During their Transfiguration lesson two weeks later, Severus was surreptitiously helping Avery turn his goblet of vinegar into wine when there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" called Professor McGonagall. Severus took advantage of the distraction to give Avery's vinegar a deep red tint.

Professor Slughorn peered into the classroom, his expression solemn. "Sorry to interrupt, Minerva. I was hoping to speak to Snape and Avery."

"Be my guest," said Professor McGonagall, peering into their goblets. "Excellent work on your vinegar, Avery. Snape, I expect you to make significantly more progress when you return."

Severus nodded, then followed Professor Slughorn and Avery into the corridor. "Yes, sir?" he asked.

Professor Slughorn shook his head. "Not here, boys. We'll speak in my office." He turned, gesturing for them to follow.

"Are we in trouble?" Avery whispered to Severus.

"It certainly appears that way."

Avery's mouth twisted into a knowing grin. "Did you do something bad?"

"No."

"Then why —"

"I haven't the faintest, so you can stop interrogating me," said Severus through gritted teeth.

Avery pouted, but he remained silent as they marched to the dungeons. Professor Slughorn pushed open the door to his office; Regulus was already inside, sitting stiffly in one of three wooden chairs opposite Slughorn's desk.

"Now, boys." Professor Slughorn settled behind his desk and gestured for them to have a seat in the remaining chairs. "I'm certain you're aware of why I wish to speak with you. I'm disappointed, might I add — very disappointed."

Avery giggled, apparently unaware of the seriousness of the situation. "Are you very, very disappointed?"

"I am." Professor Slughorn eyed them all severely. "I'd hoped that the events of last term had knocked some sense into you three, but it's clear I was wrong about that." Avery opened his mouth, but Professor Slughorn held up a hand, cutting him off. "I don't mean to scold — we've all cast curses we shouldn't have, Lord knows I was no angel as a student — but this is beyond the pale. Far beyond it."

Severus had no idea what Professor Slughorn was jabbering about. He'd kept his head down since returning to Hogwarts: for once in his life, he hadn't made any decisions that needed to be hidden from the professors. He exchanged a look with Regulus, who was plainly as lost as he was.

"Apologies if I speak out of turn, sir," said Severus. "But would you mind elaborating on the situation to which you refer? I can't recall casting any curses as of late — setting last term aside, of course."

"There's no need to be coy," said Professor Slughorn. "You know as well as I do what has happened to poor Owen Stickley."

Severus had never even heard of a student named Owen Stickley. Not that Slughorn would believe him if he said as much. And if he hadn't done anything to him, there was no way Regulus had, either. Let alone Avery, who no longer knew which end of his wand to hold.

Professor Slughorn must have been thinking along these same lines, because he was regarding Avery with pity. "No, I suppose you couldn't have had a hand in this, Edmund," he murmured. "After all, you've been addled since… well, never mind that." He turned his watery eyes to Severus and Regulus. "Owen is a first-year in your own house. Suffice it to say that a pair of students found him lying face-down in the common room this morning, covered in blood and deep wounds — magic of the Darkest sort. He was at death's door when they brought him to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey is working to stabilize him as we speak, though it's my understanding that the outlook is grim."

"Wow," said Avery, looking awed. "He might die? That's horrible."

Regulus squared his shoulders, looking as resolute as Severus had ever seen him. "Sir, I understand why you believe we were involved, especially given the events of last June. But I can say unequivocally that we had nothing to do with it."

"We learned our lesson," added Severus. "After what happened with Sally Dearborn… after Mulciber was expelled… we realized we had gone too far. What happened to Stickley is unfortunate, but we played no part in it."

Professor Slughorn stroked his moustache several times, befuddled. "As much as I would like to, I'm afraid I cannot take you at your word," he said at last. "You have already proven yourselves capable of this sort of Dark magic. I expect you each to serve detention for what you have done."

Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes. A single detention? Professor Slughorn really didn't know how to keep his own House under control.

As though he'd read his mind, Professor Slughorn continued, his tone grave. "A further warning — if this happens again, I will have no choice but to let the Deputy Headmistress oversee your discipline."

Regulus began to hyperventilate. Severus gave no outward sign of alarm, though he too was rattled by the threat. If they were unjustly accused again, Professor McGonagall would likely expel them before they could even begin to plead their case.

Professor Slughorn raised a hand, and the door to his office opened. "Off you go, now. And please — try to behave yourselves. If only for your own sake."

Once they were in the dimly lit dungeon corridor, Regulus rounded on Severus. "What did you do?" he said in a low, urgent voice.

"Nothing," snapped Severus.

Regulus snorted. "Right. As if I believe that —"

Severus wasn't inclined to listen to further false accusations. He turned on his heel and began to stalk down the corridor.

"Wait," called Regulus. "Sev — wait —"

Shoes pattered on the stone floor as Regulus and Avery caught up to him. "You have to tell us what you've done," said Regulus, grabbing Severus by the arm. "It isn't fair —"

Severus shook him off. He glanced around the dungeon corridor, which was empty; still, he couldn't risk anyone overhearing them. "Dungeon Thirteen. We'll talk there."

