Chapter Twenty-Three

Slow Burn

March was coming. You could feel it, too; you didn't even need a calendar to know that February was slowly shrinking away and the sweet, fresh warmth of March that promised spring and flowers and no more wool coats was finally settling in. I happened to hate that fat coat of mine. Granted, spring started late into March, but it was plenty enough to be cheery about.

"James, it happened weeks ago."

Well, it should have been plenty enough to be cheery about. Not everyone was quite so cheery.

"I know," James said, looking flustered and disheveled, "but sometimes at night I can still hear that screaming cackle and it doesn't go away—"

Needless to say, James had been going on about the 'Banshee incident' ever since it'd happened.

"Shh! You're going to get House points deducted," Lily hissed, looking cross. She was trying to finish her Potions essay we'd gotten permission to work on during class, but James had been ranting and raving about the damn Banshee for most of the class period.

Sirius choked on a laugh and attempted to act nonchalant. Luckily for him, he'd convinced James he'd had nothing to do with it (which was remarkable all in itself), and so James was instead convinced that the Banshee myth was indeed true and that he would go insane and die.

Sirius didn't tell anyone but me that he was the one cackling late at night, either.

Lily, on the other hand, downright refused to talk about the Banshee or even so far as console James on the subject.

"There was no Banshee," Lily told me in a huff the morning after, "I mean, no real Banshee. Sure there was a noise, but that could have been anyone, couldn't it?"

James still hadn't given it up and I suggested to Sirius that he let it go to give James some peace at mind, to which he said he'd think about it. He shot me a smirk from a few seats away, and I rolled my eyes with a faint smile.

Meanwhile my Potions essay was not getting completed in front of me. Describe the differences between a standard Sleeping Draught and the Draught of Living Death.

Simple, I started to write, the essence of both is the same but one puts you to sleep while one puts you to permanent sleep.

I stared at that for a few moments before deciding it was not only foolish but completely incorrect and vanished the ink with a flick of my wand. I'd been dreading actually getting up and moving, but it seemed as if the professor was indeed my last available resource. I got to my feet and walked to Slughorn's desk, waiting patiently for him to turn his head up from the piles of parchment he was absorbed in.

"Sir," I prompted, to which he slowly stirred, "sir, I was wondering, last year when we brewed the Draught of Living Death, didn't you say something about one drop of it would surely kill us all?"

He peered over his spectacles, gazing at me oddly, as if he was still waiting for the question. "Yes, I did."

"Well, I was reading in the book that the draught only produces a kind of death-like slumber, so it surely wouldn't kill, would it?"

"It's a metaphor, of course," he answered simply. "It would certainly appear to be death to anyone who found the person that had consumed it."

"Then how do you tell if they're really asleep or dead?"

"Well, that's the beauty of the draught, Miss Hachette, because you can't. It's the closest you can come to being dead without really being dead at all."

"But then what's the point? If everyone believes you dead and then they just bury you, you're dead anyways, aren't you? That seems illogical."

"Morticians wait for it wear off, in many cases." This voice was not Slughorn's at all, however, and came from beside me, gently squeezing itself into the conversation. I turned to see Kenneth, who smiled shyly, "Sorry to interrupt. I had a question for the professor and I happened to overhear. But, anyway, if the death is suspicious and the cause is unknown, there is a standard waiting period for any kind of self-induced coma to wear off. That only started because there have been many cases where alchemists make mistakes with potions and send themselves into said slumbers, and then are perceived dead by their families and are buried afterwards. Luckily, though, most have their wands when they're buried and can manage themselves out."

I was still gazing at Kenneth with bewilderment, not necessarily at what he'd said, but at the fact that he had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. And that he was talking to me the first time since November. I tore myself away from the thought, however, and said, "That must have been terrifying for the families."

"Oh, absolutely," Kenneth agreed. "Which is why they take such precautions now. The Draught of Living Death is a very dangerous potion in more ways than one, evidently."

I smiled slightly, then turned to the professor and said, "Okay, that makes more sense. Thank you." I met Kenneth's eyes, wordlessly extending the thank you to him as well, and made my way back to my desk, feeling oddly jumbled.

I put the quill to parchment again. A standard sleeping draught and a Draught of Living Death both induce sleep in the recipients; the intensities, however, differ greatly, and the two are thus used for entirely separate purposes. I went on as much as I could, finding slightly more stride, but my diligence was periodically interrupted with the image of Kenneth's face flitting through my mind. I sighed, willing it away, but there was something about his expression that I couldn't shake off. I'd almost thought he'd wanted to say something at first; he had said something, of course, but I'd expected something entirely different.

