Wednesday, June 14, 1978

The castle was silent as Sirius lit a cigarette and strolled along the deserted corridors. He passed Nearly Headless Nick on the sixth floor, and a few minutes later he witnessed two Hufflepuffs snogging in an alcove behind a suit of armor, but other than that, he met no one. The solitude was welcome; he had spent an hour listening to Mary's steady breathing before throwing back the covers and fleeing the dormitory. The air had been close and stifling, the duvet too hot – even Mary's embrace had felt constricting rather than comforting. He had set off with no destination in mind, glad to stretch his legs and burn off some of his restless energy.

He came to a stop on the landing by the fifth floor when he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he scowled and began striding away in the opposite direction.

"You're not supposed to be out here."

Sirius had not heard Regulus's voice in over a year, yet it was as unwelcome as ever. He kept walking, taking a long drag on his cigarette before turning to blow the smoke over his shoulder.

"You're not supposed to be smoking in the corridors, either."

Sirius ground to a halt and whirled. "Do I look like I fucking care? Report me, if you like. Otherwise, sod off and leave me alone."

Regulus stood there, biting his lip and staring at his shoes. Those same stupid shoes Orion wore, Sirius thought, staring at them in disgust. They were handmade and cost a bloody fortune; the store that sold them was by-appointment only, in order to provide a superior level of customer service, the proprietor claimed. To keep out the wrong sort of wizards, more likely, because heaven forbid someone who isn't Sacred fucking Twenty-Eight wants to buy shoes that make them look like a tosser. They were the only shoes Orion bought, so of course they were the only shoes good enough for his sons. They had pinched Sirius's toes and chafed the back of his ankles, as though the shoes themselves sensed his resistance to the life they represented. When Sirius had left Grimmauld Place for good, he had been happy to leave the shoes strewn across his bedroom floor. I hope Walburga fucking trips on them, he had thought savagely before heaving his trunk down the stairs.

"You could still join, you know."

Sirius had been so immersed in thoughts about those damn shoes that he must have misheard.

"What?"

Regulus swallowed and lifted his gaze to look at Sirius. "You could still join." His voice fell to a reverent whisper. "You know, Him."

Sirius laughed, a dry, mirthless laugh that echoed in the empty stairwell.

"Why the fuck would I want to join your group of bigoted, hateful Muggle killers?"

Regulus flinched. "That's not— it's more than— you have no idea—"

"Then please, enlighten me." Sirius tossed his cigarette into the ground and lit another one. "What absolute rubbish have they fed you to convince you all the killing and torture is justified?"

"It's not rubbish," Regulus said. He spoke in the same soft, solemn tone. "They – we – are going to transform the wizarding world, restore it to its former glory–"

Sirius choked on a mouthful of smoke as another wry laugh bubbled up from his chest. "That's such bullshit. It sounds like you're reciting that from a fucking recruitment letter."

Anger flashed in Regulus's eyes. "It's not bullshit!"

Sirius almost laughed again when he heard Regulus swear – his brother was usually too prim and proper to stoop to using profanity.

"It's going to happen regardless of whether or not you agree," Regulus continued, his voice rising. "But why not join and be a part of something worth fighting for? You're talented, Sirius – really talented, and you're a Black. You could be part of His inner circle! You'd be powerful and respected, and maybe…" He lowered his voice again and took a step toward Sirius. "Maybe if you join, Mum and Dad would let you be a part of the family again."

"'Let me' be a part of the family again?" Sirius repeated. "Let me?" His hand shook, and his cigarette dropped from his fingers to land beside the first. "Leaving was the best decision I ever made. Do you think I lay awake at night feeling sad that Walburga blasted me off the fucking family tapestry? You think I'd ever want to step foot in that hellhole again?" He jammed his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to punch a wall or Reg's stupid fucking face. "If you think I'm going to join the bloody Death Eaters to try to impress Walburga and Orion – if you think I'm going to beg them to let me back into the family – then you don't know me at all."

Regulus was pale in the flickering torchlight. "You should consider it. Actually think about it, instead of just shouting at me and writing it off. You never listen to anyone."

"Yeah, well, at least I can think for myself," Sirius snapped. He was vibrating with anger, too furious to stop the stream of words pouring from his mouth. "You've never had a single original thought in your entire life. Have you ever considered forming your own opinions instead of just parroting whatever Walburga and Orion and Evan Rosier tell you to believe?"

"I do think for myself!"

