Thursday, February 16, 1978
Mary frowned down at her lunch, trying to ignore the noise and chatter that grated on her nerves. A few seats away, Anne gushed over the bracelet her boyfriend had given her for Valentine's Day. For fuck's sake, she's been going on about it for two days. There's got to be something else to talk about. At the other end of the Gryffindor table, two first years were competing to see which of them could fit the most biscuits into their mouths. They're going to choke, the idiots. Next to the Ravenclaw table, a couple appeared to be having a very loud and public fight. If he's such a shit, ditch him and be done with it so we don't have to listen to that rubbish. Most days she tuned all of this out, but today even minor annoyances made her want to bang her head against the table. Gritting her teeth, she poured herself another glass of pumpkin juice and resisted the urge to throw it in Anne's face as she (yet again) described Bobby Stebbins's grand romantic gesture that involved hiding the bracelet in an empty Butterbeer bottle.
"What's wrong?"
Mary stopped glaring at Anne and turned to Lily, arranging her face into a neutral expression. "Nothing. I'm fine."
Lily's frown deepened. "Are you thinking about the Robertson family? Me too. I can't stop thinking about it."
"I said I'm fine, Lily," she said dully.
I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's fine. The words had become her mantra, repeated so often that they were frayed around the edges. She always managed to make herself believe it was true, through some combination of naïveté and sheer force of will. Now, however, it appeared she had reached her limit.
Because she was thinking about the Robertson family, and had been since Lily had gasped and read the headline out loud over breakfast yesterday. Mary had placed a reassuring hand on Sirius's knee as he swore and tried to read over Lily's shoulder, then opened Witch Weekly and stared down at "Ten Tips for Perfect Curls." No matter how many times she read Tip #1: Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize, she couldn't drown out the thought of the Muggle-born family lying dead on the living room floor or slumped over their dinner as the Dark Mark proclaimed their fate to the neighbors and passers-by.
That night she and Sirius had blown off their homework, holing up in the dormitory and getting so stoned they could barely form coherent sentences. Yet as Mary lay in Sirius's arms, staring up at the canopy as David Bowie insisted they weren't alone, the solace she usually achieved through distraction eluded her.
Her favorite strategy was to ignore the problem, because if she didn't acknowledge it, it couldn't upset her. The disappearances and murders couldn't upset her if she refused to read The Daily Prophet. Harold Minchum's ineptitude couldn't enrage her if she refused to listen to Lily's political tirades. The uncertain state of the future couldn't worry her if she was too busy tearing Sirius's clothes off or drinking herself silly to think about it. But just as she was unable to ignore the annoying lunchtime babble, it seemed the state of things had become too dire to tune out.
"It's perfectly understandable to be upset about it," Lily continued. Her eyes were locked onto Mary's, piercing through the feigned nonchalance. "We all are."
Mary sighed and put down her goblet. "Why would I dwell on something that's just going to depress me? I'm going to continue my usual strategy of avoiding the Prophet and reading about the most flattering style of dress robes for my body type, alright?"
"But—"
"Could you pass me the salt?"
Lily gave a little huff of irritation and slammed the salt shaker down beside Mary's plate. Mary shook salt onto her potatoes, wishing she could shut out her troubled thoughts as easily as she had shut out Lily's pestering.
"Come on."
Mary put down her quill and looked up to see Sirius standing over her with his hand outstretched.
"We're taking a smoke break," he said. "That Transfiguration chapter is making my brain hurt, and you don't look like you're getting very far, either."
Mary glanced down at her empty parchment and grimaced. "I'm having trouble concentrating."
"Yeah, I noticed. Let's take a walk and come back to it later. It'll help." When she got to her feet, he leaned close to her ear and muttered, "Besides, Evans looks like she's about to start one of her tirades, and I'm not in the fucking mood."
"Are you ever?" Mary asked, chuckling as they navigated through the crowded common room and stepped out into the cool silence of the corridor.
He lit a cigarette and handed one to Mary. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes as they made their way along the deserted corridor. Mary had almost finished her cigarette when Sirius drew to a stop in front of a huge statue of a frog and pulled her into an alcove behind it. They sat side-by-side with their backs pressed against the rough stone wall as they smoked their cigarettes down to the filter, then tossed them onto the ground to send weak curls of smoke into the air.
"It's fucked me up, too," Sirius said, his eyes fixed on the back of the giant bronze frog.
Mary looked at him in surprise. "What has?"
He turned sideways to look at her, his face drawn into a bitter scowl. "The Robertson murders. And everything else in the bloody newspaper these days."
She wrapped a curl around her finger, tighter and tighter until she began to lose circulation and the tip turned white. "I suppose there's no point telling you I'm fine, is there?"
