"A soldier has war in his mind, and barbs on his tongue.
Courage in his heart, and grief on his sleeves.
A soldier fights.
But are they saved?"
-via Ch. D
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Potter Manor, April 1979
"Watch it!"
With as much grace as a mule, Peter managed to shove Remus out of a charm's path just in time. The great ball of pinkish light shot past his left side and collided with the ballroom walls, rattling the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the oil paintings stuck to the wall. Remus, winded if not a bit startled, raked the mess of hair out of his face, turning to face a guilty pair of hooligans that never seemed to go away. He couldn't swallow the bubble of irritation swelling in his throat.
"It was James," Sirius pointed an accusing finger at Potter.
James blanched, "It totally was not! I was doing defense, you idiot."
"Well, it was your job to defend yourself and everyone else from the spell," Sirius sneered, jerking his friend into a playful headlock.
A small dragonfly, no bigger than a sickle, whizzed past his right ear, wisps of magic catching on his clothes. It was hard to focus on it; it moved so quickly. Left and right, from the ceiling to the floor, the Patronus danced between dueling figures and twinkling glass before fizzling out near the other side of the room. A swallow watched from the chandelier peacefully, unbothered by the commotion below. Remus tried to peer through the haze of Patronuses, both corporeal and not, to ogle at those who could cast one but failed miserably.
"Again," Moody shouted, his cane thumping hard against the marble floor. Remus flinched, and not for the first time since their meeting had begun that day.
He wasn't quite sure what needed to be done again; he only knew that he was very grateful, and very blessed, that he hadn't been on the receiving end of that order given the foul mood Al (that was what Sirius called him) had been in lately. In the distance, the sound of magic crashing against magic hummed in his ears. It buzzed in his skull, shaking his brain and tickling his eardrums. The heat of light and life rubbed against his skin even from across the room, and the odd sensation of unfamiliarity trickled down his spine. It faded, and he sighed.
The squealing of James' trainers against the marble, the angry shouting from Moody, McGonagall's shrill instructions on whatever the hell he was supposed to be learning – it was all becoming too much for him. Remus knew he was supposed to be focusing; the Order was depending on all of their focus, every single one of them. However, with James and Sirius shitting themselves over wrestling, Patronus roaming freely amongst the people, and Moody's barking – because the man really did seem rabid at the moment – the world spun a bit too quickly.
In moments like that, Fleamont had told him to control his breathing. Breathing is the route of all calm, he said. If there was anything Remus needed to be in that moment, it was calm. His bones ached to drive away the noise and the movements, the squeaky shoes and the clash of sparks on the walls. He wanted to tune out the voices, even McGonagall's however much she was trying to help. Remus was in sensory overload; it happened close to full moons. The animalistic side of him, the one keen on every sense in his gawky body, seemed more prominent the older he became.
Deeply, he inhaled. The cool rush of ballroom air filled his lungs, warm like sink water. Not like the briskness of the Black Lake or the comfort of his favorite tea. It was just lukewarm, and maybe that was for the best. Even so, he frowned.
It didn't smell like home – cigarettes, coffee, and bergamot. It was an odd scent, now that he thought of it. Interesting, really, how much he missed the smell of his shitty old flat as his nostrils were bombarded with the odor of sweat, Marlene's tears, and Moody's spit.
It didn't really smell like that; he was only being dramatic. Truly, it smelled like art, if art had a scent like Sirius' breakfast room turned studio. Canvas, some blank while others had been marked, oil paints, pastels, watercolors, and easel wood. Dirtied water that they'd forgotten to dump and drying brushes. The freshness of his latest palette. Did every art room smell the same? Sirius' studio smelled much better; it had hints of jasmine from those plants Marlene had given him. That, and his cologne. His cologne, his shampoo, and those damn jaffa cakes he couldn't resist; the man was turning into a baker! All around, it smelled like Sirius, and that was the only thing that made it the best place in the world.