"Right, of course you do." He rolled his eyes and lit another cigarette, but his hands were shaking too badly to light it, and he threw it away unlit. "Do you still have that shrine to Voldemort hanging up in your room?" The first time Sirius had seen the assortment of newspaper clippings on Reg's wall, he had felt sick.

"He's going to succeed," Regulus insisted. "And when he does, you're going to be on the wrong side."

"No, you're on the wrong fucking side, 're joining up with people who torture and kill for fun. You're surrounding yourself with scum like Avery and Snape and fucking Mulciber–"

"They're not scum! They look out for me. Just because you don't like them–"

"Do you know what Mulciber tried to do to Macdonald? What he's probably succeeded in doing to other girls now that he's had a bit more practice?" Sirius shook his head and swallowed back the bile that burned his throat. "That's what I consider scum, but you don't have to take my word for it, I suppose. I did just tell you off for not forming your own opinions."

"You're going to get yourself killed," Regulus murmured, the words almost indiscernible.

"No, Reg. You're going to get yourself killed." In his rage-addled mind, Sirius was sure that at this moment, he would have no problem killing Regulus if he came across him during a battle. "Open your fucking eyes. They don't care about you. They're not protecting you. They're just using you. Why else would they put you up to recruiting me? I bet you'd love that – going to your precious master to tell him I've agreed to join. Well, sorry, but you'll have to disappoint him, because I'd rather die than join your group of blood purists, so you can tell him to take his invitation and stick it up his tight, bigoted arsehole."

Regulus's eyes widened in alarm. "He didn't ask–"

"Save it."

Sirius turned and strode away, anger thrumming in his veins and propelling him forward. The corridors blurred around him as he strode back to the Fat Lady and mumbled the password. She shot him an odd look before he flung himself through the Portrait Hole, banging his shoulder against the edge in his haste.

"Fucking hell."

He rubbed his shoulder and crossed the room to collapse into his chair. His brother's words rang in his head as he pointed his wand at the staircase. There was a soft flutter, and then a letter came soaring through the air to land in his lap. Sirius slumped down in his chair, glaring at the letter, recalling the drunken burst of sentimentality that had led to its creation.

Minutes passed as he wavered between tearing the letter up, setting it on fire, or shoving it under the cushion of the chair to join the accumulated candy wrappers, Exploding Snap cards, and odd bits of homework. He sighed, his fingers tightening around the parchment as his own familiar handwriting taunted him. He wanted to drink until he didn't care about the letter or its intended recipient; he wanted to smoke until the haze obscured his vision and hid the letter's contents from view; he wanted to do anything besides sitting here like a bloody idiot, deciding what to do with a letter he never should have written in the first place.

Finally he lurched to his feet, the letter clutched in his hand. He jerked his wrist to toss the letter into the fireplace–

"What are you doing awake?"

He snapped his head around, startled to see Lily standing beside the staircase, a blanket draped around her shoulders. She crossed the room and settled into her usual chair, pushing something behind her chair before pulling the blanket over her legs.

"I, er, couldn't sleep," he muttered, sitting down and tucking the letter underneath his leg."What are you doing awake?"

"Couldn't sleep."

Pulling his cigarettes from his pocket, he selected one for himself before offering the pack to her. She hesitated, then grinned as she took one. They smoked in silence for a minute, listening to Kath's cat purring as she lay draped across the top of Peter's chair. Sirius was flicking ash onto the floor when Lily sighed and tossed her cigarette into the fireplace.

"I wrote my sister a letter," she admitted as her cigarette smoldered on the rough stone hearth. "Several letters, actually. It took me ages to get to that point, because for ages I was still too angry about our fucking disaster of a dinner."

Sirius snorted with laughter. "I wish I had been there to see her face when you shouted at her."

"I wish you could've seen Vernon's face," Lily said, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. "He got so red I thought his head was about to explode."

"Tosser."

"Anyway, I finally calmed down enough to write her a letter, because before that dinner we'd made a bit of progress, and I really want to try to salvage our relationship, because, I dunno…" She stood up, sending the blanket tumbling to the ground, and scooped up the cat before returning to her seat.

"Because the world's going to shit and you're worried you're going to die without making up with your sister?" Sirius asked, stretching out his legs and resting them on the table.

Lily stopped stroking the cat's ears and stared at him, eyes wide. "Bloody hell, Padfoot, that's depressing."

He shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

"No." She entwined her fingers in the cat's thick ginger fur and sighed. "No, you're not wrong at all, and that's why it's so depressing. I feel so much pressure to make things right, because what if something did happen and we'd never made up? And we had sort of a bonding moment over the Easter holidays when she got a bit drunk and told me what a cow Vernon's sister is." Her wicked smile returned for a moment, before her face slid back into a worried scowl. "So I've sent her a couple of letters, but she won't bloody respond. And James has promised to make things right with them, but I'm worried it's too late. And we've got to go to her wedding in less than two months, and I'm afraid it's going to turn out even worse than that dinner – unless she changes her mind and decides she doesn't want us there at all."

She slumped sideways, resting her head on her hand; the cat hopped onto the floor and gave Sirius a disdainful glance before padding across the room and disappearing up the girls' staircase. Sirius drummed his fingers against his knee.

"Evans, I don't want to say 'I told you so,' but maybe you shouldn't have broken our unspoken agreement."

She reached for the blanket and draped it over her lap, then tucked her legs underneath her. "The unspoken agreement not to bother with our shit siblings?"

He raised his eyebrows. "It's our only unspoken agreement that I'm aware of, unless you count when Macdonald and I lay in bed and pretend we don't hear you and Prongs when you forget the Muffliato, but I'm not sure how that has anything to do with your sister."

"Shut up," she said, a reluctant smile lightening her expression. "We remember to do Muffliato more often than you do."

"Evans, I don't forget – I just don't care." He lit another cigarette and contemplated her through the cloud of smoke. "Anyway, I'm just saying it seems like trying to maintain a relationship with your sister is more trouble than it's worth."

"It's not," she began, frowning, but her defiance wilted under his gaze. "Alright, maybe it is."

"So why fucking bother?"

She pulled at a loose thread on the blanket and frowned. "Well, because of what you said before."

Sirius gave a lazy wave of his hand, stirring the smoke hovering in the air. "That's exactly why you shouldn't bother, in my opinion. Life's too bloody short. If writing her letters puts you in a foul mood, don't waste your time doing it. You know what I think would make you feel better?" He took a deep drag and readjusted his position, sending the letter fluttering to the ground. It lay there underneath the table, but he didn't bother to retrieve it.

"Smoking another cigarette?" she asked.

"Well, that kind of goes without saying," he said, laughing and tossing her the pack of Marlboros. "But I was going to say it would help if you told me what a miserable fucking bitch your sister is."

Lily grinned as she pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit it with her wand. "How's that going to make me feel better?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Evans, don't lie. You love a good vent session, and we both know I love a good vent session. So come on, tell me everything I would hate about Petunia fucking Evans."

"You would hate her," Lily said with a conspiratorial giggle. "She's so stuck up. God knows why, when we grew up the way we did – well, you know, you saw my house when you dropped Mary off that time. But she's got these horrible new friends now, and dragged us to this stupid bloody dress shop that's charging outrageous prices for absolutely hideous dresses."

She paused to take a drag on her cigarette, her eyes widening in indignation. "And she's making excuses to her friends about why our mum couldn't be there – 'She had another engagement, unfortunately,' Petunia says, when really she was working an extra shift to pay for the dress my sister had to have."

She tapped a bit of ash onto the arm of the chair and Vanished it, then shook her head in disgust. "You couldn't pay me to wear that thing to a wedding. I'd rather wear your Chudley Cannons pants that sat outside all winter and Moony's tattiest jumper than wear that ugly dress."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "That would be quite a look. Prongs wouldn't be able to take his eyes off you."

"Well, maybe I'll show up to her wedding wearing that," she said, grinning. "That'd wipe the smug look off her face." Her smile turned to a frown as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "I wish you could've seen the way she was looking at James, the way she was talking about both of us – like we're a couple of deviants who she'd rather not associate with in case we taint her and her precious fiance with our, you know…" She lowered her voice and adopted a dramatic stage whisper. "Magic. And that whole bloody dinner I was perfectly nice to them, and James was…" Her voice trailed off as she grinned. "Well, he ended up being a bit snarky, but he did try at first, and he was so cute in his smart shirt, pretending he had any idea what drills are, and they were just complete fucking snobs."

Sirius laughed, enjoying the righteous fury that made the cigarette tremble in her fingers. "I helped him pick out that shirt, you know. The one he wore to meet your parents, too. I couldn't let him show up wearing his Ballycastle Bats t-shirt."

"Well, you have great taste," she said, grinning. "Not that anyone would ever know, seeing as you wear your leather jacket and a band t-shirt pretty much every day."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, I have a reputation to maintain." He gestured at the parchment, quill, and ink Lily had stashed behind her chair. "Did you come down here to write her another letter?"

