Apologies for taking so long with this update! I just found writing this one particularly tricky. Still not 100% happy with it, but hopefully it's okay. Would definitely appreciate some feedback, in any case (especially if it is rubbish). Once again, a big thank you to everyone who has followed/favourited this story, and the people who have reviewed it! (I'm really going to try hard to make sure there isn't such a big gap between this chapter and the next one.)

Anger wants a voice, voices wanna sing,
Singers harmonize 'til they can't hear anything.
I thought that I was free from all that questionin',
But every time a problem ends, another one begins…

- Vampire Weekend, 'Harmony Hall'

'Dear Remus,

You've been back at school for two months now, and your father and I still haven't heard a word from you. I know you must be busy with your studies – and it makes me so proud to know you work so hard – but I would hope you could still find a few minutes to spare, just to let us know how you are after your difficult nights, as you have for the last six years. All I'm asking for is a few sentences.

I understand that you are still upset with your father. I know I was furious when he admitted to me all those years ago what he had said. But he loves you very much, Remus, and has spent the last twelve years doing everything he can to try to make amends for it. So, perhaps you may not be ready just yet to write directly to him, but I hope that by the time you return home for the holidays in six weeks, you will have prepared yourself to speak to him again, and that you may have found it in your heart to forgive him. The last thing I want is for you to hold onto your anger – you must know that, in the long run, it won't do you any good.

Please write soon, even just a short note. A mother will always worry about her children, but some words of assurance – however brief – do offer some relief.

Love,

Mum'

Folding up the letter and putting it in his pocket, Remus stared down at his bowl of porridge, which he had not yet touched. Inside him, guilt and frustration struggled for dominance. He knew he should have written home at least twice by now, the end of the first week of November, but every time he thought of his mother reading out a letter to his father, he felt a surge of anger. What right did his father have to reassurance from him? It was his fault Remus had 'difficult nights', and besides, at seventeen, he was of age now; his parents had no obligation to feel responsible for him.

With a sigh, Remus picked up his spoon and half-heartedly stirred his porridge, vaguely glancing around the Great Hall, its ceiling the picture of an early, grey morning sky. At eight o'clock, he was the only Gryffindor student in either Sixth or Seventh Year present, and would most likely be for at least another hour. The first Quidditch match of the school year had taken place yesterday, and James had led the Gryffindor team to a narrow victory over Slytherin. Consequentially, there had been quite a celebration in the common room afterwards which, for the older students, had continued on in the Marauders' dormitory until about three a.m., as they had combined the revelry with a slightly belated celebration for Sirius' eighteenth birthday (which had been on Thursday). Three bottles of Firewhisky, 'procured' from Hogsmeade by Sirius, had been involved in this exclusive party, and everyone apart from Remus – who had only taken one shot – was presumably going to wake up with a sickening hangover. Remus had been sorely tempted to overindulge with the rest of them – Merlin knew he had enough problems on his mind that he would have liked to forget for just a few hours – but the risk of a loose tongue combined with a necessary secret had proved enough reason to resist.

Of course, his own restraint had not prevented others from creating uncomfortable interactions. One of Ida's friends, a pretty blonde on the plumper side named Gwen, presumably motivated by both the Firewhisky, and Sirius and Ida's inability to keep it in their pants, had made several drunken advances towards Remus. On the third occasion, when she had attempted to sit on his lap, Remus had snapped, brusquely telling her to stop. Gwen had promptly burst into tears, causing the rest of her Sixth Year friends to shoot him disapproving and spiteful looks. The party had concluded not long after that.

But the worst part for Remus had been when James – who had spent the night constantly attached to Lily, by either holding her hand, wrapping an arm around her waist, or enthusiastically snogging her – had once again suggested that increasing the intimacy of his acquaintance with Jules Delacroix might not be such a bad idea. What had made this even more unbearable for Remus was the fact that Lily had overheard this, and had immediately tried to interrogate him about the matter. With no small degrees of curtness, Remus had brushed her off, and he sincerely hoped she did not remember any of what had occurred when he saw her later today.

"Are you intending on eating that, or creating some sort of contemporary artwork with it?"

Remus jumped in his seat – causing some of the porridge he was still stirring around to fly out of the bowl – as the voice he least wanted to hear at that moment came from across the table.

