A/N: TW for casual homophobia, implied/referenced child abuse, and some generally awful war things being murdered.
November 19th, 1975
The moon was high and full by the time they dug into their dessert. Peter chose a fluffy chocolate mousse, while James had a slice of chocolate cake, and Sirius helped himself to a plate of brownies. It was their custom, on the nights that Remus transformed, to eat something chocolate-y. A bit like having your grandfather's favourite foods at his funeral. It helped him none, but it kept everyone else aware of why they were there. Sirius suggested the other funeral tradition of drinking yourself into a state when they first found out, but James and Peter resisted. Dessert it was. Far more suitable for twelve-year-olds, and significantly cheaper, when that became more of a concern.
How much longer would they have these nights? Peter didn't know. He guessed that once they figured out how to turn themselves into animals, they wouldn't be having dinner and then going down. Better to be there from the start. For Remus, at least. Peter didn't fancy watching his friend to turn into a beast, but whatever. He'd miss their chocolate nights. It was nice. Well, not for Remus, but for them. For Peter. There was no pairing off, no leaving him behind – James wouldn't just leave him on his own, and so he was guaranteed a part in whatever they were doing. Without Remus with his prefect badge and his unwillingness to piss off the Headmaster, it took on a different edge. They'd learned a new jinx in Defence that afternoon, while Remus had probably been in the infirmary or transforming or something, and James practised it on some snotty-looking Ravenclaw girl. It was quite good spellwork. Her whole face went bright red. Peter clapped his hands.
"Jolly good show, James!" he beamed, and James beamed back.
"You try, Pete," he said. "Go on, get one of the Slytherins." Peter frowned. "You can do it, Pete, go on."
"Give it a shot, Wormy," Sirius added. Peter hadn't mastered the spell in their lesson the same as James and Sirius had, but he could do it okay. He hit a girl in their year, Crabbe, and James clapped him on the back while Sirius roared with laughter. The Slytherins shot them dirty looks. "Forget them, mate, you did great!" Chocolate night. There was something about it.
There were complaints about them trying out their spells, and Professor McGonagall didn't believe James and Sirius when they said they were studying for their O. , for whatever reason. They were each given detention, even though Peter had just hit the one person. He fell behind James and Sirius on their way back to the common room, blinking away the stupid tears that kept coming to his eyes. He didn't even care what Professor McGonagall thought. Really. And she was probably joking about sending a letter home to his mum. Or trying to scare him. But even if she wasn't, James and Sirius got loads of letters home, and it was fine. It'd be fine.
His body didn't believe him.
It was a Wednesday, so they couldn't do anything too interesting to distract themselves from revision and assignments and Remus being in agonising pain and locked in somewhere to keep himself from eating them all. They played Exploding Snap. James helped Peter with his essay after a few rounds, and Sirius scowled at them all and went off to find Dale and see what he had on him.
They finished off Peter's concluding paragraph and then headed upstairs. Dale and Sirius sat on their beds, smoking thin joints. James shook his head when they offered.
"I'd feel bad," James said. "Doping myself out when Remus is…y'know." Their eyes darted to Dale, who appeared to be off the face of the earth. James messed up his hair. Peter packed his school stuff away and sat on James' bed. Sirius joined them at the end of his joint.
"How are we feeling about Charms, boys?" James asked, reclining. Charms was their first exam, and they'd be sitting it in less than two weeks. It was half theory, half practical, and Peter didn't know which part he was more nervous for. Practical magic wasn't his forte, but he could never figure out how to answer the written questions – it seemed like nothing he studied ever came up on the test.
"I'm okay on the Packing Charm and all the cleaning charms, but the hair stuff's beyond me," Peter said miserably. Hairdressing was another career opportunity to cross off, unless he wanted to do it the muggle way. Not that he'd ever wanted to be a hairdresser or anything, but it seemed like his options were narrowing every day. Not like James and Sirius; with each spell taught, another door opened, a new realm of possibilities. They could do whatever they wanted. Really. Even where they got worse grades, it was mainly because they didn't like the subject and didn't put effort in, not because they were incapable. For Peter, his feelings didn't matter. His wand would just not cooperate sometimes. Wands weren't meant to do that, he thought, but it did, and it was shit. Utter shit. He was always lagging behind his mates, like someone'd put a curse on him.
"I'm happy to demonstrate, Wormy," Sirius said, leaning against one of the bedposts. Peter grimaced.
"No, thanks."
"If you can get the domestic charms, you'll be good, Pete, trust me. Flitwick'll understand that some areas come easier than others. It's fine. And we can practise," James said firmly. Peter sent him a thankful smile. He was right, of course. James was always right.
"Yeah, okay. I mean, at least I can keep tidy," Peter said.
"Maybe you can get a job as a house-elf," Sirius joked. Peter flushed. They lapsed into silence, save for Dale, who was giggling furiously from the other side of the room. Their dormitory began to reek of weed. Peter could've done with a joint, but if James abstained, he would too. It wasn't fair to Remus. And it'd only make him hungry again, and he'd already gorged himself on chocolate. He didn't need any more snarky comments from the Slytherins about his ability to fit into his robes.
James covered his face with his hands. Peter looked at him curiously.
"Bloody hell," James said. "I hate this. I just want it all to be over, you know? I feel useless." He smoothed back his hair, face screwed up. Chocolate night. Maybe the sweets made them feel good at dinner, but it never lasted the whole night. Not ever.
"A smoke will make you feel better," Sirius said. James groaned.
"I can't, I can't. Ah, fuck me." He rolled over and banged his head against his crimson pillow. Peter flinched, stupidly. "We need to get this animagus shit sorted out," James said, voice muffled.
"For our sakes' as well as his," Sirius said. James didn't roll back over. Peter pulled his knees up to his chest. There was no way he was going into the dungeons again, not if you gave him a level seven vault full of galleons. His skin crawled at the thought. They'd just killed animals, like it was nothing. They were absolute psychopaths. He felt sick when he caught sight of them across the Great Hall, or in the corridors.
"How are we meant to find anything on how to do it, though?" Peter asked, looking from Sirius to James. "I mean, the recipe for the potion. Are we going to try the Restricted Section again?" With Peter accompanying James this time, so he didn't get distracted again. Not that Peter could really blame him. If he'd had a girlfriend, he would have much rather spent time kissing her than searching for weird potions books.