He exhaled, letting the irritation within him simmer. Inhale and exhale. Over and over again, Fleamont had said, until you feel relatively calm. What scale was this "calmness" measured on, and how would he know that it would stay? What if, upon looking at the way James and Sirius smiled I their oblivious wonderland or the new Jackal bouncing around the room, made something inside of him snap? He couldn't afford to snap, he told himself. If he needed to be calm, then, damn it, he'd force himself to be calm.
But they'd been working on the same lesson for days, and they were getting nowhere. Nerves were wearing thin, not only in his department but in every department if they were being completely honest. If Moody hadn't been the indicator that tensions were high, one could just glance at the red Marlene's eyes and cheeks, the sweat on Peter's forehead, the bruise making itself a very harsh shade on Benjy's leg, and that nasty scowl on Dorcas' face and realize how nerve-wracking this had all been.
Perhaps he hadn't been the only one struggling. Perhaps he should remove himself from his own bubble, just as he so desperately wanted to rip Sirius and James out of their own.
Remus then wondered if gathering a bunch of school children, or those who just were, to fight a war was Dumbledore's best plan. He didn't think them incapable or that they lacked the manpower. Well, in a way, they did. At the end of the day, including the adults from Hogwarts and the Ministry, there were twenty-four members of the Order of the Phoenix. Just twenty-four.
Upon first hearing that figure, Remus nearly pissed himself with joy. That sounded like many; it was nearly as many in his graduating class alone. Later, however, his father painted him a rather morbid picture.
More than half of the members of said Order were merely teenagers. Some not even through with their school years. They'd never been formally trained as Aurors or as part of the Magical Law Enforcement, and the offensive magic they learned in classes was limited at best. Hell, Peter hadn't even passed his apparition exam. None of them, minus James, Remus, and Sirius, knew the risks and stakes in the field. There were maybe six adults that could help them prepare in the summer, but only two once the school year began. Two adults to distribute adequate training to nearly twenty teenagers in three months.
Twenty-four also sounded nice in the scheme of things; they'd all been naïve enough to think that Voldemort's cause couldn't have rallied that much support. There had to be more humanity left in the world, or so Remus thought. That was until Aberforth, the brother of Headmaster Dumbledore, laid out the statistics with Moody. For every one member of the Order, there were twenty "Death Eaters." Twenty for every one. Aberforth claimed that even that estimate was generous. The longer they spent preparing, the more support Voldemort would accrue.
"He's very intelligent," Dumbledore had told them. "A talented wizard he is, and I've no doubt he will be using this to his advantage."
Remus took another glance at the room, finding two girls crying, James on the ground, Peter looking constipated as he tried his luck at Occlumency, and Dorcas storming out of the room with a look of pure fury.
What a motley crew…
Moody hobbled to the middle of the room, a dark look looming in the one working eye. The glass one, an unnatural shade of blue, swiveled in its socket, targeting young witches and wizards that looked like easy pickings.
"The best of the best," he growled. "I was told you all were the best of the best. Not just the top one percent, but the top one percent of that one percent."
McGonagall took a deep breath, steeling whatever patience she had left to maintain a certain decorum for what was about to transpire. Everyone knew what that tone meant; though they'd not even spent half of a year beneath his tyranny, so Sirius called it, they'd learned the triggers for time bombs such as this.
As if foaming from the mouth, Moody roared, "I've been given pissants! Useless. Every single one of you." Marlene sniffled on the floor, Alice rubbing soothing circles into her shoulders as Moody hollered. "Half of you can't produce a Patronus, corporeal or not! And if you haven't heard, ladies and gentlemen, this is our only means of safe communication. I doubt you knew that, because two of you have your heads so far up each other's arses, the only thing you can make out through the anus is bullshit!"
Euphemia took a step forward, shouldering past Aberforth who stood a few inches, maybe a foot, taller than her, "That's enough, Alastor."
"It isn't enough, Mrs. Potter," he snapped. "This –" he gestured in front of him, hands rummaging through the air as he conjured the words – "whatever the hell this is in front of me? It isn't enough. They're mincemeat, bad meat. Not even Tom Riddle would recruit such insolent brats!"
