop as he surged into the crowds of students heading for dinner, went straight down to the dungeons where he knew he would find Randal. But he'd expected his brother to be back in his brooding state before the fire, and instead he had to push into the seventh years' dormitory, finding him sat at a desk scribbling away furtively. 'Randal?'

His brother pushed back from the desk, gaze stony. That, at least, was predictable. 'Where have you been?'

'You don't have to worry about Emmeline,' Graham said by way of answer, crossing the room to sit on the bed across from the desk. 'I'll deal with her. Give me until the new year; there's not enough time and Slughorn will expect us to do something before the break. But when she's back, I'll handle it. That'll make more of an impact, show we've all turned our backs on her if I do something.' And when Emmeline heeded his advice and stayed out of school, he'd see how he could spin it. Either take credit for driving her off, or shrug and point out she was out of their reach and didn't matter any more. And it would be fine.

Randal put a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you sure? I wouldn't ask that of you.'

'It's the right thing to do,' said Graham, bile in his throat.

'I know she was important to you.'

Which is why I'm keeping Alecto off her back and letting her get away. He swallowed. 'So are you. Are you alright?'

Randal gave a gentle snort. 'You were smart to have me send Alecto against Evans. We've been underestimating her. I might have handled her and Vance, but it could have gone sorely wrong, and we can't afford that right now.'

'Come the new year, nobody will remember this fight, nobody will remember her -'

'Of course they will. She's beaten us twice now. She's a symbol, a rallying point. Worst of all, everyone's going to expect us to target her. She's got teachers on her side, she's got Potter's mob. They're going to watch her, they're going to protect her. So, no matter how much I'd like to see her beaten bloody, we can't come at her head on.'

Graham stared at his brother, mouth now going dry, and wondered if he'd been a hypocrite to accuse Emmeline of underestimating Randal. 'Then what are you going to do?'

Randal Mulciber gave a sphinx-like smile. 'Don't worry, little brother.' He patted the desk, and Graham could see now it was a letter he'd been writing, details impossible to make out from here. 'She's going to get hit where it'll hurt her the most.'

§

Potter said he could do it, and Lily had been in no position to question. It was a job which required his particular skills; skills with people, skills with getting word out, skills at being known. So she'd kept her head down through the last days before the Christmas break, with festive cheer all around and a lump of lead in her gut. The news of the fight had gone through the school like wildfire, and she'd found herself at the centre of the storm. More glares from Slytherins and their allies amongst the pure-bloods, more small smiles from nervous Muggle-borns. The condemnation was louder than the solidarity, because few people dared come up and publicly crow with her over a fight against Alecto Carrow, but those nods, those furtive glances, those glimmers of gratitude were still what Lily took to heart most of all. She had no chance to find Emmeline Vance alone, and so her intervention remained a mystery.

'Maybe she didn't want to be supplanted as Wicked Witch of the West by Carrow,' said a grumpy Dory when they were packing in their dormitory. 'Maybe she wanted to be the one to hex you until you turned into spiders or exploded with blood. I don't bloody know. Why does Emmeline Vance do anything?'

'Except it's not the first time she sided with me,' Lily pointed out. 'And this was obvious, loud.'

'Still, she's not been stabbed by the Slytherins. So maybe they're trying to get someone on your good side.'

Lily couldn't help but scoff. 'Emmeline Vance? On my good side?'

'Exactly,' said Dory. 'It'd be a stupid plan. So believing it's genuine is also dumb.'

There was some logic there, and still Lily couldn't shake her confusion. But Emmeline Vance had spent long years as the alpha Slytherin bitch. Carrow had historically been the beta leaning around from behind and shaking her fist menacingly. It was why Carrow now, despite all her efforts, plainly had to share some power with Yaxley, more charismatic, more likable. Vance had been all things - quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and with a poise and commanding presence to make all sorts of people follow and listen. The power void left in her wake could not be filled by just one person. But even though Vance had seemingly given up her throne, she'd made a lot of enemies along the way. Lily had been one of them, at the receiving end of her bullying, only barely protected by Severus because Emmeline Vance didn't care about Severus Snape. Dory had, Lily remembered when she cast her mind back to history beyond her own nose, been another.

But Vance couldn't consume all of her worry. And a deep-seated worry it was, wormed under her skin and set alongside her bones. This wasn't the old tensions, the fear for just herself, the apprehension at walking down a corridor riddled with Slytherins and not knowing what they'd do. This came with an added weight and importance, a burden that wasn't settling on her shoulders, but becoming a part of her.

