Disclaimer: I own my dog. I am presently trying to not own my rat, any takers?
In this chapter: We see what the rest of the world has been up to of late. Rasmus moves out and gets his own place, the Lord Thingy feels bereft. Snape stalks a Black, Remus stalks a McAlpin, the Order of the Phoenix has a meeting, and Voldemort makes a plan to stalk the Ministry.
Part Twenty-Eight: Return to the Atmosphere
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Planning a party when you were Gryffindor's resident Fifth-Year Prefect and Werewolf Marauder shouldn't have been a difficult, stressful affair.
But it was.
Not getting everything in place, no. That part went off without a hitch, thanks to the judicious application of a few well-placed Transfiguration spells in the tallest Astronomy Tower. He didn't even have to look for anything; the House-Elves had grabbed his list of snacks eagerly, celebrating that they'd get to do the catering for Monday's party, and James had left him everything he'd need in the Come-And-Go Room.
It was everything else that made getting ready for this party a bit of a nightmare — Peter had spent the weekend in the Hospital Wing, so Remus was rather short-handed; that same evening, word had spread around the school that Sirius had been cleared of all charges, and once again his face was plastered all over newspapers and magazines. Not that Remus minded that bit. It was all the kids wanting to ask him about James and Sirius what was driving him insane.
Witch Weekly just had to do a double feature, filled with pictures of them as they left the trial, where James said something to make Sirius let out one of those rare smiles that could melt ice — and apparently the winner of the Most Charming Smile Award had been selected months in advance this year.
That didn't mean he had to get dragged into every conversation surrounding the event, did it? When he had to explain for the third time that Sirius' and James' coats were common Muggle greatcoats, not a new trend at all, and no, he didn't have a clue what time they'd return if at all, and yes, he was sure they'd be back soon, Remus decided he'd had enough.
Not to mention, the Moon was later today, which made it hard to keep himself in check even on a good day. Times like today, he relied heavily on James and Sirius to keep him focused, even on Peter, and this weekend was the first he'd spent without any of his friends. He had snuck into the Kitchens last night, had eaten a good-sized raw steak there, but it wasn't the same without the other canine half of the Marauders to fight for every bite. Since December, nothing seemed right, and the last two moons had been terribly depressing.
If James and Sirius didn't show up today… Remus was already dreading the outcome.
The wolf in him had had enough. It was cranky after the turmoil of the past few months, and that anger was starting to bleed out into his everyday existence. He was so not made for emotional upheavals, and despite telling himself that he'd see his friends again this afternoon, it was hard to hold his impatience in check.
Then there was Marlene. Remus had spent Friday and Saturday with her, shadowing Nina's every move. He hadn't seen anything suspicious, but Marlene was a bit obsessed. The result of these past forty-eight hours was, his crush was growing into something a bit less explicable. For the wizard him, it was an endless source of nerves. For the wolf him it translated into something else entirely, and he decided to give her the slip today before his sudden drive got the better of him.
At least Pomfrey will release Pete now, Remus thought with something like relief, as he made his way to the Hospital Wing. They could go to Hogsmeade, pick up an extra crate of Butterbeers for the party, maybe grab a bite. The walk would to both of them a world of good. He knew it would help the wolf a whole lot.
Physically, Peter looked much better than he had all weekend, but he was jumpier, hungrier, and grumpier than Remus had ever seen him. The snacks he'd brought for him were gone before the two of them even crossed the Hogwarts gates.
Also, Peter seemed too quiet. Remus wondered why; he had potions accidents all the time, and never really seemed to mind. Today, he was having a bit of a sulk, for no apparent reason. When Remus asked, Peter only muttered he was still hungry.
"Why didn't you bring more biscuits?" he asked shortly, huffing in the cold.
"We'll get something to eat at the pub," Remus told him, trying to sound more upbeat than he felt. "I'm sure you'll feel better when you get some of Rosmerta's Sunday roast in you."
Peter gave him a thin-lipped smile, buried his hands inside his jacket, stomped onwards in silence.
When they reached the village's busy main street, though, Remus caught a familiar whiff of smell— Nina was here. He spotted her a moment later, walking past a row of stone houses. Yesterday, he and Marlene had seen magical movers busy there, but not who was moving in.
Now, he spotted a tall wizard with white-blond hair smirking down at Nina, who had just bumped into him.
"Sorry," she said distractedly, as Remus and Peter came closer on their way to the Three Broomsticks.
"You vood haff more to you care," the wizard said in a heavy Eastern accent. Remus was no expert, but he'd peg it for Romanian, maybe Russian.
"Sorry," Nina repeated, and Remus' nose wasn't lying— he smelled fear.
"Alright, Nina?" he asked, eyeing the wizard suspiciously.
"Remus! Peter!" Nina exclaimed. He hadn't imagined it at all; that bloke frightened her. "What are you doing here?"
"Lunch at the pub," Peter answered, his ill mood suddenly damped. "Want to join us?"
"Yes!" was the overenthusiastic reply, and Remus took a chance to look at the wizard more closely, placed himself between him and her. Ice-blue eyes fixed themselves on him, and Remus suddenly felt scrutinised, threatened. His hackles rose, and he had to bite back a growl. The wizard smelled funny, too. Like cloves mixed with expensive aftershave.
Remus didn't waste any time putting some distance between them.
"I heard you had an accident, Peter," Nina was saying. "What happened?"
"Oh, er." Pete answered, "I spilled an unfinished potion on myself… But Pomfrey regrew my fingers."
"Ouch," Nina said, examining Peter's hand, which sported a very pink index and middle digits. "You're all better, though?"
"Yeah," Peter assured her. Remus wondered why he was lying.
They had lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and Peter's mood seemed to improve with liberal applications of food, and Nina's fright seemed to be a thing of the past as well.
She looked and acted normal, joked around with them, shared in their collective relief over the outcome of the trial. There was nothing to suggest that she had a penchant for suspicious conversations with disembodied voices, for sneaking around in abandoned corridors.
She didn't smell like an animal either, Remus noted, after trying to sniff her without her noticing. She did come back from the loo smelling of perfume, though.
By the time they made their way back to Hogwarts, carrying three crates of Butterbeer and a purloined bottle of Old Ogden's, Remus was convinced there was nothing wrong with Nina at all.
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Rasmus Thanatovich congratulated himself for his choice of a semi-permanent address: It overlooked the Hogsmeade town square and hardly anyone could come into the town without being spotted from his magically enlarged terrace.