"Could you ask your grandfather for any more books, Sirius?" James asked, rolling over. He propped himself up on his elbows. Sirius shrugged.
"I could," he said shortly. Right, because why would Sirius be helpful when he could be closed off and mysterious?
"We could go to Professor McGonagall," Peter said, throwing his hands in the air. Sirius rolled his eyes before he even had a chance to explain.
"Right, Wormy, I'm sure she'll be supportive."
"Just listen to me!" Peter shot back. "Can't we say that we're trying to understand human transfiguration to help on our O. ? Or as a project or extra credit? Or even just because we're interested and might want to learn it when we're older and want a good idea of what it actually entails? There's a hundred reasons we could have without it being to transform now to sneak around with our werewolf friend. You're making it too hard."
"She's not going to believe us," Sirius said simply. James pushed himself into a sitting position, dark eyes alight. He ignored Sirius' comment, addressing Peter instead.
"You know, you've got a good point," James said eagerly. "McGonagall will know how the potion works and everything. She's an invaluable resource." Pride glowed in Peter's chest.
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking!"
"Yeah!" James looked at Sirius then, and his face changed. What now? James hesitated. Naturally, Sirius could talk him into or out of anything with a single glance. What was that? Why couldn't Peter? They'd known each other just as long. It wasn't fair.
James cracked his neck. "McGonagall might not, y'know, trust us." Fucking Sirius. "But, I mean, you're on the right track, Pete. If we could just get our hands on her notes or books or – whatever she has, really – then we can give it a shot. And besides," he beamed, lighting up his whole face, "it's been a while since we played a good prank, hasn't it?"
"A prank?" Peter echoed. "On McGonagall?" Oh, Merlin, she would hate them. Hate him even more. She liked James, probably because he played Quidditch, and had a soft spot for Sirius and Remus for whatever reason, but she didn't like Peter. He could just tell. She never smiled at him, never praised him for anything, no matter how hard he tried. The other three had been copying each other's homework for years, but did they ever get picked up on it? No. Only he did. She never went easy on him with detentions, or taking points. If Peter got caught in her office, stealing things, she'd probably expel him on the spot. And then his parents would probably send him to Germany. And then when his friends wrote him, they wouldn't even ask how he was, just how Patricia was, because he was the only one with a sister and so most of the lewd jokes were aimed at her. Who else was there to joke to have a crush on? Regulus? They weren't gay, bloody hell.
James waved a hand. "Not anything bad. Something to celebrate her, maybe. Just enough to keep everyone distracted while we ferret around in there."
"A celebration," Sirius said, blinking dozily. "We could do that." Peter swallowed his fear. Hey, they were taking part of his idea, at least. He'd helped.
"We could, erm, make a bunch of owls sing the Scottish anthem, or something," Peter suggested. James clapped his hands together. Sirius winced.
"Owls! Right, Pete, get me something to write with, won't you?" Peter launched off the bed and snatched up a scrap of parchment and a quill and some ink from the desk. James took it from him and started writing immediately.
"Hit me with suggestions," James said eagerly.
"Talking sandwiches," Sirius yawned.
"Crup puppies for her to chase! Or mice!" Peter said.
"A lion, for Gryffindor."
"A lion to represent each Gryffindor student!"
"Catnip."
"Haggis!"
James scratched their ideas down. Dale groaned from across the room.
"Keep it down!" he hollered. Peter pulled the curtains around James' bed closed. James grabbed his wand and lit the tip.
"Hold this," he instructed, giving Peter his wand. It twitched in his hand, glowing hot with James' magic. Peter was sure that if he tried to cast a spell with it, it'd blow him up or something. He adjusted his grip and held it so that James could see what he was writing. Soon, the parchment was filled to the brim with little notes, and a couple of drawings that Peter added as he tried to explain his ideas.
"Right," James said at last. "This is good. We can do this. For Remus."
They went to bed late. Peter pulled the covers over himself, burrowed into the blankets, and fell asleep with a stomach full of chocolate, a mind full of potential pranks, and a heart full of gratitude that he wasn't a werewolf.
November 20th, 1975
Sirius was all too happy to miss another long, agonising lesson of History of Magic and take an extended lunchbreak, even if it was on his own. James complained about the class but still went, and Peter followed. Sirius headed to the Hospital Wing. The infirmary was unsurprisingly empty, save for one bed in the very back corner. Green curtains cordoned it off.
"He's still sleeping," Madam Pomfrey told him. "But I'll expect he'll wake up in an hour or so. Come back at the end of your class?"
"I could sit with him," Sirius said, prodding the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Madam Pomfrey gave him a look. He'd never spent as much time as a patient in the infirmary as Remus or even James, riddled with Quidditch injuries, but he'd spent more time than either of them as a visitor. Madam Pomfrey had been able to see through him since he was eleven years old.
"You don't want to miss your class, now, Mr. Black. O.W.L year and all," Madam Pomfrey said, one hand on her hip. Sirius tugged at his lip, grinning playfully. She arched an eyebrow.
"If it's for Remus, I don't mind -"
"Go, now," she said firmly.
Sirius left for an alcove in the corridor just outside. Sheets of rain pounded the windows, and the wind howled something horrid, slamming against the glass. He rubbed his nose. He could only imagine what last night would've been like for Remus – by his account, the Shack was damp and freezing at the best of times. He tried to imagine the transformation that left Remus with so many injuries – his bones breaking clean in half, his ears rising. The pain. He bit hard on his tongue. How was it that vile wretches like his mother got through life in perfect tact, while Remus had been forced to turn into a monster for two-thirds of his existence already? And the fraction of his life that had been dictated by the wolf would only grow greater as he got older. When he got to fifty, the portion of his life free of transformations would only be a tenth; if he reached a hundred, it would be a measly fifth. Sirius pressed his lips against his knuckles and bit softly into the skin.
With nothing better to do, he wandered around the area surrounding the infirmary, taking notes on the windows and the statues and ducking into every broom cupboard to take an account of its size. The hardest part was trying to turn it into plain lines, trying to trick the castle that no, he wasn't mapping Hogwarts, he just had an appreciation for the architecture and turning it into abstract art. He wrote as many words as he drew lines, denoting what his squiggles meant. In his brief adventure, he stumbled across the strangest, funniest sight of his life. Well, it was only funny if you took pleasure in purists' absolute misery, which he did. He also had a fantastic sense of karma.