Once they were inside the dungeon, he locked the gilded door behind them, though there was really no need. Only Followers could find the place, after all.

Regulus crossed his arms, looking as angry as Severus had ever seen him. "Now that we're alone, do you mind explaining why you thought it'd be a laugh to slice up a first-year student like a piece of meat —"

"You sound like Professor Slughorn," snapped Severus. "Whatever happened to that boy, I didn't do it. And neither did you, I'm assuming."

Regulus snorted. "Of course I didn't. But if you think I believe that you didn't have a hand in it —"

"You can search my memories, if you like," said Severus, which shut Regulus up. "I know it's shocking, but I'm being honest. My only goal this year is to graduate without being expelled. Why would I threaten that by cursing a random student from my own House?"

There was a pause.

"I didn't do it, either," said Avery belatedly.

"Yes, Edmund, we're well aware," said Severus. "The question is: who did?"

Regulus was frowning. "They found Stickley in the common room, didn't they? So it had to be someone in Slytherin."

"One would assume," said Severus. "Any idea who it might have been?"

Regulus chewed on his bottom lip. "Possibly one of the students I was telling you about — the ones who wanted to be Followers. Maybe they thought that cursing him would get our attention."

"Idiots," muttered Severus. "Remind me — who showed interest in Following?"

"Rudolph Brand and Emma Vanity," said Regulus. "Aquila Greengrass mentioned something to me, too, but that might have been a fluke — she hadn't brought it up since."

"Emma Vanity has wanted to be a Follower for years," said Severus. "She was present the first time I ever met with Lucius Malfoy. He didn't want her, though."

"Perhaps she never got over that," said Regulus. "Maybe she thinks this year is her last chance to get ahead. Rise through the Dark Lord's ranks."

"I pity her, if that's the case," said Severus. "There's no glory, here; we must be the Dark Lord's sorriest Followers."

Regulus gave him a small smile. "That's certain."

Severus turned towards the fireplace and passed his hand over his wand. At once, bright green flames leapt in the hearth, bringing a meagre warmth to the room. He stared into the emerald fire, thinking hard. As much as he hated to admit it, they might have no choice but to do a bit of good — for Hogwarts, and for themselves. They needed to bring the perpetrator to light.

"Here's what we'll do," he said at last. "We need to figure out who cursed Stickley, and soon. If they think they've gotten away with it — if they see that we've taken the fall for it — they might be emboldened to attack again. And if we're forced to defend ourselves to McGonagall, I don't like our odds. Do you?"

"Er… no?" said Avery. It was clear he had stopped following the discussion long ago.

"Exactly, Edmund," said Severus. "I propose we do the following. Regulus, I want you to speak with Brand, Vanity, and Greengrass. You can pretend that you want to know who cursed Stickley because you're impressed with them. Insinuate that we're considering adding to our ranks… that may draw out the truth."

Regulus nodded tightly. "Any particular reason you're leaving the questioning to me?"

"I'll be interrogating my own suspects," said Severus darkly. "There are a few people outside our house who have a twisted sense of humour. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to frame us for their own misdeeds." He fixed his eyes on Regulus. "You know who I'm talking about, don't you?"

Regulus swallowed. "My brother —"

"— Is a sociopath and a menace to society," finished Severus. "James Potter is no better. If I find out they're the ones behind this…" He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

It made perfect sense, after all. Potter and Black had a long history of cursing Slytherins for sport. And as Head Boy, James had access to all of the common rooms. They probably thought it would be a laugh to get Severus expelled.

Well. They were in for a nasty surprise, because he wasn't the cowering fifth-year he'd once been. He was in charge of the Followers now, and even though there were only three of them, they were his responsibility. If Potter and Black wanted to go after him, that was one thing. But he wouldn't let them go after Regulus and Avery, too. Not without a fight.

Lily was quite busy the following day: she had Herbology and Double Charms in the morning, a mere half-hour break for lunch, History of Magic and Double Potions in the afternoon, and an hour of apprenticeship with Madam Pomfrey after dinner. As if that wasn't bad enough, a second-year Hufflepuff found her in the corridor after History of Magic and pressed a scroll into her hand. It was a message from Professor McGonagall, requesting that Lily come to her office after her apprenticeship with Madam Pomfrey.

Lily pocketed the scroll with a sigh. Year six had been exhausting, but year seven looked like it was going to be even worse. Between her duties as Head Girl and taking nine N.E.W.T.-level classes, her days were jam-packed. At least she only had her apprenticeship with Madam Pomfrey twice a month, instead of every week like the previous year. Small mercies, she thought.

The hospital wing was nearly empty when she arrived; only one of the beds was occupied, though its curtains were drawn, so she couldn't see its occupant.

"There you are," said Madam Pomfrey, who was stripping the linens off a cot near the entrance to the hospital wing. The normally white sheets were stained crimson, and several dark red puddles had formed on the floor. "Mind grabbing the bottle of lye in the cabinet and helping me with these linens, I'm hoping the stains will wash out…"

Lily ran to the medicine cabinet for the lye, then helped Madam Pomfrey dump the linens in the large copper cauldron in the corner. "What did I miss?" she asked, pouring the lye onto the stained sheets. "Looks like someone tried to bleed out on you…"

"That's putting it mildly," replied Madam Pomfrey. "I haven't had a student try so hard to die on me since the Cockatrice incident of 1971."