He had long outstayed his welcome at the Dark Lord's manor, and he welcomed the privacy his new home provided. It might be much smaller than he was used to, but after working some clever spells, he had managed to fit in a few extra parlours and stretched the garden as far as magic would allow.
Now he was perfectly-positioned to immerse himself further into his personal pet project, he thought, looking around the snowy street with satisfaction. Yesterday, the Hogwarts students had been all over the place too, and he watched them, trying to decide which of these young souls would be most useful to provide him entry to the school. He liked his research as hands-on as he could, and if the papers were to be trusted, Black and Potter would return to Hogwarts today, so Rasmus could be excused for his anticipation when his doorbell rang in the early afternoon.
"You have managed to turn this into a homely little nook," Voldemort said, stepping inside and looking around, two boxes in his hands. "Here, I brought you a little house-warming gift."
"Spasibo," Rasmus said, but his smile turned into a faint grimace of disgust as he opened the first box.
Inside, he saw the rather ripe head of Derek Riordan.
"You not should haff," Rasmus said anyway, "I vill not, I think, put in open," he added drolly. Voldemort chuckled.
"Rasmus, my dear friend, I have a task for the two of us to undertake."
"I am ears," Rasmus answered, but he already had an idea what it would entail.
"Ears and legs and hands," Voldemort agreed, laughing genially. "You and I," he informed, "will infiltrate the Ministry. Some of my associates have, ah, been placed there recently, awaiting their trials. In light of our recent experience, what say you if we give them a hand and break them out?"
"Da," Rasmus agreed, waved his wand to place the heads of the Riordans in dark green glass balls, where they were quite invisible… and the dreadful smell vanished. He looked at them. "I can put out now."
"Will you do this with me?" Voldemort demanded.
"I vant for to go into Hog-varts."
"I have recently acquired a rather gifted potions-brewer. Two, if rumours are to be believed."
"One hand put vater on other hand and vash?" Rasmus suggested.
"Of course, I'll get you Polyjuice."
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Sirius kept glancing at the clock as though it was asking him questions.
James figured he had a point, but man. He hadn't even tried half of the desserts that had been dished up yet.
"Mum, we're going to be late," he said anyway, inwardly wondering why moons in winter always rose so early. He didn't ask; Sirius, he was sure, knew this stuff and he was in no fit state to keep the answer to himself yet.
"It's Sunday, what in the world could you be late for?" his Dad asked curiously, his fork hovering over a delicious-looking slice of chilled lime pie.
"Remus," answered Sirius promptly, and James was sure his Dad hadn't missed the sharp look he shot at his best friend. Sirius gave him an apologetic one in return. "Sorry. He asked."
"What's the matter with Remus?" his Mum wanted to know next.
Aaaaah.
"Nothing," James said before Sirius could open his mouth. He gave James a bemused look. "It's just—"
"He needs help—" Sirius started.
"With his Transfiguration essay!" James interrupted, a tad too loudly. "It's due tomorrow and he's hopeless, isn't he Sirius. Doesn't he need us there?"
"Yeah. He needs us to be there, Mrs. P."
"But can't you stay a little longer?" James loved his parents dearly, but boy, did they ask questions.
"No," James replied, hoping it would be enough for once.
"We've got to be there at moo—"
"Around three would be great," said James with a grin.
"Four forty-four," said Sirius, after a moment's concentration. "And six seconds."
"That's rather specific." And now his Dad was curious too.
"We've got to be on time," Sirius told them gravely. "Not a second late, Mrs. P. It's important."
James had to bite back a defeated laugh.
"You're doing time-based spells?" his Dad asked, frowning in confusion. "For Transfiguration?"
"We're doing Transfiguration at a certain time," Sirius' mouth informed. James wished he could spellotape it shut.
"Yeah, Dad." And please stop asking—
"It's got to be on the dot, and it's the full—"
"So, we ought to go at three," said James, interrupting Sirius yet again and giving up on his dessert. "Now would be good too, there's loads to get ready before we do it."
"Oh, all right. We can take them out for dinner, though, can't we? Minerva told us she's giving you some time off," she told them. "So you can recover, Sirius, and you too, James, so don't forget to see Poppy upon arrival."
"Okay."
"Yes, Mrs. P."
Sirius was staring at the clock again.
"Oh all right, all right," Betty relented with a sigh that was just a tad discouraged; she, too, was looking mournfully at her slice of mille-feuilles.
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Their Dad went through the fire first, and James followed. Then their Mum went last with Sirius.
"Hello and welcome back, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore greeted them, his eyes twinkling.
"Hello, Professor," James chorused with Sirius.
"Your baggage has already been taken to your dormitory," said Dumbledore, "but if there is anything you need, don't hesitate to— Mr. Black, what are you doing?"
Sirius was peering behind the heavy curtains in the Head office.
"Just checking, sir," he said matter-of-factly. "Where'd you put them?"
"I'm afraid I don't follow. Mr. Black?"
"The Aurors." His nose was twitching, but he managed not to tell how he knew the Red-Robed nightmares were still around. Instead, he stared expectantly at the old Headmaster.
"While Aurors will be patrolling the castle and grounds—" Dumbledore started, but he cut himself off when Sirius turned towards their Dad.
"Mr. P.?"
"Yes, son?"
"May I choose not to stay here?" he asked.
"You mean, you want to leave?"
"No," Sirius admitted. "But I don't like the Aurors."
"Why is that?" Dumbledore wanted to know.
Sirius actually scoffed. James was glad to see he wasn't limiting himself to just automatically providing answers anymore.
"They're a bunch of bastards, aren't they, if I don't see another one of them in my life—"
"Sirius, please. Language," his Mum admonished gently.
"Sorry, Mrs. P." At least Sirius meant the apology. "They are, though."
"Is he still under the effects of the Veritaserum?"
"Yes, the Healers—"
"Those unzipped idiots got all the potions wrong," Sirius supplied. "I spent half the time chucking up—"
"Sirius, please."
"Sorry, Mrs. P. Vomiting was the word I ought to have used. I nearly vomited my large intestine through my nostrils, that's what I meant."
"It has been rather difficult," his Dad said carefully. James was shaking with suppressed laughter.
"Well," Dumbledore said, eyeing Sirius closely. "Let me just… Fawkes!"
The Phoenix perched on Sirius' arm, regarded him closely.