Jules was standing opposite him, a satsuma in her hand as she watched him with a cocked head. Her hair was out today, reaching a couple of inches past her shoulders; and like him, there were dark shadows under her eyes. For a moment, Remus wondered why she might not have slept properly, then immediately wished he hadn't, as the idea of her being occupied in the Ancient Runes teacher's office until late floated into his mind.

He glanced down at his porridge again, then up at her. "I guess I'm just not terribly hungry this morning," he admitted, aware that his heart was beating faster.

"Drink too much last night?"

Remus blinked. "What? How did you–"

"Your team won the game yesterday," Jules reminded him, sitting down. Grabbing a small plate, she began to peel the satsuma. "I assume there was some sort of victory party. And I know you and your friends are… resourceful."

"Resourceful?"

Jules half-smiled. "You had a box of chocolates from Honeydukes the first weekend back, remember? You tried to poison me with them." Remus blushed, and started to protest, but Jules pressed on. "So, I imagine you're just as adept at smuggling in alcohol."

"Well," said Remus, after a moment, "that's more Sirius' speciality than mine. And I didn't really have much, so, no, I'm not hungover."

"Okay. So why did you just spend five minutes literally doing nothing but stirring around your breakfast and staring at it? And I know it was five minutes for a fact, because I was watching the whole time, and checking my watch. That's why I felt compelled to come over and ask, to make sure you weren't broken."

Remus stared at her. She was almost acting like she was… his friend. And he really wasn't sure how he felt about that. In the past week, since their conversation at the Three Broomsticks, they had exchanged pleasantries a few times, but had not resumed the familiarity with which they had spoken then. In a way, that had relieved Remus – after all, he needed to keep his distance from the girl who was so dangerously testing his resolve on that most crucial Promise.

On the other hand, he had enjoyed talking to her. And as daunting as he found her blunt demeanour, it was so refreshing too. A part of him longed to tell her everything, just to find out what her response would be. Perhaps she could provide insight, similar to how she had spoken of Frankenstein…

"I…" Remus swallowed, then hesitantly explained, "I just had a letter from my mum this morning, and she… well, she mentioned an argument I had with my dad this summer, which we… haven't resolved. And she wants me to, erm, forgive him. But I don't think I can."

Jules, who had paused her peeling, gazed at him in silence for a few seconds. Then she said, "When you say 'argument', you really mean a fight, don't you? Because, generally speaking, you don't 'forgive' someone for arguing with you; either you determine who's right, or you move on."

As she separated a segment of the satsuma and popped it in her mouth, Remus conceded that, yes, it hadn't really been an argument, but nor had it exactly been a fight.

"So, what, he gave you some cause for offence?"

"Yes," replied Remus, a little drily, "I think that's fair to say."

Picking up another satsuma segment, Jules asked, "Was it intentional?"

Remus considered this. "I think," he said slowly, "he meant it when he did it. But the consequences were… unintended."

Jules frowned. "Is it what he actually did that makes you angry, or is it what happened because of it?"

"Both," answered Remus, with considerable feeling.

"Right. Did he apologise for both things?"

"… Yes."

"Did he mean it?"

"I think so."

"Then what is it that's preventing you from forgiving him?"

Remus could not stop his expression from darkening. "There are some things," he said quietly, picking up his spoon and at last taking a mouthful of porridge, "that can't really be forgiven."

Jules did not immediately respond to this, instead continuing to thoughtfully gaze at him as she chewed. Eventually, she swallowed and said calmly, "Obviously, you're not comfortable with divulging what actually happened between your father and yourself – which I completely respect. But the fact you've chosen to speak to me about it at all, even in such an abstract manner, suggests to me that you aren't completely certain that you can't forgive him; rather, you don't want to forgive him. And you want me to tell you that you should, so then you can try to convince me why you shouldn't, and consequently convince yourself – because at the moment, your desire to do the right thing is at odds with feeling justified in your anger, and this internal struggle is difficult and all-consuming, and you just want it to end."

Remus, who had at some point frozen while his spoon was halfway to his mouth, now dropped the implement back into the bowl, feeling like she had ripped off a bandage he had been using to cover a particularly nasty wound. "How," he demanded, "do you do that?"

"Do what?" asked Jules, through another mouthful of satsuma.

"Just– just– it's like you– you go inside my mind!" He narrowed his eyes. "You're not a Legilimens, are you?"