He shrugged and stretched his legs out so they rested on the base of the statue. "You can if you like, but I'm just going to tell you you're full of shit."
She sighed. "It wasn't so bad before. I'd just block it all out. I wouldn't read the newspaper, and I wouldn't listen if you lot were talking about the latest depressing bullshit. And I could distract myself. Except things have gotten so bad that I can't block it all out any more." She released the curl and rubbed her finger as the color returned. "It's like things are too fucked up to pretend everything's fine."
Sirius nodded. "Seems that way. I mean, I've always been shit at pretending things are fine, but you're a pro. So if you can't even manage it, I think it's clear we've reached new levels of fucked up-ness."
"I'm scared," she admitted, leaning her head back against the wall.
He didn't answer. Her words hung in the silence as he lit another cigarette and took a long drag. Then his voice reached her through the haze of cigarette smoke, the syllables choked and grudging.
"Me too."
He kept his eyes fixed on the statue in front of them, and his free hand clenched into a fist in his lap. Mary watched him for a moment, then rested her head on his shoulder and covered his hand with hers. He exhaled a long stream of smoke, then looked down at their hands and let out a wry laugh.
"The world must really be going to shit if we're holding hands."
He didn't pull his hand away.
"What can we do? If all our usual coping mechanisms aren't even helping?"
He blew a lock of her hair out of his face and glanced sideways at her. "I mean, they're not not helping."
"Black…"
He shrugged and flicked a bit of ash onto the floor. "What the fuck can we do besides keep going about our lives?"
She sighed. "I just feel so helpless, like every day I'm waiting for the next bit of bad news. It keeps getting worse and there's nothing we can do."
"I know." He took another drag on his cigarette before grinding it out under his heel. "It's bloody awful. But…"
He left the last sentence unfinished and wrapped his arms around her. An uneven stone dug into her back as she clung to him, her face pressing against the soft, worn leather of his jacket. There was an uncharacteristic tenderness in his touch as he stroked her hair. After a minute, he released her and they got to their feet, stiff after sitting on the hard floor for so long. Sirius slung an arm around her and they headed back to the common room. As Mary walked beside him, listening to their footsteps and the distant thud of Peeves throwing something down a staircase, she realized she had shed some of the weight that she had been carrying around since yesterday. She wasn't fine. Nothing was fine. Yet the cigarette and the conversation and the comfort of Sirius's arms had brought her just the tiniest bit closer to fine, and for now, that would have to be enough.
When they returned to the common room, they didn't even reach their seats before James was chivvying them toward the door.
"We're doing dueling practice," he explained as they followed him out into the corridor. "We've got a bit lazy lately, but I think it's more important than ever now, and it seems like we could all use something productive to focus on."
Mary didn't comment, remembering her pathetic attempt at the Transfiguration essay.
When they reached the unused classroom, Peter and Remus were already dueling while Lily stood at the edge of the room watching.
"There you are," Lily said. She peered at Mary then broke into a smile. "Did you two have a nice chat?"
Mary began gathering her curls into a ponytail. "We just went to smoke, Lily."
"Mmm-hmm." Lily gave her that perceptive look that drove Mary mad. "It's alright. I don't mind that you don't want to talk to me, as long as you have someone to talk to." She glanced over at Sirius who was across the room with James setting up pillows and mats to cushion their fall. "He looks a bit more relaxed, too."
Mary sighed and tucked a stray curl into the ponytail. "Lily—"
"Yeah, yeah," Lily said, grinning and waving her hand impatiently. "I need to stop meddling and mind my own business, I know. Here, why don't you duel me? You can take out your aggression."
Mary laughed and drew her wand.
"That helped," she told James an hour later as she pushed sweaty wisps of hair off her forehead. "Thanks for making us all do this."
James waved his wand and stacked the mats into a neat pile in the corner of the room. "I needed it too. Nice work with your blocking, by the way. You're getting much quicker."
She smiled; this was high praise from James, who was faster than all of them. He attributed his speed to his daily running regimen, but so far he hasn't been able to convince any of them to wake up at the crack of dawn to join him as he jogged around the snowy grounds.
"Thanks. I'm really trying." She watched Sirius laugh at something Remus said, then turned back to James. "How did you know this was what we needed? How do you always know what we need?"
James ran a hand through his hair and grinned. "Because I'm the unofficial leader of this group of misfits, and I know all of you pretty well, and most of the time we all need basically the same thing. And right now we need to feel like we're doing something besides dreading what's going to be in the Prophet tomorrow. So we do this." He gestured at the rolled up mats and the open expanse of floor where they had darted around, dodging and blocking and hurling spells at each other. "It's not much, but it's the best we've got right now."
