The courtroom was as dark and silent as a tomb. Row after row of stone benches rose towards the ceiling, making Lily feel like she was standing at the bottom of a pit. She could just make out the silhouettes of the Wizengamot in the highest benches. At least fifty witches and wizards watched her from above with inscrutable expressions.

In the centre of the room was a chair. Lily supposed that was where she was to sit. As she approached, her footsteps echoed off the chamber walls; she hadn't known it was possible to walk so loudly. When she reached the chair, she hesitated. There were chains wrapped around its arms and legs. Was she going to be tied up?

"Please sit," said someone far above her. The voice was older, male, and sounded vaguely familiar — but she didn't know anyone on the Wizengamot, did she?

Lily sat. To her relief, the chains didn't bind her, and she relaxed a little. No matter what happened next, at least she wouldn't be tied up in front of the most powerful mages in wizarding Britain.

Just then, the wall sconces flared, casting the entire chamber in bright, flickering light. The visages of the Wizengamot became clear, and Lily's mouth fell open. There, in the centre of the highest bench, wearing vivid plum robes, was —

"Good morning, Miss Evans," said Albus Dumbledore.

Lily's heart beat a rapid rhythm against her chest. "Professor," she managed. Why was he here? Was he going to speak on her behalf? No, that was stupid — he was wearing the same robes as the rest of the Wizengamot. But wait —

Her eyes fell across a golden plaque in front of Dumbledore. Chief Warlock, it read. Lily didn't know what a Chief Warlock did, but she assumed that meant he was in charge.

No wonder James wasn't worried, she realized. He knew Dumbledore would be at my hearing.

Maybe she would get off, after all. There was no way Dumbledore would send her to Azkaban over something as trivial as unlicensed Apparition. Right?

"If you are ready, Miss Evans, we shall begin," said Dumbledore. He nodded towards the end of the bench, where a dark-skinned, bespectacled boy who looked barely older than Lily pulled out a quill and began to take notes. "We are gathered for a disciplinary hearing on the twenty-first of June. The defendant, Miss Lily Evans, stands accused of violating the International Statute of Secrecy. Her interrogators are myself — Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot — as well as Amelia Susan Bones, Head Magistrate. Any objections?"

Lily glanced at Madam Bones. She was an intimidating witch with a golden monocle in one eye and brown hair gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck. She met Lily's eyes and inclined her head slightly.

She won't be so bad as an interrogator, thought Lily. She couldn't explain how she knew this, except that there was something about Madam Bones that reminded her of Professor McGonagall. She seemed stern yet fair.

"The charges are as follows," continued Dumbledore, reading off a scroll of parchment. "That Miss Evans performed unlicensed Apparation on the eighteenth of April at nine seventeen in the evening, and that by Apparating into a Muggle residence, she has committed a Class Seven misdemeanour under the twentieth clause of Section Ten of the International Statute of Secrecy."

Lily tensed, certain that the Wizengamot would react with horror upon hearing that a Muggle-born had broken the law. But no murmurs arose from the high stone benches; in fact, most of the Wizengamot looked bored. A few exchanged knowing glances, and one witch with frizzy hair shook her head, disappointed.

They expected this of me, Lily realized, and her face grew hot with shame and anger. They believe that Muggle-borns have no respect for their laws, and I've just confirmed it.

"Miss Evans," said Dumbledore, leaning forward. "Do you have anything to add?"

His gaze was piercing, yet there was something encouraging in his expression. Lily straightened, feeling suddenly determined. She'd been prepared to hang her head and apologize, but that was off the table now. She was not about to confirm the prejudices of fifty stuck-up pure-bloods.

"I do have something to say, actually."

That caused a stir among the members of the Wizengamot. Whispers filled the air, and the boy who was taking notes scribbled furiously on his parchment. Dumbledore dipped his chin, indicating that she should speak.