Even festive cheer couldn't shift it. The days left at school were filled with students refusing to care about final lessons, with dodging Peeves using Christmas as an excuse for fresh attacks with snowballs. With Abernathy's seat at the top table exploding into a pile of tinsel the moment he sat, and though nobody was caught and punished for it, Sirius Black only laughed that hard at his own pranks.

She should have enjoyed that. Anything undermining Abernathy, who preferred a quiet life to justice, only helped. But right after came Professor Drake's final Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, the very last lesson of her term. There he decided to teach them about the legislature which covered when wizards were allowed to use magic against Muggles, and the occasions when wizards had ended up the victims of Muggles - holding back, claimed Drake, for fear of falling foul of anti-Muggle baiting laws that had, in this case, hamstrung the magical community and denied it the chance of defending itself.

That left the foulest taste in her mouth of all, the reminder of the world that waited her even once she was outside of the grasp of Mulciber and the Carrows.

It almost ruined the final festive feast before departure, but Jack had stared Abernathy in the eye and walked straight to the Gryffindor table while McGonagall did nothing to stop him. So even at her most tense and apprehensive, Lily couldn't let the last celebration with her friends be ruined. Then it was tumbling out into the snowy grounds, bundling into the carriages to take them away from school, onto the Express for it to pull away from Hogwarts.

The train ride home had always held a strange melancholy for Lily. It was like waking up from a dream and lying in bed, trying to snatch the memories before they disappeared like all dreams did, and knowing soon the real world would beckon. The real world held her family, and troubles mundane and real which made magic feel like some fleeting distraction or lie. It wasn't that she disliked the real world, missing her father bitterly, but every time she went back, the dream of magic felt more and more real.

This time, it was set to follow her.

But she'd almost forgotten that until, an hour into her train ride in the compartment with Jack and Dory, the door was thrust open for Potter to burst in. And he wasn't alone; not just with Black and Remus and Pettigrew behind him, but a host of faces she could see crammed over his shoulder. Kendricks and Richmond and Smithson and others yet, some Muggle-borns she knew by name and some she knew by sight and some she hadn't even known were Muggle-borns at all.

'We're going to need,' said Potter with a triumphant smirk, 'more space.'

Dory gave Lily a suspicious look. 'What the hell is going on.'

Lily rose, the apprehension bubbling in her chest. 'Security,' she said simply. 'Unity.' And followed Potter out the door.

Potter had done as she'd asked. The corridor was jam-packed with those he'd gone and gathered, through his friends in classes and Quidditch, doing what she couldn't because everyone knew James Potter, and if James Potter asked people to come together, they'd do it. If she'd asked, there's still be plenty who'd say who or why or sod off.

'Is this enough?' he said, and for a heartbeat she thought he was being smug until she saw the gleam of nerves in his eyes.

Lily had to beam. 'It's fantastic.' She couldn't even roll her eyes at the melodrama of Sirius Black when he put in front of her one of the stools to help little First Years get their luggage into racks, so she could step up and see over the sea of heads, heads who all turned towards her. And suddenly, looking into their curious, suspicious, or expectant eyes, this was scarier than facing off against all the Slytherins combined. 'Um.'

Somehow, that was all it took for them to fall silent, which just made it worse, and she tried to not wring her hands together. 'Uh, thanks for coming.' No, this sounds like you're at a bloody charity gala. 'I'll keep it quick. You wouldn't be here if you didn't have some clue what this is about. Simply put, we might be going home, but I don't think we should assume we're safe.'

That sent a rumble through the crowd, and she could hear Dory click her tongue disapprovingly from beside her. 'Real good pep talk, Red,' she hissed. 'Nice and reassuring.'

'What I mean is,' Lily stumbled, 'so often we go home in the holidays and we think it's over. How we check out a crowd down a corridor for threats, for who'll throw a slur or a hex or trip you up. How we have to check our words before speaking up in class, see who's going to turn them against us. Maybe how we have to check if our own dorms are safe before going up for bed. We go home in holidays and think we're done needing to keep our heads down. And maybe we are.' She drew a sharp, awkward breath. 'But this year's been different. The Slytherins, the pure-bloods, they're not just tripping us in the corridors. They're attacking us.'