Jules snorted amusedly. "No, just a critical thinker, I'm afraid." She reached over and took the teapot that was near Remus' bowl, and poured herself a cup of tea. "Look," she continued, "just answer me honestly: is this particular incident why you're angry with your father, or is it perhaps an accumulation of certain attitudes and choices that have led to the ultimate breakdown?"

Picking up his spoon again, Remus poked at his porridge moodily, his initial reluctance to speak to Jules all but forgotten. "He just doesn't understand," he muttered. "He thinks he does, and that he's making all the right decisions for the right reasons, but if he really was, why would I still feel…" In his head, he ended the sentence with 'Like a monster'. Aloud, however, he lamely finished, "The way I do."

Having added a dash of milk and half a teaspoon of sugar to her tea, Jules took a sip, then remarked, "You're just living in your own little James Dean movie, aren't you?"

"I have no idea what that means."

"Really? East of Eden, Rebel Without a Cause…" Jules raised a fist, which she shook melodramatically. "'You're tearing me apart!'" When Remus only continued to look at her in bewilderment, she huffed. "Evidently, my spot-on popular culture references are wasted on you; you weren't exaggerating when you said you didn't know anything about films."

Remus' lips twitched, a smile threatening to break through. "I've literally never seen a single one."

"Well, I'm holding it against you." She sipped her tea again, then expounded on her prior meaning. "I was simply commenting on the fact that feeling alienated towards your parents isn't exactly an original problem. Teenagers have been complaining about it for a while now."

'Yeah, but most teenagers aren't actually a different species from their parents,' thought Remus, but ate some porridge instead of replying. However, after a silence ensued for a stretch of time – which Jules made no effort to break, seemingly content to be occupied by her tea and the remaining satsuma – he ventured to ask, "Do you feel that way?"

Jules half-chuckled. "Oh, my father encourages me to argue with him. And both my parents would be more disappointed by me blindly accepting authority, rather than challenging it – not to the point of being a disrespectful little shit, of course, but they expect me to possess the intellectual curiosity to ask why, instead of simply defer to who. Subsequently, I've never felt any need to rebel against them, so they've never needed to take any serious disciplinary action against me. It's all marvellously civil."

To Remus, there was something exceedingly peculiar about describing one's relationship with their parents as 'civil'. Mr and Mrs Potter were loving and wholly supportive of James. The Blacks, on the other hand, had been volatile towards Sirius, both distraught and furious at his refusal to take after them (even by Third Year, Remus had realised there were only two ways it could end: Sirius' voluntary disinheritance, or an attempted murder by at least one party; thankfully, it was the former that had come to pass). As Mr Pettigrew had died when his son was only a baby, Peter was the sole subject of Mrs Pettigrew's entire devotion – which, the other Marauders suspected, had some correlation with their smallest friend's frequent inability to do things for himself. The relationship between Remus and his parents had always been full of love, but tempered by both his own fear of accidentally hurting one of them, and – now he knew – his father's guilt (and, Remus firmly believed, shame) for his son's condition. Conversely, the strong emotion that was present in all these connections, whether positive or negative, seemed suspiciously absent in the descriptor of 'civil'.

Remus, however, did not voice these thoughts to Jules, returning his attention to finishing his breakfast, as Jules did the same. At one point, when she pushed back some hair behind her left ear, he noticed a small patch of acne on her left cheek. Remus (who, thankfully, had never really had to deal with pimples on top of his scars) took some bizarre comfort in seeing it. Physical flaws in Jules' appearance were good; they were a reminder she was not perfect. And if she was imperfect, surely it would be easier to resist his attraction to her.

This theory, unfortunately, soon proved faulty. Because as soon as Jules had finished eating, and was standing up to depart, Remus found himself asking if she would like him to walk her back to the Ravenclaw Tower.

Jules quirked an eyebrow, looking genuinely puzzled. "Why, do you think I might have suddenly and inexplicably forgotten how to get back there?"

"Erm…" Remus stared at her uncertainly, half wishing he had not mooted the offer, but also reluctant to let her out of his sight, in case she was planning on visiting a certain teacher. "No, I… I just thought you might like the company?" It came out as more of a question than an explanation.

"I don't mind solitude."

"Oh." He was sure his face was now red. "Right. Well, never mind–"

An expression of understanding crossed Jules' face. "Oh! You actually want to spend time with me." She smiled at him. "Sorry, I didn't realise. Of course, you can walk with me back to the Tower."

