Oh, I forgot to mention this in my last chapter but JKR can eat me. There is no space for transphobia in this house, and as far as I'm concerned whatever she is has little bearing to how I approach this story!


Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert

November froze whatever remained of autumn. Everything was becoming cold and colder – their classes moving towards the Christmas holidays with a finality. Everyone was trying their best to finish their assignments to the best of their abilities to have a good holiday. It was not as easy as it used to be in their younger years – there was always far more work assigned over any and all holidays now.

June was grappling with her work very well – thanks to Sirius Black, her reading time had been neatly cut into less than half. It didn't help that he always found her in the library and read her books. There was some sort of irony there, but June wasn't going to spend time pondering it. It might drive her mad.

She was conscious of the fact that she was becoming more comfortable around him. When he teased her, she responded in kind. When he fought with her, she fought back. He had noticed a gleam when she did, but she couldn't place the feeling behind it.

His letters were becoming longer, too. He had finished The Tombs of Atuan in no time – punctuated by a long letter about Papillon, and how he would try to escape from a penal colony. She had just known he'd love something like that – a wrongly framed prisoner escaping from a prison was just the sort of thing Sirius Black would appreciate and enjoy. He confessed in his letter that it had kept him awake for many days, along with a fool proof plan to escape from Azkaban. She couldn't help pointing out that with the dementors supporting You-Know-Who, Azkaban was not as impossibly secure as before. Papillon was a long book, but he had finished it within two weeks.

By the third week of November, June had noticed a bigger problem. Since Lily had begun her discreet inquiries into the identity of Sirius' book supplier, rumours started to spread. About how he had spent his Hallowe'en date with Sally O'Connell talking about the books he was reading. About how he was in love with the girl who was supplying him with books.

A roaring trade started up – Hogsmeade post-office was flooded with orders from different girls for books. Jobber & Knoll had never seen an onslaught of shoppers – the owner remarked fondly to his nephew that perhaps the Youths were more interested in reading than he had anticipated. All of the fanclub tried to hand over Sirius books. He declined, as politely as possible – with Peter sniggering in the background and James biting his lip with laughter.

June found herself as an unconscious target for all of this. Since everyone seemed convince the point was to get Sirius to the books with their letters by any means possible – people had taken to slipping him books when they could. Gryffindor girls had an obvious advantage, but the rest of them resorted to trying to get a hold of his bag. If they couldn't get his bag – they would get to hers.

"For you," said June, shoving a copy of Jane Eyre into his hands. She fell into her usual chair in the library table, while Sirius flipped through the book.

"This isn't hers," he said.

"I know," said June. "Can you please tell the others to shove off?"

He started laughing. "You been getting a lot of my mail?"

"You know I have," said June. "It was a copy of Dickens the other day, and someone had the amazing idea to hand over Dostoevsky."

"You know these authors?" asked Sirius, looking interested.

"Um – erm – that is, I haven't read them," said June, back pedalling furiously. "I have heard of them. Very common Muggle authors."

He didn't seem suspicious for too long, thankfully.

"How come they don't slip these things in your bag?" complained June.

"The rest of us are too careful," said Sirius, assuming an air of wisdom. "You see – we're used to it. I have never let my bag out of my sight since fourth year."

June groaned. "Well, I'm not used to it."

"Trip jinx them."

"You trip them," said June.

"You."

"You."

"Me."

"Me – ah, fuck," said Sirius. "You sly little –"

"Ha!" said June, sticking her tongue out.

She'd become too comfortable around him. Instantly self-conscious, she shrunk into herself.

"Now, don't do that!" he laughed.

"What?" she asked.

"You're retreating again!"

"Come off it," said June, feeling shy.

"Come on, Williams. Surely I've inspired a little confidence?"

He had – that was the problem.

"You're being silly," she said.

He winked at her then. "How are you spending your Christmas, by the way?"

"Oh – I always stay in Hogwarts," said June thoughtlessly.

He had become – become curious about her life. He was frowning in that way again, where she felt like he was trying to piece a puzzle.

"What about you?" she asked, in an attempt to deflect his attention. "I mean – the holidays are three weeks away, so I don't know why –"

"I always go to the Potters'," he said shortly.

"Do you miss home?" she asked.

"Do you?"

She chewed her lip. "Sometimes," she admitted. "I miss my mother. Sometimes."

He turned away from her. "I miss my brother. Sometimes."

She nodded. "I have this Transfiguration spell to practice. Can you help me?"

He pulled the book towards him, and they began working together. They did this more often – since Transfiguration was not one of her strong suits. She helped him with Herbology from time to time. She only asked for his help in the practical part of it – she couldn't risk him figuring out her handwriting.

They passed the hours companionably. He didn't always seek her out, or hang out with her. Most of his days were spent with his friends. But when he had to read, he always came here. June had resigned herself to her friendship with him. It was unwanted, and largely very suspicious – but she couldn't do anything about it.

Once they were done for the day, she gathered her books. He pulled his book out.

"You're done with that one?" asked June.

"Probably by tomorrow or something. I think mystery-reader is keeping a track of me. She always knows when I'm done."

June turned away to hide her face blanching. She'd better wait a few days before giving him Madame Bovary.