He quietly unlocked the door to another broom cupboard and pulled it open carelessly. His eyes widened, and he barked out a laugh before his brain could properly process the scene. Alfreck Rosier – who had come round or dinner many times, who shared a dorm with Regulus, who belonged to a family of not just purebloods, but elite purist purebloods – had his fingers in Deborah Crabbe's hair. Deborah Crabbe was a very plain, almost ugly girl whose family rather reminded him of Peter. As in, suck-ups with a tendency to roundness. Their lips were glued to each other.
"Sweet, holy Merlin," Sirius grinned. Rosier threw himself away from Deborah, glowing red. Deborah's eyes welled with tears. Sirius' smile widened to a beam. The only way it could've been any better was if she was a muggle-born. Holy shit. So it wasn't just him with 'worthless, foolish, unrespectable, scum-ridden, disturbed lunatics' for friends. His friends might've been muggle-borns and blood traitors and even a half-breed, but Godric's sakes, none of them would stoop so low as to make out with a Crabbe. A Crabbe, someone who even Peter could hex.
"Fuck off, blood traitor!" Rosier spat immediately. He fumbled in his robes for his wand. Sirius had him beat, and pointed his wand at Rosier's chest. Oh, this was good. His mother hated the Crabbes. Loved the Rosiers. This would change her mind, wouldn't it? Rosier looked like he was going to piss himself. A thrill rose in Sirius. It was better than being drunk, or high. It rushed through his chest, spun his head.
"I know the company I keep," Sirius said. Rosier, unfortunately, stood a head taller than him and a little wider, a real beater's build. But he was so pale. His eyes were wide. Deborah kept sniffling in the corner, clinging to the sleeve of his robes. It wasn't even just a snog, was it? He looked them up and down, taking the measure of the whole situation. No, she liked him. And the way he was angling his body, almost shielding her – he liked her too. Merlin. One thing to snog a Crabbe, but to date them? Rosiers did not. Blacks did not, not these days. Sirius' grandmother was a Crabbe, yes, but she was off her rocker. Grandfather Pollux had long maintained that she probably love-potioned him, but he was too respectable a man to divorce her, to abandon her. As a rule of thumb, Grandfather Pollux was a wanker, but Sirius couldn't fault him in sticking by her. The point remained: the Crabbes were fucking mental social climbers. "Do your parents know about yours?"
"Debbie's a pureblood," Rosier said testily. Debbie. Oh, this was too good. So these are your little mates, Reg? This is what gives you the high ground? "She's worth ten of your foul friends."
"Does Regulus know?" Sirius asked, leaning against the wall. He didn't move his wand. Alfreck swallowed. He does. And he obviously hadn't told Mother – the gossip would've reached Sirius' ears by now if he had. Regulus could keep secrets too. So much for the golden child.
"It's none of his business, and it's none of yours!" Debbie piped up. Her eyes were still wet. Sirius pulled a face.
"Oh, shut up. Dearest Debbie, you weren't by any chance part of those girls the other day that wrote 'mudblood' on the mirrors in lipstick, were you?" She turned pink. See, where did she get off, thinking she was better than someone like Lily Evans? She was fucking pathetic.
"Just piss off, we're not doing anything now," Rosier said. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"You're not in class."
"Neither are you!"
"I have a reason that's not, 'shacking up with a Crabbe'," Sirius said. "Do it in your dormitory, at least, have some decency – oh, wait. You can't, because everyone will fucking judge you, because you're a bunch of judgemental prats. You reap what you sow." He shoved his wand back into his pocket and slammed the broom cupboard door behind him. He stormed back through the corridors of the Hospital Wing to wait outside the infirmary doors.
Soon enough, Madam Pomfrey poked her head out. She scowled at the sight of him. He bounced up off the bench.
"Is he ready?" he asked brightly. Madam Pomfrey sighed.
"You may come in, Mr. Black, but be quiet." He followed her inside. A younger student laid in one of the beds closer to the door, his face covered in deflating pustules. He saw the foot of Remus' bed through a new gap in his mint curtains. Madam Pomfrey nodded. He flung himself down the walkway and into the chair at Remus' bedside.
No fresh scars on his face, at least. A new one ran jagged across his hand, small in the big scheme of things. His hair, a light golden brown, smushed up against the pillow, looking nearly as messy as James'. Remus' eyes fluttered open.
"Morning," he croaked.
"Morning," Sirius returned. Remus groaned, squeezed his eyes shut, and then his hand snaked out from beneath the starched white blanket. Sirius grabbed the pain relief potion off the bedside table and gave it to him. Remus lifted it to his lips, and drank it with a sigh.
Sirius wanted to ask, 'how was it?', the way he had the morning after the first moon he'd known the significance of. The one and only time Remus had ever been halfway honest about it. There was no point asking now – what could it be but shit? What could he expect it to be but shit? Remus was hardly going to perk up and say, 'oh, yes, I had the time of my life, I did.' The answer was written on his body in barely-healed wounds and thick white scars. He didn't know how much Remus remembered of the transformations anyways. He'd only described the pain. Hopefully, he didn't remember much at all. Hopefully? Was it worse to not know, to black out for hours at a time, and wake knowing you were a monster and having no idea of what you'd done, trying to piece it together from the scratched walls and your torn skin and the chunks missing from your hair? He'd heard accounts from victims of the Imperius Curse, the way it was a fever dream, reality falling apart all at once. Even once the curse was lifted, they could still be prone to losing their minds. Was it like that? But Remus was sane. Somehow.
"What am I missing?" Remus murmured, putting the vial on the floor. Sirius picked it up and put it back.
"Nothing important. History," Sirius said.
"Bugger."
"Bugger? It's the worst class of all of them, honestly. Would you rather miss Defence?" Even Sirius rarely skipped their Defence classes. There was nothing like hexing someone to make you cheer up. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been to History of Magic since the start of the school year.
"Bugger, because James' notes are always a bit shit for History," Remus said. He stretched his arms out, and winced. "Do I have to go yet?"
"I don't think so," Sirius said. "It's nearly lunch. And then a free period."
"No, I have Arithmancy after lunch. I'm not getting my notes off Peter, I have to go to that," he said. He propped himself up on his elbows, and inhaled sharply. Sirius reached out to steady him. He looked very pale. With Sirius' help, he laid back down. "Fuck."
"Would you like me to get Madam Pomfrey?"
"No," Remus said quickly. "No, it's okay. Just – distract me."
