"You're a witch," said Sirius. "Merlin's bleeding arse. How can you be a witch? You were lying to me? All this time, I've been worried sick, but you — you made it out of Grimmauld Place in one piece. Of course you did, because you're a witch."

Dorcas' face was hidden behind the cloud of smoke, but she drummed her fingers on the table as he spoke. "No," she said when he had finished. "I'm not a witch."

That was even more confusing. "What —" said Sirius. "Then how —"

"Perhaps," said Uncle Alphard, rolling his wand between his fingers, "we would be better served by speaking privately." Dorcas nodded and tapped her cigar against the table. Smoke rose from the cigar's tip to obscure her face while Uncle Alphard muttered a string of privacy charms. Sirius felt like his ears had been stuffed with cotton as the privacy charms settled over the table like a blanket.

"Right," said Sirius to Dorcas once Uncle Alphard had finished. "You're not a witch. Are you a Squib, then?"

Dorcas shook her head. "I'm a Muggle, Sirius. I'd never heard of magic before I met you."

Sirius jabbed a finger at Uncle Alphard. "But this git says you're a member of the Order. So you're fighting the Dark Lord, then? How is that possible, if you're not a witch?"

Dorcas paused, angling her body towards Uncle Alphard. "It's a long story."

"I've got time," said Sirius. "You can start at the beginning. I want to know what happened after Kreacher took you back."

Dorcas nodded. "He — Kreacher — grabbed me, and the next thing I knew, I was in my bedroom. He wasn't anywhere to be seen. So I went back to Grimmauld Place —"

"You did not —"

The cloud of smoke around Dorcas' head swirled angrily. "Well, I wanted to be sure you were alright! It was strange, though — when I went back, there was a creepy-looking house that I'd never seen before. Black front door, with a silver door knocker in the shape of a snake..."

"Yeah, that's Number Twelve," said Sirius, surprised. "My family's house. You could see it?"

"Yeah," said Dorcas. "I guess the secrecy charms didn't work on me anymore, since I'd been inside. I knew that that house had to be yours, but I didn't dare knock on the door — I'm not an idiot. Instead, I hid in the park across the street and waited to see if you would show up."

She paused as Tom the barkeep placed three streaming mugs of Butterbeer on their table. As he shuffled off, she continued. "I was there ages — started to think I'd imagined the whole thing, the street was so quiet. It was nearly midnight when he arrived." She gestured towards Uncle Alphard. "There was a loud noise — it sounded like a gun had gone off, and I thought your family might've shot you or something, but then he appeared on the pavement. He went inside Number Twelve, and I stayed in the park. A few hours later, he came out and I saw him disappear — Apparate, I mean." The smoke drifted lazily around her head as she spoke, swirling with every breath she took. "That's when I knew I hadn't gone mad. Magic was real, and I'd just seen a man disappear into thin air. I went back to the park every day for a week after that. I had questions, thought maybe you'd come out. But I never saw you, or anyone else."

Sirius groaned. "I'm such an idiot. I searched for you in London, must've spent weeks looking. But I never went back to Grimmauld Place, because — well, you know why. I should've known you were there the whole time, looking for me."

"Not the whole time," said Uncle Alphard smoothly. "Dorcas here changed tactics after growing tired of casing Grimmauld Place."

Sirius tensed. "I don't like the way you put that."

"Yes," said Uncle Alphard, "well, her intentions were good, but —"

"I can speak for myself, you know," said Dorcas. Her expression was hidden behind the cloud of smoke, but she sounded embarrassed.

"Please do," said Uncle Alphard. He leaned back in his seat, one hand still on his wand. "I'm interested to hear why you thought going into the Leaky Cauldron and asking after the Black family was a brilliant idea."

"No," said Sirius immediately.

Dorcas's voice was sheepish. "Er. Yes."

Sirius couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Isn't this pub supposed to be hidden from Muggles? How did you even find it?"

"I figured there had to be more magical people in London," said Dorcas. "Your family couldn't have been the only ones — not in London, after all. So I started following people who seemed — funny. Strangely dressed, or using odd words. There were loads of dead ends, but eventually I saw a man go into a pub that appeared out of nowhere, like your house had. One moment it wasn't there, and the next it was. So I just… followed the man inside."

"It didn't take an Auror to figure out she didn't belong," said Uncle Alphard. "She went right up to old Tom and asked if he'd heard of the Black family. He had, of course — everybody in wizarding Britain knows our surname — so he poured her a drink and asked her what she wanted to know. She got quite a bit of information out of him, too, or so I'm told. The real problem came when it was time for her to pay."

Sirius groaned. "You gave him Muggle money?"

"I hadn't realized!" said Dorcas.

Uncle Alphard smiled wryly. "It dawned on Tom that something wasn't quite right when she placed a five pound note in his hand. He phoned the Improper Use of Magic Office — told them a Muggle girl was in the Leaky Cauldron, asking about the Blacks." His smile grew wider. "My boss thought it fitting that I be the one to Obliviate her."

Sirius' head was starting to ache. "What were you thinking?" he asked Dorcas. "I told you there are people who would make you forget! What did you expect to happen?"

"Well, I didn't forget, did I?"