"'Sup," Sirius told the bird.
Fawkes cocked his head to the side, then threw it back and trilled out a chilling note that made their hair stand on end. Sirius stared at the thing like it had just grown horns. James had a very distinct sensation, one that was very similar to the despair and hopelessness he'd felt from Sirius last night, but before he could shoo the phoenix off his best friend, Fawkes fluttered onto his shoulder.
It looked like the bird was crying next, letting tears drop on top of Sirius' head.
Sirius staggered back into a chair, his head spinning so madly, so suddenly, James had to brace himself against the fireplace to keep from falling over too. A moment later, though, he could sense Sirius' mind working loads more clearly. Even better, he felt stronger all of a sudden, emboldened. Like he should.
"Is that it?" James asked.
"That ought to do it," Dumbledore said, thumbs hooked on his belt.
If he had a Knut for every time he'd heard that lately… James decided he'd test it. He held a red squeaky ball under Sirius' nose.
"Sirius, what colour is the ball?"
"Oh, not again," Sirius moaned.
"Humour me," James instructed cheerfully. "If you manage, you get to keep it."
"I've got my own bal—"
"Sirius!" their Mum exclaimed, scandalised. James's grin grew all the wider.
"Whoops. Sorry, Mrs. P." Sirius replied, unrepentant. "I do, though."
"C'mon," James urged. "I see it's pink. What colour do you see?"
"Red," Sirius muttered, quite despite himself.
"Gah. Again."
"James…" Sirius was whining now.
"Come on. How else will we know?"
Sirius took a deep breath.
"Redredredredpurplewhiteyellowgreen. Whoa." He caught the red ball before it hit his face. It squeaked, and James had the distinct sensation that Sirius was itching to sink his fangs into it.
"Oh thank you, Albus," their Mum said. "If we had only known— Are you feeling all right, honey?"
"Yes, Mrs. P. Just a bit dizzy. But loads better."
"We'll be coming by," their Dad promised a little later, when they were saying their goodbyes. "And we'll sort out that leg, all right?"
"Yes, Mr. P," Sirius answered, and he was feeling hopeful about it, at least. James hoped it would last, as his Mum kissed the top of his head in parting and then pulled Sirius into a big hug. For once, he didn't give a start. Instead, he returned it.
"I love you, Pumpkin," she told him fondly.
"I love you too," was the surprising answer. Apparently it had finally sunk in.
"What was that?" James heard his Mum ask, "I didn't quite catch that."
"You heard," Sirius said, without a hint of embarrassment.
"My hearing isn't what it once was. My ears fail me in my old age." And bugger if she wasn't twinkling like bloody Dumbledore.
Sirius held her at arm's length, and said very clearly and very solemnly, "I love you, Mrs. P."
James' mouth fell open. There was no way this could be blamed on any loopy potions this time. His Mum beamed, she gave him an even bigger hug.
"I heard you the first time," she confessed, but she looked close to tears. Sirius gave her an odd look, as though he couldn't understand why.
"I know," he said.
"Oh, Pumpkin, I'm going to miss you," she said, planting a kiss on top of his head before drawing him in once more.
"I'll miss you too, Mrs. P."
"Be good, you hear?"
Sirius actually grinned at her, pulling away.
"Don't push it."
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Peter didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed at how easily everyone had believed his story about his "accident" in Dungeon 5. Nobody questioned him, even Remus just gave him a worried look and argued little when the Nurse shooed him away. He'd promised he'd come back, but right then, Peter had wished he wouldn't.
Only partly.
The rest of him craved his friend back, wished desperately to return to that once-blissful — or so he saw it now — time before the Christmas holidays, when he'd never even have entertained the notion of going behind his friends' backs. When he hadn't ever even considered what would happen if they were gone, when Snape left him alone for fear of what James and Sirius might do to him.
When he accompanied Remus to Hogsmeade to get lunch and Butterbeer for the party, Peter struggled to keep his anger in check— he had to keep reminding himself that his so-called friends had no idea what had happened, and somehow managed to convince himself along the way that it was because they didn't care.
But then Nina joined them and turned the tables on him. She bought the accident story easily enough, even looked at his reconstructed fingers and asked if he could move them alright and if it hurt.
Peter felt rather mollified after that.
A twinge of guilt came next, when he admitted to himself that he could tell Remus about it, and even tell Sirius and James when they returned later — and, he further admitted to himself, his friends would never let this slide. Snape would get what was coming to him.
He resolved to do just that, and by the time they were marching back to Hogwarts, he'd even nicked a bottle of Old Ogden's to celebrate the successful conclusion of the Marauders' latest adventure; Snape didn't know what he was on about; there was no way his friends would desert him, that had been his fears talking, right? Sirius evidently hadn't said anything about them being Animagi, and that alone was cause for celebration.
At three on the dot, he and Remus were waiting by the gargoyles to Dumbledore's office, and Peter was quite ready to put Friday's ordeal behind him. He'd tell them everything, get payback, put this behind him as well.
When the gargoyles finally leapt aside and James and Sirius walked out the doors looking like they were going to a ball, Peter's emotion was genuine.
"Aren't you a darling pair of nancy boys?" he said for a greeting, grinning widely. James grimaced. Sirius smirked.
"Let's don't start," James suggested, but he was smiling as he clapped Peter on the back. "Remus said you had a potions accident."
"I'm all better," Peter assured him, deciding he'd tell them once they were all settled in.
"Good, because you'll need both your hands to carry that," Sirius said, gesturing at the large parcel James was coaxing out of his robes pocket.
"We got you this from France."
"Cheese!" Peter exclaimed, and his grin widened.
"Ugh," said Remus.
"You know nothing, Lupin."
"And this is for you, Moony." James handed him a book, which Remus opened eagerly.
"A French phrasebook?"
"Edited," James said conspiratorially, and Sirius chuckled. "You never know, Mr. Moony, you'll probably travel eventually. Hey, Sirius. What do they call the likes of him in France?"
"Sorcier." Sirius was already limping down the corridor at the top speed of a snail on a hot tarmac.
"No, that's wizard, right? I mean, the other thing."
"Loup-garou, why?"
"See, Remus? You'd be Lou Gary over there, it could get confusing. You need a phrasebook, unless you're bringing the live version of it with you." James nodded his head at Sirius, and even Remus laughed.
Sirius then stopped short at the foot of the Grand Staircase.