Sirius scratched his nail across his bottom lip. Remus shut his eyes again, relaxing his head into the pillow. A red bruise rose on his neck. Sirius almost asked him if it was a hickey, knowing full well the answer. He instead followed that train of thought until he arrived at a suitable distraction.
"I walked in on a couple snogging in a broom cupboard," he said. Remus exhaled a laugh through his nose.
"And did you give them some privacy?" Remus asked, sarcasm creeping into his hoarse voice. Sirius tapped his knuckles against the divot beneath his lip.
"Not quite. They were Slytherins. One of them is friends with Reg. Alfreck Rosier. He's a right prick, him and his whole family."
"Raimund Rosier's brother?" Remus half-opened one eye.
"Yes. Anyways, he was snogging Deborah Crabbe." He paused, watching Remus. A moment of silence passed. Sirius made a face.
"Oh?" said Remus, finally. Sirius nodded.
"So, the point is, I'm not the only one with friends Mother doesn't approve of. I mean, Reg's friend is with a Crabbe." Remus shut his eyes again. More silence. Sirius hit the leg of his chair with his foot, making a soft bang.
"Since when do you care what your mother approves of?" Remus asked, after an age.
"I don't," Sirius assured him. "Just – it's hypocritical, Regulus standing with her on my friends being shit, and then his friends are doing things she wouldn't like."
"The Crabbes are purebloods, though. So long as Regulus isn't dating her, does it matter?" Remus fixed him with an amber gaze. Sirius met his eyes, and huffed.
"Whatever! You're right, it doesn't matter, who cares."
"Sirius."
"It doesn't matter. Regulus is perfect, his friends are perfect, and I'm the shitty one. I know." He swung around on the chair, hooking his knees over one wooden armrest and throwing his head back over the other.
"Sirius," Remus repeated tiredly. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, covering his face with his hands. Merlin. Remus sounded like shit. He didn't give a fuck about Rosiers or Crabbes, he'd just torn himself apart and been knitted back together.
"Sorry," Sirius mumbled.
"Yeah."
The silence lingered a while longer, Remus curling into himself on the bed, and Sirius staring at the roof. He wasn't being unreasonable. It was just proof that whatever Regulus pretended, they weren't that different. He'd turn a blind eye for his friends. It wasn't just Sirius being Sirius, no, it was normal, expected, even.
It felt like winning, knowing that he wasn't the only one not playing by the rules. Victory, that both of them could be punished. And then came the bitter aftertaste at the reminder of punishment. Yay, both of them were eligible for being screamed at. Hurrah, both of them could get told that they were better off dead.
Their full vault at Gringotts wasn't compensation enough for the misfortunate of being born to Walburga Black.
"Moony," Sirius said contemplatively. In the corner of his eye, Remus folded into himself, wrapped in blankets, and slept on. "I was thinking about you, this morning. Not in a weird way. I was thinking that the best people in life – the ones who really try, the ones who are actually good, decent people – they always get the bad side of the hippogriff. As if everyone has a quota of terribleness in their lives, and bad people ruin their own lives just through their own awful personality. But good people have to have awful things happen to them to make their lives terrible. Now I'm thinking, though, I based that off me as well as you. But I don't know if I'm good like you. And what about James? Nothing has gone wrong in his entire life, and he's great." Remus stayed asleep, or kept the charade up. Sirius shrugged. "I only had one joint last night, so there isn't any accounting for my philosophising." Still no answer.
Sirius rolled onto his side, and leaned his head against the armrest. No good. He cast a quick cushioning charm and tried again. Significantly better. He shuffled himself into a comfortable position, in that little chair by Remus' sickbed, and shut his eyes. Neither of them woke until James and Peter arrived. It was a curiously sound sleep, given the circumstances. Drool dried at the corner of his mouth. He scratched it away.
"I think your mind is made of marijuana," Remus whispered to him later, in Defence, as James corrected Peter's wand movements. Sirius looked up at him.
"What are you talking about?" Sirius asked casually. Remus exhaled a wheezy snort.
"All that on one joint?" Remus replied, voice low. Sirius looked at him again. Remus fixed his eyes on James and Peter. A smile quirked at his lips.
"You bastard," Sirius said. "You were awake."
"No, your voice just broke into my dreams," Remus countered. Sirius pulled a face. James shot a cracking hex across the room, and Peter copied. "You're not a bad person, Sirius. Even if you are the king of pity parties."
"I am not," Sirius said reflexively. Remus folded his arms across his chest.
"You're not a bad person."
Sirius carried it in his chest like a burning lantern.
November 22nd, 1975
The Gryffindor common room was almost entirely empty, given that the rain had dried up overnight. It was the perfect excuse to avoid assignments and studying for the end-of-term exams, according to Marlene. She'd been up at the crack of dawn and raced down to breakfast, spurred on by the sunshine. It hadn't had the same effect on Lily. Sunshine was fantastic, sure, but she could enjoy it at a normal time of day. She slept later than she was able to through the week, and helped herself to a fair breakfast, but with no more enthusiasm than usual.
It was at breakfast that he approached her. She'd been scooping up cornflakes, engaging a pair of over-eager second years in conversation, and he'd slid into the seat next to her. The two second year girls exchanged a look, and then locked their eyes on her. Typical.
"Good morning, Lily," Marcus McLaggen said. His voice warm and full, his words well-pronounced. Very unlike the boys back in Cokeworth; rather unlike most of the boys at Hogwarts. He smiled pleasantly.
"Good morning, Marcus," she returned.
"Have you got any plans for today?" he asked. She bit down hard on a piece of cereal. One of the younger girls sucked in her breath. Okay, it's not that dramatic. Cool it, Lily. She finished her mouthful and put down her fork. He was the sort of boy Petunia would like. The sort that they'd talked about when the distance between them was only a gap and not a chasm. Both of them had first devoured the Austen novels with little critical thought, only grasping at the meaning behind the flowery language. Lily had read it again over the summer and understood more; Petunia hadn't touched the books again. They were rather long, and there were plenty more important things for her to do. As far as Petunia was concerned, Wickham had been heartbroken and that's why he'd taken off with Lydia; and Darcy was a cruel, rude bastard.
You could only make judgements based on the information you knew, Lily supposed. She allowed herself to entirely take in Marcus McLaggen. A pureblood; a sixth year; a prefect. Neat and tidy. Offered entrance into the Slug Club and denied it. Teetotal. Tidy. Petunia would've professed herself in love on the spot.