He wandered over to join the others, leaving Mary to stand there and mull over his words. After the dueling practice, her muscles ached and bruises dotted her body, but the exhaustion and soreness left little room for the creeping worry that had plagued her all day. Between this and her stolen moment of comfort with Sirius, she would get through somehow. After all, there wasn't really an alternative. She smiled and readjusted her ponytail, then hurried to join the others as they filtered out of the classroom to head back to the common room.
Sunday, February 19, 1978
Lily took a deep breath, relishing the scent of old books that always put her in a better mood. As she wandered down an aisle, she let the rest of the world fall away until it was only her and the shelves of books. She paused in front of a section and scanned the titles, then stood on tiptoe to reach a cracked and peeling hardback. The pages crinkled as she sat down on the floor and flipped to the table of contents to locate the right chapter.
She was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't notice Sirius approaching until he tapped her shoulder. The light touch startled her, and the book tumbled from her hands.
"Gotcha good," he said, grinning and stooping to pick up the fallen book. "I got bored so I figured I'd come see if you were up to anything interesting."
She got to her feet and took the book from him, tucking it under her arm. "What would you expect me to be doing in the library, Padfoot?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Shagging, maybe, except Prongs is up in the common room." His eyes drifted to the book she had been reading. "What're you reading that for, Evans? That's not for homework, is it?"
She blushed and clamped her arm tighter over the book. "No, it's just for, er, fun."
"You have a strange idea of fun," he remarked, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, well, so do you. Come on, I'm going to check this out." She glanced longingly at the bookshelf; she had wanted to take out a few more books for her research, but she couldn't risk it now that Sirius was looking over her shoulder. Instead she marched up to Madam Pince's desk before Sirius had time to ask any more questions.
"You know, I've read that book before," Sirius said as they climbed a staircase on their way back to the common room. "Or, the relevant bits, anyway."
She turned to him, eyes widening in surprise. "You have?"
He nodded. "We read most of that section, back during second year when we were trying to figure out a way to help Moony. We used the cloak to get a few from the Restricted Section, too."
"I was just…" Her voice trailed off as she scrambled to come up with an explanation. She couldn't let the others find out the reason for her sudden interest in books on lycanthropy. There was a good chance her research would all come to nothing, and then she would have gotten their hopes up only to let them down. She cringed as she thought about Remus catching her researching his condition. Somehow reading these books felt like a violation of his privacy.
"I get it," Sirius said with a shrug. "You want to be informed so you understand and know how to help. There's not nearly enough written about it, to be honest."
"No?"
He shook his head. "Lots of gaps in the information. Like, for example, nowhere does it say whether a werewolf can pass on the trait to his child."
Lily frowned and considered the question. "I wouldn't think so."
"No, me neither, but what do I know? And then what about if a female werewolf gets pregnant? Would the transformation hurt the baby? And what if two werewolves have a baby together? Can they pass on the gene then?" He turned to her, eyes bright with interest.
"I've never really thought about any of that," she said, her mind whirling. "But now I want to know."
"Right? But there's nothing. I got desperate and asked Madam Pince once — told her it was for a Defense assignment. And I checked Flourish and Blotts and the bookstore in Hogsmeade. I even looked through all the books at Grimmauld Place." His face darkened. "Most of them were terribly biased, all about how evil werewolves are. Actually, a lot of the books here are fairly biased, too."
"Really?" She couldn't believe Dumbledore would allow such books to remain in circulation, but then again she supposed he didn't take stock of every book in the Hogwarts library.
"Yeah." He lowered his voice, his face clouding with anger. "One of them would have fit right in with the rubbish in the Grimmauld Place library. It talked about how werewolves are depraved and deviant and should be stamped out before they corrupt the rest of society."
"You're kidding!" she exclaimed, indignant.
"Wish I was." A mischievous smile spread over his face as he added, "I tossed it into the common room fire."
She let out a peal of incredulous laughter. "Sirius! You burned a book? You should've just asked Madam Pince to pull it from the shelf."
"Don't lecture me on mistreatment of books, you page folder," Sirius said with a wry smile. "That book deserved to be burned. Nobody should read that sort of trash."
Lily imagined Remus's face as he read a book that called him a depraved deviant. Suddenly she wanted to burn that book all over again.
"I wouldn't mention to Remus that you're doing your own research," he said, frowning. "He doesn't like it. He says it makes him feel like a science experiment or something."
Lily experienced a sharp pang of sympathy. She didn't think she would like it either— her friends reading about her most shameful secret as though they were doing research for a homework assignment. "Alright, I'll keep it quiet. But hang on, how do you know what a science experiment is?"
He laughed. "Muggle Studies. I know all sorts of Muggley stuff. Quiz me, Evans. I'll bet I know almost as much as you do."