"Where are we going?" he asked. "Shortcut outside is that way," he added, gesturing to the left of the stairs.
"Common room," said James.
"Shouldn't we be going to the Shack, though?" Sirius asked.
"In a minute," said James. "We need to make sure you can transform first."
"Oh. Right." Sirius frowned. "Can't we just use some classroom for that? Transfiguration is right over there."
"I want to get out of these duds," James confessed.
"Why? You look great," Pete threw in, but his mouth was full of Gouda and it failed to get the point across.
"You do look very distinguished."
"You sound just like my Mum, Remus."
"Gryffindor is too far, though," Sirius argued, then struck up the way to the Transfiguration classroom anyway. "At the rate I'm going, we'll get to the Shack by moonset."
"How are you feeling?" Remus asked him, catching up in two long strides. Sirius groaned.
"Not you as well."
"He's better," James answered for him.
"All better?" Peter asked.
"From the neck down, you know," James clapped him on the back, and Sirius let out a short laugh. "Mostly."
Transfiguration was empty, and a few quick flicks of their wands closed the blinds.
"Let's see it, then," Peter prompted.
Sirius focused for a moment… and then they all stared.
Padfoot was suddenly right in front of them, and it was such a different sight from what they were used to, that they all fell silent at once. The only sound was the noise the leg brace made, when it clattered to the floor.
Peter hadn't seen him in dog form for months, and it was a rather sorrier sight than he'd expected.
Gone was the thick, sleek coat, and though the dog in front of them was huge, it looked like it had been hit with a bad case of mange. Entire sections of his back and sides had no fur on them, just ugly, jagged scars. His right hindquarter looked oddly out of alignment and not at all like it would hold his weight. He was painfully thin and gave the overall impression of something that had just escaped hell than the majestic animal they'd grown used to seeing.
Peter figured he wasn't wrong in that assessment. Suddenly Snape's words hit him full force.
"How long do you think they'll last? The Dark Lord is taking over, Pathetigrew, and your stupid little friends are going down. It's only a matter of time, can't you see it with those mousy eyes of yours?"
Peter swallowed. He couldn't not see it, now the truth of those words was staring him in the face.
"Black won't make it through this year, nor will Potter. And what will you do then?"
"You look like a Grim," he told the huge dog in front of him. Privately, he thought he looked like the Grim was coming for him.
"He's always looked like one," said James, but he was giving the dog a mournful look.
"Yeah, but now he looks like the books say they look," Peter pointed out.
"Nonsense," Remus countered, his voice a throaty sort of snarl. He was sniffing the air, and his eyes had turned a bright yellow at the sight of Padfoot. Pete wasn't sure that was a good thing. Neither did Padfoot: his hackles were raised, fangs bared. The growl that came out was threatening enough, and Remus gave himself a shake.
"Sorry."
Padfoot gave him an unimpressed, rather annoyed look. The one that said, "Bring it." Peter hoped they wouldn't have another epic territorial row. Padfoot didn't look like he could make it through even a tiny spat, and he was too shocked still to forget why that was.
What will you do then?
Remus didn't seem too keen to test it, however, which was good. A moment later, Padfoot was doing a three-legged sort of limp around them, sniffing them all, feet and hands and robes and—
"Oy!" Pete yelped, when wet dog nose bumped his backside from behind. "What the hell, Padfoot!"
But Padfoot wasn't liking what he was smelling. He growled out a warning that seemed to say, "Watch it, roadkill." Peter shut his mouth with a snap, shut his eyes tightly as the large dog sniffed him from head to toe.
"Okay, that's quite enough, Sirius," James said, stepping between them. "He says you've got a weird smell on you."
"That's— that's probably the potion," Peter squeaked, thinking on his feet. "I just got out of the hospital wing before lunch, I'm wearing the same robes." And he'd caught it, he realised to his dismay. Sirius had just sniffed Snape on him, hadn't he? Suddenly he felt all the more apprehensive.
What will you do then?
"Okay, I think I can manage," Sirius said, all human again. He summoned his leg brace, gave it a distasteful look, and put it back on. Peter tried to shrink back behind James, to avoid the searching look Sirius was giving him.
"Remind me to groom you," James told him, giving Peter an odd sideways glance. "You look like you got the dry rot."
Sirius snorted without humour.
"I'd rather the dry rot than this. Let's go, then. I wasn't joking about wanting to be there before moonset sometime."
.
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They met at a different location each time. Today, Betty and Coop had offered up their suite, had returned to the French Riviera with Albus the instant the boys were safely in school.
It helped Betty to distract herself from the heartache she felt over leaving them there at all.
"I wish we could've kept them just a few days longer," she told Coop, who wrapped his arms around her. "I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?"
"No," he told her. "I already miss them too."
"We'll visit," Betty decided. "Take them home on Sundays. Something." Coop smiled at her, held her a little closer.
"They'll be fine, Betty," Albus assured her. After last night, Betty had her doubts about a lot of things — but not about this. They needed them around, Sirius most of all. But James wasn't as all right as he'd like them to believe, and she just couldn't fathom not being around to help them get better once and for all.
They cleared the dishes with half-finished desserts from the table, set it anew as they waited for the rest of their Order to arrive.
They did, in twos and threes. Some were announced by French elves with outrageous accents, wearing all sorts of disguises and using fake names, others used the fireplace, others yet apparated onto the terrace. One — Moody — landed in the pool. And everyone was happily noshing on the leftovers of their banquet within a handful of minutes.
The news wasn't as grim as other times.
Albus told them about the inquiry against Fudge and Crouch, the Wizengamot's decision to reduce Dementor activity during trials, and the public outcry against Walburga Black that had been unleashed after the Prophet published an in-depth article on the botched trial against Sirius.
Better yet, the Hogwarts raid had turned out ten high-profile arrests, five first-time offenders, all of whom claimed Imperius, as usual— so Alastor told them from the depths of the pile of towels he'd been covered in, cursing his new swiveling eye every time it popped out its socket. Tiberius Shacklebolt shared his new nickname amongst Aurors and Hit Wizards — Mad-Eye Moody.
They all laughed. It felt good to laugh; there was precious little they could chuckle over of late.
"There's one thing, however," said Janus Dearborn. "I've been looking into the Muggle disappearances, and I noticed something else— there's an inordinate number of car accidents of late."
"What do you mean?" asked Alastor. "Muggles crash their vehicles all the time — it's as if they get them just for that purpose."
