Thought I'd publish a bit early, since honestly speaking, I've already got like... fifteen chapters written. I mean, I should pace myself and all that, try to make sure I have enough for next week - but I think we all know fifteen is overkill.

Hope you're all having a wonderful time!


The Conqueror by Georgette Heyer

She really hadn't planned on it. He was just driving her crazy.

First of all, he had no business searching her out in her own Charms class. She didn't have very strong opinions on Sarah Freegood, but she didn't want her knowing about… about her. June had a deathly fear of being known and read and having people who were listening for her thoughts. It was the primary reason for her to be alone, and it wasn't a very good one. Most importantly, she didn't want to be read on terms which were not hers. She knew this was unreasonable of her, but while she could control it, she was happy enough avoiding company of any sort.

And then, there was Sirius Black, seeking her out by checking with Sarah Freegood. She had a good mind to curse him then and there, if she had any guts or gumption. He was already getting a horrifyingly personal part of her – the one which she really kept to herself, which she plastered on her Grandmother's copies of classics. She had written such things about herself, about her thoughts, about her idea of love. And Sirius Black – of all people, Sirius Black! – had access to all of that. He had access to all of that, to misuse and take advantage of.

As soon as she had made up her mind to take the book away from him at the first instance she had a chance, something even worse happened: he sat down next to her in the library, reading – actually reading – the book. To her own shock, she saw him read all the phrases and things she had written on the side, saw him contemplate this version of herself that she had never shared with anyone – and read it intently. Read it with a strength of affection and an intensity of emotion, read it with the need to understand.

She didn't know why, but she couldn't take the book away from him that night. She couldn't – she reasoned that it was because he was reading, and one shouldn't stop the process of reading. She went about her week, chewing her fingernails as she watched him read and reread the book, watched him make a note of all the things in the margins, watched him get cross with his friends when they didn't leave him alone with the book. Finally, she saw him approach Lily for information.

This woke her out of the momentary lapse of her judgement. He'd gone to Lily. Lily, who shared a dormitory with her. Lily, who could easily tell him just who it was. Lily, who knew her handwriting.

And Lily hadn't known.

June didn't know what she had felt in that moment – when she had watched them, eavesdropped on their conversation without being noticed – seen Lily say she thought the book looked familiar, but she couldn't place the owner. June really had been thorough in having people ignore her. Lily Evans had shared her dormitory for six years and she couldn't place her handwriting.

That was what was running through her head when she waited for everyone to drop off before going to the boy's dormitory. She saw, in her mind's eye, Lily saying without thinking twice: "It seems familiar, though." Marlene and Mary had agreed with her.

On impulse, without questioning her own decisions – June had taken one of Christie's murder mysteries and watched herself put it on his side table. Like a dream, she saw her giving a part of herself to him – and taking the Austen back from him. She didn't believe herself – until she woke up the next morning to find the book gone.

Lily was telling her to get out of bed. She had gotten dressed and disappeared without making her bed. When she was at the breakfast table, she thought about taking her book out until a terrible thought struck her: what if someone noticed? What if he was on the look out for girls who were reading?

She had been reading something that was particularly engrossing – Arabella by Georgette Heyer. It was a romance, and a good one – but she had not felt like giving him a romance. He seemed a little disdainful of it. Perhaps next ti-

No! she nearly screamed at herself.

What was she doing? What was this, a book exchange? Were they in a book club? What the hell was she thinking?

Suffice to say, she could no longer read during breakfast or meal times. Reading must now be conducted in secret, must never be shown in public places where Sirius Black could come across her. She had already given him too much of her.

Here was the thing: June hadn't realised how much of her life she had designed depending entirely on the thought that she wouldn't be noticed. She was never noticed by anyone, least of all by Sirius Black – but a part of her was looking over her shoulder, waiting. Waiting for someone to comment on her clothes, on her books, on her handwriting. She didn't know if she anticipated or dreaded it.