Lily hadn't heard of the Cockatrice incident, but she knew better than to ask. "So what happened this time?"

Madam Pomfrey shook her head as she wrung out the sheets. "I'm not entirely certain. A couple of students found poor Owen Stickley in the Slytherin common room, covered in slashes like he'd been attacked with a knife. He had nearly lost his entire volume of blood by the time they brought him to me. Yellow bile was almost completely depleted, spleen spewing black bile like you wouldn't believe — I've never seen anything like it."

Lily thought of the time Severus had sliced James Potter's chest open with a wave of his wand. "Could it have been a curse?"

"Possibly," said Madam Pomfrey, "though no curse I know of can cause such profuse bleeding like that. Nothing I tried could stop it."

"But you did save him, right?"

"Yes, but it was close," said Madam Pomfrey. "I worked round the clock last night, and even then it was touch-and-go. Finally got in contact with a few Healers at St. Mungo's — they were screening their Floo calls, Merlin knows why — and it's a good thing I did. They transferred him at once. Last I heard, they'd managed to stop the bleeding, but now he's not responding to Blood-Replenishing potions."

That's frightening, reflected Lily as she scrubbed the sheets. No creature could cause wounds like that. Owen Stickley must have been affected by a spell or an enchanted object. His surname hadn't escaped her notice, either: he was at least a half-blood, and potentially Muggle-born. Had somebody targeted him for his blood status?

After her apprenticeship had finished for the evening, she headed straight to Professor McGonagall's office. To her surprise, James was already there; he and Professor McGonagall were deeply engrossed in conversation about Quidditch, a tin of biscuits on the desk between them.

"… You should've seen Susan Li during try-outs for Keeper last week," said James, chewing on a biscuit. "Only let through a single goal. She's no Simon Ashworth, of course, but she's close."

"She favours the left hoop," replied Professor McGonagall. "You've got to break her of that habit, preferably before we face Slytherin."

"Not a problem," said James. "I'm more worried about the Slytherin Beaters, they've chosen Ivanna Burke to replace Mulciber, and she's got wicked aim…"

Lily cleared her throat, and they both turned to her.

"Have a seat, Miss Evans," said Professor McGonagall, gesturing to the chair beside James. "We'll have to continue this conversation later, Potter. Now that you're both here, I was hoping to speak to you about an incident that occurred last night."

Lily had a sneaking suspicion she already knew what Professor McGonagall was talking about. "Does it have anything to do with what happened to Owen Stickley, Professor?" she asked.

Professor McGonagall's thin eyebrows raised slightly above her glasses. "Indeed. Madam Pomfrey filled you in, I assume?"

Lily nodded.

"Did she have any updates from St Mungo's?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"The Healers there managed to stabilize him. He isn't responding to their Blood-Replenishing potions, though."

"Er, sorry," said James, looking back and forth between Lily and Professor McGonagall. "But would one of you mind filling me in…?"

After Professor McGonagall finished explaining what had happened, James' mouth was ajar. "I can't believe it," he said. "Why would someone do that? It hasn't even been a month since the start of term… those maniacs really don't waste any time, do they?"

"So it would seem," said Professor McGonagall. "The last thing the Headmaster and I want is a repeat of what happened last year. We failed to protect Sally Dearborn from those who threatened her; that must not happen again. I would like you two to investigate what happened to Owen Stickley — and who was involved."

Lily pressed her lips together. Professor McGonagall was placing quite a bit of faith in them. If they failed to discover the culprit… whatever had happened to Owen Stickley might happen again. "Are you certain, Professor?"

"I can think of nobody more suited for the job than you two," said Professor McGonagall. "As Head Boy and Girl, you have free reign of the castle… not to mention that uncovering the truth seems to be a strong suit of yours."

"Consider it done," said James. "We'll figure out who's behind the attack by this time next week."

The corner of Professor McGonagall's mouth twitched. "I must say, Potter. I never thought I'd see you so eager to carry out the responsibilities of Head Boy."

"Yeah, well, it helps when it's something interesting like this," said James. "Arranging the patrol schedule makes me want to off myself, though."

"Speaking of being Head Boy and Girl," said Lily, "please tell me you tried to talk Dumbledore out of creating a Heads' dormitory."

Professor McGonagall's expression grew steely. "I attempted as much," she said, her tone clipped. "Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful in persuading him."

"What was he thinking?" said Lily. "Sticking a boy and girl alone in a dormitory together is just asking for trouble. Surely he remembers what it's like to be a teenager…"

"I'm not so certain he does," said Professor McGonagall. "Albus is brilliant, but his common sense is occasionally lacking. If the Heads' dormitory isn't to your liking, I'm certain we can arrange to have you both stay in the seventh year dormitories, as is tradition."

Lily hadn't been suggesting they go that far. She hated to admit it, but having a private room was fantastic. "No, that — that won't be necessary," she said. "I just think it's lucky he chose James and me, because we're mature enough to manage the situation."

