Creature Comfort

by ohmygodshesinsane

Look, James is trying not to be an arrogant twat. Lily's been given the role of 'swot', but she has other ideas. Sirius would love to have a normal family, honestly, as would Remus. Severus wants to leave his muggle heritage behind, and Peter is sick of being left out. Growing up is hard at the best of times, and these? These are the worst of times. [1975-1981]

40. misty eyes, misty minds

A/N: Typical content warnings for language, alcohol, smoking etc, as well as bullying, homophobic attitudes/internalised homophobia, and some heavy making out with mild suggestiveness.

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February 8th, 1976

Apparently, everyone in Hogwarts had lost their minds today.

"We're really sorry," the brunette Hufflepuff told her, twisting her tie through her fingers. "We didn't mean for anything to happen, I swear. It was completely an accident."

"Completely," added her blonde friend, hiding behind her very slightly. "We really didn't want to upset anyone or anything or anything like that. It just sort of…I don't know…"

"Happened?" Lily suggested, rather unhappily. Rivulets of warm (not nice, piping hot, like the sort that came out of the shower head after a long day, but strangely, unsettlingly, disgustingly warm) water trickled down her neck and under the material of her robes. She stood hip-deep in a flood of filthy grey water that refused to subside. The two fourth-years were slightly shorter than her, and had their hands on their heads firstly, to avoid their hands drifting through the muck, and secondly, because Lily had told them to.

"Exactly," said the brunette, who, unfortunately proving the stereotypes correct, seemed to be the smarter of the two. Also, the meaner one. "I mean, you'd understand, nobody expects-"

"I do, though," Lily said shortly, glancing over her shoulder. When would he be back with the teachers? She sighed and twisted back around to face Bellchant and her friend, Dawlish. "There's a reason there's an out-of-order sign up, it's not just for the fun of it." Bellchant's face contorted for a moment as she thought.

"Well, yes, but really, that's been there for years and usually nothing happens," Bellchant said. Lily winced and stepped to the side as a bit of toilet paper drifted by. She hated to think what sort of muck currently coated her legs. She could only hope any viruses contained in the Hogwarts sewage could be cured by Madam Pomfrey's deft hand.

She did not bother to list all the times where, actually, something had happened. Instead, she gave Bellchant a polite smile. "You're right," Lily said. "Nothing happens when people do the right thing. Funny that, isn't it? Sometimes there's – you know – a reason something's right." Bellchant straightened up, looking indignant.

"It was an accident!" she hissed. Dawlish hunched her shoulders and stepped backwards, apparently attempting to completely disappear behind Bellchant. Lily put on her best responsible-prefect voice.

"Dawlish, please come forward, I want to be able to see you." The blonde's face fell, and she shuffled through the water to take her place at Bellchant's side. "Bellchant, I don't see how you accidentally manage to-"

"She's temperamental!" Bellchant squeaked. "She's a – she's a total – bitch!" Lily slashed her hand across her throat, but Bellchant did not stop in time. A piteous moan began to rise. Lily braced. The moan rose, and rose, and rose, growing shriller and shriller. Then – it burst into a scream, and another pipe flung itself out of the wall. A torrent of water came their way. Lily had her hand on her wand.

"Protego!" she shouted, attempting to cast a Shield Charm. They hadn't yet learned it in Defence, but she'd read about it. Dirty water sprayed towards them, and the charm managed to protect them from the tiny, hurtling droplets. Lily sighed, and the charm wavered as she lowered her wand.

But then, of course, the pipe landed in the water.

The splash rose two feet into the air, flinging water towards them, and then came the wave. Lily could think of nothing to do but jump. She thrust herself into the air as the wall of water sped towards them. It slapped against her skin – but only her neck. She gasped for air and her arms flailed, keeping herself upwards. Then the wave passed them by and she floated back down to where she could touch. Oh my god, Lily thought, feeling the ring of wetness around her throat.

Bellchant screamed.

Lily realised, with dawning horror, that the two fourth-years had not jumped. They had been completely soaked.

Bellchant flipped her disgusting, dripping wet hair over her shoulder and continued to scream. Dawlish turned green.

"Shut up," Lily said urgently, looking wildly through the air. "You're going to make it worse!"

