Remus doesn't speak as they board the train from the grey little town of Bridgend to Paddington Station, London. Their small trio shuffles into their economy-class seats, the compartment grimy and plastic-smelling, Lily opposite the both of them, and Remus stares out of the window as ghostly, green Wales flashes by. James watches him unabashedly. Lily stares down at the table like she's trying to read its thoughts. None of them speak.

James has known for a while that Remus has a strained relationship with his father. Remus isn't a good liar, and he doesn't make an effort to lie often, not unless he feels like he has to, which is rare. Still. This feels a little too extreme to just call 'strained'. He can still hear Hope Lupin's crying ringing in his ears.

Where they're going to sleep tonight, James has no idea. A muggle hotel, probably. He can pay for it, and if Lily or Remus have complaints about that, well, they can pay him back someday, when things are easier. Each of them has two heavy bags, stuffed with clothes and books and such. James only has one. Most of his stuff was destroyed with his parents what feels like a million years ago. At least he knows Remus will always be willing to share clothes with him.

The Remus in question rests his head against the glass window and closes his eyes. Lily hooks an ankle around James' under the table.

"Alright?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah," James tells her, like he's sure of it, like he's sure of anything. "Yeah, I'm okay."

They play multiple games of noughts and crosses on the back page of her notebook, passing Lily's biro pen back and forth between them and filling the lined paper with messy hatches and lazy circles. Lily wins most of them, strategic as she is, and James doesn't even care about it, really. Remus falls asleep.

An hour passes. The tunnel under the river dividing England and Wales is long, darkness consuming the windows, and the flickering overhead light in the compartment makes faint shadows dance across the grey-brown walls. Outside, James imagines he can see strange shadows, odd figures, just out of view, just out of place. Beyond the glass and watching them all.

"I'm going to try to owl the Friends of London," James tells Lily, as the train emerges onto the overground, grubby grey England rising high over them. They're approaching a small track-side town, corrugated iron shacks pressed tight against the National Rail fence.

Lily looks up from her notebook, where she's been doodling a hoard of eyes peering out from the corner of the page. "You're sure that's a good idea?"

"It's about the only option we've got."

"I'll give you that," she agrees, biting her lip. "I'd like to know more about Shacklebolt and his people. I think it'd help us."

"Agreed," James says. "But something tells me…"

"The Friends of London would be easier to find." Lily cracks a smile. "I know. They don't seem overly professional."

"They're only two years older than us. And we've hardly been professional."

"Despite my best efforts," Lily assents mournfully.

"Direct Action was wonderful, though."

"Wonderful and terrible," she agrees. "Which just about most things are nowadays. The bit about Sirius, I can't stop thinking about it."

Better that than thinking about the dead muggleborn kid. "Me, too."

"It hadn't occurred to me that he might… represent something. Being undesirable number one and everything. But I guess it makes sense. Hogwarts student does a vanishing act, prompts the founding of an underground fighting club among students. A year later, he's in the papers with a reward on his head so high it could start its own Noble and Ancient house. I get why it intrigues people."

"It's weird," James murmurs. "Watching people who didn't know him talk about him."

"I think it's a good thing."

"You do?"

Lily nods. "More leads. Something to rally around. Plus from what I remember about Black, I think he'd appreciate the attention."

James laughs at that. "Only because his childhood was tragically deprived."

"Right, of course. How could I forget?"

"The being-given-over-to-the-dark-lord's-custody-by-parents should have tipped you off."

"Honestly, the lives some of you wizarding folks live." Lily rests her head back against the seat, grinning. "Far too much excitement for me."

James fights back a broad smile. The guilt is still there (he thinks all of them will be feeling it for quite some time), but it's nice to laugh about this stuff, too. The last week has been pretty deprived of laughter, what with Macmillan's death, the Direct Action broadcast, and Remus' awful father.

Exciting lives indeed.

Pads,

Don't have much space. Lily has offered me one (1) page of her notebook to write you a letter on. She's humming some Beatles song opposite me, one of the cool ones from their experimental album. I just asked if she's got anything to tell you and she said hi.

We're on the train from Wales to London. Remus' dad kicked us out. He's afraid if the Ministry finds out his son is a halfblood werewolf, he'll lose his job. Remus is pretty cut up about it. He loves South Wales. He's asleep right now, next to me.

We've still heard nothing more about you. What am I even saying that for anymore. I last wrote to you less than twenty-four hours ago. Of course there's nothing new. Still feels grounding to say it, though. Just in case you were wondering.

Is America nice? I swear I've told Remus a dozen times that's where you'd go. It's huge, bloody massive, and it's full of people, too. You could hide well there. Don't think you could fake the accent super well, but hey, you'd give it a good effort, right? I bet it's sunny over there this time of year, not grey and dewy like it is in over the pond.

I'm running out of space. The box I keep your letters in is at the very, very bottom of my bag. I'll just keep this one in my jacket for now, I guess.

I love you. Even now I'm thinking about you all the time.

Yours,

Prongs.

That night, the three of them book a few nights' stay in a Hilton holiday hotel on the outskirts of inner London city, an hour's walk from King's Cross. They get a room with a double bed and a twin, and the lady at the reception desk jokes about Remus third-wheeling with James and Lily, and none of them correct her. Remus gets a sour sort of look about him, though.

That might just be the general situation, though. After all, he's looked sour all day, since they got off the train at Paddington Station and wandered out into the bustling city, the three of them standing on the curb and staring out over the crowds with the sudden, swooping feeling (like nausea when you go over a sharp bump in the road) that the world was very large and they were very small.

They wandered around for a while, as if expecting to stumble on the Friends of London headquarters somewhere, like it would pop out of the ground in front of them. Eventually, Lily had the sense to suggest they get a hotel room to drop off their stuff and rest for a bit, and James and Remus readily agreed.