Professor McGonagall looked reassured. James, on the other hand, did not. As soon as they left the professor's office, he rounded on Lily. "What was that about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you complain to McGonagall about the Heads' dormitory?"

"I wasn't complaining," she said defensively. "I just wanted to make sure that at least one adult around here acknowledges what a horrid idea it is."

"It's not horrid. It's brilliant. I love having my own room, and the Marauders love to hang out in the common area…" he trailed off, noticing that she was biting her lip to refrain from laughing. "What?"

"I can't take you seriously when you call your mates the Marauders. Are you twelve?"

"You're just jealous that you and your friends don't have a name for yourselves."

"That's it. I'm jealous."

"Well, regardless," he said. "You almost ruined a perfectly good thing, talking to McGonagall like that. She's going to think we don't want to have our own dormitory."

"James," said Lily. "The Head's dormitory is only a good thing because we're the Head Boy and Girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know! We don't — we don't fancy each other. So there's no risk of anything happening between us. If it had been anyone else, they would've shagged each other senseless by now!"

James was grinning. "You are so hung up on people shagging each other. Maybe that's your subconscious telling you something."

"What?" How dare he. "I am not!"

"You are," he said smugly.

"James Potter, you are a pervert."

He shrugged. "It's possible. Honestly, though — Dumbledore's on another level, sure, but he's not that thick. I'm sure he considered what the Head Boy and Girl might do if left to their own devices."

She stared at him. "And you think Dumbledore was okay with that?"

"Clearly he was, since he went through with it."

Lily's voice was deadpan. "You think Dumbledore was alright with the Head Boy and Girl getting distracted and — and fornicating in a private dormitory —"

He laughed. "Fornicating?"

"You know what I mean!" she said with a huff. "It's just… it's not very responsible of him."

"Of course not," said James. "But that's Dumbledore for you, isn't it? Honestly, I'm willing to bet there have been plenty of Heads who have fornicated in the prefects' bathroom, or in the staffroom before prefect meetings. In light of that, what's one more private space?"

Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. "I'm regretting having this conversation with you."

"I'm not." He glanced at her and took pity. "Aw, Evans, there's no need to look like that. It's a part of life, isn't it?"

"Well… yes, but… it isn't part of my life!"

"Nor mine," said James. "Which is why we are the perfect people to be enjoying the Heads' dormitory. Isn't that right?"

It was hard to find a flaw in his reasoning. "Maybe," she admitted, not used to losing arguments.

"You know I'm right. Unclench a bit, would you, Evans?"

His word choice had to be on purpose. She decided to change the subject. "What do you think of the task McGonagall's assigned us? Any clue what might've happened to Owen Stickley?"

"Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea already," said James, animated. "That spell sounds an awful lot like the curse I got hit with last year, don't you think?…"

Lily shook her head. "I don't think it's the same spell."

"Of course it is. Stickley was left a bloody mess, same as I was, right?"

"Yes, but I was able to heal you, remember? Madam Pomfrey couldn't close Stickley's wounds. Whatever curse he was hit with, it isn't something we've seen before."

A furrow appeared between James' eyebrows. "You might have a point." They reached the fourth-floor landing, and he paused. "Right, I'm off to the library. Meet you back in the Heads' dormitory at nine, and we'll swap theories about who might've cursed Stickley?"

Lily must have misheard. "You're off… to the library?"

"That's right," he said, adjusting the bag over his shoulder. "Need to do some research, you know."

She watched him walk away, feeling slightly unmoored. James Potter was doing research in the library. Alone.

Maybe he's been Imperiused, she thought. Why else would he be acting so unlike himself?

She went back to her bedroom, poured herself a cup of tea, and worked on her star chart for Astronomy until she heard somebody moving about the common area.

"How was the library?" she asked pointedly, joining James by the fire. He was in one of the yellow armchairs, so she sat on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her.

"It was helpful, actually," he said.

"You sound surprised."

"I am. Usually the books in the library are so outdated that they're no use to anyone. But I actually found what I was looking for this time." He pulled a thick, leather-bound tome from his bag and waved it at her.

She eyed the spine of the book sceptically. "Magick Moste Evile?"

"Yeah," said James proudly. "There's a description of a curse in chapter four that exactly matches what happened to Stickley."

"Doesn't that book belong in the Restricted Section? I thought you couldn't take those out."

"You can't." He opened the book and flipped through a few sections, then turned it outward so that she could read it. "Look here. 'The Corecut Curse, first known use by Heidrich Eberstadt in 1259…'"

"James. You're Head Boy. You can't go around stealing books from the library —"

"It's not stealing. I'm going to return it."

Lily sighed in frustration. "Do you think the rules don't apply to you?"

"They don't. Especially not now that I'm Head Boy." He grinned.

"You — you are —"

"A dashing young lad?"

"Incredibly frustrating."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes! I put a toe out of line, and the Wizengamot calls for my expulsion. You break every rule in Filch's books, and nothing happens."

The buoyant look faded from James' face. "That does sound frustrating, now that you mention it. Sorry about that, Lily — you really do have an unfair lot. I can't help that I was born with a silver wand in my mouth, though." He smiled crookedly at her.