"We didn't even say anything that bad!" Bellchant shrieked. "It was – it was a joke!"

"Be quiet!" Lily wanted to grab the girl by the shoulders and give her a good shake.

"I'm sorry," Bellchant continued, glaring at the sky, "that you don't have a sense of humour!"

Something flew through the air towards them. Lily clamped her arms over her face. Bellchant screamed louder. Splash! The object – whatever it was – landed softly. Lily slowly lowered her arms. She blinked in disbelief. A small, white rectangle – or, almost rectangle – floated in the water, which now reached Lily's waist, between her and the girls. She realised what it was, and couldn't help but cringe.

"Bellchant," she said faintly, thinking she now had a good idea what it was like to be Professor McGonagall, "did you, by any chance, happen to throw a pad at Myrtle?" Bellchant stared at the soggy item for a long moment, and then folded her arms across her chest, looking away.

"I – I might have done," she said. Lily bent a knee in desperation, looking around again. What was taking them so long?

"You're a Hufflepuff," she said weakly. "Aren't you supposed to be nice?"

"I am nice!" Bellchant protested. "It's just – well – Myrtle is a bitch. And – it's not like it was used!"

"What?" Lily said, nearly choking. "Why would it be used?"

"I said it wasn't used!" Bellchant said, going very squeaky once more.

"Why would I think it was used?" Lily demanded. "That's – why – who would carry a used pad around?!"

"Used?"

Lily turned around. Standing at the threshold of the bathroom, just beyond the water – for Myrtle apparently employed some magic that prevented the flood from escaping her disused bathroom unless she willed it to – was Marcus McLaggen (finally), with Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, whose mouth hung open. It appeared to be her that had spoken.

"My God," Professor Sprout said faintly.

"It wasn't used!" Bellchant squawked. "It wasn't!"

Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout drew their wands, and Lily waded through the water to the doorway. After a moment's hesitation, she crossed the threshold. She sighed with relief. The water did not follow her out, though her robes were sopping, and she could tell now that she reeked. She made a face at Marcus, who wore a very mild expression.

"Do – do you want me to try to dry you?" he offered, twisting his wand between his two dark hands. "Or I can – I can siphon the liquid, maybe."

"Whatever you think will work best," Lily said exhaustedly. Fatigue tugged incessantly at her eyelids, and every movement seemed to take a toll. She lifted her arms heavily and shut her eyes, waiting for Marcus to get rid of the water. Even the temporary darkness tempted her to sleep. She wished the feeling had arrived about twelve hours earlier. She had spent another long night alternating between her bed and the common room, as it emptied, and between her schoolwork and the appeal of staring into the twisting, dwindling flames.

She felt the water lift from her clothes, pulled as if by a magnetic force. After thirty or so seconds, Marcus cleared his throat.

"It should be all done," he said gently. Lily opened her eyes and squeezed her robes. Some parts retained a hint of dampness, but it was mostly fine. She smiled at him.

"Thanks," she said, walking over to take the spot next to him. They both looked into the flooded bathroom. Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout seemed hesitant to go inside, so they interrogated the girls from the doorway. Lily rubbed her cheek.

"I hope that's all the excitement for today," she said, shaking her head ever so slightly. "I could do with a nice, quiet walk through the courtyards and maybe a tour of the library. We can make sure everyone's studying hard and being quiet and all that," she said, grinning a little at him. He did not match her look, and at once her stomach clenched. "Oh, what? What is it?"

"Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout were engaged when I found them," Marcus said, looking very regretful. He folded his arms, though it seemed more as though he was trying to hug himself.

"With…with paperwork?" Lily asked hopefully. Paperwork was dull, but it wasn't that hard, honestly. But she knew at once that was far too optimistic as well. Marcus sighed.

"With Peeves."

"Oh."

What she wanted to say was, "shit."

"I'm sorry," Marcus said, looking very apologetic, though none of it was his fault. "He's been smashing cabinets in the Trophy Room. I believe damage has already been done, but perhaps we can prevent any more, and start repairing them…"

"Are we allowed to repair them?" Lily asked, brow furrowing. "I thought they would get Professor Flitwick or a handyman to do it, considering how strong the spells need to be."