Now, Remus sits in the tiny armchair by the window, looking out through the grubby glass at the city, and wordlessly, James unpacks both of their stuff into the same drawer. Lily takes the wardrobe. No words are needed.

"I forgot a toothbrush," James says absently, at one point.

"There's a Tesco Extra down the road," Lily replies promptly. "We'll stop there tonight. We need food, too."

"I've got money."

She smiles with teeth. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. But… it can wait."

"Looking for my grand fortune, are you?" James jokes.

"Oh, you know me," Lily replies. "I've been after you for years."

They laugh together at the private, illicit joke. It feels nice, sort of, to mock who James used to be. Far nicer than the idea of mocking anybody else, anyway. At the window, Remus actually smiles - a tiny thing, but it's there. What a win.

After some time, he sighs, turning over his shoulder to watch Lily and James morosely. "I can help unpack?" he offers.

"Nah," James says. "You can keep sitting there."

"Okay," Remus agrees gently.

"When's the next full?"

"A week and a half away." Remus yawns, not visibly stricken at the idea. "We'll have to take the train a ways out. Somewhere rural."

They've discovered over the past month or two that now, even without Padfoot, James is pretty good at taming the wolf. Maybe just because his animagus form is so big. Maybe it's because they trust each other a little more now. Either way, moons have been usually relatively peaceful this summer. It's a weight off Remus' shoulders. Anything to make him less stressed, James rationalises with himself each time. It doesn't matter if he gets hurt.

Across the room, Lily eyes the both of them. She's known for some time about Remus, since the first weeks of Padfoot's Army. She doesn't know about James.

"You want me to come with you?" she offers. Presumably because she thinks James won't be out there with Remus all night.

"Nah," James says quickly. "Nah. It's better if you, uh. Guard the castle. Hold down the... fort? Muggle sayings."

"Hold down the fort was right," Lily agrees. She sounds vaguely dubious, but willing to accept it. "And, okay. We can do that."

She doesn't ask anymore questions, thankfully. James crosses the room to fuck up Remus' hair with his knuckles, and Remus only half fights him off. It's nice. Nice, in the hailstorm of awful that has consumed the rest of their lives.

"Your breath stinks," Remus tells him halfheartedly. "You really do need that toothbrush."

"You love it, though."

A faint smile. "Of course."

Bullet follows them to London. James has long-since lost his cage, but he finds them anyway, tapping on the window of the Hilton hotel room a few hours after they arrive. James lets him in.

Unsurprisingly, addressing a letter to 'The Friends Of London' doesn't get him anywhere. Bullet returns after an hour with the letter still tied to his leg, looking confused in an owlish way. Lily whaps James over the head and suggests the three of them go down to the Tesco Extra to get essentials, and sleep on the problem with full stomachs, and try again tomorrow.

James agrees. Lily makes a shopping list and Remus comments halfheartedly that he's a vegetarian. It makes her laugh.

By dusk, this area of London is quieter, less hectic with tourists and shoppers. James, dwarfed in one of Remus' muggle sweatshirts, balances along the curb in his sneakers as Remus and Lily talk about the new season of some muggle reality show he's never heard of. Neither of them has watched it in years, but evidently, they've both got strong opinions. Nearby, a gaggle of teenagers smoke weed atop the awning of a boarded-up shop. James grins at them and one of them waves their blunt at him, smirking.

The Tesco Extra is mostly empty, but for a pair of employees chatting by the register. They eye James as he comes in, and mildly spooked, he follows Remus and Lily down the cereal and snack aisle as they argue about whether to get bran flakes or shreddies.

"They're basically the same thing," Remus reasons. "Bran flakes are just cheaper."

"Yeah, but shreddies are more filling," Lily counters.

"How are they more filling? It's bran. It's meant to be filling. They're made of the same stuff..."

As they bicker, James picks up and examines a box of caramel wafers. "Can we get these?"

Remus glances over. "You like them?"

"Never tried them," James admits.

"You're paying, so sure," Lily shrugs. "We need shampoo, too. And hand sanitiser. And we could probably do with a can of air freshener, the hotel room smells…"

By the time they've stocked up on food and everything else, their shopping basket is overflowing. James pays for it all in the little muggle cash he has left, and makes a comment about having to get more money from Gringotts that makes Lily frown, and then the three of them wander back out onto the street, James carrying both of their heavy red Tesco bags dangling at either side of him, fingers stinging under the plastic handles.

The hot, swelling smell of the city - gas smoke, herb, concrete, dust, tobacco - hits him on the way out of the door, and James has to stop for a second. It smells so intensely like Sirius that it almost bowls him over.

Maybe, James thinks, as he jogs to catch up with Lily and Remus, who have already streaked off down the street ahead of him, talking animatedly about some experimental new potion they've both heard about, this place will have just as many ghosts as Wales.

Friends of London,

My name's James Potter, and I think a few of you know me. I was friends with Macmillan. Me and some others started Padfoot's Army last year. We're close friends of Sirius Black.

We want to arrange a meeting, if that's alright. It's just me and the two other ex-leaders of PA. We're on the run. The death eaters murdered my family last year, and we're a blood traitor, a muggleborn and a halfblood, so you can imagine we can't exactly go back to school.

Don't know how we're going to get this letter to you, but if you're reading this, then presume we found a way. Owl us back at room 711, Hilton, Midney Road, London.

Yours,

James Potter.

It's Remus who figures it out. Lily's just turned the light off, and the three of them are settling in to sleep on their second night in London, James and Remus sharing the double bed and Lily tucked into the twin, when he shoots upright in bed and says, "I've got it!"

"What?" James asks groggily.

"Turn the light on, somebody." Remus fumbles his way out of the sheets, and in the dark, James sees him sweep his overlong hair out of his eyes. "Come on, quick-"

Lily flicks on the yellowish light. Blinded for a moment, James blinks away the darkness and watches Remus rush towards the table against the wall, snatching up his letter to the Friends of London.