"What you said was true, Professor. I did Apparate without a license. But —"

"Couldn't wait till your exam, could you?" said the wizard sitting on Dumbledore's right. He had black hair that was severely parted down the middle and a thin black moustache to match. "You thought you'd make a mockery of our institutions, not caring if you were caught. There are Death Eaters with more scruples…"

Madam Bones cut in; her voice was surprisingly deep. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Bartemius."

"The girl's past is a complete unknown. For all we know, she could be consorting with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers. Perhaps on the night she Apparated, she was attempting to contact the Death Eaters when something went awry…"

"A grave accusation, Barty," said Dumbledore. "Do you have any evidence to substantiate your claim?"

The wizard's perfectly-groomed moustache quivered. "I…"

"Without proof, this line of questioning is futile," said Madam Bones sharply. "I wish to hear the facts of this case, not baseless speculation."

"Then further testimony is needed," said Dumbledore. "Please continue, Miss Evans."

Lily took a deep breath. Time to convince the entire Wizengamot that she wasn't a Death Eater. "When I Apparated that night, I did it to defend myself. Somebody was threatening me, and I needed to get away."

"Threatening you?" boomed Madam Bones. "In what way?"

"Do you know Caradoc Dearborn?" said Lily. "He's the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation — he wrote the Muggle-Born Protection Act."

"We are well-acquainted with Caradoc," said the wizard with the moustache. "Your point, please, Miss… Evans."

He pronounced her surname as though he didn't believe it was truly hers, but Lily refused to let him under her skin. "Dearborn's daughter, Sally, went missing last year," she said. "Did you know that?"

A few of the Wizengamot looked uncomfortable. "We were informed of the situation," said Madam Bones. "What is your point?"

"The night that I Apparated without a license, I was investigating what happened to Sally," said Lily. "I went to the house of a Hogwarts student who was involved in her disappearance. I just wanted to talk to him, but he grabbed me and tried to use magic to read my mind."

"Mind reading does not exist," said Madam Bones. "The brain cannot be perused like a book."

"Whatever you want to call it, then," said Lily. "He tried to take my thoughts from me against my will. That's when I Disapparated. I didn't do it for a laugh — I did it to get away from him."

Madam Bones frowned. "Forcible use of Legilimency is a serious offence in its own right."

"That is beyond the scope of this hearing," retorted the wizard with the moustache. "Besides, you assume that this little girl is telling the truth."

"I see no reason for her to lie," said Madam Bones. "She admitted to Disapparating, after all."

"And yet we are only hearing her version of events," said the wizard. "Carefully concocted to remove all culpability —"

Frustration crept into Lily's voice. "Sir, I wasn't finished —"

"We ought to hear both sides of this story, don't you think?" the wizard asked the rest of the Wizengamot. "Peakes, bring in the witness."

Lily's heart dropped. She knew it. Severus was going to testify against her. There was no chance he'd show her mercy, not after she'd rescued Sally Dearborn from under his nose and openly kissed James in front of him.

The boy with the spectacles, Peakes, rose from his seat and scurried down the stone steps, past Lily. The door behind her creaked as the boy opened it. Lily didn't turn around; she'd catch a glimpse of Severus soon enough.

There was a pause. A few members of the Wizengamot looked puzzled.

"Well?" said the wizard with the moustache.

Behind Lily, Peakes cleared his throat. "Mr Crouch, sir. He's not here."

He shut the door and hastened back to his seat. The wizard — Mr Crouch — scowled. "What do you mean, he isn't here, boy? We sent him an owl — I was quite certain…"

Beside Mr Crouch, Dumbledore looked unperturbed. "If Severus Snape has decided not to attend this hearing, we must continue without him. Let us return to the matter at hand. Miss Evans, please finish telling us what happened on the night you Apparated."

"Oh," said Lily, disoriented. Why hadn't Severus shown up? Mr Crouch was right — surely Severus had received an owl from the Ministry. Why would he pass up this opportunity to humiliate her?