"They probably will," Marcus allowed, "but I don't see why we shouldn't at least temporarily fix it." That made sense to Lily, so she agreed. They took once last look at the chaos of the disused bathroom – Professor Sprout waded in, calling to the girls, and another round of high-pitched screams spilled out into the hallway – and Lily made her way to the Trophy Room with great haste. She really didn't care to see if Moaning Myrtle decided to flood the rest of the second floor.

She and Marcus went up a flight of stairs and followed the corridor along to the Armoury, which was adjacent to the Trophy Room. Handsome suits of armour lined both walls. Aside from the castle's ambient noise of distant footsteps, crackling torches, and gentle breezes, the area was strangely silent. Lily drew her wand. Marcus frowned at her.

"It's Peeves we're dealing with," she clarified. "You can't be too prepared." She looked around for any sign of mischief-making; it was unlike Peeves, she thought, to trash one room entirely and leave the next spotless. At the very least, from here they should've heard the smashing of glass and the clatter of objects being thrown to the floor, but there was nothing.

"I'm sure he was here," Marcus said, beginning to walk, peering behind the suits of armour. "I'm certain of it. I was on my way to see if Professor Forcier was in his office and I heard the chaos from the second floor. I came up through the tower and found Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout – just in there." He indicated the archway that led to the Trophy Room. "Unless he left?"

"Mm," Lily said, looking around. "I would've thought that if he left, he'd have left a trail of destruction in his wake. This is weird." After a moment's hesitation, she lit the end of her wand and began using it as a torch, shining it into the dark gaps between the suits of armour. She didn't like this at all.

She and Marcus walked the perimeter of the Armour Gallery, both frowning deeply.

"Perhaps he's hiding in the Trophy Room itself," Marcus suggested. "He could be waiting to surprise us."

"Oh, fantastic," Lily said. "His are my favourite kinds of surprises." She faced the archway, and sighed. "Alright, how about I go in and cast some Revealing Charms to see if he's about?"

"I can do that," Marcus said. "I mean no offence, but you've only just learned them, haven't you? It might be easier if I do it. I can't remember – do they do spirit-revealing spells at O.W.L-level?" Lily felt the tiniest bit patronised, but she supposed he was trying to be chivalrous.

"No," she said. "But I'm usually very good at charms." Humble, aren't you? Lily thought to herself bitingly. She almost justified what she'd said, but then she felt awkward, and she hoped she hadn't come across as arrogant. Luckily, Marcus smiled. She relaxed. He never seemed to try to catch her out, like some boys did. It made things easier.

"Why don't you cast the spell out here, and I'll take the Trophy Room, then?" Marcus offered.

"Yeah, alright."

Marcus went to the archway, and Lily to the centre of the Armoury. She raised her wand in the air and tried to remember the incantation she'd read while doing her Defence homework.

"Phasmellum Revelio," she said, hoping she'd remembered the right movement. A jolt went through her, and she realised that for the second time that day, she'd managed a spell they hadn't yet learned in class yet. Lily couldn't help but be proud of that.

"Marcus," she called, glancing over at him. "I think there's something here."

"Okay," he replied. "One moment. I'll check here." He disappeared into the Trophy Room. Lily pressed her lips together and checked over the room once more. Peeves was obviously here, but hiding. She was undecided if it was better to let him hide and spirit off to another part of the castle before they could be called to corral him once more, or if she ought to coax him out and get it over and done with.

"Was it you?!"

Lily bolted for the Trophy Room.

Inside, she found Marcus with a fist around his wand and a furious expression. He was not alone, though he was not joined by anything the Spirit-Revealing Charm could have warned them of. Four boys surrounded the cabinet on the far end, where the newest trophies and shields had been placed. One held a glittering shield aloft; one leaned against the frame of the smashed cabinet smoking a cigarette; one held an armful of other shields and trophies that looked barely a moment from being dropped; the fourth faced Marcus and had his hands over his face.

Lily was disappointed, but not surprised.

"It's not what it looks like," Remus Lupin groaned. Peter Pettigrew nodded furiously, fingers struggling around the bottom of a rather large silver trophy.

