Chapter 26: I Can Be the Problem
"Don't hex the owl," Sirius said, holding his hands up in defence.
For reasons known only to himself, James' best friend and brother had decided to wait until after dinner, wait until that relaxing wind-down time before bed, to tell him about the note Lily had received that morning. They'd had all day to discuss it, and Sirius had had ample opportunities to bring it up, given that they'd spent most of their lazy Saturday sitting in the common room studying (a fact only slightly made up for by the knowledge that even if they were free to go outside, they couldn't, since it was hammering down with rain and had been all day).
But no, Sirius had decided it was best left until the girls had drifted up to their dormitory, and Peter and Remus had gone off in search of an evening snack, and only then did he think to mention it.
"I wouldn't—" James started, frowning. "Why didn't she say something herself?"
Sirius sighed with a shrug. "I think she's trying to rise above it," he replied. "You know what she can be like. Stoic to the point of insanity." He raked his hand through his hair, pushing the long locks out of his face. "I tried to get her to see that there's something very cathartic about losing your shit and letting it all out, but…"
"Yeah." As far as he could tell, in his years of studying Lily Evans from far away, from up close, from the middle distance, she wasn't one for letting anger take over her. The only time he could remember seeing her lose it was, well…after the incident by the lake at the end of fifth year. An incident he didn't like to think about much.
He shook his head. "I should—I'm going to see if…" He couldn't seem to finish his sentence, but judging by the arch of Sirius' eyebrow and the knowing glint in his eye, he didn't need to. "I'll be back in a bit."
With a sense of purpose—and, to be honest, an excuse to see Lily again, even if he'd only seen her last maybe an hour ago tops—he hauled himself off the sofa and made his way over to the girls' staircase. It was still strange, knowing he had free reign to go wherever he liked now, although he had been quick to remind his mates that didn't mean he would take advantage of that fact. This was the first time he'd made use of his Head Boy ability to ascend the girls' stairs without turning it into a slide. That had to show his integrity and strength of character, right?
He made quick work of the stairs, passing an only slightly alarmed looking second year as he went ("Head Boy business!" he called after her, and hoped desperately that Sirius couldn't hear, because he would give him no end of grief for it if he could), and soon found himself on the landing outside the seventh year girls' dorm. It looked for all the world like every other dorm door he'd passed, except for one small difference: a piece of parchment had been tacked to the door, with the words, 'For the love of Merlin, KNOCK first' scrawled across it in what James was certain was Meadowes' distinctive handwriting.
He hesitated for just a moment before knocking, feeling a sudden and unwelcome wave of self-doubt. This was fine, wasn't it? He was here as her friend. No reason to overthink things.
With a nod, he finally knocked, and heard a peal of laughter break out on the other side of the door before it swung open and he came face to face with…
"McKinnon?" he asked, frowning. "Is that you?"
Marlene's face was covered in some kind of bright green goo, her dark curls scraped back into a loose bun; behind her, more laughter rang out.
"Yes, hello Potter, lovely to see you," she replied. "How can I help?"
"Um…" James paused, glancing over her shoulder: he could see Mary, Lily and Dorcas in their dressing gowns, strewn across someone's bed, all with the same green goo on their faces. "Are you lot having some kind of medical emergency?"
"They're called face masks, you pleb," Meadowes called, her tone suggesting that it should have been common knowledge and not some sort of strange girl ritual that had entirely passed him by.
"Right," he agreed, for want of anything else to say. "Okay, well, in that case—sorry to interrupt your…mask evening, but—"
"You want to speak to Lily?" Marlene asked, a knowing smirk on her face.
He tried not to react in any way that would show her she'd got to him; he just stared back at her impassively. "Yes," he confirmed. "Head business, you know how it is."
"Oooh," Mary's voice added to the fray. "Head business! Sounds serious…"
Lily was clambering off the bed, adjusting her dressing gown and rolling her eyes at her friends—he determinedly did not look at the flash of pale skin that showed before she adjusted the terry cloth neckline—and wandered over to the door, nudging Marlene with her hip as she went. "Don't crack into the second bottle without me," she told her friend solemnly, before smiling up at James and nodding to the small landing to his right, where a stone bench had been carved into the wall making for an atmospheric (if cold) window seat. "What's on?"
He moved to sit down as the door closed behind them, and Lily sat too, arranging her robe so her modesty was well protected. "It's not really Head business," he admitted, and she smiled again with a knowing sigh. "I talked to Sirius…"
"Well, he does live in the same dorm as you," she replied lightly. "I imagine you talk a lot."
He tried to fix her with the sort of look that his mother was an expert in; judging from her reaction, it didn't work in quite the same way. "You know what I mean," he said. "About the note."
Lily nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and met his gaze once more; once more, he secretly marvelled at how someone could be so utterly lovely, even when their face was bright green. "I'm okay," she promised him. "You don't need to worry."
James frowned. "Are you really okay? Because the things it said—"
She was already shrugging, as if it meant nothing. "Look, it's pathetic that they have to stoop to saying these things," she replied. It was hard to deny that she really did seem okay, despite it all. He tried to take comfort in that. "Because otherwise they have to admit to themselves that I, someone with impure blood—"
"Hey—"
"—beat out their precious pureblood princesses for this role purely through my talent, my skill." She shook her head. "Let them say I used my nethers if they want to, it doesn't make it true." At that, she let out a snort of laughter. "And to do what, anyway? Shag Dumbledore? I'm sorry but he's not my type."
James allowed her a smile at that. "Not sure you're his, either, if the rumours are to be believed."