Lyall, who'd been dormant for the majority of the day, pushed off of the wall and strode toward Moody, "How could you expect them to as vigilant as you and I? No school lesson could have prepared them for this."
"You're telling me," Moody pointed a chubby, crooked finger at Lyall, "that your son's time spent gallivanting with his mates for seven years did more for his morale than defense classes? Technique and tactic classes?"
Lyall, retracing his steps, threw up defensive hands, "Al, I never said –"
"You mean to tell me a young woman and her family needed to be slaughtered in order for these meetings to come to session? That's the war call we needed to band together?" His eyes, both dark and electric blue, searched the sea of faces, scanning over the guilt and confusion like the summer sun on white caps. "You all natter on about me and my paranoia, but it's always served me right! I told Albus we should act swiftly with constant vigilance. But no one wants to listen to Mad-Eye Moody, now do they?"
Lyall said, "You're right, Alastor. I'm sorry."
Remus, surprised by this disposition, found him in the position to admire his father's opinion. It had been so long since he'd been able to do such a thing that the sensation felt horribly out of place; in all actuality, the entire ordeal made Remus felt as if he'd done something wrong. Supporting his father? Any son should do that. But what if your father thinks you're the enemy? Do you support them then?
Whatever the case may have been, all notions aside, Lyall had very sound logic – logic that wouldn't pierce that delusional paranoia Moody was infamous for.
"Albus has known about Riddle's uprising since it began," Moody said. "It was done under the roof of his castle, within his halls! The curriculum should've been updated immediately."
McGonagall, looking entirely put out, added her input, "Alastor, Albus cannot just update the curriculum." Remus, with that keen sense of hearing, could've sworn his favorite Professor muttered 'imbecile' under her breath before continuing. "All curriculum must be filtered through the Ministry, and once it is filtered through the Ministry, the Wizengamot must sign the release. Although it sounds so easy, as all things are in this world, you and I both know that Minchum would abhor the idea of child soldiers."
Remus wondered if anyone else had picked up on the edge in her voice. It was no secret that McGonagall wished to remain cordial and professional at all times. Even during her detention lectures that always ended up with biscuits and chatting, she was as pointed as a needle and quaint in her own formal way. To hear her this way, to hear the subtle articulation of emotion only a few would notice just barely splashing into her words as she talked about these children – about Sirius and James whom she'd spent half of their school years walking them to and from detention – made that resolved persona crack.
"They are not soldiers," Euphemia insisted.
"They look like 'em to me," Moody shrugged. "And they'll have to be if they want to live to see the candles on their next birthday cake."
"Alastor," McGonagall gasped. "How could you say such a thing?"
"Could you not speak about us as if we aren't here," Sirius finally managed. All eyes wandered over his figure, the smile now swapped with a concerned frown. His arms crossed over his chest, cheeks red and nostrils flaring. "We chose to do this. We chose to fight for this cause."
"You don't even know what the cause is, Sirius," Euphemia dismissed him, waving a hand as she hurried toward him.
James spoke up, "Because you've never told us anything." Silence prevailed, stretching like an ocean between each of them. "None of you have ever told us anything about what's going on. Moody's right. We are useless, but it isn't our fault. If you all hadn't been so scared to include us –"
"We weren't scared," Fleamont sighed, removing his spectacles from the bridge of his nose casually.
"You are," Sirius deadpanned. "I can see it in all of you. Maybe not Moody because he's not scared of anything but a shadow, but the rest of you are worried."
"And maybe if you'd warned us sooner we would have more time to work on what matters," Lily crossed her arms over her chest, chin held high. "Some of us need skill, and others need tactic. We're willing to learn. You just have to be patient with the problem you created."
Euphemia narrowed her eyes at the ground, jaw ticking, "We didn't create the problem."