"Yeah." She scowled down at the burning end of her cigarette. "I was going to try one last time, but you know what? I don't think I'll bother." An irritated flick of her wrist sent her second cigarette to join the first. "It's like you said – life's too short. I'm not going to waste my time begging her to give me another chance when it's just going to end with me crying or chain-smoking like some leather jacket-wearing delinquent."

"Hmmm, I think I prefer 'hoodlum' over 'delinquent,' if it's all the same to you." Sirius leaned over and picked up his letter to Regulus, considering it for a moment before crumpling it into a ball and launching it into the fireplace. It landed on top of Lily's second cigarette; a tiny thread of smoke curled around the edge.

"What was that?" Lily asked.

"A waste of time." He tossed his wand onto the table and grinned when sparks shot from the tip, eliciting a startled squeal from Lily. "Life's too short, Evans."

She narrowed her eyes. "That wasn't – was that from your brother?"

A laugh burst from his lips, bitter and sharp in the hushed common room. "No. Although we did have a lovely conversation tonight after not speaking for over a year. I assumed he was going to carry on the rest of his life pretending he never had a brother."

Lily's face crumpled, and she began to rise from her chair. "Oh, Sirius–"

"Don't," Sirius said, holding up his hand. "This is a vent session, not a 'feel bad for Sirius Black and give him unsolicited hugs' session. You don't have to feel bad for me – I don't fucking care. If Regulus wants to be a bloody idiot and throw his life away, that's his prerogative. But do you know what he wanted to talk to me about?"

Lily shook her head, apprehension lurking in her eyes.

He took one last drag on his cigarette, then exhaled a long stream of smoke as he threw the butt onto the ashes of his unsent letter. His fingers clenched on the arm of the chair as he considered all the time he had spent tracking Regulus's movements on the Marauder's Map. What a waste of bloody time. He tightened his grip as his thoughts turned to his interactions with Regulus over the past year. When they saw each other in the corridors or during meals, Regulus kept his gaze fixed in front of him as though he didn't even seen Sirius, as though he had never crept into Sirius's bed after waking from a nightmare, as though he had never cowered behind Sirius while Walburga shrieked at them. What a waste of bloody time, Sirius thought again. And now Regulus wanted to use Sirius to gain favor with the pathetic excuse for a leader he hero-worshiped. His mind filled with the image of the newspaper clippings taped to Regulus's wall, and his stomach clenched.

"He tried to recruit me."

"Bloody hell," Lily murmured, eyes wide. "Recruit you – you mean…?"

"He asked me to join the bloody Gobstones Club, Evans – what the fuck do you think I mean?"

She blinked, absorbing his sharp tone without comment. "You think he was put up to it?"

"That or he thought he could gain favor for bringing in someone like me." The bitterness in his voice grew. "I'm a Black – that's practically royalty to those tossers, even though half the family is mentally unstable from centuries of inbreeding, but, you know, small details. And he's seen me duel – he knows I'm good."

He half-expected Lily to chide him for his arrogance, but she merely nodded.

"I suppose he thinks he'll be rewarded for good behavior if he convinces me to join." He fought to keep his tone even, but he couldn't hide the derision coating his words. "Reg was always such a fucking suck-up. I bet he thinks Voldemort is going to pat him on the head and say well done, maybe give him a fucking Death Eater prefect badge. Anyway, I hope he didn't make any promises, because I don't expect Voldemort takes disappointment well." He shook his head and sank down lower in his chair. "Fucking Regulus."

Lily surveyed him for a moment, the sympathy in her eyes making Sirius want to flee.

"Sirius?" she began.

"I don't fucking care, Evans. I just think it's bloody bold of him to think I'd even consider joining, that's all."

His fingers itched to light another cigarette, but he couldn't find the pack.

"It's okay if you still care, Padfoot," Lily said, teetering at the edge of her seat.

Sirius could see her itching to spring to her feet and wrap her arms around him, although the force of his surly expression repelled her enough to keep her in her chair.

"I don't care," he insisted, glaring at the burnt letter in the fireplace and wishing he could set it on fire all over again. "I just think it's bloody stupid that we grew up in the same house, listening to the same vile, bigoted bullshit, trying to survive being raised by Walburga and Orion – which isn't an easy feat, by the way – and somehow I managed to turn out okay, yet Regulus is the fucking Slytherin poster child. How can he not see how fucked up it all is?"