Standing up, Remus eyed her curiously. "Hasn't anyone ever asked you that before?"

"What, if I'd like them to walk with me, despite ultimately having a different destination? No." They walked down their opposing sides of the long table, and when they reached the end, Jules continued, "According to Samira, I have an off-putting personality."

Remus frowned. "You're not off-putting."

She looked at him slyly. "No, just intimidating."

Once again, Remus blushed. "I didn't mean that in a negative way," he protested, as they exited the Great Hall. "Just… it takes some getting used to."

An amused noise escaped Jules. "Shall I take it, then, from the fact you aren't at this moment fleeing from me, that you've 'gotten used to it'?"

Embarrassed, Remus turned his gaze downwards. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?" he muttered.

"Absolutely not," affirmed Jules cheerfully. "Angela sniggers pretty much any time she sees you now."

"Wonderful." They walked along the corridors for a minute in a not-entirely-uncomfortable silence, until Remus ventured to ask, "So, what are you doing for the rest of the day?"

"Well, Binns wants a three-foot-long essay on the Babylonian-Elamite Wizarding War in the sixteenth century B.C., and it's due to tomorrow. I'll probably start that at some point."

"Binns?" Remus raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you still do History of Magic? I didn't realise anyone had continued after OWLs."

"It's a small class, I'll grant you that," replied Jules, a little drily. "Just myself and two others."

"Why are you studying it at NEWT level?" asked Remus bemusedly, remembering the many hours spent listening to the ghost teacher drone on about things that, as far as he could see, no one would ever have to remember once exams were over.

"Because it's my favourite subject."

It took some restraint for Remus not to drop his jaw. "Your favourite?" he repeated in disbelief. "Why? It's just remembering a bunch of dates and names."

Jules snorted. "Only if you aren't particularly bright and are incapable of analytical thinking – which, of course, a lot of people are."

Remus suddenly understood what Samira had meant by 'an off-putting personality'. He could certainly see how Jules casually implying that most of her peers were idiots would not endear her to them. Unfortunately for him, Remus did not personally find it off-putting. He found it fascinating.

He was about to ask what exactly it was, then, that made History of Magic her favourite subject, when a very distressed-looking Samira came running around the corner. Her reaction when she saw Jules made it clear that she had been looking for her.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Jules, and Remus could almost feel her tensing, as she murmured, "Shit."

"Jules," Samira half-shouted, half-gasped, as she closed the distance between them, "Angela's been attacked."

Two Ravenclaw Fourth Years had discovered an unconscious Angela in a fifth floor corridor on their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, and swore they had heard someone running off to the Grand Staircase. However, when Angela finally woke up in the hospital wing seven hours later, she could not identify her attacker, as whoever it was had hit her from behind. It had been a Heart-Wrencher Curse, which made the victim feel as though their heart was being squeezed by an invisible hand, and left them struggling to breathe. Although there was a counter-curse, it left an internal injury that even magic could not heal immediately.

Jules and Samira spent the day with Angela in the hospital wing, not leaving her side until going to the Great Hall for dinner. Madam Pomfrey told them that Angela would have to stay in the hospital wing for at least three nights, and would probably not fully recover for at least a month.

"They better catch the bastard who did it," Samira said to Jules, about five minutes after they had sat down at the Ravenclaw table, when she had finished responding to their housemates concerned inquiries. Her voice was quiet, but Jules could feel the rage emanating from inside her.

She only nodded in response, not wanting to voice her suspicions. She was afraid if she did, Samira might try to enact revenge right now, before she had any proof. Instead, she surreptitiously eyed Barty Crouch Jr., who was sitting among his fellow Fifth Years. He was keeping to himself, not really joining in with his friends' conversation. But every now and then, his eyes would flick over to the Slytherin table.

Jules followed his gaze. He was looking over at where the three Slytherin boys in her year level – Avery, Mulciber and Snape – were sitting. Three students who, most would be willing to wager, would be signing up to the Death Eaters once they left Hogwarts.

It had been a coordinated attack, Jules was certain of that. They had been waiting for the opportunity to get Angela when she was on her own, and the first time she had left the Ravenclaw Tower without either of her two best friends, they had struck. However, the planning hadn't been brilliant – the attack had taken place somewhere that was much too public, and the culprit had to leave in a hurry. Someone cleverer would have picked a more isolated spot or waited for a time people were less likely to be walking by.