'Sure!' called a voice from the crowd, a fifth year Hufflepuff she didn't recognise. 'Because you attacked them!'

'They - they were first, with Aubrey,' Lily stammered, aware how childish that sounded.

'Then you went and flipped off Carrow! Both of them! So if they're going to come -'

'Oh, don't be a tosser all your life, Mason!' That was Jack, straightening up next to her. 'You know they'll come for us no matter what. It was going to get worse some day, weren't it.' He glared at the crowd, arms folded across his broad chest. 'So you can whinge at the only person who's done something about it, or you can shut up and listen.'

'Don't -' Lily flapped a hand at him. 'I mean, yes, but you don't need to - I'm not coming here and saying I've got all the answers. All I'm trying to do here is to encourage you to be careful at home.'

'Great bloody plan,' she heard Mason mutter, but he was shushed by some around him and that gave her a new swell of confidence.

'By which I mean, you should take precautions. Most of you can't do magic outside of school. And most of you don't have a direct line to the Ministry, most of you won't have Enforcers patrolling the areas where you live. Most of you are cut off completely from the world of magic during holidays. But we're not cut off from each other. All I want,' she said, lifting her hands, 'is simple. Pick people in the crowd. Pick your friends. Pick people you don't even know. Exchange phone numbers, exchange addresses for owls if you own them. And stay in touch over the holidays. Maybe every day. Maybe every other day. And if you see something weird, something worrying, say. Spread word. And if you don't hear from someone when you're supposed to - then do something about it. Tell someone. Tell the Ministry.' She could see the scepticism in eyes still, and grimaced. 'We think we're safe during the holidays because we're cut off from the world of magic. So I don't want this safety to be turned into a weapon against us. I don't want to hear of someone attacked in the holidays because they're cut off, isolated.'

That sent a fresh wave of murmurs through the crowd, but this time they were troubled and attentive. 'That's all,' Lily said at last. 'I'm not going to put together some master list or organise it for you. I just thought it'd be good to get as many of you in the same place as I could, so we could talk about it, so we can get it done now, before we all split off. And it doesn't have to be just yourselves; keep in touch with your half-blood and pure-blood friends if you can, just keep in touch. Thanks.'

She stepped down, and there was a moment where the crowd clearly wasn't sure what to do. Then someone - it took her a moment to realise it was Kendricks - punched a fist in the air and yelled, 'And here's to sticking it to the bloody Carrows!'

And despite the apprehension, despite the thudding fear of what awaited her at home and what awaited her when she returned the Hogwarts, the cheer that broke out at that was enough to, finally, warm through winter's chill.

§

'Now, you have to promise to not open them before Christmas Day.' Fletch rattled the two awfully-wrapped packages at Cecil and Hargreaves and forced her smile to reach her eyes.

The Hogwarts Express was like an interlude in festive cheer. School had been adorned in all the decorations and fuss; the station and London would be even more exuberantly ready to celebrate. But here was all drab, the stained benches and the battered, ancient wood panelling of the compartments. Fletch liked it, in a morbid sort of way; it felt realistic. But the rest of her remained the showman, aware how necessary it was to look good if you wanted people to feel good. People who felt good spent money. And so did Christmas decorations justify themselves.

From looking at Cecil and Hargreaves, she suspected she didn't have much coming her way this Christmas. Cecil flicked through a magazine with impossible reading speed, eyes behind his spectacles unfocused. Hargreaves slumped against the window, watching the world rattle by. Both were slow to sit up and look at her.

'Who'd open presents before Christmas?' grunted Hargreaves, taking the small package.

'The impatient,' said Cecil, already tugging at a loose corner of wrapping. 'Uh. I'm still waiting on the owl delivery -'

'I know it's easier for you guys to shop outside of Hogwarts. Don't worry about it.' Presents were the one thing Fletch didn't treat as a transaction. It was like a celebration to herself, to have made enough money she could buy things for her friends; a boast, a demonstration of casual wealth. Though there had been nothing casual about scraping the knuts together for these.

'Thanks.' Hargreaves stowed the package and went back to looking out the window.

Cecil looked at her and fidgeted with the magazine. 'You're not, uh, going to that thing of Potter's -'

'Evans, you mean,' she muttered. 'No, I don't jump when they call. Stupid, isn't it, to act like she's got something to say which is important to all Muggle-borns. Like we all think alike.'

