"I need to get out of the castle," James said, and squared his shoulders. It had been a week since Lily's funeral and Harry was safe in Poppy Pomfrey's office, so James had gone to visit Minerva for a cup of tea and to mark spelling on a stack of third year essays.

Minerva didn't even look up from her roll of parchment. "I think you may be right," she said. She nudged the tin of ginger newts closer to James, and he took one, feeling a little let down.

"I don't mean that I'm ungrateful," he started, but Minerva stopped him.

"Of course you're not ungrateful," she said. Her expression could only be described as fondly exasperated. "You loved school and you loved the castle, but you no longer live here. You're not a student, but you're far too young to be a parent or a professor. In a certain sense, Hogwarts will always be home, but it's not where you belong right now."

James tried not to look as awestruck - and sad - as he felt. "I think that settles it, Professor, you really do know everything."

Minerva did not smile, though it looked like it took effort. "I was your Head of House for seven years, Mr. Potter."

"Yeah," he said, and stared through the parchment comparing the relative difficulties of Transfiguring vertebrate vs. invertebrate aquatic animals.

"But that's not the only reason," she guessed, and James sighed and pushed away the essay.

"I don't much fancy seeing Professor Dumbledore," he said.

Minerva nodded and set aside her own essays. "I suspected so," she said. She got up from her desk and opened a cupboard, and doctored first her tea then James' with a dollop of Firewhiskey. "Why don't you want to see the Headmaster?"

"Why don't you tell me?" he asked, with humor he didn't feel.

"I think you need to hear yourself say it," she chided, and James glowered into his tea.

"I lost my head during that Order meeting," he said.

"Everyone's lost their head at an Order meeting, James," Minerva said. "I think it's something else, and I think you know it."

James glowered. "I don't - I don't know how much I trust him right now," he finally said, like a confession. "Not - I don't think he's Dark, he started the Order - but I don't know if I want him in my head right now."

Minerva nodded. "I suspected so."

"But mostly," he said, "I need to think of Harry. They're already calling him the Boy Who Lived -" he made sure to put the proper quota of scorn into that moniker "- and he needs his dad. I can't forget about Lily - I don't think anyone could - but I also, I need to, to get on with my own life." He took a deep breath. "And there're people who would love to keep a close eye on my son, because Voldemort couldn't kill him."

"Yes, the students are quite taken with the rumors that are flying around. One of my Fourth Years was convinced that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had finally developed a shred of human sympathy. Another tried telling me that this meant that Potter males were immune to the Killing Curse."

James buried his head in his hands. "I don't know which of those is more ridiculous," he moaned behind his fingers. He looked up hopefully. "D'you think you could...? I mean..."

Minerva snorted. "If I spent my time chasing rumors, I'd never do anything else. The students will find another passing fancy, as soon as the next Witch Weekly or Best Broomstick is out."

James gave her a pained look. "Voldemort's fall is a lot more important - why don't they -"

"Because they're teenagers, James. Their world is as narrow as what's in front of them. They laugh and cry at the drop of a hat, and the most important things to them are which couples have paired off, Quidditch standings, and the exam they don't know that I've set for next week." She gave him a sharp look over her spectacles. "I remember when the only things on your mind were beating Slytherin and chasing Lily Evans."

James ignored the stinging in his eyes and tried for a grin. "And pranking the venerable Minerva McGonagall, of course."

"But of course," she said, voice dry as parchment. She finally set aside the essays and ink, and cast a quick scourgify on her quill. "Start asking questions. Where do you want to live? Do you want a magical, village, Muggle, or some combination?"

James eyed her suspiciously. "Are you...helping me house-hunt?"

"My purview as an educator does not end at your commencement," she said loftily. "You needn't answer, but these are things to think about. What about the structure? A flat, or a house? Would you build or purchase?"

James sighed. "I don't want to go back to Godric's," he said slowly. "Lily's still too close, and I don't think I can - can handle that right now." He wiped his eyes roughly and considered some of her other questions. "I dunno if I'd like to build, either. It would take too long." He winced as he thought of the havoc that a magical toddler could (and already had) cause. "I think a house would be easier to hide accidental magic, too." He could teach Harry to fly, and Sirius could keep a garden - unless he would rather live elsewhere. He hoped Padfoot would stay with them, anyway. "Plus, we could build a strongroom for Remus, for the...the full moons..."

Oh, Merlin, Moony.

He hadn't spoken to Remus in months.

James looked up at Minerva, stricken. "I need to find Remus," he said hoarsely. "I need to - Merlin, I need to find a way to apologize for being a great bloody idiot, I can't believe what a prat I was." He stood. "Can I use your fireplace?"

Minerva stood as well and grabbed his shoulders. "Sit down, it's the full moon tonight."

"I'll be fine," he said, already envisioning fur and antlers and long, graceful limbs, but Minerva gripped hard and he winced slightly.

"You may have misjudged your friend, James, but getting yourself killed will not help," she snapped, and James realized where he was, and what exactly he was proposing. "We have someone scheduled to visit tomorrow morning, but until then, Remus is on his own."

He nodded, feeling almost lightheaded. "I...you're right. I just, I guess I forgot," he said lamely.

There was something in her stare that James didn't want to think about, but she simply nodded her head once, and pressed a ginger newt into his hands.

"You know, Professor," he said, grinning a little, "if you'd taught every student like that, there wouldn't be a single failing mark in any of your classes."

Elsewhere, a wolf howled angrily. He was so hungry. He hurt everywhere, but most of all in his chest. The others, the ones that always joined him for these nights were gone.

He wanted them, but a voice told him that they would never come again, and it was a bitter hurt that fueled the wolf's rage that night.

I saw Endgame this weekend. A damn good movie.

Thanos demands your silence.