After Charms the following Wednesday, Remus decided to stop by Professor Prewett's office instead of joining the Marauders for dinner.

"And just where do you think you're going?" asked Sirius when Remus paused on the second-floor landing.

"I ought to see Professor Prewett," said Remus apologetically. "He's been helping me with the Patronus Charm, I want to take another crack at it…"

"But you're my buddy!" exclaimed Sirius. "Who's going to escort me to dinner now?"

"I'm certain you can make it down two flights of stairs by yourself," said Remus wryly.

"Is that what you think? Just wait — I'll get Imperiused, and then you'll be sorry."

"I don't think you have anything to fear from the Imperius Curse. Your skull's too thick."

Sirius grinned. "You're right. I don't take orders very well, do I?"

"About as well as Peter sings," said Remus.

Sirius made a face. "Want me to save you a seat at dinner?"

"No, don't bother. I might be a while."

"Suit yourself. Off I go, then — if you catch me working on our Potions essay later, I've definitely been Imperiused…" Sirius squeezed Remus' shoulder as he brushed past, then strode jauntily down the stairs.

When Remus reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, he raised his hand to knock, but hesitated before his fist met the wooden door. Professor Prewett was hiding something; Remus was certain of that. The Defence professor had been bitten by vampires in Albania, the same place where Alphard Black had died. It couldn't be a coincidence. But how would Remus bring it up? No matter how he phrased it, accusing a professor of lying would go poorly.

Best forget the whole matter, he decided, and he turned to leave. Professor Prewett's business was his own, after all, and there was likely a perfectly reasonable explanation for —

The office door creaked open. "Lupin?"

In his head, Remus said something extremely foul. "Professor," he said with some effort, turning around. The Defence professor looked paler than usual, and his bright blue eyes were bloodshot. Or was Remus making assumptions, now that he knew Professor Prewett was a vampire? "I, erm, didn't think you were in your office. I knocked, but didn't hear an answer."

The lie was weak, but Professor Prewett didn't seem to notice. "Sorry about that," he said, giving Remus a wan smile. "I must have had a bit of earwax in my ears. Did you feel like having another go at the boggart?"

Remus could think of nothing he'd rather do less, except snogging the Giant Squid, perhaps. But it was as good an excuse as any for why he was wandering round the second floor after lessons had ended for the day. "I was hoping to," he said. "But if now's not a good time…"

"Now is an excellent time." Professor Prewett stepped into the corridor and locked the door to his office. "Let's have at it, then."

Remus spent the entire walk to the North Tower trying to conjure up a happy memory. Unfortunately, Sirius' face kept shoving its way to the forefront of his mind. Those captivating grey eyes made Remus' body thrum with a multitude of emotions, and not all of them were pleasant.

You're too complicated, he thought. The Sirius in his head pouted.

"Ready, Lupin?" asked Professor Prewett once they had entered Professor Vablatsky's office.

Remus drew his wand and nodded grimly.

Professor Prewett pointed his wand at the grandfather clock in the corner. "Alohomora."

There was a click, and a pale hand emerged from behind the pendulum and pushed the glass door open. The boggart stepped into the room, a sinister imitation of Professor Prewett.

"Back again, Lupin?" it asked.

"Afraid so," said Remus.

The boggart cocked its head and a slow grin spread across its face, revealing vicious fangs. "Interesting thoughts in your young head tonight. Very interesting."

"Yes, well," said Remus, fighting to concentrate on his happy memory, "I hate to disappoint, but I didn't come here to entertain."

"You're on the right track, you know."

Remus' concentration evaporated like sweat on hot pavement. He met the boggart's piercing blue eyes, bewildered. Was it hinting at the connection between Professor Prewett and Alphard Black? Did boggarts know such things?

The boggart wiggled its eyebrows. "You should ask him," it said, jerking its head towards Professor Prewett. "Here, preferably, so I can listen. I would love to watch him squirm."

Remus shook his head. Boggarts lie, he reminded himself. They feed on misery. Don't listen to it.

The boggart was leering at him. Remus squeezed his eyes shut and thought about his parents. About his ninth birthday, when his father had taken him to see a herd of horse-like Kelpies in the River Wye, and his mum had made him a cake.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A jet of silver mist erupted from the tip of his wand and barrelled towards the boggart — it swirled around the boggart, taking shape —

There was a creature inside the mist. A huge, four-legged beast snapped its jaws, forcing the boggart into the grandfather clock. Triumphant, the beast lifted its head, as if to howl —

Remus dropped his wand. As it clattered to the floor, The Patronus vanished in a puff of silver smoke.

The silence was broken by a slow clap. "Oh, well done," said Professor Prewett. "That was miles better than last time — your Patronus was very nearly corporeal, a little more practice and you'll have mastered it —"

"I don't want to master it," said Remus abruptly. "Respectfully, sir." He bent to pick up his wand, barely suppressing a shudder. He never wanted to see that silvery creature again.