Lily fiddled with a pull in the blanket, wrapping the loose thread around her finger as she bit her lip. "Well, you're just different, I suppose. You became a Gryffindor and started hanging around with people like James, and you saw through all of that blood supremacy rubbish. And you were stubborn enough – and reckless enough – to tell your parents–"

"They're not my fucking parents," Sirius said, shooting her a scathing look. He knew she meant nothing by it, yet hearing that word applied to Walburga and Orion made his stomach turn. He hadn't thought of them that way since he had fled Grimmauld Place with Walburga's shouts echoing in his ears and a cut on his forehead from the ashtray she had flung at his head.

"Alright," Lily said, shrugging off his sharp reaction. "You were stubborn and reckless enough to tell Walburga and Orion where to stick their blood supremacy ideas. But Regulus is in Slytherin, surrounded by people who share the same beliefs that you grew up hearing, and I don't really know him, but from what you've told me, he doesn't have your same, er…"

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Disregard for rules and personal safety?"

"Yeah, that's about right," Lily said, grinning. "So even though you grew up in the same house, I think you're just, well, a stronger person, and even though you tried your best to convince him to leave that life behind, there's not much you can do if he's not willing to do it, you know?"

Sirius didn't reply. He reached for his wand and twirled it between his fingers as he imagined Regulus dueling some faceless Auror.

"He's going to end up fucking dead," he muttered. "The idiot's going to get himself killed."

"Maybe," Lily said, flinching as sparks flew from Sirius's wand. "But theoretically, any of us could end up dead." She stood and plucked his wand from his grasp, placing it on the table. "What good does it do to dwell on that?"

He sighed as he tried to dispel the image of Regulus's dead body that kept flashing unbidden into his head.

"As my favorite leather jacket-wearing hoodlum once said, life's too short," Lily said, wrapping her arms around Sirius.

"Hoodlum definitely has a better ring to it, don't you think?" Sirius said, holding himself rigid before heaving a grudging sigh and relaxing into her embrace. She gave good hugs, as far as unsolicited hugs went.

"I agree." She released him and held out a hand. "Want to agree to renew our unspoken agreement not to bother with our stupid bloody siblings, then?"

Sirius grasped her hand and shook it. "Yeah, alright, although I don't think it counts as unspoken anymore, since we're, you know, speaking about it. And if you happen to break it again, you can always count on me for a vent session. I love hearing about what an intolerable bitch your sister is."

She grinned. "I'm sure I'll need a good vent session after the bloody Dursley-Evans wedding," she said, pronouncing the last word with such distaste that it made Sirius laugh. "Come on. We should go back to bed, or we'll both get Ts and James will laugh himself silly."

Sirius lingered in front of the fireplace, watching smoke from one of the cigarettes drift into the air beside the burnt remains of his letter. His eyes followed the smoke as he thought about the contents of that letter: the memories, the accusations, the anger. Then he flicked his wand, extinguishing the cigarette with a burst of water, and followed Lily up the staircase to bed.

Friday, June 16, 1978

"Quills down, please." Professor Flitwick stood at the front of the Great Hall, waiting for the scratching of quills to stop. Peter looked down at his paper and grimaced: he had left off in the middle of a sentence, and had left several questions blank, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He had frozen, so paralyzed by anxiety that he had stared at the exam paper for ten minutes without writing anything. When he did manage to start writing, it was in sporadic bursts of productivity followed by stretches of staring at the questions as he agonized over his answers. He didn't trust himself, that was the problem, so he wasted precious minutes second-guessing his responses, quill poised over the parchment as he fluctuated back and forth. Even topics he had been confident about before the exam filled him with indecision. Sometimes he answered an entire question, only to scratch out everything he had written and start over.

I'm afraid to make the wrong choice, so I wait too long and end up running out of time. Just like I do with dueling – just like I do with everything in my bloody life. He scowled and moved his hands aside as Flitwick summoned the exam papers up to the front of the room. At least I'm consistent, I suppose.

He glanced over at James, who was seated two chairs over. James grinned and gave him a thumbs up, then mouthed Three, two, one. There was a loud snap, like someone had pulled a Christmas cracker, and then confetti poured from the ceiling, coating the students in little bits of paper and streamers. Balloons followed, bouncing off the floor and bobbing up into the air again. Peter laughed as Professor Flitwick smiled and dusted confetti from his shoulders.

"Think he'll like the next bit?" James asked.

The Great Hall had erupted with laughter and chatter as students shook confetti from their hair and the tops of their desks, but Peter could still hear the loud pop as a banner appeared on the wall behind Flitwick. Large, curling red letters proclaimed EXAMS ARE OVER. TIME TO PARTY! Underneath the caption, James had drawn Dumbledore, Flitwick, and McGonagall doing a dance move similar to the one he and Lily were often teased for. Peter snorted with laughter when he saw that the cartoon McGonagall was wearing a red cowboy hat.