"You spoke previously about Disapparating because you feared for your safety," Dumbledore reminded her gently. "Would you be so kind as to tell us your destination?"

"Er, right," said Lily. "I just went home, to my room. That's all."

Madam Bones gave her a keen look. "The infirmary record at Hogwarts shows that you received treatment for a Splinching on the nineteenth of April. Is that correct?"

Lily sighed. She hadn't wanted to bring that up. "Yes, ma'am. I, er, left part of my foot behind."

To her surprise, Madam Bones looked pleased. "There you have it," she said, turning to the other members of the Wizengamot. "The Splinching proves Miss Evan's Apparition was not premeditated. That drops the severity of the charge from a Class Seven to a Class Five misdemeanour."

"I wouldn't be so certain." Mr Crouch eyed Lily with more suspicion than ever. "The more familiar one is with a location, the less likely a Splinching. Perhaps the Muggle residence was not this girl's home, simply a convenient cover story to hide her true allegiances —"

"Her allegiances to whom, incidentally?" asked Madam Bones.

"I think you know exactly who —"

"Perhaps, Barty," said Dumbledore. "Or perhaps Miss Evans was a witch in her sixth year who had not yet mastered the knack of Apparating, and given the stress of her situation, was unable to perform the task properly."

Mr Crouch didn't look convinced, but he made no reply.

"I think this hearing has gone on long enough," said Madam Bones. "It is time we put the matter to a vote."

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "Miss Evans ought to be going on with her day — as should we. Those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?"

Only two members of the Wizengamot raised their hands. Dumbledore was not among them.

Betrayal soured Lily's stomach. She'd thought Dumbledore was on her side. But —

"Those in favour of conviction?" asked Dumbledore.

The remaining forty-eight members of the Wizengamot raised their hands in unison, like a practised choreography. There were so many hands in the air. So many stern faces loomed from the stone benches.

Lily's heartbeat pounded in her eardrums. She was going to be found guilty.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, whose hands had remained clasped in front of him. "Miss Evans, the Wizengamot has found you guilty of a Class Five misdemeanor. In simple terms, this means —"

He didn't vote, Lily realized numbly. The Chief Warlock leads the proceedings but doesn't get a vote. A few minutes ago, she might have found that fact interesting.

Dumbledore was still talking, but she couldn't focus on what was being said. A single word hammered through her mind like the pounding of a gavel. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

"Miss Evans," said Dumbledore. "Did you understand all that?"

"Er…" Lily's voice faltered. She took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. "Could you say it one more time, please?"

"Your Apparition license will be revoked," said Dumbledore gently. "You will be prohibited from Apparating or using Side-Along Apparition. And you will have to pay a fine. Do you find these terms acceptable?"

Lily blinked. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned Azkaban, right? Or expulsion from Hogwarts? Or her wand being snapped? So that meant…

"You may appeal your ruling if you find your sentence unreasonable," added Madam Bones, who seemed to believe she was giving Lily helpful advice. "If you choose to do so, there will be a retrial, and we will re-examine the facts surrounding your case."

Mr Crouch's perfect moustache twisted as he grimaced. "A retrial is a double-edged sword," he growled. "If we uncover new evidence, you might not like how things turn out, young lady. Darkness cannot hide from the light."

"I don't want to appeal." Lily was surprised at how strong her voice sounded. "I accept the consequences. They're fair. May I leave now?"

Dumbledore nodded and motioned for the Wizengamot to adjourn. Lily hurried out of the stone chamber as soon as she could, irrationally afraid that they would change their minds if she lingered. It wasn't until she had left the Ministry entirely and was standing on the pavement of Muggle London that she felt like she could breathe again. She shielded her face against the intense sunshine and smiled.

It was over. She wasn't going to Azkaban! All they'd given her was a measly ban from Apparating. That was inconvenient, but it wasn't as if she loved magical means of transportation, anyway. And she'd pay a million fines if it meant returning to Hogwarts.