"Clearly," said Sirius. "Why?"

"I took her to one of the vacant rooms above the Leaky Cauldron to Obliviate her," said Uncle Alphard. "We started talking."

"Talking," said Sirius, crossing his arms. "Do you usually talk to your victims?"

"I recognized her," said Uncle Alphard, ignoring Sirius' question. "From your parent's memories."

Sirius gripped his arms so tightly his skin was turning white. "The memories you Obliviated."

"Yes," said Uncle Alphard. "The memories I removed for your benefit."

Sirius snorted. "Some benefit. So what did you two talk about? Did you swap horror stories about my parents?"

"Hardly," said Uncle Alphard. "You should have seen her — dressed in black robes, a false wand at her hip. She looked every bit the young witch. If she hadn't been asking after the Blacks, nobody would have been the wiser. Not only that, but she found her way into the Leaky Cauldron — very tricky thing for a Muggle to do without help. I was impressed."

"He offered me a job," said Dorcas smugly.

Sirius nearly leapt out of his seat; he banged his leg against the underside of the table and swore. "He offered you a WHAT?"

"Not a Ministry job, if that's what you're thinking," said Uncle Alphard. He glanced around at the pub and leaned in closer, his fingers curling around his wand. "I thought someone like her could be of great use to the Order. And she has been."

He had to be joking. "That," said Sirius through gritted teeth, "is so much worse than a job with the Ministry."

"It's not," said Dorcas defensively. "Alphard explained the situation a bit — about the Dark wizard, and his followers — and I told him that of course I wanted to fight back." She sat up a little straighter. "The Death Eaters are going after people like me, aren't they? Why shouldn't I be a part of the resistance?"

"Er, let me think," said Sirius. "Maybe because you could die?" He couldn't believe he had to spell this out for her.

"But Dorcas hasn't died," said Uncle Alphard smoothly. "She's been an invaluable asset so far. I brought her along today because I thought you might be interested in knowing that she was alive."

"I am interested," said Sirius, "but you could have sent an owl. You could have Floo-called, instead of doing this song and dance about sensitive information and meeting in person…" He raked his hands roughly through his hair. "God, I can't believe I'm the voice of reason here, you don't know how weird this feels —"

Uncle Alphard didn't look at all offended. "That's the nature of the Black family tree. We each believe the other branches are more tangled than our own."

"Cute," said Sirius. He turned towards Dorcas. "I realize my uncle didn't write on account of being from the looney bin, but what's your excuse? Surely you know how our post works by now. You could've owled — said you were okay —"

"Er," said Dorcas. She sounded faintly embarrassed, but it was impossible to tell if she was blushing behind the cloud of smoke. "Look, there's no way to say this without sounding like a prat, yeah, but I was told that communicating with wizards outside the Order could compromise the integrity of our mission."

"You do sound like a prat," said Sirius with a smirk. "Remind me again what the mission of your precious Order is? Fighting evil side-by-side with Dumbledore? No offence, but I don't see how he could have much use for someone who can't even do magic —"

"— Then you are small-minded indeed," said Uncle Alphard. He placed a few Sickles on the table and stood up. "If you two are going to discuss the Order in more depth, I would ask that you do it in Muggle London — away from prying ears."

Sirius looked around the pub, which was practically empty. Even Tom the barkeep appeared to be taking a nap behind the counter. "Suit yourself," he said. "Dorcas, fancy a stroll along the Thames?"

"Why not, weirdo," said Dorcas, pulling on her coat. "We still have some catching up to do."

"Find me in in Diagon Alley once you have finished," said Uncle Alphard, addressing Dorcas. "I have business there I must attend to. You know how to contact me. Sirius, I must bid you farewell."

Sirius fought the urge to snicker as Uncle Alphard swept away. His family was so dramatic.

"Want me to pay for these?" he asked Dorcas, indicating the half-drunk mugs of Butterbeer. "Or have you figured out how Galleons work?"

"Very funny," said Dorcas. "I seem to remember you having similar troubles with banknotes at the ice cream parlour last summer."

Sirius placed a few Sickles on the table. "Touché."

It was snowing lightly as they stepped onto the bustling street. Dorcas put out her cigar, and the cloud of smoke slowly drifted away from her face. "Cute toy," said Sirius, nodding at the cigar. "Thought you didn't smoke, though."

Dorcas grinned at him. He'd missed the gap between her teeth. "I don't. It's only for show. Works well, though, doesn't it?"

"It does," said Sirius. "Wizarding Britain's full of nutters trying to disguise themselves, you blend right in." They turned down a side street and he surreptitiously cast a Warming Charm on both of them.

"I'm not fighting the Dark Lord, you know," said Dorcas once they were out of earshot of any passersby. "That's not what the Order's about."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's the Ministry's job to keep You-Know-Who and his followers at bay. They're the fighters. The Order is more concerned with gathering information and keeping people safe. Muggles and Muggle-borns, specifically."

"So you don't fight?"

"Of course not. What good would I be in a duel against the Death Eaters? I help with… finding things. Safe housing in Muggle London for people who need it. Or locating Squibs and Muggle-borns who are trying to live as Muggles, who might want extra protection. The Order does things like that. Not fighting."