"Well, exactly," she agreed, and reached for his hand. Hers was warm, strong; it soothed him more than he'd thought it would. "I won't pretend it didn't give me a shock when I found it, but honestly, James—I've moved past it. Christ, if I let every little thing like that get to me, I'd be a permanent ball of stress."
He nodded slowly. "Okay. I see that you're okay," he allowed, and paused. "And I'm glad you're okay, because the thought of that cretinous bullshit getting to you…" He trailed off, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "You're a thousand times better than all of them put together, and they know it."
She gave his hand a squeeze. "I think you're exaggerating just a tad," she replied. "But thanks." She was quiet a few moments, just looking down at their hands clasped together, and he wondered what was going through her mind, if her thoughts were taking the same complicated route his were… Then, she looked up. "They are getting more brazen, though," she said. "I worry how it's affecting the younger students. Not everyone has their own support squad like I do, after all."
"True," he agreed.
"We should do something. Organise something," she decided. He did so enjoy the timbre of her voice when she had an idea, something to get stuck into—she became a woman on a mission. "A kind of Head students, SWEN, fuck-you-note-senders kind of thing."
He didn't say what his initial reaction was: that he would follow her into fiendfyre if she asked him to. Instead, he just smiled. "We should," he agreed. "Something that reminds people that they're not alone in this."
She nodded her agreement, her smile growing; she gave his hand one last squeeze, then stood up. "I'll get the girls to start brainstorming ideas," she said. "You and the lads can do the same, then we can see what we've come up with tomorrow."
"Sounds like a plan," he agreed, staying where he was on the cold stone—he felt that if he stood up, walked with her the short distance to her door, he might do something daft like try to kiss her. Now was not the time for daftness. "Back to the face masks and booze, is it?"
She laughed. "Can I tempt you into partaking?" she asked. "It'll do wonders for your pores."
He smirked. "Ah, no thanks. I like my pores…doing whatever it is they're doing now." A pause, holding her gaze far too easily. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
She shot him a fond smile, her hand on the doorknob as she lingered for a moment. "You too," she said, and then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.
James gave himself a moment to gather his wits—far easier to do here than in his own dorm, which was almost always significantly noisier than the girls' staircase could ever hope to be. Then, with a nod to himself, and one last look at the seventh year dorm door for good measure, he pulled himself up and set off back downstairs. There was no sign of Sirius in the common room, so he headed up the boys' staircase, feeling sure that whatever he was about to walk into would be far less calm than the girls' evening had been.
Sure enough, it wasn't exactly peaceful in there: Pete and Remus had returned, and whilst Remus seemed to be concentrating hard on dishing out a fair serving of the various purloined cakes for each of them, Peter was focused on something else.
"Are you really not going to tell them?" he was saying as James entered. "Your best mates?"
"I'll tell them," Remus replied dismissively; James shot Sirius an enquiring look, and received a shrug in return. "Eventually. It's not time-sensitive news, Wormtail."
"No, but—"
"Merlin's sake," Remus muttered, before glancing up, first over at Sirius, then at James. "We bumped into Owain on our way back from the kitchens, and I broke up with him." Now, a look over at Pete. "Happy now?"
Crikey. That wasn't what James had expected him to say. "You—"
Sirius had sat up quite abruptly, enough to dislodge the quidditch magazine he'd been thumbing through and send it fluttering haphazardly to the ground. James wouldn't normally mind, but that was his magazine getting ruined over there. "You dumped him?"
Remus looked uncomfortable, unsurprisingly. "Dumped sounds harsh…"
At that, Peter let out a snort, and then looked alarmed when all three of them turned to look at him. "Oh—I didn't mean to—"
"What are you trying to say, Pete?" Sirius prompted. He loved to stir up a situation if he could; he was probably glad not to be the one in the firing line now.
"Yeah," Remus frowned, "what are you trying to say?"
Peter paused, before saying, hesitantly, like he was being held at wand-point, "Well, you have to admit, the way you did it was a bit...mean." He looked over at James, adding, as if the others might not hear, "He just blurted it out right there in the middle of the Charms corridor."
James winced in sympathy. "Ouch," he said. "And with you still standing there?"
"Me, and Owain's mate Nott," Pete sighed. "It was extremely awkward."
"I am here, you know," Remus interjected. "I can speak for myself."
"Better to get it over and done with, I reckon," Sirius spoke up, reaching for his share of cake. Any sign of surprise was long gone, and now he looked relaxed, almost cheerful. "Ollerton'll be fine in a day or two. Life goes on."
"Remind me not to let you give a eulogy when I die," James shook his head.
"Won't have to," Sirius replied brightly. "You're never dying. Simple as that."
"That's—okay, we're drifting from the point again." James turned back to Remus, trying to understand his friend's expression. He was still faffing about with the cake, trying to smear some chocolate icing off of his bed covers and back onto the slice it had come from. "Are you okay, Moony?"
Remus finally looked up, and James noticed that his cheeks were tinged with pink. He'd expected a lot of different reactions, to be honest, but embarrassed? He hadn't seen that one coming. This truly was a mess of a situation. "I'm fine," Remus assured him, and sounded quite convincing as he did so. "Honestly, Prongs. It…needed to be done, and now it is."
"Still," James frowned, unsure if he should take his friend's reaction at face value. "You are allowed to find it…difficult, or upsetting, or what have you."
"I know." Remus handed over a napkin full of cake, before picking up his own portion. "I'm okay. Promise."
So then why did it feel like it wasn't quite that simple? James wasn't sure, but he had a feeling that he wasn't going to get anywhere close to an answer tonight.
"Okay," he said, and watched as Remus' shoulders sank a little in relief. "Fair enough."
The four of them had never been so quiet eating cake before.
