Author's Note: I don't know why I thought I could wrap this all up in one more chapter. I started writing and editing all the scenes I wanted to get through and ended up with 30+ pages. So, besides this one, there will be two more chapters.

Also, I'll need to add another day to what is left of the school year. Instead of three days being left in the school year at the end of last chapter (and beginning of this one), there are four days. I'll go back to edit that at some point. Happy reading!

Chapter 37 – Vulnera Sanentur

James dropped his quidditch gloves into his bag and zipped it up. He closed his locker, the door clicking with finality. Looking back at the year, the Quidditch season had been the highlight. The elation of wining the Quidditch Cup again. He had been on top of the world, as if nothing could touch him. The adoration from his fellow Gryffindors, the proud look on Professor McGonagall's face, and Professor Keenan shaking his hand in congratulations. James touched his cheek gingerly, the bruise now less blue and purple and more green and yellow, still ached. That feeling was now a distant, fleeting memory.

"Potter. A word."

The words barely registered through the daze of his thoughts. The rest of the Quidditch team exchanged covert glances, carefully not looking at him and filed out of the locker room. James knew what was coming. His benching of the first game next term had made its rounds, and Gallagher was going to give him an earful. Peter had overheard third year Hufflepuffs gossiping about it, and had helpfully filled him in. Not that anyone in Gryffindor had yet the nerve to approach to ask him about it; whether commiserate or chastise.

The student body was actively avoiding any contact with them. He knew from Remus that each House Head had requested that all questions about the incident be brought to a member of the staff. The students were not supposed to question them (the witnesses) about an active investigation.

This directive meant they were left alone, but now every room Sirius and he walked into seemed to immediately go quiet. The hushed voices, guilty glances...he sometimes wanted to demand they say – whatever they were saying – to his face.

"Stuffy in here, let's talk outside."

James followed the older boy his bag slung over his shoulder. He took in a deep breath, the scent of the newly cut grass and fresh air always centered him. He admired Gallagher, so he'd hear him out.

Gallagher dropped his bag on the grass, clearing his throat as James faced him. He looked like he wanted to have this conversation even less than James. "As I am graduating, it is tradition for the former Captain to name who he or she would recommend to lead the team next year."

James felt his face warm. "Oh...well..."

"I recommended you."

"What?" James frowned. Did he not know? "You have heard that I've been-"

"Banned from playing in the first game? I've heard," Gallagher said dryly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You were likely McGonagall's choice before-"

"Exactly. Before. She's not going to make me Captain now. You're wasting your recommendation on me."

"Maybe...but I've already sent it in. And your qualifications for the position haven't changed." Gallagher regarded him with half stern half apologetic look. "Though it wouldn't be remiss to reevaluate your priorities."

"Right."

"The team can manage a game without you. I'm confident of that. But McGonagall she'll bench you again if you continue to break the rules."

The pit in his stomach grew. James had come to this conclusion himself already. McGonagall would assign this punishment again, and she would do it for far less severe offense than the first time.

And something else much worse occurred to him like the rising of the tide. He was facing another uncomfortable truth. Who else had been banned from a game this year? Who else had crossed the line as severely as he had? His actions were being seen with the same gravity as Lestrange, a boy who was practically a Death Eater.

And that hadn't been the first time he'd been compared to a Slytherin. Lily Evan's words replayed mockingly in his head.

"I don't want you to make him apologize...you're as bad as he is!"

That day by the lake...he'd humiliated Snape. He'd enjoyed it. He'd do it again. Would he do it again? He didn't have definitive answer for that, and it troubled him.

He wasn't like them.

Still James could hardly voice a complaint. He deserved missing a game on those grounds alone. Dumbledore had alluded to knowing what had occurred by the lake, and he knew the sum of his transgressions all year had been taken into account.

James shifted, scuffing his shoes on the grass. "I get it."

"And a Captain that is benched a second game? That will harm the team. So, if you are going to continue the same behavior, I ask you decline the Captainship if you are offered it."

James opened his mouth to say something.

Gallagher waved his attempt at words away. "I don't need any idle promises today. Think about it over the summer. Ok?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now that is out of the way, I've got news of my own."

"Yeah?"

"Got an offer from Puddlemore United."

"What? When? Congratulations!"

Gallagher grinned.

"Why didn't you tell the team earlier?"