She led him to a zebra crossing. Sirius tried not to stare at the cars — there were so many cars! — as they crossed. Dorcas laughed at his expression. "Still fascinated by motors, are you?"

"Ah," said Sirius, coming to a halt. He suddenly felt guilty. "That reminds me. Your motorbike…"

"My father's motorbike."

Sirius winced. "Right. The motorbike that belonged to your dearly departed father… I took it."

"I noticed," said Dorcas cooly. They'd reached the street along the river, and Sirius wished the frigid water would swallow him up.

"I can give it back," he said. "It's at Hogwarts, but I could borrow a dozen owls, maybe, and send it to you. Only one problem, though."

"Which is?"

Sirius took a deep breath. "It flies now."

"Exclusively?"

"Pretty much. Lifts off the ground at any gear above first."

Dorcas sighed. "You shouldn't have —"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" protested Sirius. "It was accidental magic. I was trying to get away from Grimmauld Place and it just… happened."

Dorcas said nothing. Sirius felt disappointment radiating from her so strongly he doubted they needed the Warming Charm.

They passed under a large bridge held up by steel cables and Muggle ingenuity, and Dorcas finally spoke. "You can have the bike."

"I don't want it," said Sirius, which was a lie; he'd never wanted anything more in all his life.

"It's fine," said Dorcas. "I've got no use for a flying motorbike. We Muggles can't fall more than about three metres without seriously injuring ourselves, you know."

Sirius wasn't sure how tall a metre was, but three of anything didn't sound very impressive. "I'm sorry," he said, but apologizing didn't make him feel any less rotten. "I'm really sorry. I know the bike was important to you. I could buy you another…"

"I don't want another," said Dorcas. "It's alright. Really. I have other things to remember my father by."

They walked in silence along the river. Sirius had thought he'd missed her, but now that they were together there was distance between them, and that distance grew wider with every lull in the conversation. Somehow, by joining the wizarding world, she'd grown apart from him, instead of closer.

"I'm glad you're alright," he said, because he didn't know what else to say and the silence was so loud that he needed to say something. "I thought about you a lot, when I was at school."

Dorcas smiled. The light from the street lamp overhead shone off the curve of her cheek. "I thought about you a lot, too. Alphard kept me informed of his plans for you. I was surprised to hear you went back to your family — I honestly didn't expect you to actually listen to him."

"Me neither," said Sirius. "But after what happened on the Hogwarts Express…" He trailed off. The water of the Thames shimmered with light from street lamps and boats and buildings. Muggles had built this city out of nothing. Who knew what they would be capable of, if they had just an ounce of magic? Small wonder Lord Voldemort was terrified of them.

"I should go," said Dorcas, checking her watch. "Alphard and I have a meeting at six."

"Oh," said Sirius. "Alright. Need to take a bus, or…?"

"Nah," said Dorcas, and she pulled a carton of cigarettes out of her robes.

"You carry around a lot of tobacco for someone who doesn't smoke."

She flashed him a smile. "They're Portkeys."

"You're joking."

She opened the lid of the carton so he could see. Twenty-four white cigarettes, neatly arranged in rows, were nestled inside. "There's one for every hour of the day," she explained. "Each leads to a secure location — Order headquarters, meeting spots, that sort of thing. Good for getting around quickly, and useful if I land in a bind, too. Can't say I enjoy the sensation of travelling by Portkey though."

"That's brilliant," said Sirius. "Your idea?"

"Of course," said Dorcas. "The other people in the Order are very good about helping me enchant things that could be useful. They don't mind that I'm a Muggle at all. I've got loads of stuff like this, to keep me safe and to help with missions."

She pulled out what looked like a deck of playing cards and handed one to him.

"Use this if you ever need to contact me. Most Order members communicate via Patronus, but that's a problem for me, obviously. We came up with this as a solution."

Sirius turned over the card, which featured a regal woman and a leaf-like symbol in the corner. They'd studied playing cards in Muggle Studies, but it took him a moment to recall the different suits. "This one… the queen of clubs?"

"Good job," said Dorcas, pleased. "Say my name if you need me, and we'll be able to talk through the card. The clubs symbol at the top acts as a sort of compass, too; instead of pointing towards north, it'll point to me. Useful if we ever need to find each other."

Sirius pocketed the card, thinking privately that Dorcas had invented a better method of communication than the mirror he and James used. "Got it, thanks. Guess I'll be seeing you, then?"

"Probably," said Dorcas. "Unless your parents strangle you, or the Death Eaters get to me first."

"I wish they'd strangle me," said Sirius. "That'd put me out of my suffering."

Dorcas laughed. "I'm glad to see you again," she said. "Take good care of that bike, alright?"

Sirius nodded. Dorcas pulled a cigarette out of the carton and touched it to her lips. Immediately, she vanished into thin air, and Sirius was left alone on the pavement with only the light from the street lamps and the gentle lapping of the water for company.

On Tuesday, Lily had her last shift at St. Mungo's. Healer Fenwick, still in his spacesuit, gave her an awkward, stiff-armed hug good-bye and promised her that he'd arrange another apprenticeship for her over the Easter holidays — and in the Artefact Accidents ward, this time.