"You sheltered us," Sirius said, "and we understand why. But you've got to understand that sometimes sheltering does more harm than good. It's just like Lily says: if we'd known sooner, we'd have more time."
Remus' eyes fell to the floor, too shocked to contribute anything useful to the conversation. It was a hard pill to swallow for everyone in the room. Maybe not Moody since they'd only confirmed what he'd been raving on about for the past three months; he would probably open up his super-secret flask in a few hours for a celebratory "I told you so" swig.
However, for everyone else who'd fooled themselves into thinking that something like this – an army of children and a few healthy Aurors – would work, it was a punch to the gut. The reality was settling on their shoulders, and the weight was sinking in. This war had to be fought, and these teenagers were the only ones stepping up to the plate. Not even the Ministry was doing enough to contain attacks. While being a vigilante sounded thrilling to a young Remus Lupin in the hospital bed nearly fourteen years ago, the looming possibility was a disruptive, heavy storm just miles away.
"My, Mr. Black," Dumbledore hummed, "I see you've improved your forms expression. Spoken like a true leader."
McGonagall rolled her eyes, "Not the time, Albus."
"I should go find Dorcas," Marlene murmured, pulling her sweater tight around her front. Without another word, she disappeared out of the doors where Dorcas had left, shutting it gently behind her.
Fleamont, looking unsure of the current dynamic, announced, "I say we take a bit of a break, shall we? I'll see if the elves can whip us up something to eat."
Clearly out of his element and horrifyingly uncomfortable, he exited the room with as much speed an older man like him could muster.
Letting out a sigh, more of an exhale of relief and frustration bottled up with anger capped with hunger, Remus trudged into the library, away from the ruckus of the group. He was quick to note the jump in his chest; Sirius was following.
He let his guard down then, allowing the tension of their training wash away as that warm, familiar feeling situated itself in the pit of his stomach. A smile spread across his face, starting so small but eventually stretching from ear to ear. Things had been going well between them. Very well indeed. Well enough that meetings like this were a mere chip on the shoulder. So well, in fact, that they'd begun spending weekends with each other.
Most of the time Remus spent the night at Sirius' townhouse; the size made it much easier for them to ramble and cavort. Some days, he'd watch Sirius just paint – paint whatever. The sky, the river, his hands, or even his entire face. Sirius refused to show him any of the finished products, refused to allow him anywhere near the storage room. Remus appeased him; anything to make him happy. Within reason, of course.
They'd been learning boundaries as well. Just as Dumbledore had mentioned earlier, Sirius was, in fact, getting better at expressing his wants and needs. This didn't mean, of course, that he talked about how he felt every waking moment, and Remus learned that some nights it's alright to let him brood. A simple foot rub and a glass of hot chocolate always made things easier. Remus had been practicing the art of telling Sirius no just as Sirius was practicing his self-control. Not so much self-control over things such as eating too much or buying way too many clothes for a single walk-in closet. No, rather, control over his reactions. It wasn't easy doing so.
Some nights they butted heads; that issue had never resolved. Sirius' brooding could become annoying, and Remus'dismissal of Sirius' tantrums always inflicted wounds. Sirius would nag Remus about his dirty laundry just as Remus complained about the shower cleanliness.
The difference between where they'd been months ago and where they were no was simple: they communicated. It wasn't just swept under the rug, nor did they just cover it up with lust and passion. They'd fight it out, get all of their stress out by yelling about the little things like empty shampoo bottles or a pair of boxers left on the floor. But they'd return and delve into things that mattered – personal space, cleanliness, domestic boundaries.
In a way, it felt as though they were married. Well, married couples actually live together. Nevertheless, if it hadn't been for his Muggle job Remus was sure he just might spend all of his free time over in Manchester with none other than Sirius Black. Not that he protested such an idea. It was just too soon. Maybe.
"I want to practice my Legilmency on someone," Peter declared, throwing himself in the arm chair nearest to the window. "I think I've got the basics down."