"Hello, Evans," said Sirius Black, ashing his cigarette. She frowned. James hadn't told them about that night…had he? No, surely not. If he had, she would've faced far more teasing by now. Speaking of James Potter, he said nothing, because he faced the opposite direction with his wand between his teeth. More to the point, he floated six feet in the air with the shield held aloft above his head. Lily's eyes darted between the other three and saw that Sirius held his wand in his left hand, slyly sticking out from behind his leg.

"Put Potter down," Lily ordered. "I'm not having a conversation with him while he looks like he's being possessed." Sirius stuck his cigarette in his mouth and made a motion with his wand, not lifting it from its place. Marcus still looked bewildered. Lily nudged him gently and lifted her head in Sirius' direction. Marcus narrowed his eyes, then widened them, then sighed.

James rotated in the air until he was looking at Lily and Marcus. He grinned around his wand.

"'m zissed wit te zprit ov vickry," he told them, slobber lining his wand. Lily pulled a face.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she advised. James frowned, and looked elsewhere.

"'Ems!" he shouted. "Smon mwan!" Remus lowered his hands from his face, looked up at James, winced, and pulled out his wand.

"Accio James' wand." James opened his mouth wide. The wand flew down into Remus' hand, who took it with two fingers, looking ripe to gag.

"Cheers," said James. "Now, Evans, McLaggen, I said, 'I'm possessed with the spirit of victory.' So no matter when you talk to me, there's going to be possession involved."

Lily rolled her eyes. Marcus drew himself to full height.

"Very well," he said. "Have any of you four been seen or been in contact with Peeves?"

Sirius snorted. "We've lived in the castle for five and a half years. Yes, we've seen and been in contact with him."

"Honestly," said Peter, grimacing, "I think it's sort of harder to be at Hogwarts that long and not, erm, see him or talk to him or anything." Part of Lily wanted to lean over and tell Marcus to let her deal with this – she had rather more experience dealing with these four than he did – but she knew if they started whispering, Sirius would latch onto that instead. So she arranged her features into a very disapproving look and attempted to do the supporting of Marcus non-verbally.

"Have you been in contact with him recently?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah, of course we have," said James, still hovering in the air.

"Did you instruct him to do this? Are you working together?" Marcus demanded. Lily bit her lip and stared at Remus' chest, hoping to avoid eye contact with anyone.

"In a manner of speaking," said James easily. "He congratulated me on my win, I decided to see where my shield was – and it wasn't in a good spot, let me tell you that much, it was embarrassing, McLaggen. But fortunately for me, the glass was already smashed and everything was on the floor, so we thought we'd do a spot of rearranging before our lovely prefects arrived to fix things up for us."

"And why," Marcus asked, voice very strained, "are you holding the shield several feet above where the cabinet is, Potter?"

Sirius dropped his cigarette and stomped on it. "Well, our rearranging was going to include the cabinets." Marcus turned his attention to Remus, and Lily considered going another round with Myrtle and the Hufflepuffs.

"As a prefect, Lupin, you have a duty to prevent this sort of behaviour from happening, as well as punishment," Marcus said. Lupin knitted his fingers together.

"I'm aware," he said.

"Oh, come on McLaggen, leave him be. The badge says 'prefect', not 'perfect'," James said. Peter promptly dropped the shields he held. One of the trophies smashed. Lily grimaced.

"What the fuck, Wormy?" Sirius said. "It wasn't that funny."

"Oi!"

"No," Peter said faintly, stepping back. Lily got a very funny feeling. Peter raised a finger, pointing to a spot between Lily and Marcus. "Look." Marcus blinked. Lily was quicker. She spun around, wand out, and pointed it –

A silver suit of armour stood not ten feet from them.

"Homenum Revelio!" Lily shouted, at the same time Sirius' voice said, "Specialis Revelio!" Something banged. There was no person in the suit. She had thought that much, but the spell confirmed it.

"It's not an enchantment," Sirius said.

"Fucking hell, Sirius!" Lily looked back, and James got to his feet, looking very sore. He held his glasses in his hand. "I was still in the air!"

"Bad luck," said Sirius. Lily turned back around. The suit of armour did not move. Marcus pointed his wand and began to move it.

"Phasmellum Revelio."

The suit of armour crashed to the floor. From it rose the brightly coloured form of Peeves, Hogwarts' one and only poltergeist. He flew into the air and backflipped. James laughed.