Cecil glanced at Fletch, who fought to keep her expression level. Don't bring me into this. 'Should have paid you to go so you could let me know what the fuss is,' she said with forced levity. 'Always helps to keep our ears to the ground -'

'Evans is fighting a war that's going to get her beaten up some day.' Hargreaves didn't look away from the window. 'That's not a business opportunity, Fletch.'

'I just - alright.' Conversations about internal Hogwarts politics had more and more gone this way over the last few weeks; a surly, seemingly disinterested Hargreaves who nevertheless snapped if the subject was discussed too long or treated with too much levity. So it was with a dash of pettiness that Fletch sat up and said, 'So who takes care of the horse over winter?'

Hargreaves stiffened. 'Kettleburn. He gets people in. Surprised Mulciber's not paying for something.'

'You could ask him to.'

'That'll take talking to him.'

I'm sure a school project with neither person talking to each other will go swimmingly. But Hargreaves' surliness was a warning of worse to come if she pushed, so Fletch let the final leg of the trip to King's Cross pass in silence and the occasional pointless chat with Cecil.

Hargreaves helped them with their luggage off the train when they arrived, then just shrugged and said, 'See you in a couple weeks, then.'

For years now, she'd come to and from King's Cross by herself, catching the Tube back to Brixton. So she had nobody to wait for, nobody to meet, and Fletch and Cecil watched as Hargreaves hefted her battered luggage and hauled it rattling down the platform. Cecil rubbed the back of his neck. 'Is she alright?'

'It's Amy,' said Fletch. 'When is she okay?'

'Yeah, but she's been worse.'

Everything's worse. 'I bet she's homesick,' Fletch lied. 'She'll be right as rain in the new year.'

'I guess.' Cecil shifted his feet. 'Well, then. You have a good Christmas?'

They hugged, more for his benefit than hers, and Fletch tried to ignore the awkward way he hung around an extra few seconds before he set off to find his parents on the station. Cecil, at least, had a nice, normal family; Fletch knew he was the youngest, with two elder brothers who had made prefect and excellent NEWTs and were going on to important, boring middle-management prospects in the Ministry. Cecil, meanwhile, worked damned hard for his As and was accordingly ignored, but at least his parents made it to meet him at the station at the end of a term.

Then again, at least she, Fletch, had more family to come see her than Hargreaves. It took her a few minutes of rattling towards the exit before she spotted her brother, but there was no showmanship, no veneer of control or cool indifference when she threw herself into his laughing arms. 'Gus!'

Gus bodily lifted her off the ground and swung her around in a manner designed to irritate as many people around them. 'Alright, Trouble? Had a good year?'

'Oh, the usual. Free-wheeling and hard dealing. I guess I took some classes along the way.'

'Yeah, you did.' He was barely taller than her, but stout with it. Fates had not been kind to her brother, starting with her parents' unfortunate choice in names: Mundungus was, perhaps, even less kind than Cornelia. That he could shorten his name was a double-edged sword, as for every call of Gus there was a shout of Dung. But she had a much easier time of being liked, or being likable; Gus, with his perpetually lopsided face and inadvertent leer always gave people the wrong impression. He ruffled her hair. 'Someone's gotta be the smart one, kiddo.'

By Gus' standards, getting a NEWT would make her smart. She supposed everything was relative. 'How's work?'

'Shit, still. Mum and Dad still say it's not a real job. I think they just want me out.' Without asking, Gus grabbed her trunk to drag it for her towards the exit. 'You can help keep 'em off my back.'

'Oh, great, Gus. That's just what I come back for Christmas for: family feuds.' But Fletch was grinning as she left the station with her brother, and this was no studied smirk or calculated smile, because here was one person who never expected her to perform in any way but being fun and accepting him.

And that was something Fletch could do for free.

§

The empty compartment hadn't been easy to find, and Sirius hadn't been much interested in privacy for a deep and meaningful conversation. So when Marlene murmured, 'You'll come visit me over Christmas?' with her head resting on his chest as they sprawled together across one of the benches, his throat tightened.

'Oh, come on, we've still got an hour left, Marls -'

She looked up, and finally he saw a tension in her blue eyes, finally saw a spark of irritation he'd before now only ever glimpsed hints of beneath the surface. 'And then we're apart for two weeks.' She sat up. 'And I know you'll go see James -'

'That's not really up to me.' He pushed away, back to the compartment wall. 'Depends on how easily I can get away from my family.'