In the time honoured tradition of the Lupin family, Remus went about the days following his break up with Owain mired with embarrassment, shame and a dash of sadness, like a strange brew in a forgotten cauldron. The night after, he'd stared up at the ceiling of his four-poster, trying to shut his brain off so he could sleep—but all he kept seeing, replaying over and over in his head like his very own cinema screen, was Owain's face, his bright smile fading to confusion and sadness in the blink of an eye.
Remus knew that the way he'd gone about the break up was poor at best, and downright cruel at worst. It had just sort of happened: he hadn't been prepared, hadn't expected to bump into Owain and his friend as they walked back up from the kitchens, hadn't thought the words would come rushing out of him, and not even at an opportune pause in the conversation, like a civilised person, but interrupting his boyfriend as he'd excitedly shared his suggestions for what they should do on the first Hogsmeade visit of the year.
Yeah. He was a bastard.
And it wasn't like him to be this way. He prided himself on his sensitivity, his understanding of others' feelings, his empathy and caring nature. He had thought that, of his friend group, he was the one with a passing level of emotional maturity. Now, though, it rather seemed he was outstripped in that department, too.
Luckily, or unluckily, depending on the way you looked at it, Remus didn't have much time to dwell on these things, because the full moon was fast approaching. A Tuesday was not an ideal time for the full, but he had long ago learned that the cycle of the moon cared not a jot for how it interfered with Remus' class schedule, and so he'd already started asking his close friends to take notes for him, and playing up a listless cough in public so he could feasibly disappear for a day or so without too many questions being asked. He'd been able to hide away all of Sunday, and managed to lay low most of Monday, too, with the ready excuse of his break up there to back him up. And that wasn't exactly a fiction, anyway, since seeing Owain—who looked tired, and quiet, and sad—across the dining hall wasn't a pleasant experience. Not to mention Owain's mates, who sent him glares that could rival the Slytherins' what felt like every few minutes.
"What did you expect?" Peter wondered Monday evening, a forkful of chicken and mushroom pie on its way to his mouth. "They're his mates, not yours."
"I know," Remus replied mulishly, turning his focus back to his peas. They didn't seem to want to stay on his fork. "I'm not complaining."
"We could glare at them, if you like," Pete offered. "Turnabout's fair play and all that."
"No, no," he replied quickly. "It's fine. They've got more reasons to glare than you do."
"We're going to get a reputation for dumping Ravenclaws and breaking their hearts," Pete considered cheerfully enough, now scraping a heap of mash onto his fork. "Between you and Prongs."
This got James' attention; he'd been trying to catch up on some reading as he ate. Remus did not envy him the wealth of responsibility that sat on his shoulders, between Headship, quidditch and schoolwork… At least Remus was able to eat his dinner unencumbered.
"I didn't break her heart," James said, a touch defensively. "It was—it was time. She understands that."
"Does she?" Peter asked. "Because she tried to talk to me about you outside Potions earlier."
James sighed, shooting a covert glance over towards Cadence, who was surrounded by her friends, head down. "Sorry, mate. She seems to be having trouble letting go."
"Well, who can blame her, you're a catch," Peter replied, and leaned across to spear his fork into one of James' roast potatoes. "And so generous, too—"
"Oi! Get your own—"
From there, the conversation devolved into some light arm wrestling over potatoes—so, not an unusual evening meal. The only difference from normal was that Sirius was still pretending to be an arsehole, and so was sequestered, alone, at the end of the Gryffindor table, although Remus had noticed him shooting looks their way the whole time. He hoped no one else had noticed those looks, or Sirius' efforts would all be for naught.
In the end, Remus managed about half of his pudding (a cracking apple crumble with custard, one of his favourites) before he got tired of being glared at, and he murmured his excuses to his mates before making his way back up to the Tower. He knew he deserved this treatment, he really did. But that didn't make it any easier to cope with.
The pull of the waxing moon kept his focus elsewhere for the next day, his body aching and his mind distracted more and more with each passing hour as the moonrise approached. After an early supper, thankfully early enough that the glaring Ravenclaws weren't there yet, he made his way up to the infirmary.
It was strange to think that this was his last year of this monthly ritual, that he only had nine more walks down to the Shack with Madam Pomfrey before he was let loose into the real world. He wasn't normally nostalgic about the Shrieking Shack—too many painful memories associated with it—but now it felt safe; it felt his. Christ only knew what was awaiting him on the other side of graduation, even beyond how he was going to deal with the full moons. The recent legislation requiring all werewolves to register with the Ministry had felt like the icing on a bloody awful cake; it was going to be hard enough as it was, trying to find a job, to just get from day to day, month to month, without the protection of the castle. He couldn't rely on his parents for money, since they barely had enough to scrape by themselves, although he didn't doubt that they would help if they could. Similarly, he knew his friends would offer to help, and they certainly could afford to help—James and Sirius, anyway—but that felt like an embarrassing admittance of failure. He shouldn't be the sort of friend who was a burden on others. What on earth could he bring to the mix, if they had to pay through the nose just to keep him existing?
He didn't like to let his thoughts spiral this way, but lately, he'd found it harder and harder not to. Ever since the news about the legislation had broken, it had occupied his thoughts. Add to that Merryton's mysterious disappearance, and the knowledge that he had to break up with someone he genuinely cared about… well, it all felt like a series of axes hovering above his neck, something he could never seem to ignore.
Well. At least one of those axes had fallen, now, one less horror waiting to happen, even if it did leave him with figurative blood and gore on his hands.
Yes. This was just the sort of fun brooding that made those painful hours, waiting for the moon to rise, so much more enjoyable.