James and the others are going to be so happy, she thought as she walked back to Uncle Alphard's flat. She couldn't wait to tell them the excellent news.

James had never imagined that Lily's trial would go so poorly.

"You're joking," he said for the fifth time.

"I'm not," said Lily. The group was gathered at the table in Uncle Alphard's flat, ostensibly for lunch, though nobody had touched a thing except Lily. She had devoured a sandwich and was now sipping a cup of tea, looking entirely too calm about the situation.

James ran his hands through his hair, which was almost sticking straight up at this point. "How can you — how can you sit there drinking tea when — when —"

As if to prove a point, Lily took a long sip before responding. "It's fine, James. I was expecting so much worse."

"Worse?" he exclaimed. "They banned you from Apparating — permanently!" He looked to Sirius for support, but Sirius was fiddling with a Muggle lighter Dorcas had given him.

"We can appeal," said Marlene, who was nearly as upset as James. "This has got to be unprecedented. I'm sure if we do a little digging, we can find some technicality to declare a mistrial…"

"That's really not necessary, Marly," said Lily. "What's done is done — I'm just glad my wand wasn't snapped."

"That was never in the realm of possibility," said James.

Remus made a noncommittal noise. "Twenty-four hours ago, I would have agreed with you. But it never crossed my mind that they would ban her from Apparating, so…"

"I can't believe Dumbledore didn't do anything to stop it," said James. "I was certain he wouldn't let them find you guilty. I thought he'd get you off."

"He hasn't got that kind of power over the Wizengamot," said Lily. "He doesn't even vote."

"Bullshit." Sirius glanced up from the lighter. "Dumbledore's the only reason wizarding Britain is still standing. He's got more power than Lord Voldemort, even."

"Don't — Don't call You-Know-Who that!" said Peter shrilly.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "That's your contribution to this discussion, Pete?"

"You shouldn't," said Peter. "It's bad luck. That's the name he wants Muggle-borns to use."

Lily's voice was sharper than any knife. "And why would calling him the same name as Muggle-borns be bad luck?"

"It isn't bad luck," said Sirius. "Besides, I'm certainly not going to call him the Dark Lord…"

"Peter's got a point," said Remus. "Well, sort of."

"You too, Moony?" Sirius looked disappointed.

"Yes, but with a caveat," responded Remus. "I venture that we shouldn't call him 'Lord' in the first place. When we use names like 'the Dark Lord' or 'Lord Voldemort', we grant him power. I don't think we should make it so easy for him."

"Yeah!" said Peter triumphantly. "You see?"

"He wasn't agreeing with you, Pete," said Sirius nastily.

Lily looked thoughtful. "That was well-said, Remus. I think you're right."

"Me, too," said James automatically, although he didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Lord Voldemort wasn't a real lord, and he never would be. So who cared if he gave himself a fake title? He could call himself the Queen of England for all it mattered, but it wouldn't change a thing.

"Voldemort is a stupid name, anyway." Sirius pronounced the name in perfect French. "Thief of death. As if death can be stolen from — shit." He blew on his finger, which he'd burnt on the lighter.

"Sounds like something Mulciber and his gang might come up with," agreed James. "Which fits, I suppose."

"Speaking of," said Marlene, "Snape was at the hearing, wasn't he, Lils? Is that why they didn't let you off?"

"He wasn't, actually," said Lily. "That was the funny bit. They invited him, but he didn't show up."

James frowned. "Since when does Snivellus pass up an opportunity to humiliate you in public?"

Lily's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know. I was surprised, too."

"Wish I knew what he was plotting," said James.

Remus hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe he didn't believe anything fruitful would come of being present for the hearing."

Sirius snorted. "Since when does Snivellus worry about being fruitful?"