"I've got it," Remus murmurs, staring down at the crinkled paper. "We have to make them reach out to us, first. Then we keep their owl, and…"

"How?" Lily asks, one part annoyed, one part curious. "How are we supposed to do that?"

Remus turns around to look between them both, light eyes wide like moons. "A demonstration," he says.

James remembers it, then. The riot that made the papers, about that awful DADA textbook. "Something to get their attention," he says, catching on.

Lily sits up fully in bed. "We can't exactly go hoisting signs around the Ministry entrance hall," she says dubiously.

Remus shakes his head. "No. No, not a protest. Not exactly. Let me think."

He staggers across the room to the window chair, looking out over nighttime London. A collection of oddly-shaped, oddly-sized stars, spattered like paint on a brownish black canvas. James and Lily exchange curious looks.

"Something that'll get back to them," Remus mutters to himself. "It wouldn't make the papers, but... word travels fast. That's what Macmillan's letter said. News travels fast. Right, Prongs?"

"Right," James says. "What are you thinking?"

"We'd have to find a way into the Ministry. After hours."

"It might be possible," James says, already thinking it over in his head.

"We wouldn't be able to," Lily says immediately. "Not without magic."

But Remus shakes his head. "It wouldn't be easy. But…"

"Tell us what you're thinking," James says again. He climbs out of bed and moves to crouch in front of Remus, trying to meet his eyes. "What's going on in there?"

Remus shoots him a discomfited smile. Then, he looks at Lily. "We'll need muggle clothes," he says. "Trashy ones."

"Trashy?"

"Stuff you might wear to a party." Remus clears his throat. "And a weapon. Weapons, plural." He gets up and starts to pace. "Hair dye. Yeah. Hair dye. James, how well can you see without your glasses?"

James blinks. "Uh. Absolutely shit, honestly."

"Okay. Okay, we'll still figure something out," Remus promises, more to himself than either of them. "And we would need spray paint, too. Something bright. Red, maybe. Something good, something that won't come off with a charm."

"Remus," Lily speaks up. "Not to be vulgar, but what the fuck are you talking about?"

Remus seems to snap himself out of it. His eyes meet James' again. There's a manic sort of glint in them and James remembers something very important; that Remus would go to war for this. That there's nothing he wouldn't do.

"It would have to wait until after the next full," Remus murmurs.

"We can do that," James tells him. "Just tell us what it is you're thinking."

"You've got betony in that potions kit, right?" Remus asks Lily, not looking at her.

Lily swings her legs out of the bed. "You're going to get us killed."

"Not if we're smart about it," Remus defends weakly.

"When have we ever done anything smart?" James asks.

"My thoughts exactly," Lily mutters, and crosses the room to check her potions supplies. "James, get my notebook. I have the feeling we're going to need it."

Pads,

Remus is fantastic, and also insane.

I think you were the cornerstone for him, quite honestly. Like a paperweight. Or maybe he just spent so much time trying to anchor you that he tied himself down, too. Either way, now that you're not here, he's really coming out with them left right and centre. Lily and I can hardly keep up.

It's a week until the next full, and he and I and her are working as hard as we possibly can to get this right. I explained the plan to you in the last letter, so if you didn't read it properly, go do that now, but it's gotten even crazier since. He reckons I should take a knife, now, rather than a baton. I'm not sure I agree, because I think a bat would still be best, so he's said to wait until we've got our hands on some stuff and see which feels most comfortable. A knife, Pads! Our Remus, telling me to take a knife to a wand-fight! They grow up so fast.

You've been on the front page for a week now. It's like when you first escaped, the week after the wedding. He's pissed at you, seriously pissed. No pun intended there. Wonder if he's got a lead on you, or he's just getting frustrated that he hasn't got anything? Hopefully the latter.

Remus and I are considering consulting muggle papers about you. It's about the only lead we've got left. He spends a lot of time watching BBC World News. Don't know what he expects to see. A miracle, maybe, I guess.

Lily says hi. She's still awake for some reason. Chopping up betony for the paint canisters in the bathroom, I think. Yeah, I can hear it now. Tap tap tap tap tap of the knife on the countertop. What a life we all live. When I imagined my teenage years as a kid, this was not what I had in mind. It was a whole lot more pretty girls and drinking and motorbikes, though we've got Lily, I guess, and Remus rented a bicycle yesterday to get to the other side of London and scout out the Ministry, so that's something.

We're getting somewhere! What was it Lyric said on the radio? Vive la Révolution!

Yours,

Prongs.

Remus and James take the train to the southwest coast for the full. On the way, dozy with moonsickness, Remus sleeps on James' shoulder, hair tickling his neck. James stares out of the window and drinks in the scenery. It's nothing like sunny green Wales, but the ocean looks the same, steely grey just like it was in Southerndown.

"Fags," a man grunts as he passes their seats on the way off the train.

James scowls and deliberately drops an arm around Remus' shoulders. The wizarding world isn't much better for it, but at least people feel the need to hold their tongues for politeness' sake over that side of London.

Remus slips a little down the front of his jacket, face smooshed to James' collarbone, blissfully unaware.

When the train pulls up to its last stop, a sleepy seaside town with a large patch of woods three miles off, Remus and James start their trek out into the wilderness, through thick patches of overgrown farmland, past fields of sheep. The afternoon sun scorches down over them both. Remus sticks close to James' side and laughs as James complains about the smell of sheep shit.

"We're gonna stink for days," James grumbles, clambering over a wooden sty and offering Remus a hand to climb it behind him. "Lily's gonna make us shower for three hours."

"A terrible fate."

"Suppose she'll have to put up with it."