"There have been thirty in the past week alone," Dearborn said. "Twenty-two appear to have targeted parents of Muggleborn students. Just earlier, Ash and Daisy Evans were involved in a collision that nearly killed them both."
"Lily Evans's parents?" Minerva asked, aghast. "She's one of mine."
Janus nodded.
"The accident, so I heard from our Muggle-worthy Excuse Committee Liaison, was actually caused by an exploding sewer cap. They're calling it a gas leak, but the Dark Magic tests were positive."
"Merlin, are they all right?"
"They are hospitalised at present, I believe moving them to St. Mungo's would be safer…"
"Our Healers wouldn't tell anyone they're non-magical folk," Tiberius Shacklebolt agreed in his deep voice. "And they're reliable— we can't have just anyone patching us up."
"Make it happen," Alastor said. His eye jumped out of his face and into his cup of coffee, as if it were trying to get away from him. "Ah, blast—"
"Is there anything we can do to help? We do have about two-hundred Muggleborn students in the school right now."
"I will give you the list of names, Tiberius," Albus replied. "Can you spare anyone, Alastor?"
"About a hundred Aurors," growled Moody, fingers fishing around in his cup. "We'll get right to it."
"I will tell Ms. Evans and take her in the morning," said Minerva, getting to her feet. "Do let me know when her parents are settled in St. Mungo's."
.
.
James and Sirius fit quite easily under the cloak. Peter was in rat form on James' shoulder, so there was space enough for them to move about freely. And they needed it; it was positively slow going, so James congratulated himself on having picked a route that allowed them to arrive with minutes to spare even with Sirius' slow limp.
He'd even managed to steer clear of the Aurors patrolling the hallways and grounds, which he was sure was another major point scored. If Sirius even noticed they were around, he didn't give him the slightest indication — but he was focused on something else entirely.
When they reached the Whomping Willow, Poops was only just walking with Remus to the tree, her herb basket in one arm, another in Remus' hands. The official story was that Remus helped the Nurse gather herbs, or whatnot, to explain why they were sometimes out together in the grounds. It was a simple and boring enough explanation when moonrise, like today, happened early.
I'm telling you. Hospital farts. Sirius didn't need to catch his breath to continue their ongoing argument, even though he was quite winded.
Maybe it was exactly that, Groucho McGrumpycakes, James countered offhandedly. He was in the Hospital Wing all weekend, and he probably just farted. You know those are toxic.
I'm telling you, he didn't. I broke my leg, not my nose, Sirius muttered in his head. James sighed audibly.
You're telling me Pete smells of Dark Magic. Do revise that statement, then tell me again if you really mean it.
Pete reeks of it. And of Snivellus, Sirius supplied morosely.
Pete. Our Pete. James couldn't forget what Sirius said yesterday, that he didn't fully trust Peter, but this was ridiculous. I'm telling you, he probably just farted. It's Pete, he'd have told us if anything remotely interesting happened to him over the weekend.
The Marauders waited for the Nurse to freeze the tree, revealing the entrance to the tunnel. She looked around, then slipped some candy into Remus' basket and ushered him towards the opening.
"Moonset is at four A.M.," she was saying. "Do you want me to collect you then, or…"
"I can make my own way back in the morning, Madam Pomfrey. Thanks."
"Stay safe," the Nurse said, then they parted ways. Remus disappeared under the tree, and she made her way towards Hagrid's. She usually did, on nights like this, had a cuppa with him.
James tossed a pebble up and down in the air a few times as soon as she was out of sight, then lobbed it at the knot and the tree froze for the second time.
The rat gave a complimenting cheep.
Moments later, they were in the tunnel, and Wormtail activated the Willow again.
They made their slow progress along the tunnel. James had become too large an animal to fit in there with his antlers on, so he usually went in last with Wormtail. Sirius transformed long before they reached the exit, the clatter of his leg brace the only sound down here.
A minute later, there was a howl that made the tunnel shake and dirt rain on all of them. Wormtail squeaked and hurried to hide behind James. Padfoot scrambled up and out of the trapdoor with a glance at James that said, wait up, I'll distract him.
A moment later, there was a crash, a thump— and James scrambled out after Sirius, turning into a stag as he cleared the trapdoor, emerging from it to utter chaos.
It was hard to make out what was going on at first; they were a whirlwind of fur and fangs and claws and there was so much roaring and snarling and yipping, James didn't know if they were fighting again or—
Moony was thrown bodily into the couch, bounced off it and hurled himself at Padfoot again with a howl that was overjoyed rather than furious.
Prongs snorted, glanced at Wormtail to come on out.
Moony and Padfoot were playing, tails wagging madly, wrestling each other like nothing was the matter— even without full use of his limbs, Pads was giving as good as he got, and James realised how much they'd all needed this. Moony and Padfoot probably most of all.
It didn't last; nothing really did, lately, and when Moony vanished to fetch the sheep plushie — it was hiding under the bed again — and managed to herd the bleating, fluffy thing downstairs, Pads looked like he was staying awake out of sheer stubbornness.
Wormtail amused them all by trying to ride the plush toy while Moony and Padfoot tried to hunt it, and Prongs made sure his best friend didn't keel over while he was at it and tried not to get his antlers caught in the chandelier.
In the end, it didn't matter that they didn't go outside tonight; just being together again was enough. More than enough.
They ended up curling up against each other on the rug by the empty fireplace, the most mismatched pack ever to exist; the dog was sandwiched between the wolf and the stag, the rat nestled on its neck.
It was the best sleep they'd all had in months.
.
.
"Mother wants me at home for Easter. Pawn to B4." Regulus' face was scrunched up in concentration.
"You there, over here," Sirius snapped his fingers at one of his chessmen, pointed him in the right direction. Regulus snorted at his methods, but the knight — an impossibly rude, exquisitely-carved knight— rode a perfect miniature charger to the appointed location and gave Regulus the finger.
It was Tuesday night, and it was also the first time they played chess since they'd seen each other — really seen each other — almost three months ago. All Regulus had to say to the state his brother was in was, those three months hadn't been kind to him at all.
It made Sirius laugh, he claimed it was because of the party last night that had kept everyone but the Slytherins awake all night, but Regulus didn't think any Gryffindor party could possibly be that hard on anyone. At least none of this had killed Sirius' eternally good mood, he mused, watching his eyes scanning the board, cogs grinding, thinking up strategies at a glance and dismissing them equally quickly.