I found myself glancing up absentmindedly to the spot across the room where he sat. He'd returned to his seat and was bent over his essay, diligent, unlike myself, but there was a reason he was in Ravenclaw, after all. He didn't look up, and I was glad because I was able to watch him curiously for a few more moments.

My gaze drifted to the people seated around him. Ruth, his regular Potions partner. Adrian, a boy I was constantly forgetting was in my year. Marie Claire, the hippogriff. I hadn't even noticed she'd moved. I stopped when I saw Alex Fronsac sitting close to them and snapped my gaze away.

Sirius had apologized again and again for that incident (though he'd commented on the side that it would never have happened if I hadn't been such a thief, but I pretended not to hear). It certainly made me think twice about taking any food from him ever again.

The Ravenclaws had been fairly mellow about the whole situation, after I'd explained it to them, of course, and the only abuse I really received over it at all was actually from Slytherins. They made comments about it when I passed in the halls, loudly, so loudly that even the absolutely deaf Sirius heard. There was a fifth year that called me a nutty tramp. All it'd done really was make me laugh—I mean, a nutty tramp? Honestly? Someone needed to go check out a book from the library on how to form proper insults. (Not that I happened to be any better, actually, recalling Marie Claire the hippogriff.) When Sirius heard said fifth-year Slytherin, though, he hexed him.

Somehow, by the grace of Merlin, Sirius hadn't been caught and we didn't get any House points taken off. Probably because I yanked him away from the scene as fast as I could and didn't dare look back. I tried telling him that I didn't care about what the Slytherins said—because who did?—but it hadn't done much to convince him.

I really didn't care. Except I didn't want to see Fronsac ever again. But other than that, it was fine. It'd really just become the school joke, which I was fine with, because (for the most part) it was only good-humored. Fronsac and I had both been called to the front to demonstrate the proper way to grind lavender in a mortar one day in Potions, and the room (mostly the boys) exploded in wolf-whistles and cheers. Fronsac had looked like he was going to faint; I just rolled my eyes and smiled and went on with the demonstration. Perhaps Fronsac had received the worse end of the stick. I could deal with a little teasing. I'd been friends with Sirius and James for the majority of the last seven years, after all, so I had long grown accustomed to such things.

But I still wasn't going to make eye contact with Fronsac. Maybe ever again.

I sunk myself back into my essay, determined to get something more done. I'd stared at the remaining blank inches until my mind drifted absently to Romeo and Juliet and I wrote with renewed vigor about how Juliet uses a potion similar to the Draught of Living Death in the play. And then I realized that Slughorn wouldn't even know what Romeo and Juliet was, but I stared at it and left it there because it had added a good three inches to my essay and it was all I had.

Class was over shortly, and before we were dismissed Slughorn told us that he expected us to be regularly studying for our NEWTs and reminded us that the essay would be due in two class periods. I decided that I was definitely going to have to ask Lily to help me finish, because otherwise I'd probably lose all my hair from the stress. Not desirable whatsoever.

I got up slowly, feeling too worn out to exert any considerable effort into leaving. But Sirius saw me and protested immediately; he came up from behind me and pushed me towards the door without proper greeting at all.

"Sirius! I need to get my things, let go," I whined, squirming to get back to my desk and pick up my scattered belongings. He finally let up, throwing his hands up in surrender, and I dashed past him.

"Okay, but hurry up or we're leaving you here all alone!" Sirius called over his shoulder and strode off to where the other four were waiting.

In a fluster, I gathered all of my things—why did I carry three textbooks with me?—as fast as I could manage. It probably could more accurately have been described as throwing it all in the bag, but that wasn't important. I didn't fancy a walk alone to Transfiguration, considering it was all the way on the other side of the school, and so I needed to hurry before the impatient gits abandoned me. My books, several rolls of parchment, two inkwells and a dozen quills tossed about in my bag as I slung it over my shoulder, and I could only pray that the inkwells hadn't broken and leaked all over everything. Especially that Potions essay. Maybe I should just start packing less in my bag everyday. There's an idea.

"Hey, Grace! Wait up!"

I stopped mid-step, turning on my heel and finding Kenneth there, once again, out of the blue, closer than I had anticipated.

"Oh, hey," I said, as it was the only thing I could feasibly think to say. Was my face hot?

He smiled, and I remembered thinking once that his smile was just another part of his face, like his eyes or his mouth. "Here," he said, holding out a roll of parchment. "You forgot this. I think you'll probably be needing it later."

I stared wide-eyed at the parchment which just so happened to be my Potions essay. Damn Sirius! He'd rushed me and I'd almost forgot the thing! I took it from Kenneth, sighing wearily, but graciously all the same. "Thank you so much. I'm so scattered brained today."