Professor Prewett was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "What is it that troubles you so much?"

"I just — I don't understand. The Patronus represents who I am, doesn't it? So why does it look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like a wolf!" exclaimed Remus. "Is that all I am? Does it define me?" He glared at Professor Prewett, as though the shape of his Patronus were the Defence Professor's fault. "I am more than the thing I become once a month."

Professor Prewett's red-rimmed eyes were pained. "Of course it doesn't define you, Lupin." He placed a hand on Remus' shoulder. "And a Patronus does not represent who you are. It is a spell that protects against evil — nothing more, nothing less."

"I don't mean to disagree with you, sir," said Remus stiffly, "but according to our textbook, the Patronus arises from the deepest, most secret part of the self — a hidden source of strength that can only be called upon in times of desperate need."

"An excellent summary of Professor Spangle's theory," said Professor Prewett. "But if you've read the entire chapter, then surely you remember what comes next."

Begrudgingly, Remus said, "He wrote that it isn't uncommon for a Patronus to take a form that the caster feels no particular affinity towards. That it's possible to actively dislike your Patronus…"

"Exactly," said Professor Prewett. "You're not the first to despise the form that your Patronus takes, and you won't be the last. That's a small comfort, I hope."

Some comfort. But Remus wasn't going to argue further; it was embarrassing enough that he'd lost his temper a moment ago. "It doesn't matter. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"For the record, Lupin, I'm happy to listen to whatever you have to say," said Professor Prewett. "I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I can empathize with your pain, at least. It's a heavy burden that we bear — but bear it we must, to the best of our ability."

"Speaking of our — our shared burden." Remus forced himself to take several deep breaths, trying to slow his pounding heart. "Can I ask you a question about that?"

Professor Prewett inclined his head. "Of course."

Remus very nearly lost his nerve. But the boggart had said he was on the right track. And he needed to know. "What were you and your brother doing in Albania?"

Professor Prewett opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Remus continued. "You said you were on holiday, but… that's not entirely true, is it?"

"I'm not sure what you're getting at, Lupin," said Professor Prewett. "I've already told you what happened."

"With all due respect, sir, I think there's more to the story. You see, my friend's uncle was murdered in Albania last week. I find the coincidence hard to believe. Did the vampires get him, too?"

Unexpectedly, Professor Prewett's eyes filled with tears. Remus' anger vanished; he realized he had gone too far. "Professor," he said, "I'm sorry, I…"

Professor Prewett shook his head. "No need to apologize, Lupin." He gave Remus a small, reassuring smile as he wiped his eyes with his violet scarf.

"You knew him," Remus realized. "You knew Alphard Black."

Professor Prewett wrung out his scarf, looking troubled. "I suppose there's no use denying it, is there? Yes, Lupin — I knew Alphard well."

"You're a member of the Order." Remus meant it as a question, but his voice came out flat.

Professor Prewett looked perplexed. "How do you know about the Order of the Phoenix?"

"I've got a friend who's a member," said Remus vaguely. "Professor, please — what does the Order want in Albania?"

Professor Prewett sighed. "It's not a matter of what the Order wants," he said. "It's what Lord Voldemort is after."

"Voldemort, sir?"

Professor gave Remus a long, keen look, obviously weighing how much to divulge. At last, he said, "Voldemort is... a bit of a magpie, Lupin. He likes to collect things, we don't know why. He and his followers have been searching for something that's rumoured to be hidden in Albania. The Order has been after it, too — to keep it from falling into Lord Voldemort's hands."

The Dark Lord... collected things, like a magpie? Remus had a sudden mental image of a winged Voldemort sitting in a nest, his skeletal arms full of trinkets. "What's he looking for? Sir?"

"We've never been certain," said Professor Prewett. "Something that once belonged to a great wizard, perhaps. It's possible that even the Death Eaters don't know what they're after."

Professor Prewett's voice was carefully measured, and Remus knew there was more to the story than the professor was letting on. Professor Prewett likely knew exactly what Voldemort was hunting for; he just didn't want to let Remus in on the secret.

That's for the best, Remus reminded himself. Hogwarts students shouldn't be privy to knowledge that could alter the course of the war.

On the other hand… finding out what was hidden in Albania might give Sirius closure. Didn't he deserve to know the circumstances surrounding his uncle's death?

Remus left the North Tower with a plan forming in his mind and conviction in his step. Whether Professor Prewett realized it or not, he had given Remus an excellent starting point. And Remus was certain that the Marauders could discover whatever it was Alphard Black had died to protect.

Lily was at the desk in her bedroom, filling out an order form for candles from Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment in Diagon Alley.

Five hundred votive candles, paraffin wax, she wrote. One thousand floating candles, beeswax —

She paused. The drawer of her bedside table was slightly open.

