Previously in the Darklyverse: Emmeline spent several weeks in St. Mungo's following a suicide attempt. Emmeline and Sirius tried to reconcile their friendship, which had splintered in fourth year after Emmeline's parents were murdered. When Mary and Marlene's friendship ended, Mary gravitated toward Peter and Emmeline.

Revised version uploaded 30 January 2022.

xx

February 25th, 1978: Emmeline Vance

Emmeline has to say, as annoying as Mary can be sometimes, hanging out with her and Peter all day every day is an infinite improvement over being in the hospital. She's been back at Hogwarts for over a month now, and she keeps second-guessing it, like the staff from St. Mungo's are going to come for her and show up here ready to take her back to that place, claiming that her discharge was a mistake. While she was there, they took away her freedom, her ability to make decisions for herself—hell, they even took her wand, and she felt naked without it, has started sleeping with it underneath her pillow just so it's always on hand if she needs to remind herself where she is.

She missed magic. She missed classes and Order meetings and War Stories. Having her friends Floo in through the fireplaces was one of the few blessings she experienced at St. Mungo's, but still, she missed Peter and even missed the others—missed seeing them all in a setting where she was free to be herself, where she wasn't trapped.

So she's been feeling a swell of affection for Mary, who is absolutely using Emmeline as a replacement for Marlene now that the two of them are fighting, but Emmeline was so lonely before that she doesn't even mind. Two months ago, Mary would have just turned to the Hufflepuffs and not given Emmeline a second thought if she were on bad terms with Marlene; now, Mary sees her as someone she can actually turn to and lean on and be around, and—it's nice to have that from someone besides just Peter.

All of the Gryffindor seventh years visited her at St. Mungo's, even if it was just once or twice, and Emmeline has not forgotten. She wishes that—she doesn't know what would be an appropriate token to show her gratitude, but she wishes she could think of one.

Even Sirius has kept his word and continued to spend time with her now that she's out. They don't talk about much—Peter does the most to keep the conversation afloat when Sirius joins them—but he wants to spend time with her. That's all Emmeline really cares about—knowing that he cares, that he hasn't forgotten.

So she's more than a little surprised when Mary comes to Emmeline feeling upset about how things stand between her and Marlene. Emmeline hadn't realized that Mary actually, you know, valued Emmeline's opinion about anything or wanted to confide in her like a real friend and not just a replacement.

"I can't believe her. I just can't believe her," Mary is saying, wringing her hands. "I mean, just the other day, I ran into her in the dormitory, and she called me some horrible things—jealous and petty and shallow and—I know there was more. Like, I know I'm not perfect, and I've made mistakes, but I don't deserve the—the vitriol she's directing at me. All I did was want my best friend back—is that really so bad? Bad enough that she doesn't even want to be friends with me at all anymore?"

"Have you tried just—telling her that you miss her?"

"It's not that simple."

"So that's a no, then," says Emmeline, though she's smiling a little.

Mary smiles back. "I don't know. We've only talked once since we fought, and like I said, it didn't go well. Lene acts like she's determined to wash her hands of me. I'm not really keen on going back and, like, groveling to someone who's just going to insult me and trivialize our whole relationship."

"Yeah, well, you can't force people to be what you want them to be. I couldn't make Sirius go back to the way things were. I think you just have to—to find a way forward with everything you can't change."

"And what if the way forward is without Marlene? What do I do if we can't get it back?"

Emmeline bites her lip. "I think at a certain point you just have to accept that you can't change what you can't change."

"But… I don't want to accept a world without her in it."

"I know. But sometimes you have to. I felt the same way for a long time about my parents."

Mary rubs her forehead with her hand. "God, listen to me carrying on about losing Marlene when—it's not like she died."

"I—sorry. I didn't mean to minimize what you're going through," says Emmeline awkwardly.

"No, it's okay. Perspective," says Mary. "I'll just… I don't know what I'm going to do, but I have to do something. I can't keep loving her like she's… I have to learn how to love her less."