"Gray and Roberts know...but well it came that day. When we heard about Professor Keenan. I – uh- didn't feel right celebrating, you know?"

James nodded rubbing his hand up and down his arm absent mindedly.

"Professor Keenan wrote me the recommendation. McGonagall too, of course. It's a shame he never -" Gallagher suddenly stopped noticing James's face.

"It is a shame," James finished for him. He didn't want pity. He wanted honesty.

Gallagher studied him deep in thought and he turned towards the castle scowling. James followed his line of sight to see the Slytherin Quidditch team headed over.

"Keep that wand out, Potter. Just in case," Gallagher said quietly. He grabbed his bag off the ground slinging it over his shoulder.

James grasped his wand. He was more angry than scared. The anger covering up the guilt and shame that had surfaced. He was ready for a fight. The odds were against them, but James didn't care.

Lestrange led the group with the usual swagger and self-importance of those who believed their pure blood made them worthy. To his disappointment, the Slytherins did not attack. They snickered and threw out a few barely concealed death threats, but James couldn't justify attacking them on those grounds alone.

James stowed his wand back into his robes, frustrated. It wasn't until they were nearly at the steps of the castle when Regulus Black ambled by. James hadn't noted his absence from the group before.

"Potter. Gallagher." the younger Black greeted them. His politeness with complete odds to the rest of his teammates.

James frowned. Regulus had looked rather pleased with himself, and it didn't sit well with him. He turned back to call out to the younger Slytherin – to question him, but he stopped himself. He was looking for an argument. He had to let it go.

Avery was becoming unbearable to be around. Avery had always thought highly of himself, but it was now worse since his toast at the Memorial Service. Snape had given him his dues. He'd properly disgraced Sirius Black, and Snape had said so himself. But it wasn't something that needed to be brought up again and again.

"Ol' Sluggy went on and on about Black's feelings...and how I should be thinking about them...and you know what I told him? I did! Ha! I did think about his feelings!"

This was one of the reasons he was sitting on the grass, on the outside the courtyard. His back was on one of the large stone pillars that was part of a larger archway. He'd sought some solitude between Charms Class and Transfiguration. He'd told Avery and Mulciber he needed a bathroom break and then never returned. He'd see them soon enough in the next class.

The sun bared down on him, and he needed to squint to see his notes properly. He was looking for a specific spell, finally pausing on the word Sectsumsempra.

He hadn't given this spell much thought since his attempts several weeks ago on tweaking the counter-curse. He had pushed it to the back burner with everything else that had gone on. James Potter had been the first person he'd used it on the day of 'the ambush'. Potter had bled after being grazed by the curse; but he hadn't bled to death. Now he knew non-direct hits didn't inflict lethal damage.

He couldn't think of that day without heat flooding his system from equal parts embarrassment and boiling over anger. He mostly did not want to think of her – his former best friend. He did not miss her. He did not need her.

The curse was Sectsumsempra. He focused on that and what would have happened if he had hit his enemy directly. Would Potter still be with them? Or better yet – missing an eye, an ear, a piece of his nose. Yes, it would be so much more satisfying to let Potter live with a disfigurement. Let Potter know he could have killed him if he wanted and he didn't need a pet werewolf to get the job done.

No one in Slytherin had asked him what curse he'd used. No one knew it was a new curse. He'd reveal it to them soon enough. He still needed a reliable counter-curse because when he did, it would be accompanied by a demonstration. Not on some rats in cages, but on another person. And he wouldn't miss. He'd hit this individual directly.

"I don't know. I do feel sorry for him." It was a female voice.

He shrunk back as if he'd been spotted, but the voices were from inside the courtyard. And he'd picked this spot so that he would be left alone and unseen.

"For what?" scoffed a male voice. "They sneak out, get a Professor killed...and we are supposed to respect their privacy? Care about their feelings? It's rubbish."

"Yea, but Avery was out of line. You don't agree with what he said?" A third voice, also female.

"Of course not. Who cares about that? It's not what he said, it's who he said it to. Sirius Black doesn't deserve an ounce of sympathy. I applaud Avery for that."

"I did like Professor Keenan. He's been our best Defense teacher..."

The voices faded as the group wandered off. Snape sat there a few moments thinking. In Slytherin everyone thought ill of Potter and Black, but he had rarely encountered word against them outside his House. He'd known he wasn't the only person in the school to think Potter and Black were underrated, but since Keenan's death and Avery's toast, suddenly these thoughts were more vocal. Keenan might just be more popular than they were.