"Are you copying me?" he called.

"Specky Potter thinks I'm a copier," Peeves muttered. "Rich, rich, rich."

"Peeves," said Marcus authoritatively. Lily's breath hitched.

"Marcus, no -"

"What reason have you to smash up the Trophy Room?" Marcus demanded. "To disrupt the life in this castle and to disrespect the property won by Hogwarts students?"

"You'd like to know, would you?" Peeves grinned, eyes lighting up manically.

"I would," said Marcus seriously. Someone sniggered, and Lily glared at the boys.

'Come on, Evans,' Sirius mouthed. Lily resolutely looked away from him.

Peeves cleared his throat, as if to answer. Marcus raised his eyebrows expectantly. Peeves sucked in his breath and blew an almighty raspberry right in Marcus' face. Spittle stuck to his skin.

"SPIT-FACE!" Peeves hooted with glee, backflipping once, twice, three times and shooting off to the Armoury. "SPIT-FACE MC-SPAT-ON! SPIT-FACE!"

"PEEVES!" Marcus shouted, more furious than Lily had ever seen him before. It's not funny, she told herself, as Marcus wiped the spit from his face. It's not funny. He's tormenting a fellow prefect. Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Don't laugh. He clenched his wand tightly and looked to run, but Lily caught his arm.

"He won't let up," she told him. Crash! Clink! Crash! She guessed the suits of armour were being rather abused. "Let's fix this up for now, alright?"

"They need to get him out of this school," Marcus muttered.

"Come on, let's get the cabinets in order," she said, making for the one James and his friends had surrounded. The four of them now stood there, lips twitching frantically, Peter holding his stomach and Remus red in the face. Lily tried to give them a disapproving look and ended up ducking her head, trying not to join them.

"Why don't you get going now?" she suggested breathlessly, trying not to giggle.

"On one condition," James said. "You'll put my shield at the front?"

"We'll put it where it deserves to go."

"Oh, brilliant. Front and centre. Later, Evans." He, Sirius, Remus and Peter left. After a few moments, she could hear them laughing. This seemed to incense Marcus further.

"Oh, don't mind them, they're idiots," she said. "They'll go keep Peeves busy somewhere else. Why don't we get some practise on our Mending Charms?"

It took them around twenty minutes to fix the damage that had been done to the Trophy Room, and by the end of it Lily felt sure there would be no more need for her to practice her Mending Charm before her O. . With a slight smile, she set James Potter's International Transfiguration Tournament shield at the front and in the middle of the shelf it had been on. Then she placed the last shield onto the shelf, and carefully tilted James' shield so one side sat back. She closed the cabinet door, locked it, and took a few steps back to admire her handiwork.

The Junior Beginners International Transfiguration Tournament - British Round shield was indeed in the centre, and for the most part, at the front. Only the right side (from Lily's view), which held the names of the newest winners, was obscured by the left side of the next shield. James Potter's name could not be seen.

"I'm all done," she told Marcus.

"Me, too."

They moved into the Armoury where they straightened up the suits of armour, and then continued their patrol around the second floor. Now that the excitement was over, there was a dull ache in Lily's bones and a pounding in her head she couldn't shake. They went down to the first floor and she slowed, two paces behind Marcus. They only had to keep going for another hour until two – they had swapped out their patrol with the Hufflepuffs, and taken the Sunday shift rather than the Saturday. Lily now regretted this dearly. Not only did she have two patrols in one day (for she and Remus would be patrolling tonight), but apparently everyone was on their absolute worst behaviour.

What a joy.

"Lily?"

She groggily looked up at Marcus, who turned around and walked towards her.

"Oh – sorry," she said, realising that she had stopped still in the middle of the hallway. "I'm alright. Sorry. Tired." That much was true. She'd also skipped lunch, and now hunger picked at her insides. Using so much magic didn't help matters along either.

"Why don't you sit down?" Marcus took her arm gently and guided her over to a stone bench in a small alcove, well-lit by stained-glass windows. Lily sat down elbows on her knees and hands in her hair. The front of her head throbbed. She felt as if a thousand needles pricked the back of her eyeballs. Part of her wanted to cry. No, she thought, gritting her teeth. You're being an idiot.