When he next became aware of himself, it was to the sound of creaking floorboards; he blearily opened one eye, then the other, to take in his surroundings. It was morning, just—probably around six, if the way the cold morning light, streaking in through the gaps in the boards that covered the windows, was anything to go by. He was curled up on the rickety old bed, a blanket draped over him (and he was determined not to think about who it was who had done that), and the source of the creaking made itself known: Sirius was moving, comically tiptoeing towards the door, shivering a little in the cool morning air.
Remus considered just letting him go. But not for long, because something made him say, his voice heavy with sleep, hoarse from the night's activities: "Alright, Pads?"
Sirius stopped in his tracks, turning quickly to meet Remus' gaze, and looked strangely bashful. "Oh! Morning, Moony," he replied. "I—Pomfrey will be along in a few, so I'm…" He paused. "James and Pete have already headed back to the castle."
More than anything, Remus wanted to ask why he had stayed behind, why he hadn't just gone back with the others. But he was too tired; too worn down. He wasn't injured, as far as he could tell, beyond the usual bruises and scrapes that were par for the course with werewolf transformation. Even without any injuries, though, he knew he didn't have the energy, the wherewithal, to try to have that conversation with Sirius. Not right now.
(As if you ever have the wherewithal, his mind muttered traitorously.)
"'Kay," he murmured, and closed his eyes again. A few more minutes snoozing sounded infinitely more appealing than watching the strange look on his friend's face. "See you later…"
He didn't hear Sirius leave, but he must have done, because the next thing Remus knew, Poppy Pomfrey was waking him up again. Time moved, as it often did post-moon, in a blurry, sleepy haze, and maybe it wasn't a particularly likeable side of him, but he didn't mind the opportunity to hide (and sleep) away from his litany of current issues. By the time Thursday morning rolled around, he felt like himself again, and he bade Pomfrey farewell before making his way downstairs to breakfast. But before he could get there—
"Oh." He stopped in his tracks just outside the Great Hall. Owain stood with Phil Towersey, talking quietly, although they'd both fallen silent at the sight of Remus. "Um. Hi."
Owain just stared back at him; he looked different, somehow, although Remus wasn't sure what could have changed. Physically, of course; he was well aware of what had changed emotionally. Guilt bubbled up in his gut once more, squashing down the small amount of appetite he'd cultivated since waking in the hospital wing.
"I heard you weren't feeling well," Owain said at last, just as Remus was wondering if he would say anything at all—if they weren't destined to just stand there, staring awkwardly at one another, until someone came and guided them all away. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah," he replied, his voice more hoarse than he would've liked. Next to Owain, Towersey gave a derisive snort and looked away. "Thanks."
Owain nodded, holding his gaze for one more moment before gesturing behind them to the Great Hall, where the clatter and hubbub of breakfast was already in full swing. "Well, don't let us stop you…"
"Right," he agreed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Um. See you…"
He stepped around them to head inside, moving swiftly, although not quite swiftly enough to miss Towersey mutter, "nob," under his breath as he passed.
He didn't turn back, didn't respond. It really seemed like the least he could've said about him.
"Remus!" Lily's smiling face greeted him as he sank onto the bench next to his friends. "Feeling on the mend?"
He busied himself reaching for the bacon, despite the guilt still fermenting in his chest. He had to eat something, or James would start his mother hen act. It wasn't worth the hassle. "Yes, thanks," he replied. He shot a glance her way. "Did I miss anything interesting?"
"Hmm…" Lily tapped her chin in playful thought. "How interesting do you find Slughorn setting us another project in Potions?"
"Not very," he admitted.
"You're forgetting something, Evans," James pointed out, leaning over to put a dollop of scrambled eggs onto Remus' plate. He really was relentless. "We dished out four detentions on our patrol last night. I think it's a new record!"
"Four?" Remus raised his eyebrows, impressed. "You're merciless. What had they done?"
"Oh, the usual," James replied airily. "You know the type, ne'er-do-wells, scoundrels, that sort of thing."
"Heavy petting in broom closets," Lily added with a grin.
"Sounds about right," Remus nodded.
"Luckily Lily and I were there to guide them back onto the path of the righteous," James continued. He was in the middle of constructing an impressive breakfast sandwich, half of which Remus was sure would end up down his front. "It's not easy, being a beacon of hope for all—"
"How many detentions have you had over the years, Prongs?" Pete asked innocently, before a forkful of mushrooms and tomatoes went into his mouth.
"—but those of us ordained to lead must carry the burden with grace," James finished, as if their friend hadn't spoken at all. "Such is the way of it."
"He's feeling pleased with himself," Lily told Remus. "Remember that high you got after you dished out your first detention?"
"Heady memories," Remus agreed, before shooting James a smirk. "You're an inspiration to us all, mate."
It was a relief to have something else to think about, to talk about, and he knew his friends could always be relied upon for a rambling chat. Breakfast passed with the conversation meandering through subjects such as the weather, the quickly approaching first quidditch game of the season, and how far down into the Black Lake they each thought they could swim unaided by magic (during that debate, Lily had sighed, shaken her head, and turned to join in Mary and Marlene's discussion instead). And then, of course, a full day of lessons, trying desperately to catch up with everything he had missed while avoiding Owain and his mates—he was glad, frankly, to reach the evening and have a valid excuse to clamber into his bed.
He knew he needed to talk to someone, to get some of these maddening thoughts and feelings out of his overcrowded brain. He knew his way of coping wasn't ideal at the best of times, and this really could not be misconstrued as the best of times. Owain…Sirius…Merryton…the Order…the registry… it all churned round and around in his head, a never-ending onslaught, and if his mum were here, he knew what she would say. 'Let it out, cariad, or it'll tar up your insides'. She had a way with words, his mum.