Good. Maybe they'd overhear, maybe it would set one of them off for more entertainment. Black more likely than Potter. Anyone with half a brain could see how tightly wound Sirius Black was. The slouched shoulders at breakfast as he moved the food around his plate. Stalking through the halls with his hands curled in fists. His eyes bloodshot, grey eyes unfocused. No smiles. No laughter. The cool aloof façade that no one in the school could do as well as Sirius Black had been broken. He looked worse than when he'd fallen out with his friends and then run away earlier in the year.

Snape shook the hair out of his eyes. Black didn't deserve sympathy and neither did Potter. And he should stop thinking about them all together. They were scum, underneath him; not worth his energy and focus. He needed to make his goals a priority. No more feeling sorry for himself.

He concentrated back on his notes. In the margins, he saw two words scribbled followed by a question mark.

Vulnera Sanentur

He knew it translated to 'May the wounds be healed'. The other counter-curse he'd tried hadn't work on the bleeding rats. That spell hadn't technically been a Healing Charm; its primary purpose used to mend inanimate objects. Theoretically it should have worked on skin, but it had been a bust.

This was a Healing Charm and it was as good a start as any. He'd only written the spell down; no information on the incantation or the wand movement. He glanced at his watch, stopping in the library would have to wait until later.

Returning to classes was disconcerting. James felt he was in a limbo-like state where both nothing had changed and everything had changed. The professors must have understood that teaching anything new would be a waste of time, so instead the topics covered were all those a majority of class had struggled with earlier in the year. That day in Charms they worked on the Summoning and Banishing Charm. They redid the Invigoration Draught in Potions. And spent a long ninety minutes in a study hall during the time they should have been in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

James was now in the Hospital Wing for another check-in with the nurse. Peter was with him.

"How's Potter?"

"Ah Minerva," Madam Pomfrey greeted the new arrival. James was seated, feet dangling on one of the hospital beds, his shirt off as Pomfrey examined his torso. "The bruising is healing, albeit slowly."

James hastily slipped his shirt back on.

"Is there reason to be concerned about that?"

"No. I don't believe so." Pomfrey fixed her attention back on James. "How's your appetite? Sleep?"

"I am eating...and sleeping." No reason to mention the nightmares as he'd gotten through last night without one.

Peter snickered quietly beside him, but he was silenced immediately when McGonagall set her gaze on him. "Where is Mr. Black? He's supposed to be here too."

"Napping, Professor," James explained. "It didn't seem necessary to wake him."

He was lying. Sirius – for reasons he did not want to divulge to even his best of friends - had decided he didn't need to go. It had been a tiring day, and his friend had indeed looked exhausted. An actual nap would have done him some good. Still, it was a simple health checkup and they didn't need to further aggravate their Head of House or anyone really. After failing to convince him to change his mind, James had gone on his own. He was annoyed with Sirius, but he would still cover for him.

"You can tell Mr. Black when he wakes up to come to my office."

"Yes, Professor."

"And I hope you've given a thought to what we've talked about."

James's shoulders sagged slightly. He hadn't given it much thought because he hadn't wanted to think about it. McGonagall had ended their meeting with a bit of advice he hadn't asked for:

It can be difficult to admit you need help, Mr. Potter. Help for yourself. Help for a friend. Do not wait until it is too late. If you feel overwhelmed or out of your depth, do not be afraid to ask for it.

He guessed that line had more to do with Sirius than himself. He didn't know how Sirius's meetings with McGonagall had gone, but he doubted Sirius was being candid about his feelings. James had made some attempt to talk with McGonagall. Nothing too deep, of course. He was upset, frustrated, and angry and he didn't hide that. McGonagall knew better than to query him about Sirius directly. He would have immediately thrown up a wall of defense. Instead, she had thrown the above line at him.

He did know Sirius best. He would be the first to sense something was wrong before anyone else. Right now, Sirius was irritable, snappish, and sometimes James wondered if he didn't believe Keenan should have saved him, but that was all normal. James was sure of it. Sirius was struggling, but he wasn't drowning. In fact, James had made progress connecting with Sirius the other night.

"Yes, Professor," James answered solemnly. "I have."