A letter from Professor McGonagall arrived the next morning, informing her that the Hogwarts Express was out of service until the Ministry could ensure its safety, and that Lily was instead to Floo to Hogwarts at the start of the new term. So, on the last day of the winter holidays, she said good-bye to her mother and Petunia in the sitting room, while a grey-robed wizard from the Ministry hovered behind the sofa, anxious to disconnect their fireplace from the Floo Network.

Lily embraced her mother fiercely and gave Petunia an awkward little hug, then climbed into the emerald green flames. The fire flared brightly, obscuring her vision, and her stomach lurched as she was sucked into the Floo Network. It took nearly five vomit-inducing minutes to travel to Hogwarts; she caught glimpses of dozens of different grates as she spun, her body pulled this way and that. At last, she stumbled onto the carpet of Professor McGonagall's office, clutching her stomach.

Professor McGonagall was seated at her desk, checking names off a scroll of parchment. "Miss Evans. I'm glad to see you safely back at Hogwarts." Her tone was crisp and professional, but she looked as if she'd aged ten years since Lily had seen her last. Deep lines tugged the corners of her mouth downwards, and an untidy tendril of hair had escaped from the bun at the nape of her neck.

Lily stopped abruptly, her trunk banging painfully against her heels. She'd never seen Professor McGonagall look so distressed. "Professor. Are you alright?"
"Of course I am," replied Professor McGonagall curtly.

Lily frowned. One of the students who had been killed during the attack on the Hogwarts Express had been in Gryffindor. What was her name — Amy something. Roberts, perhaps? Had Professor McGonagall had been the one to break the news to her parents?

"Professor," said Lily. "I'm so sorry about Amy. I…" Was it her imagination, or were Professor McGonagall's eyes watering?

"Thank you, Miss Evans," said Professor McGongall. "I am sorry as well." Her voice wavered.

"It wasn't your fault," said Lily softly. "Nobody could have predicted… even the rumours that were going around last term, nobody thought…" She trailed off, uncertain of what to say.

Professor McGonagall nodded stiffly. She looked absolutely exhausted. Lily wondered how many other students had said something similar upon emerging from the fireplace. "Thank you, Miss Evans. If you wouldn't mind being off; the Patils are due to arrive from London at any minute…"

Lily could take a hint. The door to Professor McGonagall's office swung gently shut behind her, and she clattered down the stairs with her trunk.

At dinner that evening, she reunited with Marlene and a relieved-looking Mary, who gave Lily an enormous squeeze as she sat down. "I'm so glad you made it back safely!" said Mary into Lily's ear.

"Same to you," replied Lily, hugging Mary tightly.

"Did your mum take a look at those papers?" asked Mary. "The ones McGonagall gave us, about the Muggle-born Protection Act?"

"Oh, yeah," said Lily. "She's doing the protective charms for now. Wasn't keen on moving to America… I don't think she's ever travelled by plane before, honestly. And my sister would never agree to move, either."

Mary scrunched up her nose. "My parents decided the same. I was hoping they'd choose one of those Ministry-approved safe houses, but… They've got the shop to run and all, so…"

She gave Lily a small smile. Lily tried to smile back, hoping she didn't look as worried as she felt.

"How'd you get back to Hogwarts?" Marlene asked Lily. "Side-Along Apparition?"

Lily shuddered. "Not on your life. Our fireplace was already connected to the Floo Network for my apprenticeship, so I just Flooed to McGonagall's office."

"Side-Along's not that bad," chirped Mary as she helped herself to some roast duck. "An Auror Apparated me to Hogwarts. It wasn't terrible."

Marlene lifted an eyebrow. "You were sick all over that poor man's robes."

"Oh, true," said Mary. "I didn't mind, though."

Lily laughed. "I've missed you two."

"I missed you," said Marlene. "The only young wizards in my part of Aberdeen are the McLaggen brothers — no, thanks — and Peregrine Flint."

"I like Peregrine," said Mary. "His freckles are cute."

Marlene made a face. "I'll take your word for it. He wasn't exactly a joy to be around, anyway."

"Why not?" asked Lily. She peered down the Gryffindor table, where Peregrine Flint was sitting with the other members of the Quidditch team. He was pushing his carrots around on his plate, looking glum.

"You didn't hear?" said Marlene. She lowered her voice and beckoned Lily closer. "His sister's a Squib. Turns out his parents sent her to America before the Muggle-born Protection Act had even passed — perk of having an uncle in the House of Lords. He only found out over the hols. Didn't even get a chance to say good-bye."

"Oh, God," said Lily. "That's awful." Down the table, Peregrine was still scowling at his vegetables. James Potter was sitting across from him; he glanced in Lily's direction and lifted his chin at her in greeting.

Lily promptly began to choke. James didn't seem to notice; he had already turned back to the other members of the Quidditch team.

"He's well fit, isn't he?" commented Mary, gazing dreamily at James. "I think we owe him a life debt now, you know. According to my romance novels, he could legally ask for our hands in marriage…"

"That's not how life debts work," said Marlene as she thumped Lily on the back. "They're only magically binding in very specific circumstances. One person needs to spare the life of another who deserves to die. It has something to do with unearned, freely-given mercy."