Remus grins at the ground. After a few moments, he squints off into the bright, hot sun and his smile falls off his face. "The wolf misses him. Padfoot, I mean."

"Oh," James says. He can't think of much else to say to that.

"Yeah." Remus shrugs like he's trying to dislodge a troubling thought, or maybe just one of the hovering gnats that buzz on the golden air. "He can tell Sirius isn't here. It upsets him."

"He was affectionate the last few times."

Remus smiles crookedly. "Maybe he thinks Prongs is a replacement."

James shoves Remus' shoulder, sending him stumbling into the long, brown grass. Remus shoves him back. On the horizon, the sea shines with sunlight, so bright and hot it's blinding.

They spend the night chasing one another through the woods and over the fields by the pale light of the moon. The wolf is playful, a little snappish but not unhappy, though he howls often, maybe to see if Padfoot is nearby. James manages to corral him with only a minor injury (Remus takes a snap at his front leg that James dodges, falling into a tangle of thick, dry branches and sustaining a gouge through the shoulder in the process).

By dawn, the moon sinking behind a dull cloud on the horizon, Remus' wolfish body freezes in place, knotted in the brambles. Then, he transforms back, bones creaking and cracking, and James changes just in time to catch Remus as he topples into the nettles, dragging him onto a flat patch of sandy dirt.

"Atta boy," James grunts, as Remus - human Remus, warm and stiff and groaning - shuffles in his arms. "C'mon, I don't want to see your bits, you need to take me out on a date first…"

He manhandles Remus into a spare change of pants and a thick, woolen jumper. Remus doesn't protest, because even half-asleep, he knows he isn't under attack. A part of James glows with the pride of being trusted. Dressing used to be Sirius' job.

Beneath the pre-dawn grey light they lie in the dirt in a tangle, James breathing heavily from the transformation, eyes burning with exhaustion.

"Thanks," Remus murmurs into the hollow of his throat. "You okay?"

James takes stock. His shoulder is still bleeding sluggishly, but the wound isn't deep. "Just fine. You?"

"Think I've got something wrong with my leg."

"Yeah, you ran into a barbed-wire fence. It's nothing bad. Doesn't need stitches, I don't think."

"Good." Remus flops further onto him.

James brushes the tawny off his forehead with his fingers, clumsy and rough, then keeps that hand cupped around the back of Remus' head like a shield against the rising sun.

By morning, they'll have to dust themselves off and get back to town for the noon train. Now, they can lie here and rest.

"Hey." James shakes Remus' arm gingerly. He knows how sore he can get. "Look. The dog star."

Remus makes an assenting noise. When James looks at him, his glassy eyes are piercing through the clouds and through the stars and staring far, far away.

Back at the hotel room, Lily is sitting on the double bed with a map of the ground floor of the Ministry spread out in front of her. When James and Remus stumble in, she looks up at them, gawps for a second, and then folds up the map so James can deposit Remus, who is leaning heavily against him, on the bed.

"Hi," she says cautiously, watching them both. "Everything go okay?"

"Just peachy," James grunts. "Ow, Moony, that's my bad shoulder-"

"Sorry," Remus mumbles, gathering his shaky legs under him as he shuffles beneath the covers. His pale face is mildly sunburnt from the trek out to the woods yesterday. He smiles faintly at Lily. "Everything been okay here?"

"Yeah, just fine." Lily keeps watching them. "Held down the fort just fine. James, your shoulder-"

"It's fine." Shucking off his jacket, James dumps it on the bed beside Remus. "Gonna go patch myself up-" He gestures vaguely towards the bathroom. "Get some sleep, Remus."

"Hypocrite," Remus rasps.

"I know. I pride myself on it." James stalks off into the bathroom, toeing his shoes off on the way.

After some time struggling to get a bandage around his shoulder, Lily seems to sense his frustration, because she knocks gently on the bathroom door and then comes in to sit him down on the countertop as she dresses the wound for him. For some time, James thinks (hopes) she isn't going to ask. Unfortunately, Lily Evans is not in the business of holding her tongue when there's something she wants to say.

"What happened?" she asks casually, as she pulls the gauze tight.

James winces. "Dead tree," he says honestly. "Y'know, when the branches get all hard and rigid? Fell into a knot of that stuff. Hurt, but not too bad."

"You and Remus go for a hike, or…?"

"Something like that." James figures she would have sussed him out already. The fact that she's asking at all says she hasn't got it yet. "He walked into a barbed wire fence. You should take a look at him, too."

"He's the best healer of all of us," she dismisses. "I'm sure he'd be horrified to think of anybody else taking care of him."

"You can say that again." James flexes his shoulder inside the bandage. "Good as new."

Lily eyes him in the mirror, a dubious, unhappy slant to her eyebrows. "You're sure that's all?"

"Of course. Right as rain." James slips down off the countertop and stretches, feeling the wound pull conspicuously. He smiles at her as reassuringly as he can. "Remus and I…" And he trails off.

Lily watches him for a moment longer. "Okay," she murmurs eventually, when it becomes obvious the silence is going to stretch. "Okay."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

It's not forever. But she seems to have come to terms with the fact that she's going to have to give up for now. James nods to her thankfully, then leaves the bathroom and returns to Remus, who is already halfway asleep, buried in his pillow.

James sits beside him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Remus murmurs. "You?"

"Always."

Remus smiles faintly. "G'night."

"G'night," James tells him. He waits there until Remus is asleep to get up.

Lily reenters the room, first aid kit under her arm. They stare at one another, and then James cuts the silence.

"We can go over the plan again?"

Lily smiles grimly at him. "Yeah. Let's do that."

Pads,

Tomorrow evening, we're all going to do something very stupid, so this letter is going to be less message and more obituary, just in case I actually end up dead. It's a slim chance I think (I'm good luck! Or I hope I am, anyway) but it's there. So.