"Thanks for getting us through our last exam, Clitlick!" Sirius called as they strolled out of the Great Hall, slipping on piles of confetti and kicking balloons at each other. "It was a real treat!"

"Padfoot!" Lily said, darting a glance at Flitwick over her shoulder, but he was too busy enjoying the decorations to notice the lewd nickname.

"Evans, we're done with exams. We're about to be done with school. I don't give a single fuck. We are going to go back to the common room and get drunk immediately, because we've earned it and we've got about a week before we have to be actual adults doing serious adult things." He jammed a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, looking around at them all as though daring someone to argue. "Alright?"

Lily shrugged. "Alright. Are we at least allowed to discuss how we think we did on that exam?"

Remus winced. "Can we not? My brain hurts."

"Mine too! That last essay question–"

"Evans!" Sirius looked so affronted that Peter had to stifle a laugh. "You heard the man. We're not going over every question of the exam. That banner said it's time to party, and an Arithmancy exam is not party conversation."

Lily held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, and Peter's shoulders slumped with relief. He wasn't keen on rehashing the whole exam and finding out which questions he had botched. It would be a miracle if he scraped an Acceptable, but that was a problem for July, when he would likely be so occupied with Order business that N.E.W.T. scores would be the least of his worries.

"Now, if you're done bringing down my party atmosphere, I was going to ask if you'd like to be on my team for Firecracker," Sirius asked, glancing sideways at Lily and grinning. "I need your paper flicking skills."

When they reached the common room, it was packed with fifth years celebrating the end of their own exams.

"We did it!" Bubbles shouted, his arm around his beaming girlfriend as he swigged from a bottle of champagne. "No more O.W.L.s! Remus, I couldn't have done it without you, mate." He held out the champagne to Remus, who chuckled and took a sip.

"I didn't really do anything," he said, offering the bottle to Bubbles's girlfriend. "All I did was motivate you a bit."

"Nah, you saved my arse," Bubbles insisted. "So I wanted to do something to thank you…"

Upon hearing those words, Peter extricated himself from the group and took a few steps toward the dormitory stairs, then Summoned the wrapped parcel they had stowed in his trunk for safe keeping. Grinning, he returned to the group and presented it to Remus, who took it, frowning in confusion.

"It's from all of us," Peter explained.

"But it was my idea," Sirius added, taking the bottle of champagne from Bubbles. "Let it be known that it was my excellent idea."

Remus unwrapped the parcel and pulled out a leather briefcase embossed with Professor R.J. Lupin in gold letters across the front. He traced the raised letters, then looked around at them all, eyes bright with emotion.

"You really got me this? I thought you were joking."

Sirius grinned and clapped him on the back. "I never joke about teachery accessories."

Remus's gaze returned to the case, his eyes lingering on the lettering as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He bit his lip, and for a moment Peter was afraid he was about to cry. The whole idea had struck Peter as a silly joke, like the plaque James had once sent Remus proclaiming him the recipient of the Most Professorial Cardigan Award. He had expected Remus to laugh and roll his eyes, then toss the case aside so they could play a drinking game. Instead, Remus was clutching the case and staring down at it like it meant the world to him, which, Peter realized, it probably did.

"We put a few of your books inside just to give it a more authentic teachery feel," Peter said, wondering if it had been a mistake to give it to him down here, in front of everyone. "And we threw in a few things from Honeydukes, just because."

"And I wrote you an essay," Sirius said, taking another sip from the champagne bottle. "Your first assignment to grade. I think you'll find it to be Outstanding-level work."

Bubbles plucked the champagne bottle from Sirius's hand and eyed the contents. "Thirsty, Black?"

"Oh, shut up, I bought that for you," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "Finder's fee."

Remus unlatched the clasp on the top of the case and shifted aside several of his novels and an assortment of chocolate bars before he pulled out a roll of parchment.

"Ooh, stand up on the table to read it," Sirius urged. "Get everyone's attention."

Remus shook his head. "I'm not doing that, but you're welcome to."

"Nah, I want to see your face when you read it. Go on, then."

Remus unrolled the parchment and began to read, then looked up, exasperated. "Padfoot, what is this?"

"It's my Outstanding essay, and it's quite rude of you not to read it aloud so everyone can enjoy it," Sirius said, grinning. "Don't deprive us, Moony."

Remus sighed. "You couldn't be arsed to take notes for the past seven years, but you wrote three feet of parchment just to annoy me?"

Sirius shrugged. "Annoying you brings me joy."