"I wouldn't say that," says Emmeline. "It's okay to still care about her just as much—it's just a matter of being okay with having her in your life just as a memory."

"But I… it's like…"

But Emmeline doesn't get to hear what it's like because Sirius takes that moment to come up to them both. "Hey," says Emmeline. "Grab a seat?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you two wanted to come with Remus and me. We're going to sneak out to buy Peter some new guitar tabs, you know, now that he's not absolutely awful at playing it."

Sneaking out isn't really Emmeline's style, but she's so relieved that Sirius is asking her to come with him someplace that she says, "I'm in if Mary's in."

"Yeah, why not?" says Mary, and that's that.

The walk through the passageway behind the mirror is long and cramped; Emmeline's back is killing her by the time they get spat back out at Madam Puddifoot's. They Apparate out of the bathroom into Muggle London, where they start hunting for the music shop that Peter has mentioned offhandedly before.

Mary is looking over Remus's shoulder as they flip through tabs, so Emmeline meanders over to where Sirius is standing at the other half of the store, leafing through old vinyls. "I don't think Peter has a record player," she says.

Sirius jumps a little bit, but then he sees it's her and relaxes his shoulders. "I was thinking of getting one for my and Lily's flat. I used to have one at my parents' house, but it—got left behind when I, uh, when I ran away."

"Oh. That's too bad," says Emmeline.

"It's all right. It's nothing that can't be replaced." He smiles at her and puts back the record he was looking at. "Hey—are you sure you're okay? It can't have been easy being stuck in that place not knowing when you were going to get free."

"I—I've been trying not to think much about it, to be perfectly honest."

"And is that working for you?"

Emmeline considers. "No, I guess it's not."

"Want to talk about it?"

What she tries to say is "no," but instead it comes out as, "I would have died if it would have meant getting out of there. I tried to focus on all the things I was going to do at Hogwarts when I got out, but I was so scared I never would get out. They take your words and they twist them against you in there."

"Yeah, I get that," says Sirius grimly. "My parents are like that, too. You say something they don't like, and they keep holding it against you over time, even if you try to take it back just to make them happy. They're never happy."

"That's exactly it—and eventually you realize that you can't do anything to make them happy, if they've made up their minds about you."

"Yep," says Sirius, looking haunted.

"How did you stand it for all those years? Because I was barely in there for more than a month, and I can't get over how angry and powerless I feel."

Sirius shrugs. "I try to keep reminding myself that I'm here and they can't hurt me here, and I try to be around other people who don't treat me like that as much as I can. I don't know, though. I don't think I'm dealing as well as I should be. I still have to sleep with my wand under my pillow."

"I've been doing the same thing," Emmeline admits. "I was hoping it would get easier."

"Maybe it will. I don't know, I'm probably a bad test case to compare yourself to. I don't handle—things—well."

She's almost positive Sirius is talking about how he reacted to Emmeline pulling away from him after her parents died (unbeknownst to him) in fourth year, when they had been getting closer romantically. He never actually approached Emmeline to ask what was wrong or if anything had happened—just accepted her shunning him and rebounded hard onto Marlene instead. She doesn't dare mention it, but before she can come up with a decoy, Sirius drops that bomb. "You know, I don't think I ever apologized for letting you leave so easily back—back in fourth year. I didn't understand what was happening, but I should have pushed harder to figure out why you were suddenly avoiding me instead of just taking it at face value."

"It's okay," she says quickly. "I don't think I would have reacted well to you pushing."

"Well, still. It was a shitty friend move on my part, and I'm sorry."

"Thanks," says Emmeline, unsure of what else she's supposed to be saying.

Sirius abruptly shifts from her back to the records. "What do you think?" he asks. "Beatles or—?"

"Definitely Beatles. Always Beatles," says Emmeline, and Sirius grins.