"That sounds dirty," she said, slightly off-balance. She wasn't used to him empathizing so readily.

"Your mind's in the gutter today," he teased. Before she could protest, he thrust the book towards her. "Go on, take a look. Do you want to know what the curse does, or not?"

"Fine." She pulled the book from his hands and skimmed the page, chewing her lip. "That does sound like the spell that was used," she admitted when she had finished reading.

"I knew it," said James proudly. "Now, any idea who could have cast something like that?"

Lily sighed heavily. "Don't make me say it."

"You're thinking what I'm thinking, though, aren't you?"

"That it must have been Severus and his gang?" She shut the book. "Yeah."

"Okay, good," he said. "Glad you came to that conclusion, too. Thought you might bite my head off if I was the one to say it."

She made a face. "Sev and I aren't friends anymore, remember? I've got no illusions about the kind of person he is."

"Nor have I. Still, odd that he'd curse someone in his own house, isn't it?"

"It might not be so strange," said Lily, tracing the book's cover with a finger. "Stickley's a half-blood, right? Or is he Muggle-born?"

"Half-blood. The Sorting Hat doesn't put Muggle-borns in Slytherin anymore. Rarely sends half-bloods there, either, come to think of it."

"So Stickley's one of the few non-pureblood students in Slytherin. That must have put a target on his back."

"That's what I don't get, though," said James. "There's loads more half-bloods and Muggle-borns in any of the other houses. Seems like those would be easier pickings than Slytherin."

Lily shook her head. "I think that's exactly why Sev — or whoever is responsible — chose Stickley. They wanted to send a clear message: that half-bloods aren't welcome in Slytherin."

"Oh." He was silent a moment. "Well. That's horrible."

"You know what's funny, though?"

"What?"

"Sev's dad is a Muggle."

James' jaw dropped. "You're joking. A full Muggle? Not just a half-blood?"

"I'm not. Sev might try to hide it, but he's the same as the Muggle-borns and half-bloods that he hates."

James whistled, long and low. "There aren't enough Mind Healers in the world to unpack that."

"Which is why he's no longer my mate." Lily rose from the sofa, yawning. "I suppose the two of us should have a chat with him, shouldn't we?"

"Don't trouble yourself. I'll speak to him about it."

She shot him a look. "If you think I'm letting you talk to him — after the history you two have —"

"Relax. It'll be fine."

"One of you will end up cursing the other."

"Nah. I've outgrown that. And he'll be expelled if he so much as singes a hair on my head." James leaned back in the armchair and opened Magick Moste Evile. He flipped through its pages, calm as Lily had ever seen him. It was bizarre.

"What?" he said after a moment, glancing at her.

"Nothing. You just — you've been surprising me, lately."

"How so?"

You act like a reasonable human being instead of an arrogant toerag. "Just — you're doing a good job. At being Head Boy, I mean. I didn't expect that."

"Careful," he said with a grin, and he turned a page. "One more backhanded compliment like that, and my head will grow so large it'll float away."

"It wasn't — I didn't mean it like that —"

"Relax, Lily. I'll take what I can get from you." As if he realized how he sounded, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

She decided to pretend like she hadn't heard the last bit. "Don't stay up too late reading that horrible book. We've got Herbology tomorrow morning."

"I'll turn in soon. Just going to memorize a few of these curses, in case Severus draws his wand on me —"

"James!" She swatted him on the shoulder.

He pushed her away, laughing. "Joking! I'm joking!"

In her bedroom, Lily found herself replaying their conversation as she changed into her pyjamas. James was infuriating, he really was. He was also stepping up to the task of being Head Boy in ways she'd never expected from him.

In some ways, it would be preferable if he had been Imperiused. At least that way she could chalk up his behaviour to someone else's doing. Because if he continued like this… she was going to fall for him hard.

Perhaps she already had.

On Thursday afternoon, Remus followed Peter up the silver ladder to the Divination classroom. His shoulders ached as he hauled himself through the trapdoor; the full moon had only been two days ago, and he hadn't yet recovered. He hoped that the Divination teacher, Professor Vablatsky, would leave them to their own devices so that he could take a nap.

The Divination classroom was suffocatingly warm and smelled strongly of incense. Professor Vablatsky was nowhere to be seen, which wasn't at all unusual; he claimed too much interpersonal contact clouded his Inner Eye. There was a set of hastily-scrawled instructions on the chalkboard, which Remus ignored. He sat across from Peter at one of the low, circular tables, gingerly settling his sore hips on a pouffe. He laid his head on the table while Peter bustled about and gathered all manner of knickknacks for the day's lesson.

"Did you bring your bergamot decoction?" asked Peter.

Remus yawned. "My what?"

"We're doing pyromancy today," said Peter. "You'll need your hand-pressed bergamot decoction if you want a chance at seeing an omen."

"I must have left it in the dormitory."

Peter frowned. "But what if something bad's going to happen to you? Don't you want to know about it?"

Remus didn't need to perform pyromancy to know that his future was bleak. In fact, the less he looked into what was to come, the better. "Ignorance is bliss, Wormtail." His head felt heavy, and he closed his eyes. "Wake me up if Professor Vablatsky makes an appearance."