Curious, she rose from her desk and opened the drawer the rest of the way. Atop the Muggle novel she'd been reading was an envelope, addressed in precise script to one Lily Evans.

She picked it up. Oddly, the envelope was paper-thin and milky white, instead of the thick, off-yellow sort that wizards and witches normally used. And there was a stamp in the corner.

It's a Muggle letter, Lily realized. But what sort of Muggle would send her a letter? It wasn't like she had many Muggle friends in Cokeworth, after all.

Her eyes flicked to the return address in the corner. Her fingers tensed, crumpling the flimsy envelope.

Petunia.

A house-elf must have tucked the envelope into the drawer for her to find; it wasn't as if Petunia could have sent the letter through owl post, after all. But why would Tuney write to her? She'd never done so before, not in the seven years Lily had been a student at Hogwarts. The reason for that was obvious: writing to Lily at Hogwarts was a tacit admission that she was a witch. God only knew that Tuney hated acknowledging that little fact.

So what could have possibly driven Petunia to send her a letter? Could something have happened to their mum — was she…?

Before Lily could finish that horrible, insidious thought, she slit the envelope open.

Lily,

Mum told me that I should let you know about something that's happened recently. Vernon proposed at the end of the summer — we're to be married next spring. I'm over the moon, of course, and have already got my hands full with planning the wedding.

Mum says we ought to have dinner together over your winter holidays — you, me, and Vernon. She thinks you and Vernon ought to get to know each other better. I don't see the point, considering you're not the one marrying him, but we ought to make her happy, don't you think?

— Petunia

P.S. On the off chance that you've also got somebody special in your life, Mum says feel free to invite him as well (Please do not do this. It's too early to spring one of your sort on poor Vernon. Not that anyone ever listens to me).

P.P.S. If you don't write back, I shall assume that the postman got lost on the way to that castle of yours, and forget about this dinner matter entirely. And if you do write back, send it the normal way. You know how I feel about owls.

Lily set down the letter and began to chew distractedly on a nail. Well, her mum wasn't dead, so that was good. But Petunia was engaged, and to that horrible walrus of a man — Vernon Durnsby, or whatever his name was.

There was nothing Lily would rather do less than have dinner with Petunia and Vernon. She could already imagine how it would go: Tuney would be on edge the entire night, afraid that Lily would let slip that she was a witch, while Vernon monologued about drills.

But Lily didn't see any way out of it. She could decline to write back — which Tuney certainly wouldn't complain about — but that would do nothing to satisfy their mum. Stubbornness was an Evans family trait; their mum was unlikely to drop the matter of the dinner until both she and Petunia agreed to attend.

There was only one thing for it, then — Lily would grit her teeth endure the dinner by getting outrageously drunk on wine.

Unless…

She re-examined the letter, tapping her lip with her quill. Tuney had included that bit about inviting a special someone along. Perhaps James —

No. Had she gone mad? James wasn't really her boyfriend. No matter what they pretended in public, he was not her special someone. Inviting him to the dinner would only complicate things further.

I'm setting myself up for heartbreak, she thought, and she was suddenly so frustrated that she wanted to rip up her sister's stupid letter. God. Out of all the boys at Hogwarts, why was she losing her mind over James Potter, of all people? It was utterly embarrassing.

She filled out the order form for Wiseacre's and penned a reluctant reply to Petunia, then went to the Owlery. Though she was fully aware of Petunia's request to use Muggle post, she sent both letters by owl — it was impossible to resist the opportunity to get under her sister's skin.

She skipped down the staircase, imagining what Tuney's expression would be when the owl arrived. The next item on her agenda: finding James. She needed to update him about the candles she had ordered, that was all. Head Boy and Girl stuff, completely reasonable.

She searched the castle for nearly an hour before she gave up. It was ironic, really; he had an uncanny ability to locate her, no matter where she was. And in previous years, when she hadn't been able to stand him, he'd been everywhere she had turned. Yet now that she could actually tolerate him — enjoyed tolerating him, honestly — he was more elusive than ever.

God. She really was smitten, wasn't she? James Potter wasn't elusive. Odds were he was practising Quidditch. And the Quidditch pitch was the one place she refused to set foot unless absolutely necessary.

Well. Lily might have been smitten, but she refused to spend more than an hour looking for James. She still had some semblance of dignity, after all. With a sigh, she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and headed to the library to study.

She hadn't even gotten as far as the Charms section of the library when she stopped dead in her tracks. James Potter was seated in an alcove to her right, hunched over a tattered book. Beside him was a stack of books nearly as tall as he was.

Her traitorous feet marched towards him before she was fully aware that she was moving. James looked up, surprised. "Oh — alright, Lily?"

"What're you doing in the library?"

"Er," he said, and he held up his book. "Reading?"

"I've been looking for you for — for half an hour." More or less. "You never spend time in the library."