"Very well. Poppy, there was something else I needed to speak to you about..."

The teachers bustled into Pomfrey's office after waving them out of the Hospital Wing.

Peter dragging his hand along the wall stated, "Sirius wasn't napping."

"I know, Peter! What did you expect me to say, that Sirius is being an arse?"

Peter looked hurt by his tone, but James didn't care. If he was going to state the obvious then he was going to call him out on it.

"I just don't think you should keep covering for him," Peter said softly.

"It's not a big deal," James said with a dismissive tone. Why had Peter had brought that up? They always covered for each other. Why was Peter against that now? Had Peter noticed something about Sirus that he was missing? "And I'll make sure he goes to McGonagall if I have to drag him there myself."

It wasn't a big deal, he repeated to himself. Nothing to worry about.

Peter lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I suppose that visit from his brother didn't help matters..."

James threw Peter an odd look. "What visit?"

"He didn't tell you?" Peter questioned. "In the library? When you were cleaning out the Quidditch lockers? I thought he'd tell you..."

"Well, are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Oh." Peter looked sheepish. "Regulus asked to speak to him alone..."

"And you just left him?"

Peter glanced around the empty corridor; either hoping someone would come along to rescue him from the inquiry or to make sure they were alone. "I did see – I did see Regulus give him an envelope. It was green...I think."

"A green envelope?"

"When I asked him what it was. He said nothing."

"And you think it was something?" He was irritated, worried, and while Peter didn't deserve it directed at him, he was the only one there to receive it.

Peter shrugged again. "He was staring at it like it was something."

"Right."

"And he didn't tell you."

"That could be because it wasn't anything..."

Peter didn't believe that line any more than he did. Sirius would have still told him even if just in passing. My idiot brother tried to have another heart to heart.

He was remembering Regulus and that pleased look as he'd passed. And since then, Sirius had looked more troubled. James had thought it was one of those things; progress wasn't always in a straight line.

James cursed softly. They didn't need something else to deal with. Sirus didn't need more on his plate. He hated the Blacks. He hated how they would not let Sirius go.

Peter gave him a sideways look. "What if his parents are forbidding him to stay with you this summer?"

"What? Why would you say that?" James shook his head. "It's not that. He would tell me that." James sighed. Right? "I've got a headache."

"We could go back to -"

"I'm not going back there," James said firmly. "Moony will probably have something."

Sirius Black was lying on his bed his hands behind his head. The green envelope locked safely in his trunk. He and his friends had a tendency of borrowing items for each other and the last thing he needed was for one of them to find it accidently.

The trunk that wasn't even his. It was still on borrow from Peter's mother. He was going to have to ask Peter if his mother needed it back and then find a way to procure the funds to buy a new one.

Thinking about the trunk make him think about Keenan again. He'd been there during that whole drama of the heirlooms being returned to the 'heir of the Black family'. Keenan had handled that mess without judgment as if was a completely normal occurrence.

And the most peculiar thing of all was he wished he could ask Professor Keenan's advice about what to do with the information. The evidence that would put away his murderer. It made no sense, but if he had a choice, it would have been Keenan's advice he'd have sought.

What was he going to do? Destroy it? Hide it? Give it the McGonagall? Dumbledore? The Ministry? The Aurors? Mail in anonymously to a reporter? Hand it back to Regulus?

He hated every option. He hated having options. He should have never accepted the envelope. Another stupid decision in a long list of stupid decisions. He sat up to glare at the trunk, at the secret it now held. Maybe if the trunk accidently caught fire...

"McGonagall knows you didn't check in with Pomfrey and she wants to see you," James said without preamble as he entered the dormitory.

Startled, Sirius waited a beat too late to answer. His mind was having trouble moving from one problem to the next. He leaned back down with forced nonchalance. "Again?"

"It would have been all avoided if you'd just let Pomfrey fuss over you."

Sirius knew James was annoyed he hadn't gone with him, but he seemed touchier than was merited. And why was Peter not meeting his eye?

"Yea...no thanks." He rolled out of bed. "I'll go after my shower."

James mumbled something unintelligible.

"What is it?" Sirius asked.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

Sirius stared back. It wasn't his imagination; James was acting strange. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind. McGonagall was pissed, so shower and head over. Ok?"