He slid blissfully into sleep.

After too short a time, Peter said his name.

"Yes?" muttered Remus. He tried not to sound irritated, though only fifteen minutes had passed. Surely Peter could have let him sleep a little longer —

Peter gestured at the ceramic plate in front of him, looking pale. "I think I've got an omen."

Reluctantly, Remus raised his head and peered at it. Several lines of ash crisscrossed the plate, widening into small heaps at the corners. It didn't look like any symbol that Remus recognized.

"What's this supposed to be, then?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Peter. He pointed at ash with a trembling finger. "It's the Jinx."

Remus squinted at the plate. He'd never memorized all sixteen omens. He knew the Cursed One, naturally, and the Grim, for obvious reasons. It might have been his post-nap haze, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what the Jinx was supposed to look like. "Which one is that again?"

"The Jinx," Peter intoned, clearly reciting from Unfogging the Future. "'A string of good luck followed by a sudden, dramatic reversal of fortune.'"

"Oh yes, of course." Remus tried to sound like he knew what Peter was talking about. "And the symbol is supposed to look like what now?"

"Three snakes, crossing paths," said Peter with a nervous glance at the ceramic plate. "Their heads and tails overlap to form a glyph shaped like an hourglass."

If Remus squinted, he could vaguely see what Peter was talking about. Two of the lines of ash definitely formed an 'X', at least.

"I'm not so sure," he said at last. "It looks a little blurry to me."

"Blurry?" said Peter indignantly. "It's clear as day —"

"Why don't you do the phyrromancy again? If you get the same result twice, that'll settle the matter."

"It's pyromancy," said Peter. "And you know that's not how Divination works. Seeing the same omen twice is incredibly rare. If the Jinx does appear again, it could mean we're destined for something terrible…"

"Understood. Forget I said anything," said Remus. "Best not risk it, if you're frightened."

Right on cue, Peter bristled, and Remus had to keep himself from smiling. If there was one thing that Gryffindor boys couldn't stand, it was the implication that they were afraid.

"I'm not frightened —"

"It's alright if you are. I'll do the pyromancy if you want."

Peter hesitated. "Would you really?"

"Sure." It wasn't like Remus actually believed in Divination. "Refill the oilcan, will you? Think I've got a couple of extra wicks in my bag…"

He Vanished the ash on the ceramic plate while Peter poured more bergamot decoction into the little tin oilcan. Once he had finished, Remus took the can and drizzled a few lines of oil across the plate.

"That isn't right," interjected Peter. "You're supposed to make the rune for 'augury' with the oil."

"That's what I'm doing," said Remus, who had been trying to make an 'S'. He added more oil. "How's that, any better?"

"I guess."

Remus laid a long, waxy wick across the oil, then drew his wand. "Incendio."

The tip of the wick ignited and sparks shot up its length, like Muggle dynamite. The oil caught fire next, covering the entire plate in hot, hungry flames.

Peter nudged him. "Do you have your soothsayer's scroll?"

"About that," said Remus. He'd forgotten to do it. He had been indisposed, after all.

"You didn't do the assignment?" said Peter.

"Not to worry." Remus pulled a blank roll of parchment from his bag and scrawled a single rune onto it: the Moon, the only one that mattered. "This'll have to do."

"But you didn't do the ritual to make sure that the Moon is the right one —"

"Of course it's the right one. It's me we're talking about, isn't it?" Remus placed the parchment atop the fire, and its corners curled as flames licked at the edges. Within seconds, both the parchment and the fire had been reduced to ashes.

"Time for the moment of truth," said Remus. "What have we got here — hm."

That was unexpected. In the centre of the plate were three twisting, snakelike lines of ash, forming the unmistakable shape of an hourglass.

Peter's face had lost all colour. "I don't believe it."

"I'm having trouble, myself," admitted Remus. He didn't believe in Divination. But there was no denying that the ash had formed a shape that looked an awful lot like the Jinx.

"Let's try it again," said Peter, and he Vanished the contents of the plate, though his hands were shaking. "I'll do it this time."

"I'll get us another plate," said Remus, rising. "Maybe this one's got a funny shape to it that's making the ash behave strangely."

By the time the bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson, they had performed pyromancy seven different times, using an assortment of materials. And every single time, after the smoke cleared from the plate, the entwined symbol of the Jinx had stared up at them.

"We're fucked," was the first thing Peter said to the others over dinner. "We are well and truly fucked —"

Sirius looked supremely unconcerned. He took a moment to finish chewing before responding. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time, would it? What's going on, Pete?"

"It's — I…" Peter looked to Remus for help.

Remus, for his part, had spent the last three weeks avoiding direct interaction with Sirius, and he didn't see any reason for that to change now. "Out with it, Wormtail." He opened his copy of the Evening Prophet and placed it in front of his face.

Peter huffed. "You are no help."

Remus turned a page of the newspaper. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"I'm getting bored, Pete," said Sirius.

"Fine," said Peter. Though Remus couldn't see him, he could feel Peter's glare burning a hole through the pages of the Prophet. "Remus and I saw an omen in Divination today."