"Well," said Peter, "if I were a wannabe Death Eater who tried to murder Caradoc Dearborn's daughter, and the Wizengamot invited me to testify before them, I'm not so certain I'd show up, either."

"Exactly," said Remus.

James was still ruminating on Lily's hearing. "So you don't want us to do anything?" he asked, a tad more forcefully than he'd meant.

"Nothing that involves me going on trial again," responded Lily. "I can't imagine a retrial would go any better than this one did."

Embarrassment squeezed James' ribcage like a vice; he couldn't believe he'd been so blind to the way Muggle-borns were treated. If it had been him on trial, the sole heir to the Potter name, he'd have been declared innocent within the first five minutes. In fact, there likely wouldn't have been a trial in the first place — not over something as silly as illegal Apparition. He felt foolish for assuming that the Wizengamot would treat Lily with the same fairness they would have shown him.

"I'm going to write a letter," he announced to the table at large.

"To who?" asked Sirius. "Your mum?"

James ignored him. "To the editor of the Daily Prophet. You know, the bloke with the enormous beard. What's his name again?"

"Barnabas Cuffe," supplied Remus.

Lily narrowed her eyes. "If you're about to write to the editor of the Daily Prophet about me…"

"I'm not!" James realized he needed to backtrack a little. "Not about you, specifically. But the way Muggle-borns are being treated is an outrage. Someone ought to bring it to old Cuffe's attention."

"And what if he already knows?" asked Remus.

"He doesn't," said James. "A lineage like his? I'm certain he doesn't. Wizarding Britain's got its head in the sand when it comes to Muggle-born discrimination. Someone needs to inform the public about what's going on."

"Yeah, I'm sure a letter from a Hogwarts student will change everything," said Sirius sarcastically.

"Only one letter?" said James. "That wasn't what I had in mind…"

Three weeks later, James and the other Marauders were sprawled across Uncle Alphard's living room, writing letters to the Daily Prophet. The only person who wasn't hard at work was Peter; he was lying on his back, eating a cheese sandwich. Beside him, a fluffy black quill zoomed across a roll of parchment, writing a letter of its own accord.

"Get back to work, Pete," said James, who was on his seventeenth letter of the day. His hand was starting to cramp quite badly, but he considered that a good thing; the writing was building up his finger muscles, which would give him an edge during the upcoming Quidditch season.

"I am working," said Peter around a mouthful of sandwich. He nodded at the black quill.

"That doesn't count," said James. "The goal is to inundate Cuffe with letters until he can't ignore us. You ought to be writing with both hands and the quill."

Remus finished up a letter, which he signed 'Lemus Rupin'. Sirius peered over his shoulder. "'Lemus Rupin'? You might as well have signed it, 'Definitely Not a Pseudonym'…"

"My aunt's name is Lemus," responded Remus.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," said Sirius, as though Remus had said his aunt had passed away. James snorted.

"Lemus isn't that bad," said Peter. "It beats Bogdana, anyway. That's my aunt's name."

"Well, I know what I'm calling my future daughter," said James. "Bogdana Lemus Potter has quite a ring to it."

Sirius laughed. "Rolls right off the tongue."

Peter sat up, looking alarmed. "Are you and Lily… you know…" He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "Expecting?"

James began to choke. Sirius pounded him on the back as he coughed. "Expecting?" he wheezed once he'd caught his breath. "Pete, are you insane?"

"Just wondering," said Peter. "Don't get me wrong, Lily's fantastic. But it's a bit soon to be picking out baby names, isn't it?"

"I was joking," said James. And he had been. Mostly.

"Of course you were," said Sirius. Beside him, Remus raised his eyebrows.

Peter glanced past James, towards the window. "Hang on. Is that an owl?"

James turned around. Perched on the windowsill was a handsome eagle owl with a thick, cream-coloured envelope in its beak.