"No problem," he replied easily, pocketing his hands.

I looked up at him, searching his dark eyes for something to say, because it was obvious I needed to say something. We hadn't spoken since November. There had to be some reason he was talking to me now. "Did you finish your essay?" Maybe not the best thing to say. I really ought to have just slapped myself in the face right then and there.

He shook his head. "Writing ten inches on the differences between a sleeping draught and the Draught of Living Death isn't as easy as it sounds."

I laughed, "Wait, that sounds easy to you?"

"I've had to do worse before," he said with a shrug, still smiling subtly.

"I ended up having to mention a muggle story and go into detail about that instead," I said, grimacing, but then remembered the five people who were supposed to be waiting for me at the door and very likely were not there anymore. I reminded myself that I would be walking to Transfiguration alone and tried to pull myself away. "Well, I've got to get to class. It's far away and I will have you know that I do not fare well on long walks. Absolutely no stamina."

"Maybe you should take long walks more often, then," he suggested, smile turning to a tease.

"That might be a good idea." I frowned.

He laughed, and nodded his head for me to go on. "See you later, Grace."

"Yeah," I said, and turned slightly to give him another smile because I felt guilty, "Bye, Kenneth." I gripped my essay in my hand and stuffed it safely into my bag as I left. My mind was hazy from that exchange and I almost ran into the rather oblivious Peter in the hallway.

"Finally," James said, looking like a man in the desert who'd just seen water after days on end without. "Gracie, you take forever!"

"Oh." I blinked at the sight of all of them. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were all still waiting."

"It's all right," Lily said, waving her hand dismissively, and then pulled on the other boys to get them to move. "But now we really do have to move, because you all are in Professor McGonagall's good graces, because I worked so hard to get you there, and we will not be messing that up now! Let's go!"

"Lily, it's not because of you," James said in an unhappy huff, then quickly corrected himself when she glared, "I mean, it's not just because of you." He grinned, looking more confident, "It's our charm, you know. Marauder charm. She can't help but love us."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Lils, don't deny our radiating amounts of charm now, you're just hurting my ego—"

"Right, like you don't have some of that to spare anyway—"

I vaguely heard their bickering, because I was too distracted by the way Sirius was looking at me. It was an unfamiliar expression, and I raised my eyebrows to question him, but his gaze only lingered for a few more moments before he looked away without an answer.

The fact that I had been spending every ounce of free time studying was starting to get to me. I was very sick of how familiar the library was getting, and also the common room. I could go without that place, too. I suddenly missed the younger years when Sirius and James were still mischievous prats and they'd sometimes drag me along when they decided to stir up trouble. James and I had never been entirely close, but we used to get a really good laugh every once in a while.

But now James was responsible, and Sirius had lost some of his edge; not entirely, of course, but it wasn't as fun causing trouble without James. Especially not when his fiery-headed girlfriend attacked us when we were out after curfew for a single minute.

I loved her, though, and I did have to admit that this whole studying ordeal really did pay off in the long run. My marks had been much better. I, frankly, was suffering, but my grades weren't, and that was the most important thing! (Choke.)

Regardless, though, I had hit a dead end with this essay, and I was going to have to interrupt someone for help. I glanced at Lily from across the common room, and decided against interrupting her. Interruptions were lethal, in her case. James was too far. Sirius had been acting odd all day, so no go there. Peter probably didn't know the answer, the poor bloke. Where was Remus? No, he was talking to Mary. I grit my teeth together, deciding just to ask Sirius, despite his moody little issues. He was Sirius, and Sirius and I could never really be mad at each other, so it surely couldn't hurt to bother him for a second.

"Hey, Sirius," I said, skipping over and plopping down beside him, "could you help me? Pretty please?"

He turned his face up to meet mine, expression a bit stony. "Sure," he said, and I figured perhaps I'd been seeing things because he seemed certainly okay with helping, didn't he? He was just Sirius, I reasoned. But perhaps that had never been good reasoning. "What do you need help with?"

"The Potions essay." I unfolded it in front of me, showing him the sloppy handwriting. "I've got five bloody inches left. How much do you have finished?"

"All ten." He handed me his scroll. "You can look at it if you want."

"Okay, but just as a reference," I said pointedly, smoothing it out and reading over his writing, which seemed to be considerably neater than mine. That wasn't right at all. My handwriting had always been neater than Sirius's. I must have been more stressed out than I'd realized. I read the majority of his essay, wondering where in the world he'd gotten his brain, and put it down, brows furrowed. "I don't know if that helped. It just made me realize how pitiful my own is."