"Revision," she said, and found that it was true. Who wasn't revising? Exams were in the first week of December for all her subjects excluding Transfiguration, which had a rather lengthy assignment to be done instead.
"I see," he said.
"What's up?" she asked. "I can do something else, there's still time." His face darkened.
"You don't want to risk it, with your O. ."
"Oh, it's not even the mocks," Lily waved her spoon around. He took a deep breath, probably deeper than necessary, she thought. She took another mouthful of cereal.
"If you're sure. I was just in need of a prefect to accompany me on the patrols. Vickers is at – Quidditch training," he said it with some disgust, "- and I couldn't find Longbottom or Rhysfield anywhere. I saw Lupin, but he seemed rather…off. I understand he was in the Hospital Wing a few days ago?" His tone of inquiry was the same as Severus' could be, when it came to the subject of Remus Lupin. His mum had been sick since he'd come to Hogwarts, with something slow and awful that he mostly refused to talk about. He also had a tendency to end up in the infirmary a lot. Black looked the part of sickly Victorian child more than he did, but maybe it was something genetic. A weak constitution.
She worried, sometimes. She tried not to.
"I'll come," Lily told him. "Eleven, right?"
"Yes," Marcus said. "I'll meet you in the common room."
"Sweet," Lily smiled. He patted the collar of his robes and left her. Lily returned to her breakfast, trying not to make eye contact with the whispering girls.
"Do you like him?" One of them demanded. Lily laughed.
"He's – a friend," she said. They'd only spent time together when doing their prefect duties, but she liked him well enough, even if he was quite formal. It was a pleasant change from the general rowdiness of Potter and company. The girls exchanged a look. She rolled her eyes. Second years, honestly.
She headed back to the common room after her late breakfast. It was mostly empty, if you ignored Davey Gudgeon and a couple of his mates playing Exploding Snap. She'd have to be patrolling in a little over an hour, and so she forewent revision in favour of a good book. She lost herself again in Wuthering Heights, joining Cathy in her roaming of the moors. She was wrapped in thick mist, calling out, when Davey Gudgeon's voice pulled her away from Yorkshire.
"Holy fuck!" Davey exclaimed, apparently trying to expand his vocabulary. His game of cards lay forgotten by the fireplace, and he and his friends stood round the radio, eyes wide. One of them had gone very, very pale. Lily slid her bookmark between the pages she'd been reading and got to her feet.
"Everything alright?" she asked, crossing to them. Davey looked up at her, freckles vibrant against his white skin.
"Listen!" he implored. They fell silent once more. The radio presenter kept talking. Lily went cold. She was frozen, for a moment, the words echoing in her ears; and then one of them gasped, and she slammed her hand against the radio, turning it off. Her fingers hurt.
"Hey!" said Davey.
"You don't need to hear all that. You know what happened now, you don't need the gory details. Off you go. It's sunny out." No. That can't be. What does that – no.
"You're not my mum!" Davey said testily. She glared at him. One of the other kids sniggered.
"She looks like it," Davey's friend grinned, referring no doubt to the red hair they shared. Lily put her hands on her hips.
"Seriously? Go on. Out." She shooed them out of the common room and then flopped back on the couch, sick to her stomach. However brave they were in the light of day, the presenter's words would haunt their dreams by night. They'd haunt hers. Wuthering Heights lost its appeal entirely. She instead stared at the roof, her mind conjuring up images to match the reporter's description.
Marcus arrived five minutes early. He smiled at her. She tried to smile back, genuinely, really wanting to, but only managed a grimace.
"Are you alright, Lily?" he asked, dropping his expression. He thumbed his prefect badge, which he'd pinned to his checked robes. It glinted red against the tan and grey of his outfit. She tightened her ponytail, feeling rather casual in comparison. The only robes she owned were her school ones, and so today she dressed in a pair of high-waisted bell-bottoms and a brown coat. If she'd known he was wearing an ascot, she probably would've worn some jewellery or something. Her prefect badge was cold in the pocket of her jeans. She fished it out and pinned it to the breast of her coat.
"It's just the news," she said. "It's awful."
"Ah," Marcus said.
They relieved the morning's prefects of their duties and started their patrol. Golden sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows along the fifth floor corridor. Down in the Quad, two dozen students baked in the surprising warmth of the late-November day.
"I think that's where any action will be," Lily told Marcus, gazing out the window. The corridor was empty save for them and a couple of portraits. "The castle's a ghost town."
"Quite right," Marcus said pleasantly. They followed the corridor to the Clock Tower, where they stopped abruptly. Lily narrowed her eyes. Marcus scowled.
James Potter and Sirius Black hovered on a broomstick between the giant cogs of the clock, while Peter and Remus watched from the wooden walkway below, armed with quills, an inkwell, and a roll of parchment. James stood on his broom, stretching his arms out towards the metal mechanisms.
"What in Merlin's name?" Marcus demanded, striding forwards.
"What the hell are you doing, Potter?" Lily shouted. James spun on his broom. His stupid face lit up.
"Evans!" he exclaimed. Then, he lost his balance.
Lily ran forwards, whipping her wand out. Black was quicker.
"Immobulus!" Potter froze in mid-air. Lily's eyes widened.
"Black!" she shrieked. Slowing movement was one thing, but entirely freezing someone was N.E.W.T-level, given the amount of power and concentration it required. She wouldn't trust Black with freezing a flea. She could begrudgingly admit that he probably had the power to manage it, but the concentration? Any first year from Ravenclaw would beat him in that department.
"This is ridiculous!" Marcus yelled. "Get down! Immediately! I'm your house prefect!"
"Accio James," Remus said lazily. Black kept his wand trained on Potter as he zoomed across to Remus. Remus grabbed him. Black cancelled the spell, and looked away. Potter unfroze.
"Bloody fuck!" he laughed, and then grinned at her, messing up his hair. "What are you doing here, Evans? McLaggen?"
"We are on prefect duty!" Marcus snapped, stepping forward. Peter scrambled backwards. Remus released Potter. Potter beamed at Marcus as if they were Quidditch mates, and clapped him on the shoulder. Marcus turned bright red.
"Good for you, mate. Get out in the sunshine, why don't you?" Potter said jovially.
"Why aren't you out in the sun, Potter?" Lily asked, folding her arms across his chest. "Shouldn't you be hanging out with your girlfriend?" Black landed by Remus, tossing the broomstick from hand to hand.