Lily spit a glob of half-chewed food into her napkin. Her face felt like it was on fire. "Mercy? That sounds so… arbitrary. Who decides if someone deserves to die? Didn't the Death Eaters think that about us?"

"It's not arbitrary at all!" said Marlene. "Mercy is one of the strongest forces of magic that exists. It's like love, or hope. There are Unspeakables who dedicate their entire lives to its study."

"I'll take your word for it," said Lily, rubbing her sore throat. "I'm just glad I'm not obligated to marry Potter, on threat of losing my wand…"

Marlene smirked. "Oh, I'm sure you are."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," said Marlene in the least innocent voice Lily had ever heard. "Only that… "

She trailed off, looking towards the staff table. Professor Dumbledore had risen from his seat and was tapping a spoon against his glass for silence. The chatter in the Great Hall died down at once; it was as if they had all been waiting for the Headmaster to address what had happened over the Christmas holidays.

Dumbledore's eyes swept across the Great Hall, his expression grave. "Students of Hogwarts," he said. He touched his wand to the tip of his throat to amplify his voice, and Lily was suddenly and startlingly reminded of the way Lord Voldemort's voice had once echoed in her mind. Beside her, Mary grimaced.

"First and foremost," said Dumbledore, "I must humbly apologize. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I am tasked with ensuring the safety of all who shelter within these walls. Despite my every effort to keep Hogwarts safe, we are fewer in number now than we were in August. Three students have fallen, casualties of the war that draws ever nearer to our doorstep."

Lily frowned. Three students? There had only been two deaths on the Hogwarts Express. Across the table, Marlene mouthed Dumbledore's words, looking similarly confused.

"For the past half-decade," continued Dumbledore, "the staff of Hogwarts has taken every precaution to protect its pupils from the Dark wizard who deals in hatred and division. Unfortunately, as we have seen, Lord Voldemort and his followers will not be deterred from the slaughter of those they deem inferior. The efforts of our staff alone are no longer sufficient to stem this threat. As such, the Ministry has seen fit to supply Hogwarts with additional protection. Aurors will be posted at every entrance to Hogwarts, and members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will patrol the castle at all times."

Across the table, Sirius Black let out a very loud groan.

"What's his problem?" muttered Marlene.

Lily smirked. "Probably not looking forward to having to sneak past prefects and Aurors just to get a midnight snack in the kitchens."

Sirius shot her an incredulous look and gestured rudely at her with two fingers. She smiled angelically at him in response.

"Hogsmeade weekends shall be cancelled until we can guarantee the safety of Hogwarts students both on and off the grounds of Hogwarts," continued Dumbledore. A chorus of complaints rose from all four tables, but Dumbledore's expression did not change.

Lily glanced at the Slytherin table, hoping to gauge their response to the Headmaster's speech. Regulus was staring at Dumbledore in horror, looking utterly shocked. Beside him, Severus' black eyes glittered with disdain as he glared at Dumbledore.

Lily was sorely tempted to hex the expression off Severus' pinched face; it was only with great effort that she turned back towards the staff table. She couldn't believe Severus dared look at Dumbledore — Dumbledore! — with such contempt. She really hadn't known him at all.

"Although evil exists beyond these castle walls, we must not let ourselves become paralyzed by fear," said Dumbledore. "Let us stand firm for what is right — for inclusion, for justice, for fair treatment for all. This is how we can honour the sacrifices of Amy Roberts, Richard Jones, and Sally Dearborn."

He shook his wand back into the sweeping folds of his robes and sat down.

"Sally?" asked Mary as the Hall began to buzz with chatter. "Why — why did he make it sound like she had died, too?"

Marlene ran both her hands through her short, spiky hair, looking rattled. "Dunno. I thought — I'd assumed her family had pulled her out of school. But if Dumbledore's talking about sacrifices, and casualties of war…"

"…Then he thinks she's dead, too," finished Lily softly.

"Impossible," said Marlene. "I don't believe it. There would've been a notice in the paper if they'd figured out what had happened to her."

Mary's lip trembled. "But if that's Dumbledore's best guess…"

"There would have been a bloody obituary," said Marlene forcefully. "Right, Lily?"

Lily nodded, though she wasn't sure what to think. Across the room, Severus' eyes were still on the staff table, but was no longer glaring at Dumbledore; instead, his heavy brow was furrowed, as if he was confused. Mulciber, on the other hand, looked very pleased with himself.

Dumbledore didn't know what had happened to Sally. But Lily might.

Sirius wished he could transform into Padfoot and barrel past the hordes of younger students who were clogging up the staircase to the Gryffindor tower. That night was the full moon, and Remus hadn't been at the feast. No doubt Madam Pomfrey had already taken him to the Shrieking Shack.

Sirius flung open the door to the boys' dormitory, but James and Peter weren't there. Even though he'd sat across from James at the feast, they'd hardly said a word to each other. It was the first time they'd seen each other since he'd gone back to Grimmauld Place, and Sirius was sure that James was waiting until they were alone in their dormitory to have a little chat about why Sirius had run off.