Snape had not been involved, then. But Avery or Mulciber… One of them? Both? And how had Crouch got the message to them from within the common room to where they were waiting–

Jules closed her eyes, involuntarily sighing as she dropped her face into her hands. Her head was hurting. Images of Angela's pale, unconscious face intermingled with the memory of Crouch's venomous reaction to her rebuffing him. The newspaper headlines from the last few years of the murders of Muggles and Muggle-borns swirled in her mind, which desperately tried to connect all the dots to find the truth. But she could not think clearly about any of it, because she was angry and upset, in ways she was not used to being.

Not to mention her still non-existent History of Magic essay that was due tomorrow...

She lifted her face and opened her eyes, and found herself looking at the Gryffindor table. Remus was sitting with the other Seventh Year Gryffindors, who were all talking to each other, wearing serious expressions. They were probably discussing Angela and the attack, she realised.

'You're not off-putting.'

She hadn't even said goodbye to Remus that morning. She had just run off with Samira to get to the hospital wing, not sparing the boy who had been so surprisingly open with her during breakfast a second glance, and had not thought of him once whilst by Angela's bedside.

Now, as she finally reflected on their conversation, she was certain something had changed between them. He hadn't just been less, well, scared of her; he had wanted her company. And Jules was not entirely sure why. What exactly did she have to offer him, other than references he didn't understand and an acute talent for causing him discomfort?

'Angela would probably suggest he's a glutton for punishment,' Jules thought glumly, picking up her spoon to stir around her chicken soup. After a minute, she realised she was doing exactly the same thing Remus had done with his porridge that morning, and hastily took a mouthful.

She grimaced. It had gone cold.

Remus did not see Jules again until their Ancient Runes lesson on Tuesday. She was already outside the classroom when he arrived, standing apart from the other half a dozen students who were also waiting, staring ahead with a glazed over expression, and shadows still under her eyes. Her hair, which was tied back, didn't appear to have been brushed since he had last seen her, and the pimples on her cheek looked particularly awful.

He stopped a few feet away from her and, receiving not a hint of acknowledgement, cleared his throat loudly, which made Jules blink and refocus her tired gaze on him.

"Hey," he greeted her softly, not sure whether to attempt a smile or not.

"Hi."

"How's Angela?"

"Still in the hospital wing, slowly getting better. Breathing hurts, but at least she can do it."

Remus winced. "Any word on whether they're getting closer to finding out who did it?"

There was a pause, before she shook her head. "No, nothing."

Nodding slowly, Remus hesitantly asked, "And, er, how are you?"

Jules arched an eyebrow. "Look that bloody awful, do I?"

About to hurriedly deny anything of the sort, Remus stopped himself. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was that Jules appreciated blunt honesty.

"Not great, yeah," he said, a little nervous.

"Must be like looking in a mirror for you, then."

A short bark of shocked laughter burst out of Remus. "Wow," he said, once he had recovered. "That is… charming."

For the first time, the corners of her lips turned upwards. "Oh, was that mean? Did it sting–" she held her thumb and forefinger about a quarter-of-an-inch apart, "–just a little?"

Remus was grinning, although he wasn't quite sure why, when she had literally just insulted his appearance. "You're really leaning into the whole 'off-putting personality' thing, aren't you?"

"Mate, I've had less than two hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours," replied Jules, sounding amused. "At the moment, I'm just a straight-up arsehole."

Trying to ignore the stirring in his loins that was bizarrely caused by her calling him 'mate', Remus inquired, "Did you end up getting that History essay finished?"

"Of course. Started it at eleven p.m. on Sunday, finished it at six the next morning."

"That's quite impressive."

Jules gave him an odd look. "No, that's quite normal. Now, if I could get a three-ft-long essay down to just taking three hours to write, that would be an achievement."

"Merlin," said Remus, staring at her, "I thought Sirius was bad at leaving things until the last minute. But it sounds like you've turned it into an artform."

As Professor Palamedes opened the door to the classroom and invited them in, Jules muttered, "Oh, you have no idea."

When Remus reached his usual desk inside, he didn't sit down. Instead, he looked over at Jules taking her seat, and saw her gaze linger on the empty chair to her right. Making a split decision, Remus walked across the room to join her.

"Mind if I sit with you today?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Jules looked up at him, clearly surprised. "Really? Erm… I mean, if you want to… sure."