(Times like this, even though he was seventeen and technically of age and technically old enough to be able to cope on his own… he really felt like he could do with a hug from his mother.)
So he should let it out. He knew that.
But, well…that could be tomorrow's problem, couldn't it. Everything would feel easier after a good night's sleep.
It was with no ceremony and quite abruptly that Remus plonked himself down into the seat next to Lily's, something that shouldn't have made her jump, but, in her own defence, she'd been engrossed in her reading at the time.
"Oh!" she said, and smiled. "I thought you were studying in the common room today with your crew of miscreants?"
Lily had tried, and failed, to get some of her friends to join her in the library: Sirius had claimed that it would be too draining, after a busy day of classes, to walk all the way there, a sentiment only slightly undermined by the active and noisy game of Exploding Snap he was participating in with his mates. And the girls had been no better, saying they were far too comfortable by the fire, or, in Dorcas' case, far too busy heading out for a bracing walk around the lake.
Part of her had been quietly sure that James would join her. They'd spent a lot of time together lately, whether in their office on Head duties, on patrol round the castle, or in more social settings. She found that she gravitated towards him more and more, and he seemed to, too, constantly drawn together in the common room, or across the dinner table from one another, or idling along the corridors, too busy chatting to notice that they'd lost the rest of their group.
This time, though, he hadn't done anything but flash her a grin before telling Sirius, "your luck will soon run out, Padfoot," and setting down a card that proceeded to explode into ashes before his eyes. She couldn't begrudge him a chance to relax; neither of them had all that many opportunities, these days.
So to find that Remus had, after all, peeled himself away from the fun and frolics of the common room was something of a surprise. Not least because, even now sitting next to her, he was sending furtive looks around them, as if he were expecting someone to be eavesdropping.
"I wanted to talk to you," he explained, lowering his voice.
"Right," she agreed, also glancing around them now, not sure exactly what she was looking for. "About…anything in particular?"
Remus sighed, putting his head briefly in his hands, his fingers lodged in his hair as if he was just one step away from trying to yank it all out. "Do you remember that party, a few weeks into term…?"
Lily nodded slowly. "Yes. I had too much of that cranberry rum shite Black made."
Remus nodded too. "Earlier that afternoon, I was heading off on—well, on a party-related task—"
"Remus," she interrupted, her voice as gentle as she could manage. She wanted to do something to ease the look of utter discomfort on his face. "I know you lot sneak off school grounds. I'm not so daft as to think you procure all that alcohol through legal means in the holidays."
He let out a nervy laugh, glancing quickly around them again. "Right. Okay, yes," he continued. "So I was—and I overheard you and Mary chatting."
There was a pause, an awkward one, and Lily raised her eyebrows. "We do chat, from time to time."
"No, I know." Remus met her gaze for a moment; he looked agonised. God, this was really fascinating. She had no clue what could be causing him this much turmoil; it all seemed very un-Remus-like.
(As it turned out, she didn't have to wonder for long.)
"I heard you and Mary saying her relationship with Sirius wasn't real," he blurted out, his cheeks flushing a devastating pink in the process. "That they never…that it was all a lie."
"What?" she frowned in confusion, thinking back to that conversation—she only had vague recollections of it, but… "Were you hiding in a suit of armour or something?"
"No, I was under the cloak," he replied, as if that explained everything rather than inviting six hundred more questions.
"I'm sorry…the cloak?" she repeated. "You have a magical cloak that hides you?"
"It's not mine, I was borrowing it from James and—" He stopped, then, suddenly seeming to notice the fact that she was staring at him in bewilderment. "Oh. You…didn't know about his—"
"An invisibility cloak?" she asked, although, given his reaction (looking around them in alarm, and even finding the fortitude amongst his embarrassment to shoot her a quick glare), she soon leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Bloody hell, Remus! How have you lot kept that quiet all this time?"
"I didn't realise we had," he admitted. He paused thoughtfully. "I really thought James would've told you."
Lily wasn't sure how she should take that, and so decided to just breeze straight past it instead. "Do you all just go wandering invisibly around the castle?" she asked. "Actually, given you've got an invisibility cloak, it's pretty poor going that you've all had so many detentions. Surely you should never be getting caught?"
Remus looked for a moment as if he was about to argue that point, strenuously and with real vim and vigour, before he apparently remembered what he was actually trying to talk to her about. "That's a different issue," he told her pointedly. "Anyway, I was using that cloak, since I didn't have the map—"
"There's a map, too?" she interrupted. It was both startling and impressive how much the Marauders seemed to have been working with all these years. "Of the castle?"
Remus' face fell. "Bugger," he said, plainly and from the heart—she couldn't help but smile in response. "Thought you would've known about that, too."
"You're a bunch of secretive little sods," she decided with a smirk. "Oh, some kind of special map really does explain a lot…"
"I'll show you the map," he promised. "Just…keep it quiet for us, yeah?"
She bristled slightly, more for show than because of real hurt feelings, although there was an edge of that, too. "As if I would go blathering around to all and sundry—" she started, before catching herself. "Okay, we'll come back to your objects of mischief later. You overheard me and Mary talking…?"
He paused, and it was like the wind had gone out of his sails; he slouched back in his chair, his mouth twisting to one side in a discomfited grimace before he found the words to speak again. "I just…it doesn't make sense. Why anyone would make that up…"
Lily studied his face, wondering how much was genuine confusion and how much was a classic bit of denial. She knew she could hardly throw stones there: it had taken her a long time to admit to herself that she fancied James. But that was different, surely! Her past relationship with him had been much more tumultuous; she wasn't sure Remus had that excuse. "Remus," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. "Sirius and Mary 'got together' when, exactly?"