This time, Regulus was adamant on winning.
"Tell her you're too busy with school," Sirius told him. "She never forces the issue over Easter. It's Christmas you'll need to look out for."
"I always spend Christmas at home. But I can't not go, cousin Cissy tells her everything." So he was complaining, but who else could he complain to if not Sirius? "And Vega is always watching too. And Phineas. Pawn to F4."
"Those slithery old so-and-so's." Sirius didn't sound surprised, but it still made Regulus smile. "Pawn to— no, not you, was I even looking at you?"
"Bugger off," yelled the pawn.
"It's you who's going to bugger off," Sirius said, while Regulus watched him in amusement. Trust Sirius to get a chess set that argued back and insulted everyone all the time. "Go on, move."
They watched the little pawn stomp over to the appointed square, then flop down in a world-class sulk.
"You could always say you're ill. I can give you a projectile vomiting potion, Pete whips those up for us all the time."
"She said it was important. Bishop to H5." Regulus watched his entirely boring Bishop stride across the board, where Sirius' chessmen jeered at it and threw what looked like tiny rocks— and were they mooning him? Really?
"She always says it's important," Sirius pointed out. "Remember Bonfire night a few years back? She had an ingrown toenail and said she was dying so we all had to go see her."
Regulus smirked, "She just wanted you to massage her feet."
"Massaging her feet?" Sirius looked incredulous and disgusted at the thought. Regulus wasn't sure which emotion was stronger. "That's what she told you happened?"
"Well, what did you do instead?" he asked curiously.
"Pawn to A3."
The silence stretched; Regulus might only recently have caught on to what they really meant, but he was determined to get an answer this time. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen the aftermath of the Yule— Kreacher had unlocked Sirius' door for him, after all.
"Sirius—"
"How's your Occlumency?" Sirius asked abruptly.
"It's alright, I should think. Why—"
"Legilimens." Sirius said softly.
Regulus wasn't in any way ready for it. Sirius' mind slammed into his full force, sifting through myriads of recollections so fast, it made him lightheaded. Then he retreated, shook his head, turned his attention momentarily to the board, like nothing was the matter.
Regulus begged to differ.
"Wh— Sirius, what the hell is wrong with you?" he gasped in outrage.
"We'll have to improve it. You're easier to read than a bloody Martin Miggs."
"I wasn't expecting you to do that!" he snapped.
"Always expect it's coming. You there, get going. Now stop."
Regulus glared at his brother, but he was wasting his time. Sirius was impervious to his protests at the best of times.
"Pawn to C3. She's cross. At you, for what you said at the trial."
Sirius smirked. Gestured at one of his chessmen to take Regulus' pawn. While they watched the battle, Regulus went on.
"Why did you say those things?"
"Veritaserum, little brother. You know what it does."
"She won't understand. We've got to get you back in her good graces, before—"
"She kills me?" Sirius asked dryly. "Been there, done that."
"She's heartbroken, Sirius," Regulus tried to explain. "She's been writing every day."
"Whoops." Sirius deadpanned. He didn't seem to think it such a terrible thing. Regulus, though, wished they could all just get along, like they never had.
"Can't you apologise? I'm sure she would—"
"Reg," Sirius said very clearly. "She didn't step on my toe. In fact, I'm pretty sure that is the only thing she didn't do. I don't want to have to see her ever again."
Regulus swallowed. He'd hoped to sway Sirius into returning, and he was aware that his fright was written all over his face. But he never had to hide it, not from Sirius.
"But—" He tried, yet again. Met a wall, again.
"I'm sorry, Reggie. I can't go back, not anymore."
"Apologise, Sirius. I'm sure she'll forgive you."
"What am I supposed to apologise for, then?" Sirius demanded. "Let's hear it, Reggie. What did I do to her?"
Sirius looked at him expectantly. Regulus was stumped.
"I… I…" He'd just assumed Sirius had done something. He always did, didn't he? But Sirius just continued to stare holes into him, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the candles.
"You… don't have a clue, do you?"
"Not being a proper Black?" Regulus ventured his nearest guess. Sirius looked down, but it wasn't with remorse. He was trying not to burst out laughing.
"She forgave you for being a Gryffindor, didn't she?" Regulus went on, undeterred.
"She really didn't." Was he lying now?
"She said—"
"She lied, little brother," Sirius interrupted him, without a hint of doubt. "They all do. The sooner you let that sink in, the better off you'll be."
"Except for you." Regulus felt a familiar bitterness surface.
"Except for me." Sirius confirmed. "Does that make you angry?"
"Yes."
"Good. Your move, Reggie."
"She disowned you already. Don't make it worse."
"I'm pretty certain I can't possibly make it any worse," was the blithe response. "They're Blacks, they don't feel like they're doing their job unless they disown someone at least every year."
"No. You don't understand," Regulus tried, yet again, to bring him to his senses. "Unless you come back… There will be a Burning on Easter Sunday."
Sirius didn't look surprised. More like this was good news. Maybe he was more ill than Regulus had thought. Addled.
"I'll stock up on painkillers, then."
"How can you be so calm about it? Don't you care?"
Sirius shrugged, "There's nothing I can do about it, is there? So why waste my time fretting?"
"You could beg for forgiveness," Regulus insisted. "She would forgive you, I'll help and everything. They'd all leave you alone then."
"I'm sorry, Reg." Sirius had lost his nonchalance. He looked graver, more earnest than Regulus had ever seen him.
"Are you? Sorry?"
"For you, yes. Only you."
"You're not coming back." Sirius didn't answer. He didn't need to. Regulus bit his lip, a lump in his throat. He was sure Sirius would come back, this latest row would come to a shaky sort of truce, and he'd still have his brother. But now…It was finally sinking in.
Sirius wasn't giving Mother another chance. Whatever had happened, he wouldn't forgive it. Regulus had only bits and pieces to go on by — Sirius' trashed bedroom, for example — and he'd known this was worse than anything that had happened before, and who would he believe? Mother or brother?
Had he had the words, Regulus would have told Sirius how much he missed him. How much he needed him. What came out of his mouth was, "I can't even get the Disillusionment Charm right."
"I'll help you," Sirius said, watching him closely.
"When?" Regulus swallowed back the lump in his throat, wiped irritably at his eyes.
"Tonight, after Astronomy. I'll be outside your pit of worms at one."
"Don't call it that. Will you teach me that water spell?" The urge to cry passed. Regulus focused on the good things that would come instead.