"Project," Potter said simply, pointing at the clock.
"And for what subject would that be?" Marcus interjected. Potter fixed him with a look of disgust. Lily bristled. Marcus' eyes roved over the four of them, and landed on Remus. "Lupin! You're a prefect."
"I am," Remus said. Marcus clapped his hands together. Lily cringed. Potter – all of them, actually, except maybe Peter – would eat him alive. When it came to dealing with Potter and company, you had to have a bit of meat and wit about you.
"You're colluding, then, with – with outside parties," Marcus improvised wildly. Lily stared at him, and then rolled her eyes. Oh, no. God, no. Please. He was too good-looking to be a twat. She glanced upwards. Come on, Lord, just once, give me something nice.
Remus' gaze flicked to her. She scrunched up her face and then gave him a pleading look; have mercy, have mercy, come on Remus, pretty please. I know it's pathetic. Tease me about it later. But not right now. Remus pressed his lips together, barely suppressing a smile.
"As your fellow prefect, Marcus, I want to assure you that no school rules are being broken. As annoying as it might be, there's nothing in the code of conduct that forbids this." Oh my god, I could marry you, Remus Lupin. He caught her eye. She smiled. Marcus huffed.
"You can't fly on brooms inside."
"Inside? Inside what? We fly on broomsticks all the time inside the stadium, or inside a courtyard. So long as we aren't disrupting the halls – which we aren't – it's fine." Remus couldn't contain it then; a smile broke across his face. Peter nodded furiously in support. James put his arm on Sirius' shoulder, leaning on him, grinning.
"Come on, Marcus, let's head downstairs. Leave them to their – well, whatever it is they're doing," Lily said, touching Marcus' shoulder. He shook his head disapprovingly at that gang of bloody marauders and then followed her lead.
The courtyard, while busy, seemed generally peaceful. Lily attributed that to the Hufflepuff presence. She hated to admit it, but more often than not, it was the Gryffindors or the Slytherins getting into duels and fights and loud arguments. Strong personalities, she supposed. Nature of the beast. She and Marcus did a very quick, general sweep of the castle, and found nothing more interesting than a few stray couples in broom cupboards. Marcus went very red and generally broke them up where Lily might've laughed at them or reminded them to use a locking charm, but she cut him some slack. His ears had been practically steaming since they'd run into Potter and friends.
"It has to be water off a duck's back," Lily told him, as they walked the length of an empty corridor. "Seriously. Potter's a twat and detention, or a telling-off, that won't change it. You can't let them get to you, you know?" Marcus looked at her, tilting his head to one side.
"I just don't understand how one can have so little respect for authority," Marcus said. Lily pursed her lips, thinking. Then, she shrugged.
"I guess it doesn't matter to him. He doesn't want to be a prefect, or Head Boy or anything, so he doesn't need a clean record for that. I'd bet every penny I have that he doesn't get into any trouble from his parents. And now he's served so many detentions that they're part of life, not a real bother. The only thing that would get to him would be to kick him off the Quidditch team – but McGonagall won't do that. He's an arrogant arse, but unfortunately, he's a fantastic Chaser." She slid her thumbs into the loops of her jeans. Marcus scowled.
"So people get lucky, with indulgent parents, or a natural talent for something, and then they skate through life. It's hardly fair."
"Life isn't."
"Yes, I know that, but indulge me in some whinging."
"No," Lily said firmly, folding her arms across her chest. Marcus raised his eyebrows.
"No?"
"No." She got the point. Life wasn't fair. Not for poor, wealthy, pure-blooded prefect Marcus McLaggen. They continued for a little while in silence. Marcus stared at the portraits, looking rather glum. She pressed her lips together. The morning's news report clawed its way into the forefront of her thoughts. She rubbed small circles into the denim of her jeans.
"Did you hear the news?" she asked, venturing out of James Potter territory. Marcus looked up at this, brows furrowed. To her delight, he didn't say anything like, 'was it that I've been signed to Appleby? Because that's not true, it was the Harpies, they broke their policy just for me', or, 'yes, I did get voted the sexiest teen wizard alive'.
No, instead, he said, "I heard that somebody has died. They didn't say who." Lily nodded, and dropped her gaze.
"That might've come in a later update," she said. "Trust me, the radio said who it was. And, oh – it was awful, they actually – described the scene they found afterwards." Images blazed through her eyelids. The worst parts were the bits the news left out, and you could just tell that they were avoiding it, skirting around the edges of the pit of 'really, really, absolutely horrendous, to the point that that particular detail will be locked up in a file in the Department of Mysteries and the Aurors will be force-fed potions for the next month because there's too much going on to give them leave so they don't go mad'. Her imagination filled in the gaps with the worst things she could think of. It essentially tailored it to her personal nightmares.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Marcus said. His arm jerked oddly. Poor Marcus, she thought. She reached out and squeezed his arm. He stiffened, and then relaxed.
"Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry that it happened. You know Wendy Macmillan?" She had cut out a paragraph of one of Wendy Macmillan's speeches when it had been printed in a magazine and taped it to the stretch of wall she'd claimed in the dormitory. She sniffed. There would be no more of those. She'd never again get to listen to one of Wendy Macmillan's speeches. God, that was selfish to be upset about. She swallowed hard.
"Yes, I know of her," Marcus said. "Did they – was it her?" Lily shook her head.
"No. They didn't kill her. They murdered her husband in front of her. And her children. The youngest is only four months old, apparently." Her voice wobbled.
"By Merlin," Marcus said, grasping at the fabric around his neck. "That's awful." Lily sniffed again. He patted her on the shoulder exactly twice, arm stiff. She looked up at him. He snatched his arm back as if he'd been burned, and twisted his badge. "I thought – isn't Wendy Macmillan's husband a pureblood?" he asked. "Would they really kill a pureblood?" Lily frowned.
"He's a 'blood traitor', for marrying her," she said disgustedly. "That's enough reason to string him up in his own home -"
"String him up?" Marcus echoed. He went pale. Lily exhaled shakily. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She could see it so vividly, as if she'd been there. His body in the middle of the room, dangling like an empty piñata, blood pooling in his extremities, the children screaming – what they'd done to the little boy – while they held his mother down –
She shook her head.
"It's horrific," Marcus said sadly. "So many good people, killed for nothing. I can't believe the Ministry hasn't got on top of it yet. They've bought Minchum in, and while I'm certainly glad to have more Dementors guarding Azkaban, I don't see what else he's done."