"Was it the Four of Wands?" asked James. "Got that one in my third year. Represents noteworthy success and abounding prosperity, if I remember correctly."

"It wasn't the Four of Wands," said Peter. "It was the Jinx."

Nobody responded. After a moment, Sirius returned to his steak and kidney pie.

Peter's voice was incredulous. "Do none of you remember what the Jinx is?"

"Sorry, Pete," said James. "You'll have to bear with me for a second, haven't taken Divs since fifth year… was that the one that foretells trials and sacrifice?"

"That's the Hanged Man," said Peter sourly. "The sign of the Jinx is three snakes crossing each other."

Sirius snapped his fingers. "I remember now. Good luck followed by drastic misfortune, right?"

"Exactly," said Peter miserably.

James tapped his chin, thinking. "Any chance you might've misinterpreted it?"

"None."

James shrugged. "Well, at least the first half of the omen is decent. Gryffindor Quidditch team could use some good luck in our match against Slytherin… though I hope this doesn't mean we'll lose the Cup to Ravenclaw in the spring…"

"What do you think it means, Moony?" asked Sirius in the overly-deferential tone he'd been using ever since their row in the dormitory. Remus hated it.

"I haven't the foggiest," he replied frostily.

Sirius was undeterred. "Don't hold out on us. You're brilliant, surely you've got some clue…"

"I haven't." He wished Sirius would stop treating him like he was the reincarnation of Merlin and go back to behaving normally. He turned a page of the Prophet, and a column in the corner caught his eye. Dark Mark Cast Over Muggle Pub, At Least Fifteen Feared Dead, read the cramped headline.

Cheery, he thought as he skimmed the article. Fifteen murdered Muggles, and the Prophet barely mentioned it. If the victims had been wizards, the news surely would have made the front page.

No use dwelling on that, though. He doubted the journalists at the Prophet would shed a tear for him, either, in the event of his untimely death.

Remus' first lesson the following morning was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Prewett wanted to see the progress they had made on the Patronus Charm. Sirius and James' demonstrations delighted the professor: though it still wasn't clear what forms their Patronuses would take, James' Patronus definitely had hooves, which was enough for Professor Prewett to award him twenty points to Gryffindor. Even Peter was able to conjure a small cloud of silver mist, which was a tremendous accomplishment for him, as Defence was his weakest subject.

"Let's see what you've got, Lupin," said Professor Prewett after Peter had finished his demonstration.

Remus hadn't even attempted the Patronus Charm since their last lesson. He drew his wand, coughing a little. "Expecto Patronum," he said with no real feeling.

Nothing happened.

"Sorry, Professor," he said, stowing his wand. "I still haven't got the hang of it."

"Not to worry," responded Professor Prewett cheerily. "Why don't you meet me in my office after class? I'll give you a few pointers."

"Oh — that's very generous, but I'm afraid I can't," said Remus hastily. "I've got Care of Magical Creatures next, sir."

Professor Prewett was apparently oblivious to Remus' reluctance. "After dinner, then. What say you?"

"I'm on patrol duty after dinner, sir." A classic lie that he told at least once a week.

"I see," said Professor Prewett. "That's a shame. You see, Lupin…" He lowered his voice so the other students wouldn't overhear. "I hardly need to tell you this, but you're falling behind."

"There isn't much I can do about that, I'm afraid," said Remus in his mildest, most pleasant voice. "I just don't have the knack for the Patronus Charm. Once we move on to learning nonverbal countercurses, I'm sure I'll…"

Professor Prewett's icy blue eyes searched Remus'. When he spoke, his tone was as jovial as Remus' had been, but his face lacked any hint of humour. "I don't expect everyone in this class to be capable of casting a Patronus, but I do expect everyone to give it an honest try. Including you. Is that clear?"

Remus swallowed hard. "Crystal, sir."

The bell rang, and Remus took advantage of the ensuing commotion to slip out of the classroom before his mates could wonder where he'd gone.

He spent the rest of the day considering his options. As much as he'd love to ignore his little Patronus problem, it was clear that Professor Prewett wanted him to make an honest effort to learn the spell. Remus had always been good at Defence; suppose he cast a corporeal Patronus on the first try? Was Professor Prewett competent enough to recognize a werewolf Patronus? Maybe he'd think it was an odd-looking wolf, and Remus' secret would be safe.

Or not, he thought, remembering Professor Prewett's insinuations during their first Defence lesson.

After dinner, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door to the Defence office, his heart in his throat.

The door opened. "Lupin," said Professor Prewett, adjusting the violet scarf around his neck. "Please, come in." He ushered Remus inside.

Remus sat in the chair across from his desk and glanced around the office. The space was well-decorated, even slightly cluttered; framed family photos hung on the walls, their redheaded occupants waving at Remus. The shelves above the photos were crammed full of magical artefacts, and on the wall directly behind Professor Prewett's desk were large, glossy posters depicting various Dark creatures. Remus' eyes slid over the werewolf poster as though it was of no particular interest, and he focused determinedly on the large stack of books that took up most of the space atop the desk. A few were in a foreign language — Hungarian, perhaps? The embossed spine of one of the books read Një Traktat Vampirësh —

As Remus squinted at the title, the tower of books suddenly vanished. He blinked; Professor Prewett winked at him, then stowed his wand in the sleeve of his robes.