"May I sit?" Marcus asked, voice warm and threaded with concern. She shrugged. He hesitated, and then did so. His shoulder brushed hers. The touch made her close her eyes. God, what was wrong with her?

"I'm being stupid," Lily said, wishing to make it clear she didn't approve of this kind of rubbish.

"You – you aren't stupid," Marcus said. Lily couldn't look at him. She wanted to disappear into the floor. Just wait, she thought. There'll be some other job, and another, and another, and then when this is over you have to meet Mary in the library, and then you have that Charms homework to do, and the Herbology work, and that essay for History of Magic – and you ought to do the readings Professor Fawley assigned…There's the decorations to sort for the fundraiser, I still need to get a dress, Mary won't order a dress without me having a look at it, I need to go through the catalogue before we go to Hogsmeade, did I answer Slughorn about the meeting? She felt as if her head was about to burst open.

"Do you want some water?" She expected him to transfigure something into a goblet and conjure water, but instead, he pulled out a bottle of butterbeer. She looked at it askew. "I've cleaned it out. I thought it would be easier to fill a bottle up from the pitcher each morning and carry it with me – I charm it to keep cool, too – than to have to go back to the dormitory or go through the process of transfiguring and whatnot." He offered it to her. She unscrewed the lid.

"That's really clever," she said. He smiled. She took a few gulps and put the lid back on, handing it back to him. He tucked it away in his bag. The coolness of the water soothed her throat; her head felt a little clearer.

"Are you ill?" Marcus asked, deep brown eyes full of concern. "I can walk you back to the common room, if you'd like. I'll find someone else to patrol with me."

"No." Lily shook her head. "I'll be okay. I'm just…" She didn't know what she was. Tired? It sounded so trite.

When it became clear she wasn't going to finish the sentence, he spoke again. "O.W.L year is very challenging," he said. "It puts a buffalo on everyone's chest. And with the responsibilities of being a prefect as well, there's never a moment to rest."

"I'd be okay if I could just get a decent sleep," Lily said, massaging her face. Marcus thumbed his chin.

"What do you think is causing it? Do you stay up very late? Consume a lot of caffeine? Most people don't consider the caffeine levels in chocolate, but it can certainly make a difference."

"No," Lily said. "I mean, no more than anyone else." She looked at the ground. "I have nightmares."

"Oh," said Marcus. Lily prayed he wouldn't ask more about it. "You could ask for a vial of Dreamless Sleep from Madam Pomfrey, perhaps. Not for everyday use, but if some days are worse than others…" Marcus took a deep breath, and Lily looked up at him. There was something strange in his eyes, something…sad. "My mother has a prescription for it," he said, after a long while. "It helps her, but it's difficult, too."

Lily rubbed her lips together, feeling the middle where they were chapped. He had volunteered personal information, but she didn't know whether she ought to.

"Thank you," she said, finally. "For looking out for me. For the water."

"Of course," he said. "Anyone would." They sat in silence a little longer, and then Lily groaned, remembering.

"We have that meeting this afternoon, with Alice and Frank, don't we?" she said, face falling.

"Yes, at four. For the fundraiser." Lily's dreams of an afternoon snooze were dashed. She hunched over, staring at the floor, hair falling around her face. "Did she ask you who you are going with?" Marcus asked, in a slightly different voice. "Apparently she wants to arrange the table properly. Ensure that we all get along."

"Yes," Lily groaned. Alice seemed to have made it her personal mission to ensure all six prefects had the best time possible, which Lily appreciated, but all the same, it had made for endless conversations.

"You don't need to worry," Marcus said, a touch of lightness to his voice. "I haven't a partner either. I was thinking, actually, that it would make the most sense if the prefects went together. Then Alice wouldn't need to arrange additional chairs, and we know that we all get along." He'd misunderstood. Lily grimaced and explained.

"I would go with Remus, but I do have a partner already. I'm going with Glen Vane – he's one of the Ravenclaw prefects, he's in my year?" Going with Remus might have been simpler, come to think of it, but – well – Glen had asked her. And he was nice. She wasn't going to turn him down for no good reason.

"Oh," said Marcus. "I – I believe I know of him." Lily frowned at the tone of his voice, and lifted her head, looking at him.