"I was hoping for something more, too," Lily confessed. "I read the papers over the summer, when the election was on, and I really thought he'd do something. I should've known better. It's like with the Prime Minister, you know? I like what he says, but you look around, and nothing's really changing. I had high hopes for him, too."
"The Prime Minister?" Marcus frowned. "The muggle leader? Do they do much?" Lily snorted.
"They only lead one of the most powerful countries in the world," Lily said. Purebloods. Really. "But they do about as much as the Minister for Magic, I guess."
"I see," Marcus said. They emerged out onto the grounds. Groups of students lounged beneath trees, or practised spells on one another, and a few skimmed their toes across the grass as they flew their brooms under the midday sun. The warmth was superficial, but the brightness was not. The light caught the caramel of Marcus' soft curls.
"Will Wendy speak soon? She always has something to say after these events," Marcus said softly. It cut through the crowded clamour, through the rolling green hills and the shimmering lake in the distance, through the chilly air of the Scottish Highlands. Of course. He didn't know. The report had only just come in full when she heard it. She gave the tiniest shake of her head.
"No," Lily said. "They cursed her. Her tongue, her hands. She'll never speak or write again." That was the price one paid for being an outspoken muggle-born. A dead husband, traumatised children, silence. Permanent silence.
Marcus gaped. "They -"
"Come on," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I can see a Fanged Frisbee already. We have our work cut out for us."
November 23rd, 1975
Remus tightened his grip on Sirius' hair, holding on as if his life depended on it. His stomach jolted. His lungs burned. All the same, there was a thrill rising in his stomach, the sort only borne of stupid, reckless things. He shifted, and felt Sirius beneath him.
"So long, suckers!" James shouted, speeding past. Peter clung to James, eyes wide, bouncing up and down. Sirius exhaled noisily, his breath hot against Remus' leg.
"You've got a bony arse," Sirius said. "You're digging in."
"The quicker we get to the other end, the quicker I can get off. This wasn't my idea!" Remus said, tugging gently at his hair. Sirius shook his head, hair whipping Remus' stomach, and then took off. James and Peter were three-quarters of the way down the corridor, though Peter had started squeaking protests as James skidded dangerously close to a suit of armour. It lifted its sword. James ducked. Peter hollered, and threw himself backwards.
"Pete -!" James held his legs tight, and Peter's top half flopped down. He groaned and scrambled to sit upright again. He grabbed James' face in the process, using his cheeks as handholds. A portrait shook its head disapprovingly.
"Now!" Remus hissed. Sirius stumbled forwards, and then fumbled into a run. Remus had been put on top because he was thinner, and they all admitted he probably wouldn't have the muscle to run with Sirius on his back. Remus had a head on Sirius, though, and wore a heavy cloak (it was fucking freezing, no matter what warm-blooded James Potter said) that they hadn't accounted for. It made for slow progress.
"They're gaining on us!" Peter squawked.
"I can't see!" James shouted. "Pete, your hands are over my glasses!"
"Sorry!"
"It's alright, just don't break them!"
"I'll try!"
"To break them?" Sirius shouted across the hallway. He laughed, and his head brushed against Remus' inner thigh, which was – a really odd feeling, actually. Remus leaned back and nearly lost it. He threw his arms out, waving them cartoonishly. They passed James and Peter. Peter screeched apologies to the suit of armour, and James skedaddled this way and that, trying to avoid the swing of the blade.
"Victory's in sight!" Sirius shouted. Remus refocused. The statue they'd made the finish line stood only a few feet ahead. Maybe ten. Remus threw his hands in the air. Peter howled.
"No!"
"NO!" James echoed. Remus grinned from ear-to-ear. They passed the statue.
They won.
"YES!" Sirius screamed. Remus punched the air, and leaned back. He whooped. Then he really did lose his balance. He hit the floor, and shouted. His eyes watered. Fuck. He coughed. Sirius swam before him, looking far too cheerful for someone whose friend had just landed on his back onto a stone floor.
"What do you look so happy about, dickhead?" Remus grumbled. Pain shot through his side. Sirius grabbed him by both hands.
"Up you get! We're winners!" Remus coughed as he got to his feet. James crossed the line, red-faced and panting. Peter clung to him like a koala bear.
"I can't believe it!" James said, crouching so Peter could get down. Peter got on his hands and knees and pretended to kiss the ground. James gasped, taking mock-offence. "Pettigrew! I was a fantastic steed, what are you doing? How could you prefer using your legs to riding me?" Remus rubbed his forehead.
"No, James, don't ever say that again."
"What are you talking about? You'd all love to ride me, you homosexuals," James winked saucily, and then ruffled his hair. Sirius laughed.
"I don't fuck losers, James," he said, raising his brows. He caught Remus' eye. Remus thought again of Halloween, and that – really fucking weird, really queer moment that he'd thought Sirius was…propositioning him. Or something. He pinched his leg through his trousers. "We won! We're the fucking champions!" Sirius beamed, and then threw his arms around him. Remus stiffened. Sirius threw back his head and howled. Remus tutted.
"Now people are going to think there's a bloody werewolf in the school, you idiot," Remus said, elbowing him. "Merlin's beard, imagine. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
"Bugger off," Sirius grinned. James broke into their hug, chucking his arms around their shoulders. Peter sidled up next to Remus.
"So where were we, boys?" James asked jovially. They returned to the start of the corridor and grabbed their bags, which were stuffed silly with inkwells, quills, scraps of parchment, notes, sweets, and a singular bottle of Firewhisky that Sirius had bought along. Apparently, Sunday night was as good a night as any to wander the halls and try to sketch out parts of their map. Professor McGonagall would only kill them a lot if they fell asleep in her class.
"The passageways," Remus supplied dryly. He reached into his bag and fished out their latest attempt at drawing this part of the third floor. It mainly looked like a lot of nonsense, all unjoined lines and semi-circles.
"Right. Well, I say we put them on the map. We're doing whoever we give copies to a service. It's our legacy, finding these things!" James said. He lifted his knees and swung between them. Remus staggered. Sirius swore. James laughed, and returned his feet to where they belonged.
"It's not up to us to hold their hands," Sirius said. "We have to encourage enterprise, Mr. Potter."