Here are some things I never told you:

It was me that stole your cigarettes at the start of fourth year. You didn't speak to Peter for a week after they vanished because you thought it was him, but it was actually me. I never said anything because you always took my side in arguments, and you always spent more time with me when you were angry at one of the others, and I liked that. I liked how it made me feel when you singled out me and only me to spend time with. We joked about it being me who lead the Marauders, but you led me, every time.

I also nicked one of your charms essays in third year and handed it in as my own, charmed the handwriting to look like mine and everything. You got all panicked and weird when you realised it was gone and I didn't realise it was actually upsetting you until it was too late and then I felt too bad about it to give it back to you or own up to it. So, uh, sorry for that.

I never noticed anything wrong. Not all through fourth year or at the end of it, when you got off the train and said goodbye. The weight of that secret must have been crushing you, maybe even for years, and I didn't notice a single thing. I try to think back a lot, try to identify things I could have seen, signs I could have picked up on. But I'm a self-centred prat and I can never find anything, not beyond stuff I thought was normal, like dark bruises that didn't go away and weird arguments between you and Remus, who I know knows more than me, because he's smart, smart like you, and I'm not smart. I never have been.

Watching Andromeda die still gives me nightmares most nights, and I see it every time I close my eyes, every time I blink. But I'd let her die a million times over if I could see you again. Dumbledore, too. It sort of scares me how many people I'd be willing to see die if it meant seeing you live. I said it in a letter a while ago, but I sometimes worry I love you too much. More than is normal and healthy.

But then, I suppose, none of this is normal. None of this is healthy. You're not and I'm not and we never will be again.

Some other things, before I fall asleep and forget to finish this: you've got perfect teeth, I used to be jealous of them and now I just miss them. You were taller when I saw you at the wedding and it suits you, tallness. I never actually liked liquorice wands, but you love them, so I used to eat them when you offered me one just to make you smile, even though I think they're bloody awful. In first year, if you'd gone to Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, I think I would've asked the hat to let me follow you there. Every black dog I see makes me paranoid and twitchy because I keep thinking it's you. Remus cries sometimes when he thinks neither of us knows. Caramel wafers are nicer than any magical sweet there is. I keep one of your old letters to me in my back pocket most days, and it's so worn that it's torn along the folds, and when it disintegrates I think I'll dissolve with it. I'm scared. Really scared. Boy that's hard to say.

Anyway. I think that's all the secrets I can put down for tonight.

Pray for me. I love you.

Yours,

Prongs.

Stuffy and biting with cold, the night is particularly dark tonight, the yellow-orange light pollution of London sending the clouds glowing an odd, bioluminescent brown, rippling with shadow. Ice has already started to form on the outside of the phone box with the chill of mid-autumn.

With fumbling hands, James punches in the numbers Remus told him to memorise. Six-two-four-four-two. He barely hears his conversation with the welcome witch, her cool, clear voice falling on deaf ears, blind with buzzing and ringing. He clenches a shaking hand around the sleeve of his leather jacket over and over, furling and unfurling his fingers. Come on. Keep it together.

When the floor of the phone box drops like a lift, the whole thing sliding down into the ground, James takes position, half-slumped against the wall, boneless and bow-legged. His reflection stares at him from the glass wall beside him, stark through the darkness. Lily has dyed his hair bright, obnoxious yellow, as pale and stringy as straw, and he's wearing muggle board shorts with flames on them and a mesh shirt and a leather jacket. His neon green socks blink up at him from where they peak in a strip over his black boots.

He looks every part the drunken layabout, fresh off the end of a muggle nightclub.

There's a faint click. The dark walls let up, light streaming in as the phonebox descends down into the silent, empty atrium.

James has been to the Ministry Headquarters before a few times, mostly with his dad as a kid. It's one of those places that never changes, always the same colour scheme, always the same layout, though the dull, greenish brick walls look darker lit than usual, the lights scattered across the ceiling of the atrium dull and washed-out. It might have felt like the same place as it was two months ago if James didn't know better.

The phonebox hits the atrium floor. The door clicks open and James slumps out of the box, torso flopping onto the tiled floor, legs still inside.

Just to plan, it doesn't move back up, waiting for him to exit fully. Yes.

For the first five minutes, there's silence. James' left leg starts to get pins and needles, but he still doesn't move, staying perfectly still in his position sprawled halfway out of the phonebox. Tonight, if Lily got it right, there are only meant to be two guards patrolling the lower levels. Any minute now, they should come by.

Across the atrium, a clock ticks loudly on the wall. James eyes it through his lashes. It does not, in fact, oblige to shut up and be quiet.

After what might be ten minutes or ten hours, for how long it feels, an elevator across the room pings open and two sets of footsteps click out, sharp and unabashed. Two male voices drift on the tepid air towards James.

"-Was never really very useful, really," the first guard is saying. "I mean, he was good with missions and the like, but awful with paperwork, and all the technical stuff. Only ever wanted to be out on the field. He wouldn't have made it five years doing the real thing."

"He sounds like a piece of work," the other guy says.

The first guard grunts. "Yeah, if there's anybody I'm bloody glad to be shot of, it's Scrimgeour. It's been a week since he resigned and the office is already nicer."

"You've had a lot of resignations, haven't you? The Aurors, I mean."

"Yeah, quite a lot. Not more than we expected. In this line of work, people get cold feet easily."

"I'm glad it's helped the workplace feel less… distracting."

The first guard laughs. "The way the Ministry's going, we're going to have a lot less pointless bureaucracy soon, and thank god for that. Suppose that'll be your lot's influence."

Awkward silence falls. James has to put in an immense effort not to clench his jaw up. Traitor, he wants to yell to the (presumably trainee) Auror. Traitor. You're helping your enemy to save your own hide.

"Hey," the first guard says, then. "The guest entrance is down… is that a body?"