"Cuffe's responded!" exclaimed Sirius, throwing open the window. "Thank Merlin, it only took three weeks and five thousand letters —"

He reached for the envelope, but the owl soared past Sirius and into the flat. It circled the room once — it was so large its wingtips nearly brushed the walls — then dropped the envelope in James' lap and flew out the window, disappearing into the muggy London sky.

James picked up the envelope, which felt oddly heavy. 'Mr James Potter' was written in sloping script across the front. That was strange; he'd taken care to use pseudonyms when writing to the Prophet. He turned the envelope over, then froze. He rubbed his eyes several times, certain he was seeing things.

"Well?" Sirius looked expectantly at James. "What're you waiting for?"

"Er." James stared at the wax seal on the back of the envelope. "Why would Barnabas Cuffe send me an envelope sealed with the Hogwarts crest?"

"Maybe he's teaching Defence this year," said Remus.

"Yeah," said Peter. "Or there might have been a mix-up with the stamps."

"Don't be daft, Pete," said Sirius. "A mix-up with the stamps? Do you actually believe that?"

"I dunno," said Peter. "Maybe Cuffe keeps a stamp of the Hogwarts crest right next to his usual Ministry stamp. Maybe he was distracted by the influx of letters at his desk and grabbed the wrong one —"

"That's a good theory," said Remus. "Personally, I suspect the letter was sent not by Cuffe, but by the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Process of elimination, you know. Though I've been wrong before…"

"James," said Sirius, "if you stare at that envelope any longer, your eyeballs will fall out of your head. Just open it, will you?"

"Alright, alright." James slit open the envelope. "I'm a bit confused, that's all. Our book list isn't supposed to come until —" He broke off. Inside the envelope was a neatly-folded piece of parchment and a dazzling silver badge.

"Merlin's tits," said Peter.

"I don't believe it," said Sirius. "Holy shit. Holy arse-buggering shit."

Remus said something even fouler. "James. You're Head Boy?"

"No," said James immediately, and he tossed the envelope and its contents across the room, as if it were about to explode. "No way. There must have been a mistake. I'm not…"

Sirius howled with laughter. "You're Head Boy! Oh, this'll be rich. James Fleamont Potter, in charge of all the insufferable prefects at Hogwarts. I can't wait."

James turned to Remus and jabbed a finger at him. "You were supposed to be Head Boy!" he said accusingly. "We've had this planned since our second year!"

"Don't yell at him," said Sirius. "It's not his fault you got all noble on us last year. Saving Sally Dearborn like you did, it's no wonder —"

Remus seemed nearly as shocked as James; it took him a moment to respond. "I wonder who might be Head Girl," he said at last in a carefully measured voice.

Sirius' smile grew incredulous. "D'you think?"

"It's likely, isn't it?" asked Remus.

"Who's likely?" said Peter, looking back and forth between them.

James felt like he was short-circuiting. "No. Dumbledore wouldn't —"

"He would," said Sirius. "Merlin bless that meddling old warlock, this is right up his alley. I bet he's been planning it for years."

"If she's Head Girl," said James slowly, "and I'm Head Boy…"

"Sorry," said Peter, "but if who's Head Girl?"

Sirius grinned. "Lily Evans."

Peter's jaw dropped. "I don't believe it."

"I do," said Sirius. "Who else would be Head Girl? She's leagues above the rest of the girls in our year — none of the others even come close."

"You ought to be thanking your lucky tea leaves, Prongs," said Peter. "Dating Lily Evans and you're going to be Heads together."

"Some people have all the luck," agreed Remus. James thought he heard a note of bitterness, but Remus smiled at him. "You're going to write to her, I assume? To find out if she's received the badge?"

"Er," said James evasively. He had a sneaking suspicion Lily would not be glad that he was Head Boy. Maybe it was best to let her find out once they were back at Hogwarts. "I dunno."

"Oh, come off it," said Sirius. "Write to her. She's your girlfriend, isn't she? She'll be thrilled."

"Why don't you do it, Moony?" asked James.