A blink, and a moment's hesitation. "Just after the SWEN attack," he replied.
She could almost have applauded his evasive tactics, if it weren't so infuriating. "Yes," she agreed, as patiently as she could. "And what else had just happened?"
Remus fixed her with a stare. Evidently he'd understood what she was getting at, because he looked irritated. "Come on, that had nothing to do—"
"That's right," she barrelled on. "You and Owain became an official couple. In the bed next to Sirius', as he tells it."
"As he tells—you make it sound like he's wandering around, constantly discussing it," Remus replied, a touch defensively. "He doesn't care. He didn't care."
She raised her eyebrows. "Sometimes actions can speak louder than words."
"So, what, he thought 'I'll get myself a pretend girlfriend'?" Remus rolled his eyes. "That's madness, even for him."
"No one ever said his decisions made sense," she replied. "But there were reasons behind it all, is what I'm saying." She reached over to pat his hand, an attempt to be reassuring. She wasn't sure it worked. "Look, you can discuss it around and around with me all you like, but we both know there's one person who can actually answer your questions properly."
"Right," Remus agreed, and paused, with the flicker of a wry smile. "Mary."
"Remus—"
"Alright, alright," he held up his hands in supplication. "Joking. Just…you know. Not sure I'm ready for that conversation."
She nodded in understanding. "All inaction leads to is a pile of nothing," she said. "But I know it's never quite as easy as that."
He shot her a look far too knowing for her liking. "Oh, you do, do you?"
Lily wasn't about to get into all that. Especially not in the middle of the library. This was supposed to be a safe space. She turned pointedly away from him and adjusted her parchment. "Right, well, this essay won't write itself."
Remus had always been very good at taking a hint; he rose from his seat, giving her a brief pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for listening," he said, and she glanced up with a quick smile. "Sorry for interrupting."
"Any time," she promised him, and she did mean it. Even if she didn't want to get into her own issues at the moment, she was more than happy to help her friend if she could. "I'll see you at dinner."
Maybe she should have expected that she would be interrupted again; sometimes the universe worked in mysterious ways. There would be times when she'd be desperate for a distraction and none would come, and then there were times like this, when she'd really like to get her introduction nailed, at the very least, before the Great Hall beckoned, and she couldn't find more than five minutes' peace.
Sure enough, only a few minutes after Remus had left, she became aware of someone standing on the other side of the table. She looked up, and found herself being watched by none other than Cadence Dearborn. Maybe Cadence hadn't expected her to look up so quickly, because it took a few moments for her to adjust the expression of critical scrutiny on her face, blurring it away with one of her easy smiles. "Hi, Lily."
"Hi," she echoed, still holding onto her quill; setting it down felt like an invitation for Cadence to sit down and start chatting, and while she liked the girl well enough, she had a feeling that this interaction was going to be nothing short of awkward. "Alright?"
"Yes, thanks," Cadence replied, and, frustratingly, sat down across from her. She gestured to one of the books in the pile next to Lily. "Actually, I was looking for that book myself—any chance I could pinch it for a few minutes? Just need to check something."
"Oh." Lily tried not to look too surprised: maybe she really was just here to study. "Of course, help yourself."
A quiet peace fell, and Lily returned to her notes as Cadence started flicking through the book in question. It was maybe a minute or two later before the other girl spoke again, startling Lily more than she'd expected, so engrossed was she.
"I was looking for James earlier," Cadence said, and it almost sounded casual. "At lunchtime. I guess things are getting busier for him."
Lily finally gave in, setting down her quill and watching Cadence; she still hadn't looked up from the book she was, probably, only pretending to read. "I suppose so," she agreed, with some caution.
There was a short pause, something that only served to make the situation feel even more uncomfortable. "You two seem…closer," Cadence said eventually, glancing up with a smile, something blithe and innocent-seeming. Despite the smile, though—that easy, dazzling smile that Lily had always been a bit envious of—there was definitely an edge to her words.
"Well," Lily replied carefully; why did she feel a bit like she was walking on eggshells? This was madness, wasn't it? "We are Heads together."
"No, I know," Cadence nodded. She had returned her attention to her book, and she looked as if she were carefully poring over the page before her. To someone passing by, it probably looked entirely convincing—just another student, working hard—but Lily sensed that Cadence wasn't taking in a single word. "But…even before that, I mean."
Lily knew that she had no reason to feel guilty, or for butterflies to be taking flight in her stomach; she knew, logically, that she had every right to be close with James, that he had broken up with Cadence months ago now, and even if he hadn't, they were allowed to be friends. Okay, yes, she fancied him—more each passing day, unfortunately, there was little point pretending otherwise to herself, at least. But he didn't know that: he was just her friend. That was all. So she didn't need to feel this sense of shame—she didn't owe this girl anything.
"We've been friends for a while," was all she said, simply, calmly, returning her attention to her notes.
Cadence fell quiet, and Lily wondered if she would try to say more—she clearly didn't feel like she'd got to the information she wanted in this conversation. But maybe she sensed in Lily the stubborn streak of which she was so well known, because she didn't speak again until she reached over to put the borrowed book back on the pile at Lily's side, and started gathering her books up, a while later. "Well…see you around," she said, giving Lily a brief nod before she set off out of the library.
Lily stared after her, and wondered if that really would be the end of it.
As Sirius sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, picking at his fish and chips, he knew it was likely that there was at least some people looking over at him and wondering what he was thinking about. He knew he cut a brooding figure: dark hair falling in his face, a nonchalant slump with one elbow to prop himself up, his grey eyes kept firmly on his plate. He was used to girls wishing they could read his mind, and maybe that had expanded out to chaps, too, not least because it was apparently fascinating that he hadn't sat with his friends (in public) now for over a week.