James' trunk was lying at the foot of his immaculately-made bed, the corners of the crimson sheets tucked tightly beneath the mattress. The house-elves needn't have bothered, Sirius thought; James never made his bed.

While Sirius waited for the others, he set about trying to pick the magical lock on James' trunk. He figured that if he could get to the map, he could fiddle with it until the others arrived. He nearly had the lock figured out when the door to the dormitory opened and James and Peter tramped in.

"Took you long enough," said Sirius. He screwed up his face in concentration as he twisted his wand back and forth inside the lock. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."

There was a thump above Sirius as James dropped his school bag onto his bed. "Padfoot. What're you doing?"

Sirius grunted. "Thought I could work on the map while I waited. Aha!" A clang like a bell reverberated around the room, and the lock popped off James' trunk. Sirius let out a whoop of triumph, trailing off awkwardly when he caught sight of the look on James' face. "Yeah?"

The bed sagged a little as James sat on it. "Sirius, mate."

"What?"

"What? You —" James made a gesture like he wanted to shake Sirius. "Are you alright? What — what happened? You vanished, we hadn't heard from you — I tried to use the mirror… Did you go back to Grimmauld Place?"

"Oh. That." Here was the chat that Sirius had known was coming. Across the room, Peter was very obviously trying to unpack and pay them no mind.

"Yeah," said James firmly. "That."

Sirius fidgeted with his wand. "Are you upset with me?"

"Do I look upset?"

He didn't. Sirius had no idea how James did it sometimes, pulling maturity out of his arse, like he was the leader of the group and Sirius merely a follower. Like James was the master, and Sirius the dog.

"I've been worried about you," said James. "We all have."

"Your mum and dad —"

"Our mum and dad are fine. Got out of St Mungo's on Sunday." James' chest swelled a bit with pride. "Takes more than dragon pox to get the better of them." There was a crash from Peter's side of the room at the mention of dragon pox, but neither James nor Sirius paid him any mind.

"Good," said Sirius. He cast about for something further to say but came up empty-handed. "That's good."

James' smile was thin. "What about you, then? Are you good?"

"Yeah," said Sirius. To buy some time, he took his wand out of his pocket and stuck it behind his ear. That felt uncomfortable, so he put it across his lap. When he looked up, James was still eyeing him like he expected more of a response. "I'm good," repeated Sirius, as if that made it true. "Decent, at least. Went back to Grimmauld Place, like you guessed, but it honestly wasn't that bad. Told them I wanted to try my hand at all the firstborn baloney they've wanted me to do for ages."

"Shit," said James. "And?"

Sirius shrugged. "And they said alright. Mum cried her crocodile tears, and they let me back in. Wanted to give me another chance, I guess. It was boring, honestly. Lots to do with money. Floo-calls to Gringotts, learning about investments, how to evaluate property. That sort of thing."

"Right," said James. "Well. That's good, I guess."

"It's just for the time being. Just for the inheritance."

One of James' eyebrows quirked up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Sirius grimaced. "I realized that I'm actually not alright with centuries of gold and valuables going directly into the hands of Death Eaters. I can't do much to stop the war — I'm not an Auror, or anything — but I can do this, at least."

Sirius did his best to sound casually unconcerned, but James was still watching him steadily. "That's a heavy burden for one person."

"It's really not."

"I wish you'd have Floo-called us to say you were alright. Or used the mirror."

"I know," said Sirius. "It's just — it's easier if I don't. When I'm there, I have to focus on just — being there. When I get distracted by — by things outside Grimmauld Place, that's when it's harder to deal with. It makes me a bit crazy."

James nodded. "Well. If it ever does become too much, you've always got a bedroom at my place. Just so you know."

"Thanks, mate. And when my parents pop their clogs, I'm using that gold to buy you three Cleansweep Sixes and a spot on the Wimbledon Wasps."

Peter coughed loudly, drawing their attention towards him.

"Yeah, Pete?" asked James. "Something you wanted to add?"

"Oh no, nothing at all," said Peter from behind a magazine entitled Dazzle. The cover of the magazine was adorned with photographs of witches in various states of undress. "I was just perusing some literature, didn't catch a word of whatever it was you lot were talking about. Just wondering — you do know it's nearly nine o'clock, and Moony's —"

James swore and jumped to his feet. "He's bound to be wondering where we are. Sirius, brilliant job on my trunk, d'you mind grabbing the Cloak…?"

After the feast ended, Regulus and Avery excused themselves from the Slytherin table to attend their prefect meeting. Severus was frankly surprised that Avery hadn't had his prefect badge revoked after nearly failing every core subject the previous term; he'd only passed their last Potions exam because Severus had spent the entire time hissing instructions in his ear.

Severus joined the rest of the Followers in returning to the common room, where all of Slytherin seemed to be comparing notes on what the Dark Lord's appearance meant for the war. Wilkes and Rosier chatted loudly about how impressive the attack on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had been, causing a few of the younger students to eye them warily. Among the upper years, the general consensus was that it was a shame the Dark Lord hadn't had the time to take care of more blood traitors.