She knew Madame Bovary was a little different from the stuff she usually gave – but she felt – she felt like she could. She didn't understand his taste completely, but she was feeling a sense of rightness about this book. It was… something like a test in her head. It wasn't one she knew the meaning of – but she felt inordinately nervous about this book. About how it would be received.

"Can I tell you something I wouldn't tell the others?" asked Black.

She slung her bag across her shoulder. "Alright," she said.

"I liked Pride and Prejudice most."

She blinked. "The romantic book?"

"Yeah," he said. "I like all this other stuff, too. But I liked that one most."

"You're very surprising," she said honestly. "I have to go now. Sarah should be here any minute."

Sarah peeped from behind the shelves just as June said this. "You coming, Williams?"

"Where are you both headed?" asked Sirius, his eyes narrowing.

"None of your business –"– began Sarah – "We're going to Hagrid's," finished June.

"You know, one of these days, you are going to try my patience for the last time," said Sarah conversationally.

"It's late, though," said Sirius.

"We'll be back by dinner," promised June.

"And anyway, it's none of your –"

June pinched Sarah.

Sirius was grinning. "You out breaking rules, Williams?" he asked.

June flushed. "No. No!" she glared. "No," she added for good measure.

"Very convincing," he nodded.

"Oh go away, Sirius Black," huffed June. She grabbed Sarah by the arm and headed off.

Sarah was surveying her carefully even as they walked out of the library. "What?"

"You're comfortable around him." There was a hint of accusation in her voice.

June buried her face in her hands. "I know."

"Oh, good. Then I don't have to talk you out of it."

"I can't help it, Sarah. I get his – his letters, he spends – all this – all this time! with me. I can't help becoming – becoming comfortable around him. I'm comfortable around you!" she pointed out.

"That's different. I know your dirty little secret."

June stared firmly ahead, even though her cheeks felt very pink. "I don't know why he likes antagonising me," she added, more to herself than anything else. Sarah laughed.

"What?" demanded June.

"You are blind," she said. "It turns him on, June."

"What?" repeated June.

"Turns him on. He likes it when you fight back."

"That's – that's – that's not – you're absurd!"

"Oh, don't lose your articulation now."

"What the hell do you mean 'turn on' –"

"It excites him, sexually," said Sarah, her face expressionless.

June made a noise between a groan and a strangled scream. "Be quiet, Sarah!"

"Suit yourself," she shrugged.

June put that sort of thing out of her head instantly. But it settled somewhere in the stomach, you see. Thoughts about love usually do that – they don't stay in the head, or the heart. But they remain in the stomach. That's how you get butterflies.


November moved without being noticed. The Gryffindor versus Slytherin match also went in Gryffindor's favour. She had Sirius' letter about The Tombs of Atuan, and she had perused it carefully. She had responded to all the excitement and things he said, she had written a response that was both enthusiastic and detailed. But she was really, really waiting for his take on Madame Bovary. Everything was already hurrying forward at an alarming pace: she moved through the days with an admirable sense of herself, taking stock of the world and everything in it.

She had to acknowledge something truly horrible: it was sort of nice to have people to spend time with. Sarah had become an actual – an actual friend. She was spending her Christmas away from Hogwarts, as well. December seemed as empty as life had been so far. The last few months had been the most exciting thing that had happened to her: she had made friends.

Only two, and only sometimes friends – but friends, nonetheless. She was very proud of herself.

She had been watching Sirius read Madame Bovary, almost as anxiously as she had originally watched him read Pride and Prejudice. He didn't betray anything new, and if there was anyone who knew this was important – it was Sarah. She also watched, but from the corner of her eye. She didn't say anything, but June was observant enough to know that she was watching.

"Be careful, Williams," she said one day.

"About what?"

She nodded to Sirius Black, reading on the breakfast table.

"Why?" asked June, confused.

"Something's not right about this," said Sarah, frowning. "He's – he's too interested. You ought to be careful."

"But about what?" insisted June.

Sarah blinked at her. "Are you being deliberately obtuse?"

"Obtuse about what, though?"

"Nevermind," said Sarah. "Tell me when it clicks in your head."

June turned back to her breakfast. Sometimes, Sarah made no sense whatsoever.

Madame Bovary was her sole focus, not Sirius himself. She watched as he turned the pages – she remembered what happened so clearly, so well, that she didn't have too much trouble guessing which part he was at. When she saw him approaching the end of the book, she felt her heart pounding. She had already planned to give him Arabella by Georgette Heyer – as something that was a little easier, and a little more fun. As soon as she saw he was done, she felt herself square her shoulders in anticipation.

In a few nights, she changed the books. Her letter in Arabella was a long response to his review of The Tombs of Atuan.

There was a shorter letter pressed into Madame Bovary. She peeled it out of the leaves of the book, turned on one lamp in the common room and read:

You love her, don't you? She's you.

Best,

S

Her fingers touched the words. She had all these responses in her head – and she attempted to write them down – scratching them out one by one. She thought of defences, of arguments, counter arguments – long histories of literature which would prove conclusively that she did not have any particular attachment to Emma Bovary.

But when she slipped back upstairs – unable to not respond to this note immediately – all that was written was:

Yes.

- Reader


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