He watched her hesitate, watched her stall for time as she fidgeted with errant strands of long, thick blonde hair to tie them back into a bun. 'Then maybe I could visit.'

Sirius couldn't help it. He laughed. 'Are you kidding - Marls, that's a terrible -'

'Don't Marls me.' She got to her feet, though her irritation sounded more petulant than fiery, upset than angry. 'As if it's so unreasonable for me to want us to spend time together, for maybe us to see each other outside of school. You don't - you keep me isolated, Sirius, you don't include me with the things you do with your friends…'

'That's different. That's - I've been friends with the guys for years, we do stuff together - you wouldn't enjoy it!'

'Maybe - maybe not the parts where you end up in detention, no,' she said stiffly. 'But I like Remus, and James has been a lot nicer lately if he can even get on with Lily -'

Sirius scoffed. 'He's only nice to Evans 'cos he fancies her; he wouldn't bother with a fussy bookworm like her otherwise.'

It was the wrong thing to say - or, perhaps, for the part of him that craved an escape, the right thing. She stopped in her aggravated gesturing and went very, very still. 'No,' Marlene said, voice all at once quite distant. 'I can't imagine she's the sort of girl that boys like you would be interested in spending time with in a friendly way without constantly tuning out what she's saying so you can think about snogging her.'

He swung his legs over the bench to sit up. 'That's not what I meant,' he lied. 'That's just about those two.'

'Really? Because it feels a bit about us,' she said very fast, turning to him. 'Because I know you're the cool, exciting Sirius and I never ever thought that a boy like you would be interested in someone like me - I'm not an idiot, I know I'm not the usual kind of girlfriend or even the most interesting kind of girlfriend, and I don't know what possessed you to flirt with me at the party except some sense of gratitude at the hostess -'

Her words came quickly enough to bludgeon him, so when he talked it was with a dull, distant tone. 'That wasn't gratitude…'

'Then whatever it was! But I do understand, Sirius, I understand that this might not be what you want, and…' She looked as if she'd been lurching towards a precipice only to stop short, to catch herself, and she looked away. 'Maybe you're right, maybe we should just stop and think over the Christmas break and - and you can come back and we can see where we are.'

He heard the unspoken parts. You can decide what you want. But she hadn't dared say it, just like he hadn't dared speak his mind, and there they were, in ultimatums without nerve and choices without action. Her eyes were on him, but all he could do was swallow, baffled - and then she was turning on her heel and rushing out of the compartment.

The worst thing was he had no idea what that meant.

But they weren't far from King's Cross, and he had more fires in which to burn even before he returned to the inferno for his soul that was Grimmauld Place. He found the other three in the compartment they'd claimed at the beginning of the trip, only for all four of them to scatter to the winds - him to Marlene, Remus to prefect duties, Peter to Stacey (or Tracy, Sirius still wasn't sure), and James, of course, still pandering to Evans' every need.

Remus arched an eyebrow the moment he saw him. 'What did you say?'

'What?'

'Marlene. You've got a look like she kicked you. Was it hard enough?'

I don't know. Instead of voicing that, Sirius scoffed and sank into an indolent slouch next to James. 'She's fine. Girl's mad about me, Moony.'

'I suppose she'd have to be,' mumbled Peter, barely looking up from his magazine. 'Or just mad?'

'Speaking of mad about girls,' said Sirius, turning to James because he didn't want to talk about this any more. 'How's selling your balls to Evans been going?'

James frowned. 'Hang on, they're the ones who ragged at you and I'm getting shit?'

'Got to keep you on your toes.' Sirius put his hands behind his head. 'She'll make you soft.'

'While Marlene has done wonders for you - and anyway, it's not like that. Evans and I are friends.'

'And that's all you want.'

'That's all that matters; she's with Wick. What's eating you?'

'Nothing. I just hoped you'd have thought of us more before you painted a target on our heads by backing up Evans like that.'

Remus and Peter both looked up, startled. 'We didn't -' Remus caught himself. 'I don't feel like that.'

Peter shook his head. 'No, me neither -'

'Sure,' said Sirius before James could stop being flabbergasted enough to argue. 'But we always kept ourselves to ourselves - above the petty politics, right to the side, and sure, we'd hit Snivellus and swoop at Avery and even the Mulcibers from time to time. But it's not like we weren't afraid to deflate Burke's head every once in a while, or Travers when he was only a mild pillock, or even Hardy last year. And he was a Muggle-born Head Boy.'