The other four, Lily included, found a place to situate themselves, getting their bums in the perfect place on the couch for comfort and finding who would be playing with whose hair. So it turned out, James and Remus would be babied that fine afternoon in April. With a type of gentlness only someone like Lily could have, her nimble fingers parted through James' hair too smoothly to be considered natural. She wasn't paying attention to him, Remus could tell, and James was enraptured with the tale of Legilmency Peter was on about. Remus merely noticed that this was their natural "habitat," per se.
Holding each other, soothing each other. Subtle touches that convey affection – not just groping and grinding like horny dogs. Did he and Sirius do these things? Remus glanced up at Sirius, admiring the minor details he'd already seen a million times; a million and one wouldn't hurt. Sirius was looking down at him, eyes squinted and cheeks red as he smiled. They hadn't smiled like that in years. It only took a war and impending sense of doom to get them there. Not to mention the near death experience Remus encountered just a year ago.
"Hullo," Sirius tilted his head to the side, allowing the curtain of hair spilling over his face to move over his shoulder.
"Hey," was all he could croak as his thoughts allowed him to breathe for half of a second.
"We should go out tonight," Sirius offered, index finger tracing the outline of Remus' lips. "Just you and me."
Remus ducked his face into the fabric of Sirius' tshirt, the scent of sweat and faded perfume attacking his nose; he didn't mind. Dates with Sirius were becoming a normality. It wasn't anything fancy, at least not all of the time. Their typical night out consisted of jumping from bar to bar, ordering take-out, or, very cautiously, attending the cinema. They might've even spiced it up and made a fancy meal at home, of course with Remus' dish either burnt to a crisp or so undercooked it still breathed.
"We don't have to," Sirius mentioned, running his palm up and down the length of Remus' arm. "I just wanted to treat you, you know, since you wouldn't allow us to celebrate your birthday."
"We did celebrate my birthday, Pads," Remus shot him a non-commital look. "You just don't count fucking as celebratory."
Sirius, head thrown back, laughed, "Oh contraire, my good man, fucking only has very few purposes: celebration, making up, breaking up, and 'fuck you, I'm mad at you but you're so sexy when you yell at me over the missing conditioner bottle so I'm going to' –"
"No," Peter clapped his hands over his ears. "No, no, no! I can't bear to eavesdrop any longer."
Remus jerked out the sound, and volume, of Peter's refusal. Sirius, with much reluctance, also looked up and found that the world still spun around them. Neither one of them had heard much of what was going on, only figuring that Peter was giving the run down of Legilimency to Lily and James. Remus pondered; three years ago, or what felt like a lifetime ago, they'd been in a similar position on the Hogwart's express: one sprawled in the other's lap, gazing into each other's eyes with too much heart to be considered platonic or heterosexual. Back then, they jumped to attention, gravitating so far away from each other it was unnatural.
Now, they lounged happily. No fears. No reservations. It was a nice change.
"That's what you get, berk," Sirius hissed. "Now, are you going to show us whatever it is you've been learning?"
As if remembering there'd been a point to this day, Peter's face lit up like a candle.
"Alright, James, I'm going to pry into your mind," he mused, a whimsical edge to his voice.
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Hey everyone! This was a shorter chapter, but it's moving the plot along. I'm going to compile all the questions I've gotten from four different platforms onto this chapter because I'm lazy. I hope everything is well with all of you. Much love.
Do you have a set plan for this story or do you write it as you go along: I suck at outlining, to be completely honest. There have been a total of around eight outlines for this that I've completely ditched within the past 7 months. I know what *needs* to happen – the big stuff. Like, I know how this book will end, what needs to happen in order for it to end, and what needs to be done so I can pick up with the sequel. But, all in all, I don't really "plan," per se. I sit down at the computer and think of an overall idea of something that will move the plot along, and then build around that.
Who is your favorite character: I personally love Sirius' direct family. I think they're the most morally gray characters I'll ever write. Doesn't mean they deserve redemption (minus Reggie, my baby) but I think that because they have so many layers it's hard for me to hate them outright. Sirius' relationship with Orion is probably my favorite, though.