Running footsteps. Still James stays still, mouth slightly parted, eyes closed. Through his eyelids, he sees shadow fall across his face. Over him, there's the distinct wood-on-metal shing of somebody drawing their wand.

"Wait," the Auror says. "I think it's a muggle."

"A muggle?" The death eater sounds doubtful. "No, the entrances are muggle repellent, aren't they?"

"We've had muggles come down before, I think," the Auror rebukes, though he doesn't sound particularly sure of himself.

The scratch of fabric. Somebody kneels down close to James and prods at his cheek with their wand. James screws up his face and groans lowly.

"I think he's drunk," the Auror says nervously.

"Maybe," the death eater says. Then, "Avada-"

Before James can react, before he can even process the word, the Auror shouts, "No!"

The death eater cuts off. "Excuse me?"

"I just mean- I just mean-" the Auror stammers, "It's standard protocol to contact the muggle liaison office, so they can… so they can handle memory modifications…" He trails off.

"The muggle liaison office," the death eater says staunchly, "Was decommissioned last week, Dawlish."

"Oh," the Auror says faintly. "Right."

The death eater moves again. Thinking fast, James rolls onto his back and slurs, "Whass'goin' on?"

"Stay where you are," the death eater tells him sternly. When James looks up, there are two white men peering down at him. The Auror has a shock of reddish-brown hair and a stout physique. The death eater is aristocratic white-blonde, with greyish, doleful eyes. They're both watching him with a mixture of confusion and distrust.

"This isn't Eden," James murmurs, making a show of looking around. "D'you know how far we're from Eden? You know the place, d'n't you? The club on Leander Close. They've got the big green neon sign…"

"Bloody hell," the Auror mutters.

James tries to stagger to his feet, rolling over. "Stay down!" the death eater shouts at him.

With his feet off it, the phonebox jolts, the door snapping shut with a click. As it starts to rise, the two guards turn to glance at it, distracted, and James takes his chance.

Reaching into the back of his jacket, he whips out the baseball bat and lunges at the death eater. The death eater shouts in alarm, lashing out his wand wildly. James hurtles the bad hard down against the man's wrist, rewarded with a sharp, piercing crack for his efforts. It echoes out through the atrium like the toll of death. The wand rolls away and James' motion carries him off at an angle. He staggers, one foot after the other, and the Auror casts a curse that goes disappearing off behind him, reflecting off the walls in a miasma of spinning colours.

"My wand!" the death eater howls. Head spinning, James lunges to pick it up and snaps it, hard, over his knee.

Another curse flies at him, howling like a hurricane. James barely dives beneath it, watching the green blur spark against the floor behind him, scraping like muggle machinery. Then he hauls himself back up and faces the Auror, who scowls at him, wand raised.

"Stand down!" the auror snaps.

"No," James says curtly, and rushes him, hurling the bat up underarm into the Auror's midriff. The Auror shouts out, winded, and a misfired curse whistles past James' ear in a flurry of sparks.

James reaches out and grapples with the Auror's wrist and they wrestle for a senseless moment. The wood of the Auror's wand hot against his palm, he gets a good grip on it and tugs forcefully, and the Auror goes staggering into him and they both hit the ground hard. James manages to force the Auror's fingers off his wand and rolls away, snapping it in a fluid motion, bat under his arm.

The Auror makes a grab for him. His hands scrabble against the back of James' jacket. James gets his feet under him and whips around, swinging the bat backwards and then cracking it against the side of the Auror's head with a noise like a gunshot. The Auror's bloody head rolls against the tile and he goes still.

James looks up. The death eater meets his eyes over the top of his exposed Dark Mark.

"Fuck!" James shouts, and takes a running leap over the Auror's body. The death eater raises a finger to press down against it and, thinking fast, James feins a swing to the left and then dives to the right of the death eater, cracking the baseball bat against the man's ribs and getting a satisfying crunch for his efforts. The death eater crumples, yelling, and James kicks him hard across the face, then again, then again. Blood splatters across the tile.

There, on the ground, the death eater goes still.

For a few moments, James stands in the silence, staring down at the unconscious guards. I did that. It's a strange mixture of intense horror and furious, glowing pride.

High above, there's a whining, rattling sound. James looks up in time to see the telephone box descend out of the ceiling again.

When it touches down in front of him, Remus and Lily pile out together, staring from James and his bloody boots and his baseball bat, to the guards piled on the tiles.

"Wow," Remus says breathlessly.

"Yeah," murmurs James. "I did it."

"Great," Lily says, all business. "Remus, come on, let's get them out of here. James, stay here."

James nods, watching his friends haul the heavy bodies off towards the floos, where they pile them up in an empty grate. There's a sticky splatter of blood on the side of his face, lashed across his cheek. He imagines he must look completely ridiculous.

Lily prods at one of the blood trails on the ground with her foot. "Guess somebody else will clean them up," she mutters.

Remus takes James' side. "You with us?" he asks.

James shakes himself, nodding. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm good." He grins then, bright and fierce. "I'm great."

Remus grins back at him. "Good. Let's get this over with."

Lily reaches into her cloth shoulder bag, pulling out three canisters of spray paint and handing them to James and Remus, keeping one for herself. Atop each has been taped a smaller pressurised pouch of betony, with a tiny plastic tube made of a muggle straw plastered atop the nozzle.

"It should spray out both at the same time," she explains, as the three of them stride across the atrium to the far wall, rounded and visible from all directions, spanning sixty feet wide. "The betony should make it impossible to magically clean off the paint, and pretty bloody difficult to clean manually, too."

"And you're sure they won't explode on impact?" James confirms, watching Remus' muggle overshirt stream out around him as he walks. Bloody hell, he looks cool like that.

Lily nods. "Well. Mostly."

"Right. That's reassuring."