"That," he said, "is blatantly untrue. I had detention here with Madam Pince just last month."

The corners of her lips tugged upwards. Traitorous lips. "Coming to the library once a month hardly makes you a regular, James."

He grinned. "Well, you've found me now. Was there something you needed?"

He was so disarming when he looked at her like that. "Oh, nothing much," she said. "I sent off that form to Wiseacre's, that's all. The candles should be here by the end of the month."

"Brilliant," he said. "That reminds me — I'm going to speak to Madam Rosmerta, at the Three Broomsticks. I want to see if she'll supply us with mince pies and sausage rolls for the Illumina celebration. That's the traditional food, you know."

"That's — a good idea, actually," she said. "Where did you learn about that?"

James cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced at the book in his lap.

"James," said Lily slowly, "are you reading about Illumina?" That was… astonishingly responsible of him.

"There's no need to look so surprised," he said.

"You're in the library, alone, researching your Head Boy duties," she responded. "I ought to take a picture."

James smiled sheepishly. "You probably should. Nobody would believe you if you told them you caught me reading Hogwarts: A History."

"Are you really? Reading Hogwarts: A History, I mean."

"Yeah." He lifted the well-worn book to show her its cover. "I realized during our talk with McGonagall that I've got a blind spot when it comes to Muggle-born history. So I'm trying to correct that." He nodded to the stack of books beside him.

Lily blinked. "That's…" She searched for a word that wouldn't reveal how touched she was. "That's very decent of you, James."

"It isn't a big deal," he said. "It's the least I can do, learning about wizarding history. Proper wizarding history, not the glossed-over bits we get from Binns. Did you know that anti-Muggle-born sentiment existed before the Founders established Hogwarts?"

Naturally, she did. She'd learned about the roots of Muggle-born prejudice when she was eleven. "I've read about that, yeah."

James shook his head, disgusted. "I always thought that blood status was something that Salazar Slytherin made up, but Morgana le Fay wrote an entire treatise on blood purity a hundred years before he was even born. And don't get me started on Perseus Parkinson, who tried to pass a law about, quote, 'wizard-Muggle miscegenation'…"

Lily wondered if he'd gotten to the Muggle-baiting atrocities during the seventeenth century. "There's a lot of ugly bits in wizarding history," she said.

"You're telling me," he said. "I didn't know any of this! I can't believe how ignorant I was. Of course Voldemort didn't emerge from a vacuum. Of course there's a reason so many people are drawn to him. This anti-Muggle-born bullshit has been going on for centuries!"

She nodded and took a seat beside him in the alcove. "I suspect that as long as there's been magic, there's been prejudice."

He ran a hand through his hair in distress. "How can you stand it? It must be so difficult — people making assumptions because of your blood. As if that's what determines the calibre of witch you are. You must want to punch us all in the face."

"It is tempting, at times," Lily admitted, and James laughed. "Honestly, though — you get used to being an outsider. I did, at least. That doesn't mean it's not frustrating — it's infuriating. But at the same time… it's complicated. Being underestimated only makes me want to work harder to prove everyone wrong." There was so much more she wanted to say; an avalanche of unfiltered thoughts threatened to spill from her mouth.

"That's what's so ridiculous about it all," he said. "You're not an outsider. It's not like you're half-witch, half-Muggle. You're one hundred per cent witch, just like I am."

She raised her eyebrows. "You're a witch?"

He waved a hand, not flustered in the least. "You know what I mean. Magical ability is all or nothing. You belong. Just as much as I do. It's only — it's only in people's heads that you don't. And as far as I'm concerned, they can all get fucked."

Lily let out a small, incredulous laugh. "Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For asking what it's like. I don't think anyone's ever asked me how it feels to be Muggle-born before."

"Well, they should have," said James. "You — er." He shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Any time you want to talk about it — even if you just want to whinge — you can, er, you can talk to me. Alright?"

He was looking at her with that earnest expression he had; a sunbeam shone golden highlights into his curly black hair. Lily could have kissed him.

Instead, she reached over and squeezed his hand briefly, dropping it before she did something she would regret. "Alright. Thank you."

James looked down at his hand, as though he couldn't believe she had willingly touched him. "Right," he said. "That's settled, then. Good." He fidgeted, then ran both hands through his hair, looking somewhat bewildered.

"Speaking of Muggles," said Lily, "I don't suppose you interact with them, much?"

James shook his head. "I mean, Muggles are everywhere in London, of course, but it's not as if I chat them up on the Tube or anything. I did have a couple of uncles who were Squibs, growing up, but they've passed on, now. Why do you ask?"

"I don't suppose," said Lily, and her lungs suddenly refused to expand, so she had to pause for breath. "You, erm, wouldn't be interested in having dinner with my sister and her fiance, would you?"

James' head snapped towards her, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "You want me to meet your sister?"