They might be disappointed to find out what he was actually thinking about: the fact that he could never be a crow.
Sure, they had magnificent plumage, and the all black feathers was undoubtedly his sort of look. There was something a bit stately looking about them, you know, for a bird.
But crows were solitary animals. They liked their own company.
The same could not be said for Sirius Black.
He had never liked his own company. He'd been thrilled when he found himself with a brother, even if said brother was, for the first few years, not much company at all. Eventually, Regulus became something more than a squalling, red-faced baby, and Sirius at last had someone to play with, to talk to, to boss around. And, yes, with the parents they had, it wasn't as if their childhood had been non-stop frolics and laughter, but at least he'd had someone to share it with—solidarity, in amongst the darkness.
Losing Regulus had been hard, although looking back, he thought it had probably been a slow and creeping process, one that had started before his baby brother had even come near Hogwarts. But by the time he'd noticed that his brother was gone, he'd gained new brothers—friendly, funny brothers, ones who weren't frightened of Walburga Black, ones who made him laugh and cheered him up and made him feel like he was actually worth something.
He knew it was melodramatic, to have this sort of mental spiral over a plate of battered cod, but this was what being alone for too long did to him. He missed his mates.
And, true, he saw them in the dorms, and in the common room; and, true, this was a situation of his own making. But that didn't mean he couldn't indulge in some brooding, when the mood struck.
Which happened quite often, because, of course, he was on his own.
Every now and then, Sef would join him, which was, in many ways, worse than being on his own. Sef sitting there, or beckoning him over to the Slytherin table, meant he had to put the act on with even more fervour; at least sitting alone meant he could just eat in silence and then head off. Actually having to engage in conversation, pretending he shared their values and beliefs, was much more of a challenge.
It wasn't like they talked about the subjugation of anyone they believed to be lesser beings all the time: even abhorrent pricks took time off to complain about the weather, or discuss the workload in Transfiguration, or discuss what their plans for after the end of school were. But that was just as bad, because he didn't care what they thought on any of these topics, and it only served to remind him that the people he actually did care about were probably talking about similar things, with much more interesting opinions on the matter, just a few tables away.
He had to remind himself, at regular intervals: this was all for a reason. For a cause. Infiltrate these twerps, and bring their stupid society down from within.
Just as long as he didn't die of boredom in the process.
It was over breakfast at the Slytherin table one morning—Snape, glaring at him with obvious mistrust and suspicion from his seat halfway down; Sef and Calliope chatting about the latest Madam Malkin line over their poached eggs—that something rather less than boring arrived. He would have just rather it had come when he was in private, really.
"Gosh, that looks rather official," Sef remarked, abandoning her conversation to nose in on what Sirius' owl had just delivered. She wasn't wrong: the parchment was sealed with wax, some complicated looking crest embedded in the glinting silver, and the address on the front was written in a tight, pointed cursive that made it look more professional than personal.
"Fan mail, is it?" Calliope said, and laughed a tinkling laugh at her own joke. (A good thing she did, too, Sirius thought, because no one else was going to.)
Sirius should have just stuck it in his pocket and opened it later, but it was early—at least, it was before nine—and he wasn't fully awake enough yet to think it through. Instead, he prised the wax seal from the parchment, flicking it onto his cleared breakfast plate, and opened the letter there and then.
Dear Mr Black,
With regards to the estate of Alphard Eridanus Black, I am pleased to inform you that all matters have now been settled and the money in question has been deposited into your vault at Gringotts. Further, properties previously owned by A E Black have had the deeds amended to reflect your ownership. If you wish to sell these properties, I would be glad to arrange the sale on your behalf.
If you have any queries following the completion of our probate work in this matter, please do not hesitate to reach out to my secretary, Ms Hemmins, who will be delighted to assist you in any way she can.
Yours faithfully,
Franklin Fawley, Esq
Fawley, Fawley and Flint LLP Solicitors
Apparently, Sef was adept at reading upside down. "Ooh, inheritance?" she asked, and that was when Sirius finally remembered that he wasn't alone. Shit. "I didn't realise your uncle had left it all to you."
"Hadn't you heard, Seffy?" Calliope asked haughtily. She seemed to enjoy having a bit of gossip that her friend had missed. "It was quite the talk of the 28 crowd last year."
Sirius did a good job at not looking too irritated at that fact. "It's true," he agreed, folding the letter back up and sliding it into his shirt pocket. "My mother wasn't best pleased. Still isn't, I imagine, but that's going to have to be a feeling she gets used to."
Sef smirked. "Young, carefree and independently wealthy," she noted, dragging her gaze down and back up him; what fun it was to be objectified over breakfast. "Aren't you quite the catch."
Sirius just smiled in reply, as if he didn't want to roll his eyes clean out of his own head and down the table to land in Snivellus' bowl of cereal. "Adore me for my personality, Persephone," he told her playfully. "Not just my piles of cash and devastating good looks."
"Ugh," was Calliope's interjection. "It's too early for you two to be flirting."
"You know," Sef said, as if her friend hadn't spoken at all, "that money could be put to good use…for something other than broom polish and firewhiskey, I mean."
"You're right," Sirius agreed. "I've always wanted to start my own flobberworm farm."
Sef gave him a fond smile, clucking her tongue as one might to a misbehaving but well-liked toddler. "I meant a cause perhaps…closer to our hearts," she said; at her side, Calliope stopped pouring herself another cup of tea and looked decidedly more interested. "It's not just the Society for the Preservation of Magical Ideals that is interested in our place in this world, you know. There are…others."