"Yeah, and Occlumency, and whatever else you need."
"Promise?"
"Yes." Sirius sounded harassed. "I just said so, didn't I? Now make your move so I can kick your arse."
.
.
Sirius was indeed waiting outside the Slytherin Common Room at one in the morning. Regulus found him leaning against a statue of Salazar Slytherin, reading a letter with a frown on his face.
"What's that?" Regulus had a scroll under his arm, his telescope in his hand. It wasn't unusual for Slytherins to randomly go stargazing in the middle of the night — the Bloody Baron even made their excuses sometimes, when they were caught out-of-bounds. Especially if their surname was in any way related to Black.
"Just a note from McGonagall. She wants to see me and James before class tomorrow, for a talk? I don't know." Sirius looked at him, saw his paraphernalia, and snorted. "You're doing the thing proper, aren't you?"
"I had to say something. That lot are a bunch of night owls. And Snape kept asking me questions."
Regulus was fairly sure he'd fooled everyone, but Sirius disillusioned them both anyway, pulled him into a niche.
"What—"
"Shush. You said Snivellus was hovering, yeah?"
"Yeah…"
"Wait for it."
Regulus watched the wall that opened to the Common Room— Snape strolled out a moment later. Listened hard. Frowned. Looked up and down the corridor, then hurried away and took a right turn at a jog.
Sirius raised his eyebrows. Told you so, his look said. Reg gaped. He hadn't expected that.
They stole quietly — and painfully slowly, Sirius was limping rather heavily — to the lakeshore under the school, where the boats were tethered. Sirius disillusioned one of the boats, cast Silencing Charms around it, then disillusioned them both.
It wasn't until they were floating out onto the Black Lake that Reg could finally breathe again.
"How is it you can do all that? It looks easy when you do it, but when I try it's anything but."
"Survival, I find, is a splendid motivator," Sirius answered wryly.
Regulus snorted, but he couldn't find fault in his brother's reasoning.
"Maybe I'm just crap at spells."
"No," Sirius answered, as they floated out of the gate. To Regulus it was as they were both disembodied, more air than anything, like wisps of thought and sound rather than living things.
"You're not crap at spells, Reggie. You just never had to use them for yourself."
"What do you mean? I use spells every day."
"Yeah, for class. To truly master anything, you must give it a purpose other than such a stupid thing as House Points and marks."
"You have top marks!" Regulus protested.
"Despite my best efforts," Sirius replied with a chuckle. "I mean, look beyond that, Reg. When are you ever asked to do anything for yourself? How can you possibly be good at spells when there's an elf at your beck and call whenever you snap your fingers, when that elf will do whatever you need done without so much as waving your wand?"
"You know about that?"
"'Course I do. I'm not blind. Or deaf. Anyway, I don't care if you have your personal servants, Reggie. But if you want to master Charms and Hexes and things, you need to stop thinking that you don't need them. You need to do stuff for yourself, use them, have fun with them."
"Like you with your pranks?"
"Yeah, I could use a prank war just about now. You might not enjoy detention, though."
"Why? You seem to."
"Manual labour."
Regulus grimaced.
"Then again," said Sirius cheerfully, "you could always ask Kreacher to do it for you."
Regulus hadn't thought about that. He resolved to send Kreacher to do Sirius' detentions for him, too.
"Okay, so, here's the deal," Sirius said, as the boat glided soundlessly across into the lake. "You can never be too careful. There's over a hundred perfectly capable witches and wizards in the Black family circle."
"I know that."
"And ninety-nine at least, who want your position."
"But the Succession—" Regulus protested.
"Means turnips to them, Reg. You can't please them all, you can't focus on pleasing Mother, either. Being The Black means being alone in the crowd. Do you understand?"
Regulus didn't, but he figured, since Sirius had been there for years, he might as well listen.
"Yes," he said anyway. It didn't fool his brother.
"No, you don't," Sirius sounded certain. "But you will, and when you do, come and see me."
"You really won't go back?" Was he mad enough at Mother to give up his ring?
"No, Regie. I'm sorry."
"You keep apologising." Sirius never apologised for anything, and today he'd already apologised what, thrice?
"Because I mean it."
"If she'd asked you to step down…"
"Look Reg." Sirius sounded exasperated. "You probably — no, you clearly have no idea. I stepped down five years ago. Then again four years ago. They wouldn't let me. I quit three years ago, before Father died. I bloody quit so much I can't fathom why they wouldn't let me. It was either their way or six feet under."
Reg swallowed.
"And now you're going to get saddled with it, that's why I'm sorry."
"Sirius—" Suddenly Regulus understood why he was so frightened. He didn't want to do this without his brother. He'd rather have Sirius back than be The Black.
"If I can. I will be there for you. Whenever I can."
"What will you do?"
"The Potters let me crash at their place. I'll probably get a job after, fancy that, eh?"
"A job?" The word tasted badly in Regulus' mouth.
"That will be a first for any Black," Sirius sounded like he was looking forward to it.
"Father had a job, didn't he?"
"Yeah, looking down on everyone else," Sirius chuckled. "That wasn't a job, that's just who he was."
They both laughed.
"I mean, a proper job."
"Doing what?"
"I might land a spot testing racing brooms for the Nimbus Company in the Summer."
"But… That's a menial task." He wasn't serious, was he?
"It will be ever so refreshing." Sirius chortled, but then he fell silent for a moment. "Listen, Reg. I wasn't joking. They all want your position."
"But— It's my birthright. It's yours, Sirius. Don't give it up."
"And if they don't get your spot," Sirius went on, as if Regulus hadn't spoken, "they'll make sure they don't want for anything in the meantime. They'll all want something from you, and you won't be able to please them all. You need to learn to think ahead."
"You never tried to please them, though."
"Actually, I did," was the surprising answer. "I tried my best, for a long time. Too long. I just never managed."
"That's why you gave up?"
"Sort of, yeah. Father was just… stricter, as you said. No." Sirius heaved a sigh. "No. Actually, he was insane. Mother—"
"Let's don't start," Regulus moaned.
"Mother," Sirius said forcefully, "is insane. She'll make you go guano, too, if she can. Think ahead, Reg. Always. You're the cunning one, always think, what's the worst that can happen? Then act as if it would happen, so it never will."
"Worst, like…?"
"They poison your drink. Worst like, they send you to Lord Thingy. Worst like, absolute worst."