They end up getting Peter a huge pile of tabs, paying for the lot with Muggle money Mary's mum gave her last summer (Sirius gives her a load of his own gold to compensate). By the time they get back to Madam Puddifoot's, it's getting dark, and they scramble through the bathroom into the passage leading back to the castle.

The whole crawl back, Emmeline feels increasingly scared that they're going to get caught having snuck out and she's going to get in trouble and they're going to take her wand away and it's going to be just like St. Mungo's was and—it's all she can do to just control her breathing and tell herself she's being paranoid.

She's here, she tries telling herself. She's out of the hospital, and she's on her way back to the school, and no one can hurt her here.

Sirius seems to sense that something is wrong because, when they get back to the castle, he falls into step with her on the walk back to Gryffindor Tower. "Still okay?"

"More or less," Emmeline hedges.

"You're never going back there. I'll fight off that damn staff myself if I have to. You can hide out at my and Lily's place."

"That sounds nice," says Emmeline with a little laugh.

She's here, and she's not going back. Her sister got her out. All she has to do is not try to kill herself again, and she's in the clear.

So why does it feel like she's in constant danger?

xx

She almost skips War Stories the next day—she would have done, anyway, if it weren't for Mary. It's the group's second meeting since Emmeline got back from St. Mungo's, and at the first, she felt like everybody was whispering about her the whole time. It's not like that's new; people are still talking about what happened at the end of last year, and on top of it, gossip about her suicide attempt have been following Emmeline everywhere she goes. She just—War Stories is supposed to be a safe place where they do what little they can to help with the war effort, now that they know they're stuck in this castle without any means to fight until they graduate, and having it turned into a spectacle like that just seemed to ruin it for her last time.

But Mary puts her foot down and says she won't go unless Emmeline does. Even though Mary's been categorically avoiding Marlene, who will surely be at the meeting, this still sort of surprises Emmeline. It keeps catching her off guard to see Mary actually act like she gives a damn about Emmeline being around. She doesn't want to be responsible for Mary feeling any more disconnected from the other Gryffindors than she already does, so Emmeline agrees to accompany her there, even though she's already half regretting it.

And for the first twenty minutes, she does regret it—but then things get interesting when one of Meredith McKinnon's Slytherin friends, Deb Cygnet, stumbles into the Great Hall with a black envelope clutched in her hands.

Emmeline's stomach drops to the floor. She knows what that letter means—she's known what black envelopes from the Ministry mean since she got one of her own in fourth year.

Lily is in the middle of an anecdote about the first time she ever lied about her blood status at Hogwarts, but she cuts herself off and gives Deb a friendly wave. "Oh, hey, Deb, thanks for joining us. We were just—uh—oh." She cuts her greeting short when her eyes fall on Deb's hands.

"It's okay," says Deb in a numb sort of voice. "It's not like I'm the first person to lose a loved one in this war."

And then her face crumples and her knees buckle.

Emmeline is on her feet so fast that she's crossed half the Great Hall before she registers that she's even gotten up. She barely knows Deb—she said hello to her when Meredith first introduced them, and she's responded to her comments during meetings a couple of times, but their one-on-one social interactions are basically zilch. But Emmeline knows what it's like to get one of those letters and feel like your whole world has just fallen apart, maybe better than most people in this room do, and she can't just leave Deb hunched over the floor alone like that.

"Who was it?" Emmeline asks with as much sensitivity as she can muster. She isn't sure what to do now that she's down on the ground with Deb, but she puts a clumsy hand on Deb's shoulder, and Deb doesn't try and buck her off or anything, which is a good sign.

"My parents and—and my little brother. He's only—was only nine."

"I'm sorry. I'm not going to say it'll get easier—it never really gets easier—but in a few months, it won't feel so fresh."

"Yeah, because you know exactly what this feels like," Deb chokes out. Deb's friends—Helen and Mark and even Meredith—are kind of glaring at Emmeline.

And then she remembers—nobody here but the Gryffindor seventh years actually knows about her parents. Deb's probably going to think Emmeline's talking out her arse here if she doesn't—come clean.