"Don't get too excited," she warned. "Tuney's a fairly unpleasant person on a good day, and her fiance is even worse."

"They'll like me," said James confidently. "I can be quite the charmer, you know."

"Right. That must be why I spent the past six years avoiding you. All that charm."

"Won you over in the end, though, didn't I?" His grin was devilish.

Lily couldn't argue with that logic. "We don't need to — to pretend we're dating with them, if you don't want. It's not like they'll tell anyone, after all."

"Oh," said James. "But if you don't need a dashing fake suitor, then… er, why are you inviting me?"

Because I fancy the pants off you. "Because… my sister and I don't get along well. And I can't stand her fiance. If I go to the dinner alone, I'll probably fly off the handle and ruin everything." She sneaked a glance at him and added, "It would be nice to have a friend there with me. For moral support."

He gave her a look she couldn't quite read. The confident little smirk at the edge of his lips suggested he was proud to be called her friend. But why didn't that smile reach his eyes? "I'm quite good at moral support. It's my second-best feature."

"After your charm, I'm assuming?"

"See? You can't deny it." He leaned back, and his shoulder brushed hers. "I'll do my best to make sure you don't go mad at the dinner. Though if they're as bad as you say, I can't promise I won't lose my temper."

"You don't have a temper."

"Yes, I do."

"James. I know you practically as well as I know myself at this point. It's so difficult to get under your skin that it's genuinely unnerving."

He looked suddenly worried. "Yeah?"

Lily backtracked hurriedly. "That was supposed to be a compliment. I just meant that you always keep a cool head. Things just roll off your back — things that would send me into a rage. It's really… it's nice." I admire that about you.

She rose from the alcove, because if she stayed any longer she would probably let slip a deeply embarrassing confession of love, and she was not ready for that conversation. "Anyway. I'd better get started on Slughorn's essay. See you in the Heads' dormitory?"

James looked like he was still processing what she'd said about him being even-tempered. "Er — yeah. Yeah, of course. See you later, Lily."

"Right." Sirius snapped shut the book he'd been reading and tossed it over his shoulder. "That was another waste of time, unless we think Voldy's after the Music Box of Perpetual Song — it's kept in an Albanian museum, apparently…"

Remus pointed his wand at the book just before it hit the library floor. "Accio." The leather-bound tome zoomed into his hand, and he levitated it onto the shelf where it belonged. "I can't see Lord Voldemort having an appreciation for music. And Madam Pince will have your head if she catches you manhandling her books like that."

Sirius shrugged and grabbed another book from the pile between them on the table. They'd spent all afternoon researching what might be hidden in Albania, but hadn't found any leads.

At least Sirius was enthusiastic about the research, for which Remus was glad. In fact, Sirius had thrown himself into the task with single-minded fervour: his drive to know the truth had replaced his anguish over Alphard's passing. He needed answers about what had happened to his uncle — and Remus would do his best to help uncover them.

"Huh," said Sirius after a moment. "According to this, Modesty Rabnott spent some time in Albania shortly before her death in 1549. She invented the Crystal Ball of Truesight, do you think…?"

"The Ball of Truesight is in Paris," said Remus. "It's on display at the Louvre. I think we would have heard if someone had stolen it."

"Not if Voldy left a fake in its place! Nobody would be any the wiser. Think about it, Moony — it's the perfect crime."

Remus lifted an eyebrow. "You've got an impressive imagination."

"And you've got none at all." Sirius stretched his leg under the table to nudge Remus' shin playfully. "I doubt old Vee would be after something of Rabnott's, anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Well, he's a bit of an egomaniac, isn't he? Strutting about, making people call him 'Lord'… I bet he fancies himself the next Grindelwald. Rabnott probably isn't famous enough for him to want something of hers."

"That's quite a keen insight into the mind of a Dark Lord," said Remus.

"Well, I do have a huge ego, myself," said Sirius, "Takes one to know one, and all that."

"Yeah," said Remus. "But unlike Voldemort, you're lacking the devoted following."

"Excuse you. I've got devoted followers."

"Daisy Hookum doesn't count."

"You, James, and Pete do, though." Sirius winked.

He had a point. "Heaven help us if you ever decide to dominate Britain."

"Exactly, but — let's focus, Moony," said Sirius, as though he wasn't the reason they got sidetracked in the first place. "I think we ought to make a list of the top ten most famous wizards and witches. Let's say, since the time of Merlin?"

"Simple enough," Remus deadpanned. "Not much has happened in the past twelve hundred years, so the list will be a short one…"

Sirius chucked a book at him, which Remus turned into a paper plane. It soared over his head, did a lazy loop above their table, then dive-bombed Sirius, who swore loudly.

"Focus, Padfoot," said Remus. Sirius responded with a rude gesture. "So are we making a list of famous British wizards, or wizards who would be known throughout the entire world?"

"Might as well do both," said Sirius. "We don't know how large old Vee's ambitions are, after all."