James sat up, one hand tense on the window ledge. Southern England rattled by the train, cast into blackness this time of day, with night coming so early in winter. 'What's your point?'

There was an edge to his voice Sirius didn't recognise, but he smarted too badly from the talk with Marlene to be cautious. 'My point is when did we go politics, James, and when was that a good idea?'

Remus cleared his throat. 'It's important -'

'You were the one saying you had to keep your head down 'cos flipping off the school for doing nothing would be flipping off everyone who cut you slack. How's it better to make people hate you more, Remus?' Sirius straightened. 'For us to get Mulciber's attention more, so maybe he listens when Snivellus says he's got something on us, when he's got something on Remus -'

Remus shot to his feet. 'This isn't fair, Sirius,' he snapped. 'If you've got a problem with what James is doing, then say so. Don't say you're objecting on my behalf.'

James, though, did look a little crestfallen, and raised his hands. 'He's got a point, Moony. There wasn't - I didn't much think about you guys.'

Peter shifted his weight. 'I reckon we can look after ourselves.'

'We can.' Remus turned to James, face still flushed. 'Do you actually agree with Lily? Do you actually care about what she says, what she's doing? Or are you still trying to impress her?'

James' expression shifted. 'We all know she's right, don't we. We've just been playing at rebels before now, like we're the outcasts, the outsiders. We've fancied ourselves above politics because they haven't hit us. We've sat on the sidelines because we can. Not everyone has that luxury. Evans is taking a stand. And if we're half the damned rebels we like to think we are, we've got to help her.'

'It helps,' muttered Sirius, 'that you think she's hot.'

Now James was on his feet, eyes flashing. 'So what, Sirius, does sticking it to your family only go as far as listening to Muggle music and buying Muggle clothes, and you draw the line at helping actual Muggles -'

He'd wanted a fight with Marlene so badly the anger came easily, now, much more easily than the situation warranted. In a heartbeat Sirius was standing, too, gaze locked on James'. 'This isn't about my family, this is about looking out for you guys -'

'So, what, you're the responsible one now? Or do you just not dare to get your hands mucky -'

Remus would have normally stepped in by the time both had stood, but Sirius had already pissed Remus off. So the intervention was both later than and different to what they expected, but no less effective. A spray of cold water from the corner of the compartment was more than enough.

All three sputtered and jumped back - Remus had been close enough and pissy enough, still, to be targeted. Then they all rounded on Peter, stood on the bench in the corner, wand in hand and still dripping from the spell, scowling. 'What's the matter with you all? Fighting at a bloody time like this. Now I've got to be the grown up? That's bollocks.'

Remus wiped water from his face. 'Pete, you don't -'

'Apparently you're shirty today, too, Remus, so I got to.' He pursed his lips. 'James warned us this might happen - not us bitching at each other, but that we'd invite more trouble. So Sirius, you don't have much right to barge in and be pissy. But James? Sirius isn't wrong. You know we've got your back when it's important. We have never had your back for your hare-brained schemes to impress Evans. We usually sit back with those and watch.'

'Giggling,' Sirius added quietly.

'With popcorn,' Remus agreed.

'Exactly.' Peter waggled his wand. 'So you can forgive us, maybe, if we worry about your reasoning for suddenly being super into politics. Even if you're using fancy words about it. Next you'll say shit like "duty".'

Sirius sagged, the fires of anger doused by the water - and then, after the water, shame. He reached out to clasp James' shoulder, and found his best friend still tense. 'This is about your dad, isn't it,' he said quietly. 'I want to flip mine off. You want to make yours proud.'

James hesitated. 'I'm not doing this to impress my family. Or Evans. But they're right, and - I don't know. We're past the time of sitting around.'

'Especially,' drawled Remus, glancing to the window, 'because we're arriving. So we can freeze to death by walking outside in winter, soaking wet.'

'I'm not sorry,' said Peter, putting away his wand. 'You needed it.'

Sirius laughed. 'So much for solidarity!'

'I could say the same to you!'

'Ah,' said James, drawing his wand with a slow smirk, 'but you did say we had each other's backs.'

By the time the train slid to a halt and they stumbled onto the freezing cold platform, laughing with all arguments forgotten, they were all sopping wet.