"He already reached out," Regulus confessed.
"What?!" Sirius clearly had not expected this. The boat gave a jolt, and suddenly they were both visible, the boat's oars could be heard splashing.
"Well, not him, exactly. But… Snape."
"Snivellus?" Sirius' eyes were flashing.
"Yeah… he… offered me a spot."
"What did you say?"
"I said I'd think about it. I didn't know what to do."
Sirius fell silent. The Giant Squid came over to say hello, and he absently patted its tentacles. He was very quiet until the boat's keel scraped against soft sand. He helped Reg out of the boat. Reconstructed the boulders that had been there, a week ago, to shield them from view.
All the while he looked… lost. Worried.
Reg had never seen him worried before. And it worried him too. With Sirius there, he could admit he was afraid.
"I'll figure it out, Reggie," Sirius told him a while later. "I'll do something about it. I promise."
"What can you do?"
"All I can do, all anyone can do, is delay it. You know that, don't you?"
Regulus swallowed.
"He'll ask you sometime. Directly. What you say then, is entirely up to you."
"If I say no…"
Sirius winced. Swallowed.
"You might not be able to." It sounded as if every word hurt him. "But he might not ask. You're not just anyone, you're practically The Black now, you will be, after Easter. That's got to count for something. He never asked Father, either. Or Mother. He might not dare cross you."
Regulus scuffed the sand with his boot.
"He wanted you. He still does."
"He didn't know what he wanted. And you're not me, thank the gods. You're a Slytherin, Seeker and future captain of your team, I'm sure they'll make you Prefect and Head Boy and all the nonce, too. You've got a future, you're The Black. You might not need to join up." He was thinking aloud, but Regulus found it comforting all the same.
"What will you do?"
"First," Sirius smiled thinly. "We get you ready for it. Then, if nothing else, I'll keep him distracted. That is something I can actually do better than anyone. But before all that, I'll have me a word with Snivellus." He nodded to himself, threw an arm around Regulus' shoulders.
Regulus flinched, despite himself. Apparently Sirius had become quite fond of… contact… during his absence.
It was… nice.
"Come, baby brother," he said next, cheerful tone back in place. "I'll teach you the ways of the water."
"Pay attention, now. You want to make sure it doesn't all splash on you, but whoever you're targeting, so first you'll need to focus…"
.
.
Dawn broke, in a glorious wave of reds and pinks. The first rays of the sun found them skipping stones. They were no longer on Sirius' island, the boat had been returned to the quay before first light.
But neither wanted to go to bed, so they ended up under a beech tree on the grounds, skipping stones to see how far they would go. The Squid, whom Regulus had always thought feral, tossed them back. It never did when Regulus was out here, it had never even come out for him, before.
He realised, his brother, for all he was an outcast from his family, had created all sorts of bonds with other people, with beasts even, and he wondered why he couldn't just have done the same with his own blood.
He even had his own bloody tree, and he had his own island on the lake too, now, that was more than Regulus could ever have claimed to have.
For him, Hogwarts wasn't home. It was school, a place where he was supposed to learn to fend for himself, where he was supposed to learn to be better than others at everything, away from his Mother's protection and watchful eye. It was a training ground, a battlefield, a catwalk where he was constantly in the need to impress others. Well, that was what the school had become for him, since Christmas.
Not so for Sirius. He was at home here, more than Regulus had ever seen him. He knew every nook and cranny of the old castle, had become a part of it, a living, breathing and indispensable extension of it. It was as though Hogwarts itself bent over backwards to accommodate Sirius' every need, from the friendly Squid to the waving sirens, to the Forest which didn't feel ominous at all if Sirius was by his side.
Even the school ghosts helped look out for Filch when he was out after curfew, the Baron raised his plumed hat at him, as though he didn't care that he was a Blood-Traitor.
He hadn't wasted an ounce of his time here, Regulus saw that too. While he buried himself in books, Sirius didn't bother; he knew it all, and so did Regulus, so he wondered now why he revised at all. While he slept, Sirius was out exploring. While he was drowning in family politics, Sirius had long ago used his one power as the Black and sent them all packing. Regulus vaguely recalled his Succession, but it was mostly a blur. All he remembered was some of the accidents that had happened back then.
Now he sensed, those hadn't been accidents at all.
Why didn't he ever question it, he wondered.
He couldn't but admire Sirius' courage, couldn't but reproach him for leaving him alone in what seemed a mire full of traps he couldn't hope to spring on his own.
Sirius bent over to pick up a stone, and Regulus found himself observing him more closely. Sirius had changed, and he could see the familiar scar on the back of his head — it used to be small and round, but now he could follow it in a spider's web as it covered the entire right side of his scalp. There were others, too. The paper had described only the barest minimum, but Regulus wasn't stupid. He was curious, about the limp, the strange leather guard he wore that flashed purples and blues and greens he couldn't understand. He wanted to know everything.
"They lie to me," he said.
"That they do," Sirius agreed.
"But not you."
"Not I."
"Will you tell me? What they did?"
"No. Not today. Someday, maybe. If you need to know. You don't right now."
"Do you think they'll ever do the same? To me?" Regulus voiced his biggest fear.
"Gods, I hope they don't. But if they start… if it feels like they might." Sirius swallowed hard. "Don't play along. Run, Reg. Run as fast and as far as you can. And call me. Or James. Nobody else."
"That blood-traitor."
"Yes. That blood-traitor will help you where nobody else will."
"Why? He doesn't even like me."
"Because you're my brother. Because you can trust him."
"Because Voldemort fears him? That's what you said, right? I read it in the paper."
Sirius shrugged. His expression was tight for a moment. The next he shook it off, tossed a stone at the water.
"Why does he fear James?"
"Because he's James Potter, and he might not know it yet, but he's the greatest wizard of the age."
"I thought that was Dumbledore."
Sirius laughed, as though Regulus had just said something hilarious. It rang across the Lake, and it was to Regulus, as though the Lake laughed with him. As though the entire world did.
He couldn't understand it, but he joined in.
.
.
TBC. As always, your comments and feedback are much appreciated and help me attempt to do better — and if you want to send them in other languages, go for it- I gots the Google to help me decypher most stuff!
Next up: Remus has a miniature crisis, Lily visits a wizarding hospital, McGonagall has no choice but to give the Talk to her most dreaded students, and then stuff happens. And some other stuff. And more stuff, mostly to do with Voldemort and my favourite crazy Russian.