It was not the most enthusiastic response, but neither was it a refusal, so Remus sat down. As he adjusted his chair, he noticed that Palamedes, who was standing behind his desk at the front of the room, was watching him intently. He head was cocked to the side, as though he was struggling to comprehend the fact Jules had allowed Remus within such close proximity.

'Bastard,' thought Remus, with the mild hostility that always accompanied any thoughts of the Ancient Runes teacher. 'Won't be flirting with her today, will you?'

The problem with this, Remus soon discovered, was that because he was within such close proximity to Jules, it was extremely difficult to pay attention to a single word Palamedes was saying about deducing translations from fragmented or damaged scripts, their topic for this week. And unfortunately, this led to Palamedes calling him out several times throughout the hour for not focusing, and telling him, when checking the work that was set during class-time, that 'it really wasn't up to an acceptable standard, Mr Lupin'.

This comment made Jules, who had not said a word to Remus since he had sat down, turn to both him and Palamedes, briefly glance down at Remus' work, then say mildly, "At least he's actually attempted it. All I've done is draw cartoons of sheep." She held up her notebook to illustrate this point, and Remus – who had not realised that this was actually what she had been working on for the last fifty minutes – had to choke back a startled laugh.

Palamedes appeared surprised too, but not at the drawings. "Well, Juliet," he said quietly, after a short pause, "if I was to hold everyone to your abysmal standard of effort in my subject, I might as well not turn up to teach it."

Jules, rather than looking offended, smiled. "Harsh, but fair."

As Palamedes turned his attention to the Ravenclaw boys sitting in front of them, Remus whispered to Jules, "Is that really all you've been doing? I could have sworn…" He trailed off as she turned her notebook back to the previous page, where all her neat and thoroughly detailed notes, including the completed task for today, were written down in an exemplary manner.

Remus stared at her, bewildered. "Why–"

"Because on any other day, it would have been a bunch of pictures of sheep," she replied, with a small shrug of her shoulders. "But Angela, even though she can barely stand upright at the moment, will want to know what she missed in class today, because she's annoyingly studious and organised, so for once, I actually did what I was supposed to do so she can go over it when I visit her after classes finish today."

For the first time, Remus felt a surge of something for Jules that wasn't attraction, but rather affection. It was akin to how he felt whenever his friends arrived at the Shrieking Shack in their Animagus forms.

"Well," he said, smiling, "speaking as someone who is also annoyingly studious and frequently absent from class due to, er, illness, I can tell you that sort of thing is very much appreciated."

Instead of acknowledging this as a compliment, Jules raised an eyebrow. "If you're so studious, how come you've produced that shit today?" She gestured to his own work.

'Crap.' Remus swallowed. "Er… Ancient Runes is probably my weakest subject." It technically was not a lie, even if he did usually maintain an average 'E' grade for it.

"Huh." After a moment's consideration, Jules moved her notebook slightly closer to him. "Then I guess today's your lucky day."

Remus blinked, and in a low voice, asked, "Are you… are you letting me copy off you?"

"Yes, a once in a lifetime opportunity," replied Jules wryly, and checked her wristwatch. "Now, you've only got seven minutes until class finishes, so you better get a move on."

He only just managed to finish copying it down before Palamedes dismissed the class, and he thanked Jules profusely as they stood up.

She brushed off the gratitude with a dismissive wave of the hand, and they exited the classroom. Remus was certain that Palamedes' eyes followed them closely as they left.

"Right," said Jules, adjusting her bag's shoulder-strap as they walked along the corridor, "I've got to get to History of Magic, so I guess I'll see you–"

"Wait," blurted out Remus, stopping and reaching an arm out in front of her to halt her too, as an idea took form in his mind. "You know how on Sunday morning you said that my friends and I were 'resourceful'?"

Jules folded her arms. "Yes," she said, sounding cautious.

"Well," continued Remus, dropping his voice as he glanced around to make sure no one would overhear him, "we are. Not just at smuggling in stuff from Hogsmeade, but other things too. So, I was thinking, if Dumbledore and the teachers can't figure out who attacked Angela… it may be possible that we could."

For a few seconds, Jules simply stared at him. Eventually, she responded, her voice as quiet as his, "It's less of a problem of who, and more about proving how they did it."