After another half an hour, they'd compiled a reasonable list of the twenty most famous witches and wizards that they could think of. "Excellent," said Sirius. "Now to cross-reference these names with books that mention Albania… might need to include Greece and Yugoslavia too, just to be certain…"

It was tedious work, and Remus was someone who enjoyed reading. After a further hour of research, he rubbed his eyes. "Well, that's another name off the list," he said, crossing 'Herpo the Foul' off the parchment. "He spent his entire life in Crete, apparently — hated flying, and Portkeys hadn't been invented yet."

"Good work," said Sirius approvingly. Unlike Remus, he seemed to become more energized with every dead end.

"Thanks," said Remus. "Only seventeen names to go, now…"

"Don't be a pessimist, Moony. The next wizard could be the one!"

"Right. I should be so lucky." Remus opened a copy of The Ravenclaws: Rowena's Riveting Record and began to skim the first chapter.

When he reached chapter thirteen, his eyes widened. "Padfoot."

Sirius' head snapped up. "Did you find something?"

"I — I think so." Remus turned the book towards Sirius and pointed to the paragraph he'd been reading. "Read this bit about Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter, Helena."

"'Though as a child, Helena Ravenclaw was said to possess wit and cunning equal to that of her mother's, little is known about her adult life,'" Sirius read aloud. "'After graduating Hogwarts in 996, the enigmatic witch is thought to have worked as an assistant to her mother — at least, until Helena suddenly fled Britain entirely. Where she went is unknown, though most experts surmise she spent time in the Balkans. Rowena never recovered from the shock of her daughter's unexpected parting; the great witch fell ill shortly after and ultimately passed away without ever being reunited with the daughter she so adored.'"

"What do you think?" asked Remus.

"I think whoever wrote this is full of shit," said Sirius. "Rowena never recovered, my arse… I bet she was awful to her daughter. Helena probably couldn't wait to be out from under her thumb."

"Not all mothers are as bad as yours," said Remus mildly.

"No, but I've got enough experience with batty mums to know one when I see one. Or read about one, at least. Trust me — Helena fled the country to get away from her mum, and Rowena went batty with rage after she left. I'd bet all the gold Uncle Alphard left me on it."

"Alright," said Remus. He didn't actually believe that one of the founders of Hogwarts could have mistreated their child, but he didn't want to argue. "Setting aside Rowena Ravenclaw's parenting skills for a moment… d'you reckon Helena took something valuable with her to the Balkans?"

Sirius' brow furrowed. "Maybe. But Rowena didn't have many powerful artefacts associated with her, did she? Unlike Gryffindor, with his sword and hat… and practically every pureblood family's got a relic of Salazar Slytherin's. That's what they all claim, at least."

"What about Ravenclaw's diadem?" asked Remus. "The lost one, that nobody's ever been able to find."

"Can't have been," said Sirius, shaking his head. "It's well-documented that the diadem was in Rowena's possession until she died — she wrote several letters mentioning it, even. This book's even got a copy of one of those letters, look…"

Remus skimmed the page that Sirius held out to him. "That does seem pretty definitive," he admitted. "Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Well, what if she lied?"

Sirius' grey eyes widened. "You think Helena took the diadem when she went to Europe?"

"I think it's possible," said Remus. "Bit suspicious, isn't it, that Rowena just happened to write a bunch of letters mentioning that she definitely still had the diadem? Smells of a cover-up, if you ask me." He sketched in the air with his hand, pretending to write a letter. "'Dear Godric Gryffindor, just thought you should know that I've got on my diadem, the one very much still in my possession. Will send identical letter next week. Love, Rowena Ravenclaw.'"

Sirius let out a barking laugh. "Alright. Let's say Helena took the diadem to Europe. Even if she was in the Balkans, we don't know that she went to Albania, specifically. And there's not a lot of information out there about 'Rowena Ravenclaw's enigmatic daughter'…"

"Why don't we ask the Ravenclaw ghost?" asked Remus.

Sirius looked at him as if he'd grown two heads. "The fit one that doesn't talk? Why would we do that?"

"She talks," said Remus. "She helped me find my way to the History of Magic classroom once, when I was a first year."

"Alright, but what's the Grey Lady got to do with Ravenclaw's diadem? She's just a ghost, like Headless Nick. They're not actually important."

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You've studied her enough, if you think she's so fit. Who does she remind you of?"

"Er, I dunno," said Sirius. "She looks a bit like Emma Vanity, if you squint…"

"Pads," said Remus exasperatedly. He took the book they'd been examining and flipped to the first chapter, where a full-colour portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw peered up at them.

Sirius gawked at the illustration. "You think the Grey Lady is a Ravenclaw?"

"Don't deny it. She could be Rowena's sister, they're so alike."

"You've got a point." Sirius rose from the table and clapped his hands together. "Alright, then. Let's go interrogate a ghost."