So much of her life depended on reading. She measured her days in books, her hours in chapters, her minutes in sentences read. She didn't know how she got through the day without reading. She scrambled to Hagrid's hut after lunch, unable to take the monotony of not having read anything for such a while. She had a period free, after all.

"You okay?" asked Hagrid, concerned.

"Perfectly fine," she said, flushed and unhappy. "Can I read with you for sometime? I promise I won't be too much of a nuisance."

"O'course," said Hagrid gruffly. "On'y why -?"

"I don't like the common room," said June, trying to be as vague as possible.

He frowned, but didn't question her.

She sat curled up in his giant armchair, reading her book. Two hours passed by without note, until it occurred to her that she ought to perhaps get started on some of her essays as well.

When she looked up, Hagrid was looking at her with abject concern. "June. Is e'rything okay?"

She nodded. "Can I come everyday just to read a little bit?" she asked in a small voice.

"O'course," he said. "But you'll be telling me if something's wrong?"

"I promise," she nodded.

"Okay."

"I'm going now," she added.

"Goodbye," he said awkwardly.

She waved goodbye to him as she trotted off. As she approached the castle, the towers looked like they had been set on fire by the sun. Once inside, she made a beeline for the library – and there, headed to her favourite, always unoccupied table.

Only it was occupied.

By him.

What was she supposed to do with herself? She sat down next to him, and he didn't even look up. He was already half way through the book, reading with so much intensity she was almost afraid to say anything that might stop him. She pulled out her transfiguration essay, her copy of Advanced Transfiguration, and a quill.

She was trying to focus on her essay – and she made good headway, she really did! but she kept watching him. She kept seeing him turn the page, she saw him frown when something problematised the mystery (and the sheer number of problems that come up in this particular mystery…), she saw him gasp softly when something was revealed. He dragged her attention, he really did.

Once she had gotten significantly involved in her essay to stop noticing as much, he ruined everything.

"Hey, I've seen you around, haven't I?" he demanded, out of the blue.

June jumped back with a squeak. "Yes?" she said.

"And you can keep secrets, can't you? You haven't told anyone I keep coming to this corner of the library or anything."

"Um," she said.

"Amazing! Do you know who's book this is?" he said, shoving her copy of Murder on the Orient Express under her nose.

She carefully took the book from his hands and felt the cover. She remembered the feeling of this paperback as well as she did all her other books. When the moment came for her to say something, she forced out two words: "No idea."

Sirius Black groaned. "God, I want to know who this girl is, giving me books. I'd like to wring her neck."

June squeaked again. "Why?" she asked.

"She has no business making me like reading," said Sirius, almost sounding… serious.

She laughed nervously.

"All jokes aside," said Sirius. "Between us only – because my mates will take the mickey out of me if they ever found out. She's kind of interesting. I want to know her. I've never been this interested in any girl, or books for that matter."

June squared her shoulders. "Well, do you have any clues?"

"The book I was originally stuck with was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen," he said, his brow furrowing.

"A romantic?" she suggested.

"Doubtful," he said.

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"She seemed to be considering romance rather than indulging in it," he said, without thinking about it.

She blinked.

Well. Okay, Sirius Black had a measure of her personality. And he seemed to have it intuitively.

"Anything – erm – anything else?" she muttered.

"The title had an inscription to a Sarah from a Dave."

"Sarah Freegood?" she said, knowing full well what he was going to say.

"Already checked with her. And Forester, for that matter."

He looked so… actually sad, so confused and slightly perturbed that June couldn't help herself. She had a soft heart, which melted easily. And Sirius Black's grey eyes were not making this easy on her.

"Maybe it's an heirloom," she hinted tiredly.

"What?" he asked, eyes in attention.

"Something that belongs in the girl's family. Maybe Sarah and Dave are her parents," she offered.

Sirius contemplated. He had that look on his face that was making a calculation. Then:

"But the book was too old. Fifty or sixty years old. Maybe it was her grandparents?"

Her heart was thumping so hard, she was hoping he couldn't hear it.

Great. So he was good at detective work, and she'd given him a clue.

"You're pretty good at this," he said. "You know, maybe I should write her a note."