"Here." Sirius pushed his open textbook to me. "That page will help."

"Oh, thanks." I glanced up at him, smiling, but I frowned because he'd turned away. "Sirius, are you all right?"

"Yeah." He was staring at the fire.

"Sirius."

"I'm completely fine," he answered and, after a long, torturous moment, finally met my eyes. "Speaking of fine, how's Kenny?"

"Kenny?" I narrowed my eyes in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, turning away again.

"Sirius, you've been acting odd all day."

He didn't answer, and my words fell into the bustling sound of the common room, which was fairly crowded as it was still well before curfew. It was almost like Sirius and I were alone because no one seemed to notice us at all.

I stared at him, trying desperately to understand, beyond frustrated that he was being so moody, but then my snail paced mind connected that look this afternoon and his attitude now with this afternoon in Potions when I'd stopped to talk to Kenneth.

"It's not because I was talking to Kenneth today, is it?"

"What? Why would it be because of that?"

I sighed. I did not appreciate his sarcasm. "Are you honestly jealous?"

He turned back to me, looking just as equally frustrated. "Look, it's not that—"

"Sirius, really. You shouldn't be jealous. There's no reason to be."

"Yeah, I know," he said, but he didn't seem any more reassured. He rubbed his temples. "You're right. Sorry. Didn't mean to come off as an arse."

I let out a little breath of relief and sunk back in my seat. "It's fine," I said quietly, content that we might have come across this.

He, however, was not done yet. "I mean, there's no reason to be mad over that, right? Because it's not like we're… you know. A couple or anything. So I guess you can really do whatever you like with Howell."

My heart went still for a moment. "What do you mean?" It was the second time I'd said it that night, but he wasn't making any sense.

"Well, you said it yourself, didn't you?" I waited for him to clarify just what I'd said myself, and so he went on, "You wanted something low-key. And that's what this is, not serious at all."

"What? That's not what I meant." I was absolutely appalled and it took all the effort in my body to keep my voice level.

"But it makes sense," Sirius said, speaking with apparent difficulty, "because we're friends, Gracie, and this kind of thing only causes problems between people, you know? I don't want to risk our friendship. There are boundaries, and it just…wouldn't work…"

"So—so not telling anyone, and keeping it a secret," I hissed, lowering my voice to a near whisper, "that's how we protect our friendship. You can snog me whenever you very well please, because—why? What's the point, Sirius? And what does that mean? You can see whoever else you like, too, because we're, what, not exclusive?"

"I don't know. I didn't know this was news to you," Sirius answered, a hard gleam in his eyes.

"I don't care about stupid boundaries, Sirius, I just cared—no, never mind. If you were really that worried about ruining our friendship, I think it's too late, because you've already done it."

"No, it's not—it doesn't have to be, Gracie, I mean, it's a two person decision, and I'd think of you still the same as always—I don't—no, fine—let's just forget this. All of it."

"What?" I was far beyond sorrow or hurt; I was downright infuriated. He was a git. He was a damn bleeding git and I'd never even had enough sense to realize it.

"Just forget it," Sirius repeated breathlessly, "we can just go back to the way we were before. Just friendly. None of…" He trailed off, staring out into space, and then refocused. "That."

"I cannot believe you," I said, so quietly I didn't even know if I'd said it at all. I shook my head, shifting away from him. "Fine." I looked at him and it was like I wasn't seeing him, just some plaster picture of him, something fake and unfeeling. "Fine, we're friends. We've always been friends. So it's fine." It was a patronizing agreement on my part, and it did little to appease him.

He looked strangely livid, but the common room was crowded and our heated exchange still had gone by undetected, and he couldn't risk attracting attention. We stared at each other, for the longest time, furious and sad mingling in each other's hair, but it was too much for Sirius. His anger got the best of him and he left without another word. I watched him brush by Remus and James.

"Mate, the Banshee myth, I made it up," he said to the latter, and left just as he'd left me, wordless and stony.

James stared blankly in front of him, processing, then snapped around wildly, "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" He sprang up from his seat and bound after Sirius on the stairs. "Sirius! What does that mean?"

Sirius's textbook lay open on my lap, and the only comprehensible thought in my mind was that I still hadn't gotten anywhere with my Potions essay.

A/N: I didn't do it, and I don't know who did. Okay, actually, I do - it was Sirius. You can go after him. *hides* Well, I surprisingly have nothing to say, for once.. it's a miracle! Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews. You guys make my entire life. Well, I won't give you that much credit - the sake of your egos, you know - but all of you do make me very happy! I really appreciate the reviews and I would greatly appreciate it if you all left another review - short or long, I don't mind! - to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks again! You're all fantastic! xx