The Grey Lady was not in the mood to be spoken to, it turned out. As soon as she noticed Remus and Sirius approach her, she turned and disappeared into the nearest wall. Half an hour later, they found her gliding along the corridor outside the infirmary.

Sirius whistled to get her attention. "Got a minute, Miss Grey?"

She stiffened, then sank through the floor, vanishing completely.

"I don't think she goes by 'Miss Grey'," observed Remus.

"Well, what was I supposed to call her?" said Sirius.

"Try addressing her as 'hey, you' next time — it might be more effective."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I'm getting the feeling that she doesn't want to speak to us. Told you she doesn't talk."

"She does talk. Just not to Gryffindor arseholes like us, apparently."

Sirius snapped his fingers. "That's it! We'll have to disguise ourselves as Ravenclaws. I'll get a couple of house-elves to nick us a set of Ravenclaw robes. The Grey Lady won't be any the wiser."

There was so much wrong with that idea that Remus didn't know where to start. "First off, Pads, you can't ask the house-elves to steal for you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's utterly immoral. And I'll take points."

"Well, if the House Cup hangs in the balance, that changes things entirely." Sirius elbowed him in the ribs.

"Secondly," said Remus, trying to ignore Sirius' elbow digging into his side, "The Grey Lady is not going to fall for a stupid trick like that. Especially not if she's actually descended from Rowena Ravenclaw, as we suspect."

"You might have a point." The pain in Remus' side disappeared as Sirius pulled his arm away, and he was surprised by how much he missed it. "Luckily for us," said Sirius, "I've got a backup plan. We'll have to use the old standby."

Remus didn't like where this was going. "Which is?"

"I'll charm the pants off her, of course," said Sirius.

Another terrible idea. "Not the literal pants, I hope."

"You bring up an excellent point, Moony," said Sirius. "Do ghosts wear undergarments? That can be our next bit of research, after we solve this Albania mystery…"

Remus smiled despite himself. "I am not researching that with you."

"You'll come around," said Sirius confidently. He checked his slightly-tarnished Muggle watch and swore. "Mind if we call off our pursuit of the Grey Lady? I've got Quidditch practice in ten minutes, and James will have my head if I'm late… again…"

Ten minutes was barely enough time to reach the Quidditch pitch from the first floor, but pointing that out wouldn't help matters. "Go ahead," said Remus. "The match against Slytherin is next weekend, isn't it?"

Sirius nodded. "James has got us practising every evening this week. He really wants to win the Quidditch Cup this year." He glanced at Remus, looking hopeful. "You'll be at the match, right?"

"Pads. I wouldn't miss it."

"True." Sirius suddenly looked very solemn. "Could you promise me something, Moony?"

Anything. "Perhaps. What is it?"

Sirius stepped closer to Remus. His straight, aristocratic nose nearly brushed against Remus'. He was close enough to touch — close enough to kiss. Remus' lips parted.

Finally, Sirius spoke. "If it looks like Regulus is about to catch the Snitch on Saturday, curse him from the stands, will you?"

Remus' mouth fell open. It took him a moment to respond. "Godric's teeth, Padfoot," he spluttered, pushing Sirius away. "I thought you were going to ask for my hand in marriage, the way you were acting."

"That can be —"

Remus spoke over him. "The answer is no, by the way. I'm not cursing your brother."

"Pity. Not even if I bat my eyes at you?"

Remus made a rude hand gesture and turned away. "Go to Quidditch practice before James takes fifty points from Gryffindor for tardiness. Again."

As Sirius jogged away, Remus resisted the urge to watch him go. He'd have ample opportunity to, erm, observe Sirius in his Quidditch leathers during the match on Saturday, after all.

The damn dog knows exactly what he's doing, thought Remus. If only he didn't turn to mush whenever Sirius was close.

And how was Sirius so good at flirting? It was almost impossible to turn him down when he became that charming and coy version of himself. Remus had to admit that he liked Sirius like that. It was alluring.

And dangerous. If they crossed the line, things would end in disaster — Remus was sure of it. Because who in their right mind would choose a werewolf for a partner? To willingly become a part-time caregiver to a societal reject? Sirius deserved better.

That was why they could never be together. But… Remus was only human. Partially human, at least. It was difficult to always be the cautious one, the prudent one, and his resolve was weakening.

Besides. A small part of him whispered that if Sirius was determined to break his heart, perhaps Remus ought to let him do it.

On Saturday afternoon, Remus and Peter made their way to the Quidditch pitch. It was a clear, crisp November day, and the biting wind was a reminder that winter was weeks away. They climbed to the top of the Gryffindor stands, where Lily and Mary McDonald were sitting in the highest row. Lily waved a mittened hand at Remus, gesturing for them to sit beside her.

"How much do you reckon we beat Slytherin by? Fifty points?" she asked.