Remus furrowed his brow. "I thought you said they still didn't have any idea–"

"The staff don't. But I…" She took a deep breath. "About a month ago, Barty Crouch Jr. asked Angela out, and she said no," she explained. "And he really didn't take it well."

"Hang on," interrupted Remus, frowning. "Are you saying you don't think she was attacked for being a Muggle-born, but because–"

Jules held a hand up. "Let me finish. A couple of weeks after this, I overheard him arguing with someone in the Grand Staircase, but I couldn't see who he was talking to. However, since Sunday, I've noticed him looking over at the Slytherin table during mealtimes. And last night, I saw Mulciber leave the Great Hall early, and as soon as he was out the door, Crouch made his excuses and left too." Jules paused, before finishing, "Crouch is a model pupil: the last thing he would want is to get his hands dirty."

"But Mulciber is basically a Death-Eater-in-Waiting, and everybody knows it," muttered Remus. "So, Crouch approaches him to get revenge on a girl that rejected him, who just happens to be a Muggle-born."

"Crouch knew that Angela was rarely unaccompanied by Samira or me when going about the castle, so he tells Mulciber that he'll tip him off when he finally sees her leaving the Ravenclaw Tower alone – which would probably be in the morning on a weekend, as maybe one of us would have left for breakfast before the others, and another might have overslept."

"But how does he get the message from inside the Ravenclaw Tower to where Mulciber is waiting outside without Angela noticing?"

"Exactly," said Jules, with an emphatic nod. She tilted her head to the side. "Do you really think you and your friends could find out?"

If Remus was to be completely honest, he would have told her they would give it their best shot. But as Jules now looked up at him, without her usually unimpressed expression nor a trace of mild amusement, but with genuine hope, anything less than complete assurance seemed inadequate.

"We'll do it," Remus told her, with a firm nod. "I promise."

"Bloody hell," said Angela croakily, shaking her head as she read through Jules' Ancient Runes notes, "you are completely infuriating."

"What?" yelped Jules, straightening in her chair next to Angela's hospital bed. "That was some top quality note-taking!"

Angela glanced at her. "Yes, it is. And you could do that every lesson, but instead–" she flipped over to the page full of cartoon sheep, "–this is what you choose to do." She sighed. "Drives me mental."

Jules huffed as she slumped back in her seat. "Fuck's sake, it's like being friends with a couple of teachers," she mumbled. "Actually, scratch that – you're worse. Palamedes doesn't give a damn what I do during his class."

Although he had been a bit terser with her today than usual. And he had evidently been surprised by her defence of Remus. In fact, that had surprised Jules herself a bit. Palamedes hadn't been overstepping a line – Remus' efforts had been appalling. But she had felt oddly… protective.

She wondered how his friends had taken the news that he had promised, on their behalf, to investigate the attack on Angela. 'Probably fairly well,' she conceded. They would most likely see it as a chance to get one over on Slytherin, and everyone at Hogwarts knew how much Potter and Black loved to do that. Not to mention that now Potter was finally dating Lily Evans, he was probably quite touchy about Muggle-born attacks. 'As any decent person should be.'

"Blood supremacy is fucking stupid," Jules said aloud.

Angela, looking away from the Ancient Runes notes again, stared at Jules for a moment, before snorting. "You're preaching to the choir, Jules."

Drawing her legs up on to the seat and hugging her knees, Jules shook her head. "I don't just mean that it's immoral. The whole principle has no basis in logic or evidence. As an argument, it's pure pathos, entirely rooted in an emotional appeal. Start asking questions of it, and the whole thing crumbles."

"Then why has it gained so much traction?" asked Angela. "If it's so dumb, why are there more Death Eaters and their supporters each year?" She sounded genuinely curious, and it occurred to Jules that in six years, they had never had a real conversation about the subject.

"Because Wizarding society and its relationship to the Muggle world is complex, and Muggle-borns complicate it even more," she answered tiredly. God, she was hoping for more than a single hour's sleep tonight. "And a large portion of humanity don't like dealing with nuanced situations. They want simple solutions for everything, and homogeneity – irrespective of what those solutions and beliefs actually are. That's why tyranny endures, no matter how many tyrants are deposed; because, for many, there will always be something inherently appealing about people like…" She hesitated, before finishing: "Voldemort."

Angela did not flinch at the sound of the dreaded name. Instead, she gazed at Jules for a little while, before finally turning back to her notes. "Like I said," she muttered. "Completely infuriating."