Sirius didn't respond, grabbing his towel and heading to their small bathroom. James had every right to be out of sorts he reasoned. They'd have the whole summer together...to sort out whatever was going on between them.

He stepped into the shower letting the hot water flow over his body. He concentrated on the feeling of the water and nothing else. No green envelope. No decisions. It didn't work all that well, and he was feeling the tension back in his shoulders by the time he had dried off and dressed.

Sirius told the others he'd meeting them in the Great Hall for dinner. Remus had returned by then from more prefect duties.

James called after him. "Told them you were napping. So, when you go... try to look rested?"

Sirius flashed a quick grin. "Thank you."

He was facing McGonagall for a third time in four days. He didn't think McGonagall looked forward to these chats any more than he did. This was his life now. Step one toe over the line, which now included missing scheduled health check-ins; and he was hauled in to see his Head of House.

It was his own fault. Sirus knew McGonagall would call him in. For reasons he rather not contemplate too deeply, he found facing her disappointment easier than the fuss made by Pomfrey. He was always failing to meet the expectations of everyone any way. His parents, his brother, his professors. And he hadn't done the right thing with the green envelope yet. The right decision was to turn it in. His concern was if the 'right decision' and the 'best decision for him' were the same thing.

It was close to dinner time so there were more students in the hallway than usual as they returned to the dormitory to drop their belongings. Students were giving him a wide berth, which he didn't mind. If they wanted to stay away from him because he was mental or bad luck or whatever. It meant he didn't have to worry about any congestion.

He kept his gaze forward as he neared a mixed House group of third years. Their voices drifted towards him:

"-do you think it was like? Seeing a dead body?"

"I saw my grandpa at his funeral. It was an open casket."

"Yea, but that's different. That's not a fresh body."

"That sounds terrible. Fresh body?"

"You know what I mean. Someone dropping dead right there beside you. One moment alive and the next moment-"

"What if their eyes were still open...staring right at you? Sooo creepy!"

He was almost on top of the group and he cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me." He pushed himself through, head up, eyes forward.

"Oh. My. God."

"Was that-"

"Oh no! Do you think he heard us?"

He felt nauseated, and there was an odd ringing in his ears.

It didn't mean they were talking about Keenan. It didn't mean they were talking about Keenan's dead body.

Who was he kidding? Of course, that's who they were talking about. So casually, so crudely. He was in front of McGonagall's office so quickly that he almost walked right by it.

He rapped three times on the door, and there was no answer. He stared dumbfounded at the door. He stepped back until he felt the wall and sunk down to the ground. He didn't want to go back to the dormitory, and he didn't want to go to the Great Hall.

Luckily, within a few minutes he heard Professor McGonagall approaching. She turned the corner in a deep conversation with Mary MacDonald. Mary was very flustered by his presence. She twirled her hair nervously, her eyes never quite meeting his, as she nodded her head agreeably with whatever McGonagall was saying.

McGonagall unlocked her office, gesturing him inside. "Mr. Black, go on in. I'll be there shortly."

Sirius slouched in his chair as he watched McGonagall prepare a pot of tea. She had started the preparations as soon as she entered her office. He quietly accepted the cup when it was offered.

McGonagall placed a saucer and spoon in front of him. "Milk? Sugar?"

"No thank you, Professor."

"Biscuit?" She held out her usual tin of cookies.

"No thank you, Professor."

The tea was warm in hands, and he waited for the usual questions to begin.

"Appetite any better?"

Sirius sighed. "Some."

"Sleep?"

He shrugged. "Some."

"Not enough, if you are falling asleep in the middle of the day."

He took a sip of tea so he wouldn't have to answer. The liquid burned his mouth. He didn't care. The pain felt good.

"Headaches? Other pains?"

"Yes. Headaches."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. It was the first time he'd told her about those.

"Have you been taking any potions for that?"

"No."

McGonagall stirred her tea. "See Madam Pomfrey, if you need."

"Yes, Professor."

"Miss Bertha Jorkins has filed a personal complaint against you."

Sirius jerked, almost spilling the hot tea all over himself.

McGonagall put on her reading glasses, flipping through several pages on her desk, before continuing. "She claimed that she was having a private conversation with a Mr. Howard Law, and that you shouted at her and I quote 'If you don't keep your mouth shut, you will regret it.'"

Sirius having not expected to be challenged about this particular action of his, found his voice had left him.