"I wish Remus could hear you say the word 'Muggley,'" Lily said, rolling her eyes. "But alright, fine. Let me think of something."
She sighed with relief as she listened to Sirius give a mostly accurate explanation of television. For now, her little side project would remain a secret.
Monday, February 20, 1978
Lily was gathering her ingredients to brew a batch of Pepperup Potion when Slughorn knocked on the door of the supply room, wearing his usual jovial smile.
"Poppy was raving about the quality of your Blood-Replenishing potion," he said as she reached for a jar of porcupine quills. "She said it's every bit as good as mine, and at the risk of sounding conceited, that's quite a compliment, Miss Evans."
"Well, I've learned from the best," she said, returning the smile and praying he would not mention the less than perfect yield that batch of potion had produced. There were now two bottles of the potion stashed in Peter's trunk, just in case things went wrong during the full moon on Thursday.
"Be careful of that shelf." Slughorn pointed to the middle shelf that was crammed with jars and bottles of various ingredients. "Severus was in here earlier doing some Sleeping Draught. He said the shelf was shaky and two bottles of dittany smashed on the ground."
Lily's breath caught in her throat.
Slughorn gave the shelf an experimental poke. "I repaired it, but I'm not sure I trust it. Just keep an eye on it."
The words barely registered in Lily's brain as she nodded her agreement and suppressed the panic that was bubbling up inside her. Once Slughorn had ambled away with a lazy wave, she retreated to the workroom and dropped the ingredients onto the table before collapsing into the chair. She took several deep breaths, then forced herself to begin preparing her ingredients as her heartbeat returned to normal. It's fine. He doesn't know I took that dittany. He doesn't suspect anything. But as she chopped dandelion roots, a question nagged her until she could think of nothing else: Had Snape intentionally covered for her, and if so, why?
The potion was bubbling away when she reached across the table for a mortar and pestle and spotted a piece of parchment wedged underneath. Frowning, she unfolded it and read, in familiar, minuscule handwriting, Be more careful.
A full minute passed as she read and reread the note, her mind racing. Snape had covered for her, and now he was warning her to be careful? Or was the tone of the note more ominous than helpful – a threat rather than a warning?
A hissing broke her concentration, and she turned around to lower the heat under her cauldron before the contents boiled over. Muttering under her breath, she stirred until the potion returned to a gentle simmer, then added the crushed porcupine quills and returned to her chair. She had another twenty minutes before the potion would be ready, so she pulled a book from her bag and began to read.
She wasn't exactly sure what she was hoping to find, but Sirius was right: there was a lack of concrete, specific information on the subject of werewolves. Frowning, she scanned the pages, jotting down the occasional note when she gleaned something useful. By the time the potion was finished, she had half a page of jumbled notes, although she doubted most of it would be of any help. Wiping a smudge of ink from her finger, she slipped the parchment inside the book and stashed it under the table, then set out a row of vials for the finished potion.
Before she packed away her quill and ink she took one last look at Snape's warning, then scrawled two words underneath it: Thank you. She shoved it underneath the mortar and pestle without giving the ink time to dry, then gathered her things and left the workroom before she could change her mind.
All evening the note kept floating back into her mind. She couldn't pinpoint how she felt about Snape's apparent desire to help her. At times she was angry — how could he believe she would want his help after how he had treated her two years ago? At other times she was fearful, convinced this was all a trap and he was about to reveal her as a thief, perhaps reveal Remus's lycanthropy, too. Most troubling, perhaps, was a third emotion: right after she read his words for the first time, Lily had been absurdly, unapologetically grateful.
"Hey, how did your potions thing go?" James asked as she massaged the tension from his shoulders after a long Quidditch practice. "Did Snape leave you any love notes?"
She froze. It was just a coincidence, because he had asked the same thing after her last evening spent brewing potions. Anyway, she had nothing to hide. The note could not be considered personal or romantic or anything remotely resembling a love note. She should tell James, so he would be aware of the increased need for caution. Yet she found herself forcing a laugh before she resumed the steady motion of her fingers against his shoulder blades.
"No, and he used all the powdered bicorn horn and didn't bother telling Slughorn to get more, so I had to grind it up myself," she said, glad he couldn't see the tightness of her lips in the dark dormitory. "Quite rude."
"Greasy git," James muttered. "Want me to hex him for you?"
"No, I don't." She increased the pressure of her hands and enjoyed the soft sighs of pleasure James emitted in response. "If you do, you're getting no more back massages."
"Ugh, don't even joke about that, Evans," he said, leaning into her touch. "You're so bloody good at it."
After he fell asleep, she lay there in the dark, listening to the sound of his breathing and wondering why she was keeping such a silly, insignificant secret.