"What?" she said, her voice becoming shrill with panic.

"Write her a note. She's bound to take this book back sometime. I will scribble something when I'm done with the book. I think it's the old lady, by the way." He stood up and grabbed his bag. "Thanks…?"

"June. June Williams," she said miserably.

"Thanks Williams," he said, swinging his bag behind his back. He looked so happy at his little idea, June wanted to wring his neck. "Bye!"

"Bye," she trailed off as he left her.

Great. She had to give him a book and write him a note. She had to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known. And he was wrong about who had done the murder, too. Fucking hell.


"… June?"

Lily's voice came to her gently. June looked up from the mess on one side of her bed. Lily was looking at her, worry written plainly on her face.

"What's happening?" she asked.

June looked at the mess around her. "I'm… looking for an old notebook of mine," she said.

Books were strewn on the floor.

"Oh," said Lily. "Do you need any help?"

"No. No!" said June. "Go for dinner, Lily. I'm just going to… struggle through this."

"Alright," said Lily cautiously. "I'll see you later?"

"Hmm. Yes," said June.

She was sorting through all her books. The first thing she had looked for was any book in which she might have put her name – luckily, it was none. She tried not to contemplate that for too long; it would just make her unhappy. Then, she thought about what she should give him next. After which she had a small existential crisis over the fact that she was considering giving him another book.

This is stupid, this is stupid, this is stupid.

She took a deep breath, and decided to pick a Georgette Heyer – but one of her historical fictions. Nothing like Heyer for historical fiction, she reasoned. And it wasn't a romance either! He had nothing to complain about.

She really had to stop.

She stacked her books back in their boxes, and to her own disgust – kept one box separate with books she was thinking about using for this ridiculous exchange. She touched the spine of her Pride and Prejudice and sighed. And sighed. And sighed.

She missed her grandmother even now, even after two years of her death. Living with her mother was not the same, though she only ever went back during the summer. She didn't have a very good working relationship with her mother. Things used to be better with her grandmother – besides, it was always good to hear about love stories that worked. Her grandfather had loved her grandma, from the looks of things.

Lily and the others arrived back from dinner, smiling and chattering amongst themselves. June noticed Lily's eyes swerving to her and analysing her. June shoved her boxes under the bed.

"Found your notebook?" asked Lily.

She nodded wordlessly.

"Well, ladies, I have to be off," said Marlene. "The Transfiguration essay is not going to write itself."

Marlene grabbed her books and a quill and disappeared downstairs.

"God knows why she didn't do it earlier," said Mary. "We've had a much easier week of it. Can you believe how many sleepless nights we've had with our homework since our OWLS?"

Lily unbuttoned her shirt. "It's a bit nicer this year with all the free periods we have. Anyway, I'm done with all my essays, for the next two days. And I refuse to get a headway on the potions one instantly."

June sat her bed, looking at the copy of the book that she had picked out so carefully.

"Easy for you to say, you could turn in dung and Slughorn would give you an O," said Mary. She put on her pyjamas. "What about you, June?"

June jumped. "Huh?"

"You done with your work for today?"

She looked around, searching for some sort of answer. "No. No! I still have the Transfiguration essay to do."

Lily clucked sympathetically. "Get it done as soon as possible, June."

"You're right," said June. "I'm going to – I'm going to go downstairs."

She took her quill, parchment, her bag with her transfiguration book, and her copy of The Conqueror by Georgette Heyer (neatly wedged where it wouldn't be visible). She tried to look as dignified as possible without also looking like she was attempting to escape any and all conversation.

Marlene was settled in a corner somewhere in the common room. She looked up when she saw June and smiled. June smiled back tentatively, after which she immediately scurried off to her own corner.

It wasn't that late, not yet. But she really did have to finish her diagram for Herbology and her Transfiguration essay. No friends and no Quidditch usually meant that she was on top of things, but she'd been worrying herself over Sirius Black this week – which was why she was a little behind. She had often seen people working together late into the night, and at times felt wistful for that sort of thing. It sometimes seemed to her that it would be nice to have someone to do homework with.