Remus gave him a strange look. "Why would I do that?"

James realized it would look odd if he admitted that he was scared of Lily's reaction. The Marauders thought they were dating, after all. "Well," he said, thinking quickly, "we ought to confirm she's Head Girl before we tell her I've got the badge, too. Just in case Dumbledore didn't pick her."

"Rubbish," said Sirius. "Who else would he choose? Daisy Hookum?"

"I think someone is frightened of his own girlfriend," said Remus in an unusually biting tone. He must have realized how he sounded, because he gave James a half-smile. "That isn't to say I won't do it, Prongs."

"Thank Merlin," said James. "I owe you one. When we get back to Hogwarts, I'll buy you all the Chocolate Cauldrons that Honeyduke's has to offer."

"A fine payment," said Remus, who was already pulling out a quill and parchment.

When Remus left the flat that evening, he chose to make a poor decision.

He wasn't sure what it said about him that even his poor decisions were planned in advance. But instead of Apparating home, where his father was surely pretending to read a book while he waited for Remus to return, Remus began to run.

Well. More like jog. The full moon was approaching, and his knees were acting up.

He turned down one narrow street after the next, sticking to the shadows and avoiding the artificial yellow light from the electric lamp posts. At last, he spotted a dingy, solidly Muggle pub that looked like it would suit his needs, and he ducked inside.

The pub was mostly empty. The place appeared to have been popular a decade ago, but it was now dying a slow death, like a neglected houseplant. In other words, it was the perfect spot to have a sulk.

The barkeep poured Remus a beer without bothering to ask his age. Remus brought his drink to a shadowed table in the corner and began to chew on a nail.

I'm only going to feel sorry for myself for five minutes, he decided. That was plenty — any more would be indulgent and, quite frankly, unhelpful.

He should have foreseen that James would be chosen as Head Boy. Captain of the Quidditch team, top of the class without trying… to make matters worse, James had been born with a sense of justice that even his spoiled upbringing couldn't quash. Saving Sally Dearborn was the cherry on top. Of course Dumbledore chose James — who wouldn't have?

And yet. He allowed himself to feel momentarily bitter. The Head Boy is always a prefect. Always.

Remus was pragmatic: he had done the calculations in his fifth year, as soon as he'd learned he was prefect. He had assumed that out of all the prefects, he was the most likely to become Head Boy. He had been respectful, friendly, and forward-thinking without being pushy. If he was being honest with himself, he had believed he was a shoo-in for the position.

How foolish that assumption seemed now. Of course Dumbledore would have no trouble breaking tradition to crown James as Head Boy.

Did Dumbledore realize what he had done by choosing James instead of Remus? Remus needed that badge. Without it, who would give him a job after he graduated Hogwarts? Who would hire a person that needed at least two nights off every month, whose requests were predictable because they tracked with the moon cycle…

Who would hire a werewolf?

Nobody, thought Remus sourly. But if I'd been Head Boy, I might have had a chance.

With that badge, a sympathetic employer might have given him the benefit of the doubt. It might have been possible for shop owners to look past his affliction, thinking, Dumbledore backs him, so I'll do the same.

Well, so much for that dream.

"Is this seat taken?"

Remus looked up and nearly jumped in surprise; Sirius was standing over him, a foaming glass of beer in hand.

"What're you doing here?"

"I could ask the same to you." Sirius sat smoothly across from Remus at the table.

Instead of answering, Remus took a sip of beer. He made a face. "Eurgh."

"Something the matter?"

"Nothing. It's bitter."

Sirius smirked. "I'd buy you a Butterbeer, but I don't think this place keeps any in stock."

"Funny," said Remus. "How did you know I was here?"

"I followed you, of course."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Sirius looked suddenly sheepish. "Padfoot's got an excellent nose, you know. And your scent isn't exactly subtle."

"Are you saying I stink?"