Remus examines the wall for a moment, eyes narrowed. An artist scoping out a new canvas. "Okay," he murmurs. "James, start at the bottom with 'still' - that last bit can afford to be a little smaller."

"Got it." James shakes the paint canister, listening to the satisfying rattle. "You've got more of this stuff, right, Lils?"

"He asks as if I haven't thought of every possibility," Lily says arily. "Remus, do you want me on 'army'?"

"Yeah," Remus says, taking the far end to the left, furthest from James. James watches him fish around in his pocket for a bandana, knotting it around the back of his head and pulling tight, then shuffling it up over his nose and mouth. Lily and James do the same with their own.

Then, James raises the spray can and presses down on the nozzle.

The sharp smell of muggle paint mixes with the tangy bitterness of betony on the air. Brilliant gold spray splatters across the green-tiled wall in a tight, glittering trail. Splatters of paint whip out onto James' sleeves and clothes and a few speckles onto his face.

For the first time since June, he feels like he's doing magic again. And it's wonderful.

Remus lets out a startled laugh from across the atrium, and without looking over James can hear the grin in it. Lily's laughing too, astonished and bright. James raises the can high, held back so the shape of the letters is wider, their lines thicker, and traces a tall 'S' onto the wall, stretching high above his head and right down to the floor, where the paint drips onto the skirting, beading with condensation.

They must spend hours there, for how long it feels, tracing the words into the wall. James finishes his section and switches with Lily, whose red paint she uses to outline his own words while he traces her scarlet lettering in gold. Then Remus adds silvery grey embellishments to the whole thing, nimble hands swooping and diving over the words, making them pop from the wall like an explosion. It's wild and wonderful like magic is. James feels like if he only closes his eyes, he could imagine he's still back at Hogwarts. But there's no time to close his eyes.

They've still got three canisters left by the time the lettering is done, so Lily, laughing like a maniac, takes a can of neon pink and sprints off towards the elevators to deface them in luminescent fuschia. Remus grabs James' hand and drags him to the statue in the centre of the atrium - a tall, white wizard, standing alone overlooking the room - and they hose it down in tones of peacock blue and gamma green, running in dizzying circles around it until it looks more like a defective lab experiment than a statue, dripping in goopy paint.

"Wait," Remus tells him, laughing in that gaspy way like it's so funny he's lost his breath. "Wait-"

He drags them both to a stop and they spin off at a loose angle, hands tangled, tripping over one another's legs as they lilt across the atrium floor like ballroom dancers. James laughs desperately into Remus' face and they breathe in the same tight, chemical-smelling air.

"Wait," Remus says again, and steadies himself against James. "Turn around, turn around, let me-"

James spins and hears the hiss of Remus' spray can against the back of his jacket. "What are you putting on there?"

"You'll see." Remus finishes. "Don't lean against anything for a bit."

"Okay," James grins, spinning back around. Remus' bandana-covered, paint-splattered face is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Lily comes running. From behind James, she says, "What does that- oh."

Remus smiles secretively at her. When James catches his eye, he winks.

"What time is it?" James asks distractedly, handing the last canister back to Lily, who stows it in her purse, along with Remus'.

"Almost three," Lily tells them. "The guard rotation changes soon, we should- we should get out of here." Her smile is still stuck to her face, though, so the sense of urgency doesn't quite evoke alarm.

"Right. Right, come on, let's get out of here-"

Remus snares his wrist. "Wait," he says. "Let me just-"

He staggers towards their largest message, up against the wall. Lily and James follow, and the three of them stop to take it in for a moment. Red, silver and gold. Bright and bold and completely unmissable.

PADFOOT'S ARMY: STILL RECRUITING

"I like it," Remus decides. He wraps James' hand in his own. James squeezes very hard.

"Me, too," he says.

"It's good," Lily says. Without any doubt. "It'll be enough, I think." She clears her throat. "Now, if we don't get out of here soon we're going to get murdered, so let's run."

"Okay," James says. He turns away from the message. "Let's run," he agrees.

Pads,

WE DID IT! WE BLOODY WELL DID IT!

You would have loved it! We messed the whole place up, graffiti'd the walls and the elevators and that huge awful statue. I've never seen Remus so happy, and Lily, too. I think we all needed it. We just got back to the hotel room (we had to floo to Diagon Alley from the Ministry and then run home, but we didn't get caught!) and we all stink of chemicals and betony. Remus is smoking a cigarette out of the window. Lily's taken the first shower.

The prick spray-painted the back of my jacket! PA + RL. Padfoot's Army, Remus Lupin. I think he thinks I'm gonna throw it away, but the betony's made the paint all bright and glassy so I'm keeping it, it looks so bloody cool. And I knocked out two guards, Pads! Kablam, kaboom, with my baseball bat! I left the bat there, which is a let-down, but Lily says we can find another one. I did it! All on my own! Left them feeling very sorry they clocked in today, I bet.

Man! Man! Man! I'm going to have an adrenaline crash and it's going to wipe me out and I don't even care!

I love you!

Yours,

(a very happy, wishing you were here) Prongs.

"What an eventful week!" Gambit starts the next broadcast with, two days later. James, Lily and Remus, sitting in a tight circle on the hotel room floor around the radio, exchange furtive looks. "So much to discuss, isn't there, Lyric?"

"Doubt it'll be news to anybody, but yeah, it's been quite the time!" Lyric agrees jovially. "Amazing stuff, just amazing!"

"Before we get into the news," Gambit takes over, "For any new listeners, welcome one and all to the fourth weekly broadcast of Direct Action, your number one source on all things magical Britain that the Prophet doesn't want you to hear about. This week is mostly good news - and thank god, we're in dire need of it - but, as always, we'll start with the sour stuff. I'm Gambit, your host, passing off to Lyric for this week's death toll."