The common room emptied slowly. She finished half her essay by nine. By this time, Marlene yawned and went upstairs, waving at her. June waved back self-consciously. The Marauders hadn't really been doing anything too disruptive, but they were clearly having a good time together – she heard laughter emanating from their corner from time to time. She did notice that Sirius Black had her copy of Murder on the Orient Express with him.

She sighed. It became even later, the common room became quieter. The lack of dinner was beginning to make itself known in her body. At around ten thirty, in a mostly empty common room, she leaned back, having finally finished her essay.

She was going to the kitchens, she decided. She waited a few minutes to see the last of the exhausted seventh years turn in, and then she padded softly to the portrait.

The castle was always loveliest at this time in the night. She felt like she could hear thoughts from thousands of years ago – they floated in the corners of the paintings and settled on the ornate furnishings. She heard Peeves somewhere along the corridor and skilfully avoided him. She watched the stars from the windows, the moon swimming in the blue of the sky.

She wished the world looked like this more. She really did.

She reached the kitchens by eleven. She knew the elves would probably be wrapping up the day's work. She might get some nice leftovers.

"Miss Williams?" asked one of the elves when she entered.

"Oh – um, hi – Robby – I just –"

"Come through, Miss," he said formally. She was grateful he didn't ask for more, and walked through. Unfortunately, someone was sitting at the table in the kitchen –

She stopped on her tracks.

"Oh, that's Master Black –" began Robby.

"I know," said June, in a hushed voice. She turned around, looking anywhere but the table. "Maybe I should just –"

"Williams?" said Black. "That you?"

June turned and faced him. "Yes?" she said unhappily.

"Midnight hunger?" he asked. Oh god, sympathy. He was being sympathetic about midnight hunger.

"I missed dinner," she said.

"Well, sit."

She sat down next to him. Some of the elves brought her the roast chicken and vegetables with potatoes.

"I came for an éclair," Black said. "And to read."

"Oh."

She began to butter her bread.

"Have you read this book?" he asked, holding up Murder on the Orient Express.

"No," she said quickly.

"Oh. Then I won't spoil it for you. But d'you know, I was wrong? It wasn't the old woman!"

She knew. She chose to take a bite of her chicken instead.

"Any luck with – erm – that is to say – um, the person…?" she asked.

He grinned. "None. But she has taste. This one is so different from the last one. I would offer you this copy, but she's written all these notes on the margin, feels weird to share her book. James wanted to read it too – but I said no. He only wanted it because there's murder in the title."

She stifled a giggle.

"She's a much better guesser than I am. She knew the murderer way before I did. I was avoiding reading her notes because I didn't want to be spoiled," added Black.

"Um."

"I have thought about whether or not this is an elaborate plan by the fanclub – or just one fan – to have me interested."

She swallowed the bite of chicken and vegetable in her mouth. "Fanclub?" she asked.

He sighed. "The girls always slipping me love potion."

"Oh," she frowned. "Well."

"You don't talk much, do you?"

She went red.

He gave a short, barking laugh. "I like you, Williams."

She felt like she was turning her face to fire.

"You know, I hope she isn't a fan," he said. "Again – this is between us, because James will never stop making fun of me if he found out – but I dunno – I like what she reads. I want to read more of it, which is horrifying. But if there's more stuff about murder and battle, I'd like to. And anyway, it would take a lot to write all those notes just to entice me. That's just me being self-centred, I suppose. It's just strange that she's alright with exchanging her books with me."

"Yeah, that is a mystery," June muttered to herself.

"I hope she continues, of course," he said. "I hope the next one is just as good. I'm rereading this one for her notes, but it was such a good book. Who knew Muggles wrote this well?"

"No?" she said.

"Anyway," he stood up. "I'm off. Enjoy your dinner, Williams. Don't get caught."

"You too," she said.

Again, he gave that odd barking laugh. "Night!"

Amazing. Wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic.

She just knew she had to give him The Conqueror now.


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