"Alright, then," Remus said, shaking his head and beginning to read. "A defense of the English language's most unconventional, creative, and underutilized words, by Sirius Michael Black. Have you ever wanted to discuss your most recent groping experience, but couldn't find the word to describe the person receiving the gropes? Have you ever hesitated to use an adjective form of a word because you were afraid your mate won't like the way it sounds? Do you sometimes make up words to fit a certain story? This essay will address these issues and more…"

When Remus finished reading, he wiped away tears of laughter and shook his head. "This is what you were doing instead of studying for Arithmancy?"

Sirius shrugged. "I did both. I'm a good multi-tasker. Is it time for Firecracker, then? I'd put that case back upstairs, Moony. I don't want that academic masterpiece of an essay to catch fire."

Hours later, a distinct scent of burnt hair lingered in the common room as Peter and Remus stumbled up the spiral staircase to the dormitory. When they burst through the door, laughing and clutching each other to stay upright, Remus collapsed onto his bed, but Peter sank onto the braided rug.

"You didn't make it to your bed," Remus observed, struggling to remove his shoes without sitting up.

"No," Peter said, gazing down at the rug in amusement. "But everyone else is asleep in their chairs down in the common room, so at least I made it up here."

"That is very true." Remus gave another halfhearted attempt to kick off his shoes, then gave up and flopped back down onto the bed with a sigh.

Peter grinned and scooted across the floor to the edge of Remus's bed. With a grunt of effort, he pried off Remus's shoes and tossed them across the room where they landed beside the door with a soft thump.

"Thanks," Remus said, rolling onto his side. A lazy, drunken smile spread across his face. "You're a good friend, Pete."

"You're welcome. I didn't throw them because they smell, by the way. It just seemed like it would be fun."

Remus stared at him for a moment, brows knitted, and then he burst into laughter. "What a Peter Pettigrew thing to say."

Peter laughed, too, although he couldn't decide if it had been a compliment or not.

"Thanks for my teacher case." Remus extended a long arm to gesture at the case resting on top of his trunk. "It's the best gift anyone's ever given me, besides that really excellent copy of The Hobbit Seven gave me for Christmas."

The firewhisky had made Peter's brain fuzzy, so it took a moment for Remus's words to register.

"That's quite an achievement, then, considering part of the gift was an essay containing all the words you hate most in the world."

Remus chuckled. "Well, it made me laugh. And maybe I need to give beachy another chance, but nothing's going to make me change my mind about gropee." He studied his fingernails for a moment, picking at a ragged bit of skin before looking up at Peter again. "I really would like to be a teacher. I know it's impossible, but I can sort of picture myself doing it, you know?"

The image of Remus opening his personalized case to hand back graded homework to a class of first years filled Peter's head, and he smiled.

"I can picture it, too. The case really makes the ensemble, doesn't it?" He frowned, tilting his head to the side. "Ensemble's not the right word. What am I trying to say?"

Remus laughed and shook his head. "Dunno. I know what you mean, but I'm too drunk to put it into words. You're right, though. The case makes it feel, I dunno…" His fingers rose and fell as though playing an invisible piano. "Real, I suppose. It makes it feel real. Which is bloody stupid, seeing as a dodgy pub in Knockturn Alley wouldn't hire me, let alone a school."

Peter adjusted his position so he sat cross-legged on the braided rug, looking up at Remus. "You never know. Dumbledore might in a few years, if things start to change. Or who knows, maybe Lily will invent a cure."

Remus laughed, but it wasn't the hollow, bitter laugh that sometimes crept out when he was tired and defeated, but a laugh of amusement and disbelief.

"Yeah, maybe. And maybe McGonagall will start ending every Transfiguration class by wearing a cowboy hat and serenading her students on the ukulele."

It was Peter's turn to laugh. The mirth bubbled up and spilled out into the dim, lazy atmosphere of the dormitory, warming him from the inside out.

"Well, stranger things have happened." He lay back on the rug and rested his arms under his head. "I know we agreed not to talk about N.E.W.T.s, but I think I fucking failed Arithmancy. Runes, too, to be honest. Not that anyone will be shocked, but I thought I was at least okay for Arithmancy. We studied for hours."
"I thought you were going to be okay for Arithmancy, too," Remus mused. "You knew your stuff. Maybe you did better than you thought you did."

Peter turned his head toward Remus, his face drawn into a frown. "Doubt it. I left a few questions blank. I just… I dunno, I freeze, and then I second-guess myself and end up staring at the question for ten minutes because I'm too afraid to choose an answer and get it wrong. Which is bloody stupid, because sometimes I end up leaving it blank or running out of time, and then I've gotten it wrong anyway. Sort of like when I duel, except if I can't make a decision fast enough during a duel, I don't just fail an exam – I'm fucking dead."