Privately, Severus had found the whole attack to be somewhat disappointing. It lacked any sense of finesse, and that speech the Dark Lord had given was melodramatic and superfluous. It was a waste of time for a Dark Lord to pontificate about how evil he was — he ought to let his actions speak for themselves.

None of the Followers asked Severus for his opinion, though, so he remained silent. He cared more about what Dumbledore had let slip during his speech, the sentimental old sop. Something about Sally Dearborn being a casualty.

Sally must be dead, then. That was interesting. Severus was certain Mulciber hadn't been the one to kill her — after all, he'd tried to claim credit for it, and Bella had seen right through him. But if not Mulciber — who?

A few seventh years arranged the tables around the common room into a sort of stage and began to reenact the attack on the Hogwarts Express to general applause. Severus excused himself, muttering something about needing the toilet. Once he had ducked out of eyesight, he promptly Disillusioned himself and slunk out of the dungeons. Regulus and Avery were still in their prefect meeting, but they'd be out soon, and when they did, Severus had questions for them. Both were too neurotic — and, in Avery's case, too dull — to have killed Sally Dearborn, but all the same, they'd gone looking for her the night of the Halloween feast. Perhaps they had seen something they didn't realize was significant.

On the ground floor, Severus crouched beside a suit of armour until the door to the staffroom opened and the prefects began to file out. Lily was one of the first ones out, chatting with a couple of girls from Ravenclaw. One of them made some sort of wry comment, and Lily laughed loudly and unselfconsciously.

Severus grimaced. How could she be so happy, after the attack on the Hogwarts Express? Didn't she realize she could be next? She should never have returned to Hogwarts. Not that it was any of his concern.

Regulus and Avery were the last to leave the staffroom. As they passed the alcove where Severus was standing, he aimed a Trip Jinx at Avery's feet.

Avery stumbled forward, and Regulus steadied him. "Alright, Edmund?"

Severus let out a low whistle. Both of them looked towards the suit of armour. "It's me," he muttered when they made no move to approach him. "We need to talk."

"Severus?" asked Regulus, approaching the alcove. He squinted and put out a hand towards Severus' near-invisible form. "What's this about, then?"

The door to the staffroom opened, and Severus hushed him. Chester Fernsby, the Head Boy, stepped into the Entrance Hall and began to climb the steps of the marble staircase. Only once he had reached the first floor landing did Severus dare talk. "Did you hear what Dumbledore said during the feast?"

"Of course," said Regulus, raising his chin a little. Severus supposed he was trying to seem uncaring, but he was failing miserably at it. The crease between his eyebrows gave him away; he looked he couldn't wait for Severus to stop talking so that he could flee to his dormitory and scribble down all his worries in that journal of his.

"You realize that Dearborn must be dead," said Severus as he lifted the Disillusionment Charm he had placed on himself.

Avery's mouth fell open. "You really — you think she's… ?"

"He lumped her in with Roberts and Jones," snapped Severus. "He called her a casualty of war. Obviously she's dead."

The crease between Regulus' eyebrows grew deeper. "And why did you want to speak with us? We didn't kill her."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Severus. "I wanted to know if you saw anything the night she went missing. You went after Mulciber during the Halloween Feast — did you see her? Or anything unusual?"

Avery shook his head. "Nothing. We didn't see Sally at all. We found Mulciber on the — where were we, on the —"

"The seventh floor," supplied Regulus, with a glance at Avery. "He was lurking outside Gryffindor tower. Hoping to ambush her, I think."

Severus narrowed his eyes. He wished there was a way to ensure their honesty, but Regulus wouldn't take kindly to Severus using Legilimency on him again. He might be able to try it on Avery, though, if he got the chance. "If I find out you are withholding valuable information —"

"We're not," said Avery. "Why do you care what happened to Sally?"

"I don't," said Severus. "I'm glad she's dead. I just think it's suspicious."

"Brilliant deduction," said Regulus. "Hogwarts student goes missing, presumed dead. Severus' conclusion: suspicious. Indeed."

"Mulciber probably did it," said Avery. "I mean, if anyone…"

"It wasn't Mulciber," snarled Severus. "I'm certain of that much."

Regulus' mouth twisted into an ironic smile. He could have been Sirius' twin. "That's what this is about, then."

"I don't know what you're implying," said Severus stiffly.

"You hate Mulciber," said Regulus. "You're just trying to get back at him. You want to prove he's incompetent, is that it? Prove he couldn't complete his first assignment as our mentor?"

Severus wished he could curse that smug look off of Regulus' aristocratic face. "Perhaps."

"He's not a great mentor, I'll give you that much," said Regulus. "But he's not the main cause of your problems, Severus. You are."

"That — that is utter nonsense. You —"

"Spare me," said Regulus. "You're exactly like my brother, you know that? You piss people off, then play the victim. It's not Mulciber's fault that you're so unhappy with yourself."

Severus was nearly shaking with fury. "That — that is completely —"

"At least Sirius has learned to fall in line," said Regulus. "You still can't accept that you're not the most valuable recruit Bella has got. Or even the second most valuable."

"You dare —"

"It's the truth," said Regulus. "You're playing detective because it makes you feel useful. But Bella doesn't care what happened to Sally, as long as she's out of the picture, so you're wasting your time. But that's your choice, I suppose." He strode off before Severus could stop him.