"Of course not! Merlin's tits, you are stroppy tonight, aren't you. No, Moony, you do not stink. Quite the opposite, actually."

Remus didn't know what that meant. To avoid having to say anything, he took another swallow of beer and pretended that he liked it.

"So," said Sirius when it became clear that Remus was not going to lead the conversation. "James is Head Boy."

Remus hummed a little, the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

"Bit unexpected, isn't it?" said Sirius. "Everybody thought it would be you."

"Yes, well. I ought to have known I wouldn't qualify."

Sirius' grey eyes probed Remus' face. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"D'you want me to say it out loud, Pads? In this Muggle pub?"

"I don't know what you're getting at. You think Dumbledore didn't pick you because you didn't get enough O.W.L.s?"

"Don't be cute. You and I both know why he didn't pick me, and it's nothing to do with my marks." Not that kind of mark, anyway. Remus' hand nearly went to his shoulder blade, where the scar was, but he stopped himself.

"Aha," said Sirius, jabbing a finger at Remus. "You think he didn't choose you because you're a werewolf?"

Remus forced himself to modulate his voice. Sirius had no idea how much it stung to hear those words aloud. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Not to me," said Sirius. "I don't think it was a factor at all."

"Bollocks. Of course it was."

"Dumbledore had no qualms about making you prefect. I don't see how Head Boy's any different."

"The difference," said Remus through gritted teeth, "is that prefects don't need to be perfect role models. The Head Boy is supposed to be someone first years can look up to. A Dark creature could never —"

"Oh, please. My mum's a Dark creature. You're not."

"Legally —"

"Fuck what the laws say. Laws can be changed."

They'd had this argument before, and Remus wasn't in the mood. "Fine," he said. "Can you think of another reason why Dumbledore didn't choose me?"

"Of course," said Sirius. "I've got several in mind, actually."

Remus blinked. Several reasons? Was Sirius about to rattle off a list of Remus' flaws? "Go on, then," he said, clenching his glass of beer more tightly.

"Well," said Sirius, "it might have nothing to do with you at all. Dumbledore might have wanted to reward James for finding Sally Dearborn last term. The Head Boy badge seems like the best way to do that, since James already has everything else he could possibly want."

Remus let out a humourless laugh. "He does, doesn't he?"

"Yes, but don't hold it against him," said Sirius. "Not everyone can be as fucked up as we are."

It wasn't often that Sirius was a voice of reason, but he had a point this time. Remus' stomach curdled with guilt for having laughed at James. "That's true. I shouldn't make fun of him. But if Dumbledore wanted to reward James, how could he not realize what that meant for me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Without that badge, how am I going to get a job after Hogwarts? Dumbledore had to know what the consequences would be for me. He just didn't care, I suppose."

"Oh, right," said Sirius sarcastically. "The greatest Headmaster in three centuries didn't care about the only werewolf student that Hogwarts has ever seen. I'm sure he isn't invested in your success at all."

"Then why…"

"I think he's got other plans for you," said Sirius. "Bigger plans. Better than being Head Boy. In fact, I think being Head Boy would interfere with whatever he's got planned for you."

"That… sounds unlikely," said Remus. He would have put it in stronger terms, but Sirius looked so earnest that he couldn't bring himself to put a damper on his enthusiasm.

"We'll see," said Sirius in that maddeningly self-assured way of his.

"Yes, we will," said Remus. "And when we've graduated and I can't keep a job, I'm going to say 'I told you so.'"

"If that happens, we can both live off the Potter fortune," said Sirius. "Seeing as I don't want a real job anyway."

"Oh, brilliant."

"It would be. We can spend all day faffing about the Shrieking Shack and squandering James' galleons on Zonko's products. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Keep dreaming, Pads."

"You don't think that sounds ideal?"

"I think you're mental."

"And I think you're an incurable pessimist. But everything will be alright. You'll see." Sirius polished off his beer, then pointed at Remus' glass. "Are you going to finish that?"