"James won't be happy unless we win by a hundred points or more," said Remus. "He wants a strong lead, a cushion for the rest of the year…"

"He's so competitive." Lily's gaze turned towards the Quidditch pitch, where the two teams were lining up. "It's funny, really. He's normally so laid back, but get him started on Quidditch and it's like he's a different person."

"Ah," said Remus knowingly. "So he made your week miserable with his preparations, as well?"

"He's been waking up at four in the bloody morning to work out," said Lily. "I hear him running up and down the staircase, it's driving me insane. And don't get me started on that ridiculous diet of his."

Remus nodded. "Ten eggs for breakfast, plus toast and bacon."

"It's impressive, if a little sickening," said Lily. "He's going to give himself a coronary with all the fat he's eating."

"Peak form requires sacrifices, apparently," said Peter.

Mary McDonald giggled, and Peter blushed. Remus raised an eyebrow at Peter, which only made him blush harder. Down on the Quidditch pitch, Madam Hooch blew on her whistle, and both teams took to the air.

The match was a quick but satisfying one, which pleased Remus, as his joints disliked spending more than an hour seated on the hard wooden stands. The Slytherin team hadn't found a suitable replacement for Mulciber, and their new Beater was utterly incapable of stopping the Gryffindor Chasers from scoring. After nearly a dozen goals, Parvana put an end to the slaughter by snatching the Snitch from under Regulus' nose.

Lily and Mary jumped from their seats, whooping; Peter gave Mary an exuberant, one-armed hug and looked quite proud of himself for doing so. Remus stood slowly — the full moon was five days away, and his hips really didn't like these stands — and clapped appreciatively. He swore that Sirius looked towards him as he looped around the Gryffindor goalposts, one fist raised triumphantly.

The students in the rows below them began to jostle one another, eager to rush onto the pitch. Lily, Mary, and Peter joined them eagerly, and Remus followed, letting himself be swept along by the crush of bodies that were spilling from the stands to the pitch.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his ankle twisted beneath him. Remus was too surprised to even cry out — he tripped, hitting the grassy pitch hard.

Nobody tried to help him up; Lily and the others hadn't noticed him fall as they disappeared into the crowd ahead. Bodies streamed around him, and someone nearly stepped on Remus' hand as he pushed himself up.

He suppressed the urge to snap at whoever had nearly stepped on him. He stood — Merlin's balls, his hips ached — and brushed himself off.

It was at that moment that a wand dug into his spine.

A voice whispered into his ear. "Imperio."

A thrill spread through Remus' entire body, rushing from the tip of the wand where it pressed into his back to the top of his head and the bottoms of his feet. The ache in his hips vanished; he suddenly felt very, very good. Like he was floating, like he was dreaming…

The sensation vanished as quickly as it had started.

Remus blinked. He was standing stock-still as dozens of students streamed around him. Nobody seemed to have noticed that someone had just…

Merlin's tits.

Someone had just tried to Imperius him.

He whirled around, earning strange looks from a group of Hufflepuffs as they shoved past him. There was nobody else behind him, of course. Whoever it had been was long gone.

"Remus?"

Lily had come back to look for him. God bless Lily Evans, he thought.

She must have noticed something off in his expression, because she frowned. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Just had a little fall, that's all. Clumsy of me." He smiled reassuringly at her. It was true enough, after all. He was fine. He hadn't been Imperiused.

That in itself was odd. The Imperius Curse was supposed to be nearly impossible to shake. Then why…

The answer hit him as he followed Lily onto the Quidditch pitch, as glaring as the pain in his hips.

He wasn't human. The Unforgivable Curses wouldn't work the same on him.

Remus fought to keep his expression pleasant as he pushed his way to James and Sirius, who were surrounded by cheering Gryffindors.

"Moony!" cried Sirius, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "I hope you've still got that bottle of Gamp's under your bed, because this calls for a celebration."

"It's all yours," said Remus, and Sirius cheered, putting his other arm around James.

Remus mind raced as they paraded back to the castle. Refrains of who and why and of course, you're not human pounded through his head, drowning out the victorious chants from the other Gryffindors. Once they were back in the Gryffindor common room, he let Sirius pour him drink after drink, hoping that would quiet the alarm bells that were ringing in his head.

Someone at Hogwarts was cursing students. And they had just come very, very close to figuring out his secret.

A/N: Sorry that it's been like a month since my last update! The good news is that I'm sooo close to finishing The Mapmakers (as in, 8-scenes-left-to-write-close). Have been focusing on that instead of editing/updating old chapters, hence why this chapter took so long.

Expect another 3-4 weeks before the next chapter is out, so I can finish those last 8 scenes! Once I've got the whole thing written, I'll start posting weekly if not more often :) You can check my Tumblr for updates: dizzy- -bird (two dashes, no space in between).

Thanks for reading! Love you guys!