"We've more interesting things to talk about than my literary pursuits," said Professor Prewett with a smile.

"I didn't mean to pry," said Remus hurriedly.

"Not to worry, Lupin. You weren't prying, merely curious. There's nothing wrong with that."

Remus wondered if Professor Prewett had been in Ravenclaw. "I hope you don't mind that I'm here. I only thought… well, if I'm being honest, I could use some help with the Patronus Charm."

Professor Prewett's smile grew wider. "Is that so? Then you've come to the right place. I'm glad you took me up on the offer; you'll make much more progress with my help than you ever would have alone."

Remus didn't argue, of course. Privately, he was confident that he could have mastered the Patronus on his own; the problem was that he didn't want other people to see the form it would take. Honestly, he didn't want to see its form, either.

"You mentioned before, sir, that you know a way to change the appearance of a Patronus," he ventured.

"I do," said Professor Prewett. "But it requires an incredible amount of control over the spell. It's likely that you shall have to learn to cast a proper Patronus before you succeed in altering its form."

"There's no way around it?" asked Remus.

"You could try," said Professor Prewett. "I expect you'd have the most luck, though, if you first learn to cast the charm, and then learn its variations."

Remus sighed and drew his wand. "Alright."

Professor Prewett nodded encouragingly at him. "Most people find it's easier to cast a Patronus when concentrating on a happy memory. Have you got one in mind?"

"Yeah," said Remus, thinking of the day in the grotto by the lake when James and Peter had first transformed into Animagi. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Expecto Patronum!"

His skin prickled as the hair on his arms stood up. He opened his eyes, hopeful, but nothing had happened; no silver mist had emerged from his wand.

"Ah, well, nobody gets it on their first time," said Professor Prewett. "Give it another go, why don't you?"

Ten unsuccessful minutes later, Remus was becoming frustrated. He'd thought he could cast the Patronus if he only put in a little effort. So why was nothing happening?

Professor Prewett was regarding Remus with concern, his pale lips pressed into a line. "I don't suppose there's another memory —"

"I haven't got any more happy memories," said Remus flatly. "If that last one didn't work, then I'm not sure what…"

Professor Prewett drummed his fingers on the table, looking thoughtful. "You know, some people perform better under pressure. I've found this is especially true for those with a knack for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Remus didn't like the sound of that. He preferred his life to be as pressure-free as possible. "What are you suggesting? Sir?"

"Look around!" Professor Prewett gestured at his cluttered office. "It's no wonder you can't manage the Patronus here. There's no real threat, no Dementors hiding in my wardrobe — at least, I hope not," he added. "We need to find you a proper Dark creature, one you can try your hand at defending yourself against."

Professor Prewett's sudden excitement reminded Remus of his father, who would regale him with tales of the Dark creatures he'd studied in his youth. It was hard to say no to someone so passionate about their job. Remus nodded. "I'd like that, sir."

"Excellent," said Professor Prewett. "I'll speak to Professor McGonagall; there might be a banshee or two lurking about the Forbidden Forest. A Lethifold would be better, but I highly doubt there's any within a hundred miles of Hogwarts…"

"Professor Kettleburn might keep one under his bed," said Remus, which earned him a grin from Professor Prewett.

"I'll see what I can do, at any rate," said Professor Prewett. "I'll let you know when I find a suitable creature. In the meantime — keep practising." As though he sensed Remus' hesitation, he added, "do it in private, away from the others, if you need to. But I do expect you to practice. Understood?"

Remus left Professor Prewett's office feeling surprisingly hopeful. He'd never had a teacher take an interest in him before. Even better was the fact that Professor Prewett hadn't so much as hinted at Remus' condition. Maybe he had read too much into their previous encounter; perhaps his secret hadn't reached Professor Prewett's ears, after all.

A/N: Sorry it took me forever to post this chapter! I'm in medical school and had an unexpectedly insane month. Let me make it up to you by writing a long author's note (do other people enjoy reading author's notes, or is it just me?)

I made a playlist for the Mapmakers, which I posted to my tumblr. I can't for the life of me figure out how to link it here, but my tumblr username is dizzy- -bird (two dashes, get rid of the space in between!), if you're interested in giving it a listen :)

I also posted a picture of what the Jinx looks like on my tumblr, since I can't share pictures here.

Lastly, I wanted to talk a little bit about my interpretation of the Patronus charm. In canon, we see that the Patronus mainly works on Dementors and Lethifolds, but it can also be used on Boggarts (especially when they take the form of Dementors) as well as human children (in the case when Malfoy dressed up as a dementor). Because of that, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that the Patronus charm works as at least partial protection against many dark creatures, though it is most effective against Dementors. Hope this clears things up for people who might have been confused on how the Patronus charm works in this canon-compliant story :)

Next chapter is a juicy one (fake dating! Potter vs Snape! Giant squid!), let's see if I can get it out within a week or two. You all deserve it :) Thanks for reading!