"Thanks, Gambit," Lyric says. "First off, we've got news that a group of French freedom fighters in Surrey have been found dead in a muggle bus station. Names as-of-yet unknown, but we do know there were four of them, all ex-Beauxbatons. If anybody has any information on their identities, uh, reach out, I suppose. Sure you can find us if you look hard enough."

Lily and James glance at one another, raising their eyebrows.

"What else have we got… ah, yeah. We've had a family member come forward and let us know that Andromeda Black was killed two months ago, at the Rosier Wedding. Our condolences to her loved ones. A Black family defector rumoured to have been aiding the rebellion, she will be missed."

James' heart clenches. He closes his eyes for a long moment, unable to look at Lily's and Remus' concerned faces.

"We've also got reports that Veela rights advocate Ardella Boots has been found strangled outside of her Oxfordshire flat early this morning. Hogwarts-educated and Scottish, she was known for her extensive work for Veela equality, as well as her contributions to muggle feminism and her advocacy for half-breed liberation. Salute to her tonight, folks; what a fantastic life."

The air is sufficiently soured now. Remus folds his hands in his lap, crossing and uncrossing his fingers just like James does. James stares at the radio like he can will it to share good news. Lily sighs, long and heavy, and rolls onto her back to look at the ceiling, her side pressed up against Remus'.

"As for missing persons," Gambit takes over solemnly, "Professor Slughorn, head of Slytherin house and potions master at Hogwarts, has reportedly been missing for over a week now. While he's due to be replaced soon, we're on the look-out for him, and so should all of you be, too. We've no extra news on any other open missing persons, though there are rumours that Rubeus Hagrid has been sighted overseas. We can't confirm any of these, but hey, here's to hoping, I suppose…"

"For all the curious people asking us," Lyric takes over, slightly mirthful, "No, we haven't got any news on the Black Brothers. As fascinating as that whole thing is, I get the impression the elder doesn't want to be found. As soon as we know anything, you'll know, we promise."

"Now!" Gambit claps her hands near the mic and makes it ring out for a second. "Ah, apologies. Now. Onto the good news. Lyric, if you will."

"For anybody who's been living under a rock," Lyric scoffs, "Two days ago, in the early hours of Sunday morning, at the London headquarters of the Ministry, two guards were found knocked out and shoved into one of the floos by the unfortunate workers due to take the next shift. Knocked out by muggle weapons - some sources are telling us it was a baseball bat, or at least, that's what the guards said - they had been attacked by an unidentified teenage in muggle clothing and stowed away."

"And the ministry entrance hall," Gambit says, laughing, "Is painted tip to tail with muggle spray paint, would you believe it? 'Padfoot's Army: Still Recruiting' along the wall of the atrium, and apparently, no matter how hard the Ministry tries to scrub it off, the paint won't lift! Absolutely brilliant! To the kids that did this: you're the real war effort here, we're very proud of you."

"For anybody who doesn't know," Lyric says, "Padfoot's Army- well, it's a little complicated- 'Padfoot' was one of Sirius Black's nicknames in school. When he vanished, some young Gryffindors allegedly - ALLEGEDLY, Gambit! We were prefects, so we didn't know for sure - started an underground training regime, getting kids to learn how to fight Dark wizards and the like, in readiness for the war. We're not naming the leaders here, for their own safety and because they're still underage, but we know who you are, and we're pretty sure you're listening, you gutsy kids, stick it to 'em!"

Gambit hoots celebratorily. "Good stuff, good stuff. Great for morale. We'll be making contact with Padfoot's Army very soon, so maybe one of these days we can have these kids on the show, Lyric?"

"That sounds divine, Gambit."

"Then for you, I'll make it happen."

"My heart belongs only to you," Lyric proclaims. Both hosts snicker.

"Okay!" Gambit says, taking the reins of the show again. "Now! In other news, here's a rundown of some recent Ministry legislation…"

Padfoot's Army,

Hoping this letter finds you! Not sure you're in good health, so I suppose that might have been an odd way to start it.

We figured you wanted to talk to us, with a stunt like that. Or, well, if we're not that important you can let the owl come back without a letter, and it'll be quite humiliating for everybody involved, I'm sure.

So. Still recruiting? So are we.

Cheers,

Friends of London.

Friends of London,

Cheers to you lot! We love 'Direct Action', lifts our spirits greatly. We're hiding out in a pretty eponymous place, so it shouldn't be too hard to get to you, if you'll let us. We want to get to know you, want to put faces to the voices. We also desperately need protection, information, money, food, aid. Other such ordinary things.

It's me and the two other ringleaders, and that's all. We've been on the run for a while. Already wrote a letter to you and it didn't get to you. We've got some pretty valuable information we're pretty sure nobody else has. Get in contact quick. We've had trouble getting into Gringotts, with the whole world ending and everything, so we're quite broke.

Glad you enjoyed our stunt! It was fun. Honestly, I think we could all do with a laugh right now.

Hoping to see you soon,

Padfoot's Army.

"We're really doing this," Remus whispers to James that night, their letter to the Friends of London sent only hours before. Neither of them has written to Sirius tonight. There will always be time tomorrow.

James nods, watching Remus from his own pillow. They stare into each other's eyes in the peaky darkness. "We are."

Remus scans his face, eyes dragging over every wrinkle, every pimple. They trace the planes of James' cheeks. Something in his face says, I will love you until there's no love left.

"We'll find him," James promises. "You know we will."

"How can you be sure?"

James shuffles their hands together under the covers. "Because if anybody's better at making trouble than us, it's him."

Remus smiles nakedly. "I don't know that that's enough."

"We'll make it enough."

"That's not how it works, James."

"He wouldn't want us to worry."

Remus laughs. "Yes, he would, and you know it."

James does know it. There's no getting around it. "Kiss me?" he asks.

Remus hesitates. "Okay."