"Shit." Remus propped himself up on his elbow, eyes wide. "Don't say that. You've gotten loads better at dueling. Although making decisions does seem to be a sticking point for you, doesn't it?" He chuckled, dispelling some of the gloom that had descended with Peter's morbid comment. "How long did it take the Sorting Hat to decide where to put you?"

"Almost six minutes. Longer than it took to sort McGonagall, even. Bloody hell, it was awkward just sitting there with everyone staring. I was half convinced the damn hat would never come to a decision."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "It's so strange to think how things would have been different if you had been in Hufflepuff instead."

Peter bit his lip, his stomach tightening at the mention of the lie he had perpetuated for the past seven years. He had swallowed down the truth like bile, afraid of how his friends would react if they knew the truth. There was a secret duality, a mysterious double quality to Peter, and he wasn't sure how he felt about the side nobody knew about. He had suppressed it for so long that the idea of letting it spill out gave him an irresistible sense of relief.

"I wouldn't have been in Hufflepuff," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Remus frowned. "No?"

"No. The Sorting Hat was stuck between Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Remus's frown deepened. "Oh?"

"Padfoot assumed it was between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and I didn't argue, because

honestly it made more sense." He sighed and rolled onto his side. "Imagine me in fucking Slytherin? I wouldn't last a day."

Remus watched him for a moment, the dim light of the room illuminating the glints of gray in his hair.

"I dunno. The Sorting Hat must have seen something in your head, otherwise it wouldn't have taken almost six bloody minutes to sort you."

"I suppose. I dunno, I've never felt very Slytheriny. Sorry for the made up word, by the way." He grinned and pushed himself upright, then went to Sirius's trunk and returned with a half empty bottle of firewhisky.

"Do you need that?" Remus asked, grinning.

Peter shook his head. "Definitely not." He took a long pull, then offered it to Remus. "I dunno, I just didn't want you lot to think of me differently."

"Why would we think of you differently?" Remus put the bottle of firewhisky to his lips, then pulled it away and studied it for a moment. "You're the same Pete, whether you're in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff or Slytherin. Or Ravenclaw, I suppose, but you have zero Ravenclaw qualities."

Peter laughed. "Are you calling me dumb?"

"No, I'm saying you don't answer bloody riddles for fun, that's all." Remus handed the bottle back to Peter and grinned. "You're our friend, no matter what house you're in. You know that, right?"

Peter raised his eyebrows. "You think Padfoot would still be friends with me if I'd ended up in Slytherin? No fucking chance. I'd be, I dunno, getting drunk with Snape, probably."

Remus laughed and shook his head. "That doesn't sound as fun as getting drunk with me."

Peter shrugged. "Probably not. I wouldn't know, though. We could ask Lily." He pushed himself upright and fixed Remus with his slightly unfocused gaze. "Don't tell the others, alright?"

Remus raised his eyebrows. "They wouldn't care, you know. It wouldn't change anything."

Peter imagined Sirius's reaction if he found out Peter was almost a Slytherin. Was the Sorting Hat drunk, Pete? Slytherins are meant to be ambitious. Is it considered ambitious if you walk all the way to the kitchens to get a sandwich? "Still. Don't say anything."

Remus nodded. "Yeah, alright." He eyed the section of rug where Peter sat, cross-legged. "Want a hand up?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah." He struggled to his feet, then collapsed onto his bed, still wearing his clothes and shoes. "Thanks for…" He waved a hand in the air, his gesture encompassing everything he was too drunk and tired to put into coherent words.

Remus grinned. "You're welcome. Thanks for…" He imitated Peter's gesture, taking in the teacher case and the firewhisky and the shoes strewn across the floor.

"You're welcome." Peter lay there, for once unburdened by indecision. "Do you think we'll be okay, Moony?"
Remus sighed, a long exhalation that stirred the strands of hair that fell onto his forehead.

"I think we'll eventually be okay, yeah. It might take a bit, and it'll take some perseverance, but we'll make it out okay in the end. We always do."

Peter smiled, taking in the words. "I think you're right."

His eyes fluttered closed, his body a bit lighter from the release of confessing one of his deepest secrets. Right before he drifted off, he wondered what it would be like to fall asleep in the Slytherin dormitory. I'm glad I'll never have to find out, he thought, heaving a satisfied sigh before slipping into a deep sleep.