What happened to Julienne: If you pay attention to little things, and I mean really pay attention to smaller details, then you can maybe come up with your own ideas about where she went. There was something about her in this chapter, but we'll see if anyone picks it up. Also, there were a few things in previous chapters that can have deeper meanings than what some of you think… I presented things in a very pale light, and once the truth is revealed you all will think "SO THAT'S WHERE THAT CAME FROM!"
Why do you have so many original characters: To be honest, there are only 4 non-canonical characters – Julienne, Slade, Anya, and Natasya, I think… I don't count my Divination teacher because A) she isn't that important and B) someone had to be the teacher before Sybill. I added them in mainly for plot. I wanted Julienne as a plot device for Remus and Sirius, to show rivalry and chivalry, if you will. I hate the trope that Lily and Remus had crushes on each other. Idk why. I'm gonna be honest, though, I sort of fell off with her character halfway through, and I feel bad. But there's not much I can do about it now. As for Alphard's daughters, again, a plot device used later on. Slade was put in to show the power of community and guidance, especially for those who've struggled with trauma. Sirius' character deserved better, and with the help of Slade I think he could be an amazing person.
Other than Wolfstar, what's your favorite ship: Drarry lmao. I know, I know. Some people find it weird, and I don't, so. I think most stories paint Drarry better than others. But I also know that J.K. Rowling did a terrible job with most character's redemption arcs, and so fic writers do such an amazing job of retelling the story that it makes that ship seem believable. I love HP fics more than the original books sometimes. I also like the AU where Harry is in Slytherin. It's an interesting dynamic.
Why no smut: Smut is coming. Alright, lemme lay out the truth for all of you. I am an extremely awkward individual, and I've had a lot of physical trauma in my life, so signs of physical affection are weird to me. Sex is weird, kissing and hugging is weird to me. That's why I write their thoughts so romantically because that's all I've ever done in real life. Sex scenes are really cringey for me to read and write, and it's just hard getting out of that comfort zone for me. I do know, however, the second book will be much more mature than this one, and for reasons I cannot share.
What got you into writing and what other fics have you written: I started writing the first Christmas after my mom died. I've always been hella articulate and great with rhetoric, and I loved writing short stories in school. A friend showed me Wattpad at a sleepover and their fic collection, and I was like "Hey! I want to try." My first original works were called "Fire in the Water," which was a fantasy adventure book, and "A Romantic Presumption" and it was basically a knock-off "The fault in our stars." The first fic I ever wrote was a "The Mortal Instruments" AU with an OC in like 6 different spiral notebooks. I still have them in my room just to remind me how far I've come as a writer. I first wrote that, then Twilight (JaSpEr fanfics lmao), the Hunger Games fics for a month, and then Harry Styles fanfiction. That was the only other book of mine that got super popular. It took me 4 years to get twenty chapters in, and eventually I just deleted it because it was gross and cringey. I also write regular BxB slash, too. I wrote a Draco AU fanfic on AO3, but deleted it after lack of inspiration. You can't find any of them anymore, so don't even try it. Your eyes would bleed.
What's your favorite book: 100000000000000000000000000% Call My By Your Name by André Aciman. It's my favorite movie as well. Timothée Chalamet is probably my favorite actor. I cried hella hard at the ending. Like, probably harder than any other book.
Last one, How do you update so much: I feel as though I lack in the update department, really. Uh, so I struggle with a disorder that gives me spurts of Hypomania like every week or so, and honestly that's what gives me energy to write. It sounds super unhealthy, but that small spurt of energy helps me get so much done. I try to update at least every other week, I try. Being home recently has given me time to recharge, so I haven't been on top of my update game. But, in general, my rule of thumb is that if I have an idea and it isn't working out or coming our correctly, do what your heart wants you to and integrate it in with that. Writing a paragraph is better than nothing, ya know.
Thank you everyone. Much, much love to all of you, and thank you for questions.