"I think they should stay secret. At least some of them," Remus said firmly. They occasionally crawled beneath the Whomping Willow to smoke out the Shrieking Shack, when they couldn't find anywhere better. Remus sat on the bed he'd spent so many hours lying on in pure agony, and lost himself in a haze of smoke and spurts of giggles and thoughts made profound in the company of friends in the early hours of the morning. He made it his, on the worst days and sometimes, on nicer ones. Anyone else being there would be an invasion. And if they decided it'd be a spot of fun on the full moon – he'd kill them. Probably literally.
"Oh – yeah, yeah, mate, definitely. Not all of them. Just – we could put in some of the shortcuts. And charm it, so only we can see them on the map."
"Is that even possible?" Peter piped up. "On top of all the other spells on it?" James waved a hand.
"O, ye of little faith. 'Course it is. If anyone can do it, it's us," James grinned.
"That sounds like even more work," Peter said miserably. Sirius snorted. Remus twisted his lips to suppress a smile.
"No! Hardly. We'll figure it out. Don't worry." James tilted his head to the ceiling. His hair resembled a bird's nest, and the lion emblem on his bedrobe paced back and forth, yawning. He jumped up again, swinging of them. Rare warmth seeped through Remus' skin. James smiled like sunlight, laughed like Felix Felicis. Lucky bastard. Sirius chuckled on James' other side, pale skin luminescent in the dark. His hair fell to his shoulders, shiny and neat, even where he'd attempted to tease it. Remus smiled wryly to himself, looking between the two of them.
He fingered the wand in his pocket, and withdrew it with his free hand. What he had in mind would probably work; worst come to worst, Sirius would be thankful for a night in the Hospital Wing and a Monday morning off. He pointed his wand upwards and muttered the incantation under his breath. Peter yelped. Sirius snapped his free hand up to his neck, and patted it.
"What the fuck?" he demanded. Remus' lips trembled furiously. The shakes ran through his whole body, starting in his throat and running to his fingers, sprinting to his toes. His gut strained. He let it go, and lost it. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he doubled over. Peter caught on and began to laugh too. James wailed.
"My hair! My trademark!" James shrieked. Sirius scratched his bare neck.
"How do you see?" he asked, shaking the hair out of his eyes. It was no use. James' hair did not stay out of his face, or lay flat, or do anything that hair could reasonably be expected to do.
"I feel like a girl!" James cried.
"Moony!" Sirius shouted. He tore free o James and barrelled towards Remus. Remus braced. It was little use. Sirius knocked him to the floor, and Remus gasped, winded. Sirius sat on his stomach, and leaned over. Ordinarily, his hair would've tickled Remus' face. Now, it was short and a different shade of black. Remus lapsed into giggles. James hollered in the background, eulogising his poor, stolen hairstyle.
"Potter," Remus said pleasantly. Sirius hefted his weight. Remus grunted. "I may have a bony arse, but you've got a fat one. You're going to suffocate me."
"James' hair is going to suffocate me. Pah. It keeps getting in my mouth, how the fuck does that even happen? It isn't that long." He brushed a few stray hairs out of his mouth. Remus smirked, and jerked his hips up suddenly. Sirius' eyes widened. He caught another mouthful of James' hair. He coughed and spluttered furiously, and Remus squirmed out from under him, heart racing something stupid.
"Sex in the corridors! Sex in the corridors!" Peter shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. Remus wiggled out faster, and Sirius jumped up off him.
"Shut up, Peter, you little snitch! Let me fuck in peace!" Sirius bellowed, running at Peter. Peter swore loudly and took off. Sirius stayed hot on his heels. James spun around in a circle, holding the long bits of Sirius' hair in his fists.
"Fucking hell, Moony," he said, when he'd finished spinning. He let go of one hunk and threw his arm out, staggering dizzily. Remus folded his arms, and adopted his best 'sensible prefect' expression.
"Honestly, it's a little childish to be so upset about a bit of hair, isn't it, Potter?" he said primly, imitating that twat McLaggen from yesterday.
"Fuck you," James beamed. He looked down the hall. "We ought to get out of here, right? Peter'll have sent the teachers running in search of an orgy."
"I guess we should run," Remus shrugged. They exchanged a look, and then sprinted after the other two. Sirius chased Peter through half the castle, shouting furiously, and waking up a lot of disgruntled portraits in the process. Their shrieks and scoldings added to the din. They shoved aside the mirror by the Hospital Wing and hid in the beginning of the passageway to Belby's.
"Shit!" James said emphatically. They spun around to look at him. He messed up his hair – Sirius' hair – and frowned, slowly removing his hand from his head. Sirius sniffed.
"What is it?" Peter said, voice high, wringing his hands. James gave him a funny look.
"No, it's all okay. I just realised, we haven't told Remus about the prank yet!"
Remus' heart plummeted. He usually relied on whoever got him from the Hospital Wing the next morning to catch him up on what he'd missed. James covered pretty much everything, Peter did his best to. Remus looked at Sirius. Sirius stared back, stone-faced. James' hand hit his shoulder.
"No, mate, look, listen, it's great. Brilliant, really. I want your advice on it, though. You always pick the holes. So, next Friday -"
"I have prefect duty next Friday," Remus interrupted. His vision curled around James. Had he been stung by a billywig? His limbs floated by his sides. His cheeks froze. They've done it again, for fuck's sakes, can't they be boring one fucking night a month? Does it kill them to let me in on their little wanderings? His toes curled. Far away, James' eyes widened and twinkled. He had the look of a madman. Not a fucking rat. Remus crashed back into the real world. It was James. It was James. He wouldn't try to be a dick, Sirius' hair or not.
"I know," James said, lit up like a bloody Christmas tree. "It's perfect." Remus smiled uneasily.
"Is this something I could lose my badge for?"
"Well…if you get caught." Remus looked away, scrunched up his face. Let James worry that he'd say no. Peter's sweaty palms rubbed together. Remus looked back at them, and raised his eyebrows.
"Fine. I'm in. Tell me about it."
Sirius smiled.
A/N: Happy (?) Good Friday/day off work/school! I really, really wanted Sirius to reference 'We Are The Champions' when they won the race, and I was so disappointed to find out it didn't come out until 1977. So...expect it to be mentioned in their seventh year ;). Two chapters in three weeks is somewhat consistent for me, so yay! I'm doing Camp NaNo this month which should get me writing more, but I am going away a couple of times, so...we'll see. I don't want to be too optimistic. Thank y'all for your continued support! 3
Also, 'I don't fuck losers' is from the amazing movie Cruel Intentions