Avery made to follow suit, but Severus grabbed him by the arm, squeezing tightly. "I'm not done with you," he hissed.

Avery tried to shrug him off, but Severus tightened his grip. Avery's mouth twisted a bit in pain, and he looked at Severus in confusion. "Sev, I already told you —"

"I need to make sure," said Severus. He leaned forward and stared into Avery's eyes as if he was trying to bore a hole through his skull. "Tell me what happened to Sally Dearborn."

"I don't know," said Avery, who looked positively alarmed at Severus' intensity. As he spoke, Severus took advantage of the moment to quietly cast Legilimency, without words or a wand. He would only be privy to the very shallowest of Avery's thoughts, but that would be enough. It had to be.

"I don't know," said Avery again. "I've no idea what happened to her." Confusion and genuine frustration rose to the forefront of Avery's mind. There were no signs of deception.

Severus took a deep breath, grounding himself in his own mind. "Fine. Tell me about what happened the night she went missing."

"Nothing happened," said Avery. His frustration was mounting; Severus could feel it seeping across their mental connection like sewage.

"There has to be more to it," said Severus. "It doesn't make sense. People don't just vanish into thin air. What else did you see? Retrace your steps, every detail matters —"

A wave of anger slammed into Severus's mind, so intense that it felt as if he'd been slapped. He gasped, and his head jerked to the side involuntarily, breaking their connection.

"I'm not telling you again," said Avery, slipping into that smarmy tone he used when disciplining first years. "We didn't find her. There's no need to retrace my steps."

Severus gritted his teeth. "If you would just humour me —"

"I won't," said Avery. "You're being ridiculous. You're obsessed. Now get your greasy hands off of me, before I take points."

Severus glared, but he relinquished his grasp, balling his hands into fists at his side.

"Much appreciated," said Avery. He straightened a little and adjusted his robes, clearly more comfortable now that he was back in his role of insufferable prefect. "If I may, Sev — spending too much time alone can do funny things to one's head. Sluggy offers counselling on Tuesdays — part of his job as Head of House, you know…"

Severus gnashed his teeth together to keep himself from screaming. "Get. Out."

Once Severus had calmed down enough to be sure he wouldn't do something he'd regret, he made a beeline for the library, to his secret room. He spent the rest of the afternoon venting his frustrations to the mirror, foregoing Occlumency completely in favour of allowing it to play out his wildest, most violent fantasies. He was no first year, needing to be lectured by the likes of Regulus and Avery. And, no matter what Regulus said, Severus was nothing — nothing — like Sirius Black, who'd been handed everything on a silver platter and thrown it all away out of spite. No, he, Severus, was the opposite — he'd had to struggle just to survive, and still nobody recognized his talent, nobody accepted him, nobody cared for him, it wasn't fair —

He froze in front of the mirror, breathing hard. Reflected back at him was a girl with dark red hair. Her hands were outstretched as if trying to grasp his, and her emerald green eyes were full of compassion. Upon meeting his eyes, she smiled sweetly.

"Stop that," Severus ordered the mirror. "Change it back. Go back to the one with Regulus, that's what I came here to see, I don't want this —"

The image of Lily merely nodded, infinitely understanding as she acknowledged his pain. She gestured for him to come closer.

"I know you deal in the impossible," Severus spat at the mirror, "but this time you stretch the limits of credibility. Put it back."

He grumbled at the mirror for several more minutes, but it was futile. Lily watched him rant without flinching; her expression was deeply sympathetic. It was the most kindness he'd been shown in months.

He knew he had to get rid of her. Her presence was too gentle, too good, and he could feel his resolve slipping every time he looked in the mirror. He would curl up and die here, staring into it, if he couldn't figure out how to make her go away, but he didn't want to close his mind to her.

Hours passed, and Severus' ranting turned to begging. He pleaded with the image of Lily to leave, to turn into Mulciber instead. He told her that he didn't want to get rid of her, that he couldn't. She was deaf to his words; her palms pressed against the mirror as if it were the only barrier separating them, and her gaze was full of longing. She wanted to be reunited just as badly as he did.

"You're going to drive me insane," he said. "Please. You have to leave."

She shook her head, her emerald eyes imploring.

"You have to go," he said. "I can't be the one to do it. Not again."

She reached out as if to touch his cheek. It was torture, being able to see her and speak to her, even though he knew it wasn't real. A fitting punishment for not using Occlumency, he supposed. He'd never make that mistake again.

At last, Severus closed his eyes and focused on clearing his mind. He pushed aside the deeply-buried part of him that longed to speak to Lily again, to tell her everything that had happened since they'd stopped being mates. To tell her that he was certainly a worse person without her. To tell her he was sorry. He hid everything away so well that not even he could find it.

When his mind was empty, he dared to glance at the mirror. To his relief, it showed only his reflection, and nothing more.

A/N: Do you ever work on something for so long that it might be crap, but you can't tell because you haven't got any distance from it? That's how I'm feeling about this chapter... dunno if I'm happy with it or not! But sitting on it longer helps no-one, so I'm publishing it and hope you've enjoyed! Next chapter will be up soon :)