"Sirius. Do you recall saying that?"

He must have said that. His memory was foggy, but he knew he'd had words with her. It had been after the discussion with his brother. Peter had witnessed it.

"Sirius?"

"Sounds about right."

"She is very concerned about your retaliation given your reputation. I explained that she had probably said something insensitive and that you were under a lot of stress."

"I've left Avery alone."

"Yes, very commendable," she replied dryly.

"Jorkins is a gossip." Sirus placed his cup back on the saucer almost spilling it again. "I'm not going to go after her."

"You can't go shouting at every student who says something inconsiderate."

He looked down at his hands, they were shaking slightly. He was trying to remember back. She had said ...something about Keenan's sacrifice being wasteful. Jorkins was an idiot. He didn't care of her opinions. But she had gotten under his skin, hadn't she?

"Sirius?"

He remained silent.

"She disclosed to me what she said. And I think we should discuss why you reacted the way you did."

"I said I'd leave her alone."

McGonagall pursed her lips. She picked up her cup of tea taking a sip.

Sirius scowled. "I didn't ask to be saved."

His voice didn't shake, he spoke the words coldly, factually. He was sick of it all. The information had been leaked and the public had judged the event before Sirius had processed it himself. He was tired of listening to all these opinions for an action he hadn't asked for. It didn't matter if they were calling Keenan a hero or a fool. He was being judged from all sides.

"I didn't ask to be saved," he repeated and this time his words wavered, the emotion piercing through. "I was ready to die. And he just pushed me -"

Professor McGonagall placed her cup firmly down. She was looking at him, thinking thoughtfully. "Professor Keenan thought you were worth saving."

It was all tied together. One terrible thought linked to the other, and McGonagall had wisely caught on to the implication of his words. Because that was it, wasn't it? He didn't believe it.

He didn't believe he was worth being saved. Even hearing McGonagall say that simple statement made him ill.

"I won't lie to you. I've never been more disappointed or appalled by the behavior of one of my students than I have in you. This year has been filled with poor choices, impulsivity, lack of proper conflict resolution, bullying. You gave another student the information to put themselves in danger. The consequences of those actions will need to be faced and I will not do anything to shield you from them." McGonagall paused to let the words sink. "You need to find a way to live with what has happened, and your part in it. Flawed people are worth being saved. You deserve to have a fulfilling life."

Sirius wrapped his arms around himself. She waited, folding her hands together in front of her, until he looked up.

"The question is; will this life include two more years at Hogwarts? If your behavior does not improve, there will be no future for you at Hogwarts. You'll be starting your NEWTs, and it is time to take your studies more seriously. I am here for you. I am on your side. I am rooting for your success. But I cannot help you if you are not willing to put in the work."

"One more foul and I'm out?"

"I do not expect perfection and neither does Professor Dumbledore. Real change takes time. I do need to see you trying. A continuity of minor fouls, repetition of the same fouls or a single major one? It will be case by case, but should I feel the need, I will request your removal from the school personally."

He looked away.

"Sirius? Is that understood?"

"Yes." He knew she was not bluffing. Not this time.

"I'll say it again; you are deserving of a full life. Give yourself a chance. Do not throw away your future. Not now. Do not give up before you allow yourself time to grieve, heal, and move forward. Can we agree on that, Sirius?"

"Yea. Ok." He choked the words out.

"You have the summer to mull this all over. Mr. Potter will need to do some soul searching of his own. Do it together. Bring out the best in each other...instead of your worst impulses. I've always admired your loyalty to each other. Now, I never told you boys this, but I was so proud – still proud – how you accepted Remus Lupin." She regarded him sadly. "That is how I know Professor Keenan was right."

Professor McGonagall stood up, straightening out her robes. "I have to watch over the Great Hall during dinner. Finish your tea. Stay as long as you like."

He didn't react. He just sat there. The tea cooling. The shadows shifting, jumping around the office as the sun moved across the sky. He stood up shakily. Those had been inspiring words; the kind that could get a student to turn their life around. McGonagall was wasting her breath. She'd pick the wrong student to root for. He was going to disappoint her like he had everyone else.

Author's note: The boys received much needed advice. Hopefully McGonagall's chat reads realistic and balanced. Peter stirred the pot a bit by telling James about Regulus's visit.

Thanks again for your support – new readers and old. Please review if you can!