"Actually, I do," she admits quietly. "I was a fourth year when Death Eaters murdered my parents, and I made things a lot worse for myself by shutting out everyone who might have helped me get through it."

This admission, at least, gets some of the students to stare at Emmeline instead of Deb. Good, she decides: the last thing Deb needs right now is to feel like a spectacle.

"Wait a second," says Pol Patil loudly. Emmeline rolls her eyes before he even gets another word out: trust Patil to stick his nose where it doesn't belong. "Death Eaters killed your parents in fourth year? Why the hell have none of us heard anything about this until now?"

"Because it's never been any of your bloody business," says Sirius hotly. Emmeline holds in a smile.

"Until last year," she says, raising her voice a little, "nobody knew. Most of my friends didn't even know until a few weeks ago. I, um… I placed the blame where it didn't belong, and I can't ever get back all the support I could have had if I had just told somebody."

"But why not tell anybody?"

"Were you claiming to be pureblood?" asks a second year avidly. Emmeline rolls her eyes.

"Who did you think was to blame?" Patil adds.

"No, I wasn't—everyone knew I was a half-blood. I, uh…"

Emmeline isn't really sure how to answer this, but Sirius spares her the trouble of having to decide how to cover for him when he says, "Because the Death Eater who was probably responsible was someone I knew—someone who wanted to hurt me by getting to somebody I loved."

Deb pulls herself into a sitting position, but Emmeline does her one better by standing and extending her own hand. "Come on. Let's sit down. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Can I just, um… can I ask you something?" Deb asks as they hobble to the Hufflepuff table, where everybody's sitting today.

"Yeah, anything. I'm an open book." She makes eye contact with Peter and hastily looks away; everyone in this room who knows anything about Emmeline knows that this wasn't the case until very, very recently.

"How did you handle it? I mean, I… with where you just came from… was losing your parents part of it? How am I supposed to…?"

Right—of course Deb is going to want to know if Emmeline's parents' deaths were related to her hospital stay. This whole room is probably dying to know. Somehow, though, Emmeline isn't offended.

"You're not going to end up like me," she says loudly, casting glares around the watching faces as if to threaten anybody who disagrees. "I was messed up for a long time about losing them—and, if I'm being honest, I still am. It's the most influential thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm never going to be the same—but I went through the brunt of it alone, and that's not going to happen to you. My depression—my stint in St. Mungo's—it had a lot to do with feeling totally isolated from everyone around me, and that's not going to happen to you if you don't try and hold everything in."

"She's right," says James. His voice is wavering like he's nervous, and Emmeline realizes what he's about to say a second before he says it: "I know it's not the same, but my parents have been dying of spattergroit all year, and one of the only reasons I'm still standing here is because I've been able to lean on my friends through it."

"My parents died two years ago," Lily adds. "It wasn't war-related, but it was sudden, and I took it hard—but it got easier when I started letting people help me. I'll bet you almost anybody in this room would try to help you if you let them, even if they don't always know the right thing to say. But look—before anybody says anything else, there's something I need to add. Em, are you okay with me—with me talking about you and your parents for a second?"

Dumbfounded, Emmeline just nods.

"Okay. What I mean to say is—what you've been through is not your fault. It's easier if you lean on people, but you didn't know who to trust, and you did not do this to yourself just because you shut down. I shut down, too, for a while. Everyone handles grief in different ways, and especially given the—circumstances—of your parents' deaths, you shouldn't ever, ever blame yourself for your depression setting in after it happened. That's really, really, really important—not just to you but to everyone—to know. Okay? There's no right or wrong here. We just… do our best to cope with impossible situations."

And suddenly, Emmeline wishes they were out of the Great Hall and somewhere alone where she could—thank Lily, maybe, or hug her, or break down in front of her without anybody around to have an opinion about it. She puts an arm around Deb and squeezes the young girl against her side and wonders if maybe, maybe, this is what redemption looks like.