Calliope leaned forward. "I've heard a 'donation' can get you in front of the man himself," she said, her voice quieter now amongst the clatter of cutlery around them. "Can you imagine?"
"It's what most of us dream of," Sef agreed, looking over at Sirius. "To be a part of those discussions, to be engaged with a wizard of such monumental skill and knowledge. Inspiring, don't you think?"
Sirius felt the letter sit in his pocket like a lead weight. This was…this was a lot more than he'd expected, today. All of it. He suddenly felt, again, the overwhelming urge to be alone. "Inspiring," he agreed, with slightly less fervour than he probably should have.
Sef smiled again, and reached for her teacup, pursing her lips a moment to take a dainty sip. "Something to think about, anyway."
He wasn't sure he'd be able to think about much else, now.
By the time his first lesson was over, he had decided to pretend that the letter had never arrived (he even made the trip back up to Gryffindor Tower, to lob the parchment deep into his trunk where he could ignore it to the best of his abilities), and hope against hope that Sef didn't bring it up again. It was one thing to try to sneak his way into their pathetic school-based society; it was quite another to end up in front of Voldemort himself.
This meant that he ended up skipping meals, or turning up as late as he could get away with, long after the likes of Selwyn and Greengrass had eaten, so he could have his dinner in peace. It didn't hurt, certainly, that it added to the whole 'drifting away from his friends, changing the way he thinks about the world' narrative he was trying to build.
It became evident, one afternoon as he was lurking—brooding—in the cold clocktower courtyard that it wasn't just the Spuh-Mi twerps who had noticed his change of heart. One minute he was sitting on the low wall of the fountain, which dripped feebly behind him, as he thought about what might be for dinner, and the next, his brother was standing in front of him.
He blinked. Paused. "Reg," he said, eventually, because someone had to say something. "What a pleasant surprise."
Regulus was as hard to read as ever, but then, Sirius had been spending a lot of time with repressed purebloods lately, so he was more than used to it. His brother's face remained impassive, his gaze cool and assessing. "Sirius," he replied. "I know what you're doing."
Sirius merely smiled, the sort of smile that you'd give to a senile aunt who was trying to offer you what she thought was an Every Flavour Bean, but was actually a mouldy peanut. (Not that he'd ever had a kindly aunt, senile or otherwise. But he could imagine such a thing.) "Yes, Reg, well done," he nodded. "I am sitting on a wall, aren't I? Clever fellow."
Something flickered briefly across Regulus' face, a flash of actual emotion—anger, maybe, or irritation. Whatever it was, it didn't last long enough for Sirius to analyse, or even enjoy.
"You know what I mean," Regulus continued, keeping his voice steady, quiet. He spoke in the manner of someone who rather keenly didn't want to be overheard. "Pretending you're interested in the society. Pretending you care what Persephone Selwyn thinks."
"Pretending?" Sirius repeated, his own face a picture of innocence. It was possible that he knew exactly how infuriating his brother found this wide-eyed act. "What are you on about, mate? Why would I waste my time on a pretence?"
Regulus glanced over his shoulder. "I'm sure you've got your strange, noble reasons," he replied. "But you must know how ridiculous you look." Finally, the hint of a scowl. "You must know they all know exactly what you're doing."
"I'm not doing anything," Sirius told him, with that serene smile still in place. "You're talking nonsense again, Reg. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"
Regulus' next movement was a blur, a rush of movement so utterly out of character for his usually placid, expressionless brother: he leaned closer, gripping Sirius' shoulder, his face suddenly much nearer to Sirius' than it had been before. Than it probably had been since they were children. "Sirius," he said, his voice low, almost urgent. "I'm not messing around. And neither are they. You need to be—"
"Alright, bloody hell—wind your neck in," Sirius cut him off, leaning back to wrest his shoulder out of that surprisingly painful grip. "Fucking relax, Reg. I know what I'm doing." He frowned, then. "Besides, since when do you give a shit about what I do? I thought you were enjoying being the sole heir, showing off your new arm tattoo—"
Regulus lurched back as if the words had stung him; his face was, somehow, even paler than before. "For fuck's sake, Sirius," he hissed. "Don't—"
He'd had enough. Frankly, he'd had enough about twenty-four hours after he'd started this bloody plan of his, but he was too stubborn to give up on that now. This, though? This he could give up on. They'd given up on him, after all. "Chris, Reg, you'll give yourself a nose bleed if you're not careful." He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets; now that he was standing, too, he loomed over his brother again—how it should be, in his opinion. "Maybe you should worry less about me and who I talk to, and more about yourself and who you choose to hang around with. Much more likely to get an Unforgivable in the face, I reckon."
He shouldered his way past his brother, irritation still bristling just below his skin. Regulus couldn't just burst up out of nowhere every six months and pretend he gave a shit. That wasn't how this worked. "Nice catching up, Reg," he called over his shoulder, and caught a brief glimpse of the strange mixture of emotions on his brother's face, when he'd thought no one was looking—fury, frustration, and something which looked a lot like pain, but couldn't be. Because what did Regulus have to feel pain about here?
Back in the dorm, he found James, kicking off his sweaty quidditch training gear. "Oh, by the way," he said as he entered; James glanced up, squinting at him as his glasses lay discarded haphazardly on the bed nearby. "The inheritance came through. I'm rich now."
A short pause as James wrestled with the last, reluctant sock: he pinged it across the room before nodding in Sirius' direction. "Lovely," he replied, sounding rather like Sirius had just told him they were having trifle for pudding. "Have you been using my soap, by the way? It's almost run out, I can't smell like a hippogryff's arse at dinner."
As James padded into the bathroom, still muttering about soap, Sirius only had one thought.
That was what a brother was.