"That doesn't mean your idea was rubbish, though, it makes sense," she said quickly. "I don't know if Laura has a partner yet, the two of you could go together, and then it's only me and Remus adding people to the table." Marcus opened his mouth, shut it, and nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose I could ask her."

Hard footsteps and panting breath interrupted their conversation. A dishevelled second-year ran down the corridor and skidded to a halt.

"Oh, thank Merlin!" he exclaimed. "You're prefects, right?" They both had the badge on, so there was no use denying it. "Could you come down to the Lake?" Lily and Marcus stood unquestioningly.

"What's going on?" Lily asked, fixing her ponytail.

"Well," the boy said, screwing up his face, "we don't know how it happened, really, we didn't mean it! It was completely an accident. We're really sorry…."

Apparently, everyone in Hogwarts had lost their minds today.

---

February 9th, 1976

"- because it's a brilliant idea, and the sooner we can figure it out, the happier we'll be, I reckon." James finished his speech and dusted off his hands, looking down at them all. Remus, Sirius, and Peter sat on a bench by the entrance to the North Tower, where they had stopped in pursuit of Peter (who was en route to his Divination lesson) so that James could make his final stand. Remus sat on Peter's right and Sirius on his left, acting as henchmen of a sort. Remus looked sideways at Peter as they awaited his response.

"I do think it's a good idea," Peter agreed, and James made a face that seemed to say, 'no shit!'. "I'm just – well, there's no one whose notes I can borrow if I miss this lesson."

Sirius gave him a blank look. "It's Divination."

"I know," said Peter, confused.

"If you've learned anything, you should be able to shut your eyes and predict what she's going to teach you. Then you don't miss anything," Sirius said. James laughed, and Remus ducked his head as he chuckled, trying not to laugh too openly at Peter's expense.

"You're a prick, Black!"

"Fuck off."

"But you'll come with us, won't you?" James said, ruffling his hair. "Once we've got this all done, we can nip down to the kitchens and nick some food." Remus looked at James curiously.

"How long do you think this will take?" he asked. James shrugged.

"Dunno. We're really clever, so maybe…ah, an hour, on the outside?"

"Oh," said Remus. "Right." They were going to figure out how to hoodwink what was possibly the most powerful building in Great Britain in under an hour and the nip down to the kitchens for an afternoon snack. Why not?

"So Pete," James said, returning to the matter at hand. "You're in?"

"Come on, Wormy," Sirius said, nudging him. Peter looked to Remus, who merely raised his eyebrows.

"You're a prefect, Moony," Peter said. "Shouldn't you be encouraging me to go to class?"

Remus sighed. "I should be, yes."

"But?" said Sirius. Remus tried to give him a serious look, but failed dismally and pointed his smile to his shoes.

"Well, I think there's some educational value to be found in figuring out how to fuck up one's mind so severely that sentient buildings enchanted by probably the greatest sorcerers of all time can't detect your consciousness," Remus said. "And honestly, I'm intrigued to see how long you can spend in the library before getting kicked out when you actually want to be there."

"Oi, we didn't get kicked out the other day," James protested.

"No, because you spent about all of five minutes in the library and promptly contracted bladder infections that meant you were required by law to go for a stroll every twenty seconds."

"Every forty seconds," Sirius corrected. "It was just that James happened to get the infection twenty seconds before I did."

"So why'd you go together?" Remus asked. Sirius exhaled a short laugh, but hesitated long enough that Remus noticed it.

"Gentlemen never tell," James interrupted, reaching forward to pull Peter up off the seat. "Come on, we gotta get to the library before the Ravenclaw bastards do." Remus processed that sentence. He would've been less surprised if Severus Snape ran up to them and begged for forgiveness. James swirled around and lead the way, cloak billowing.

"I think he got hit by a curse," Sirius said, making to follow. "Addled his brains."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" said Peter. "We just find out what it is and then use that on ourselves when we're trying to map the castle."

"I think the spell's called 'determination'," Remus said, joining Sirius and Peter and starting their journey to the library.

"No," Peter said sadly. "I've tried that. I think Distractius Mindus works better."

"We should try that incantation," Sirius said, smirking. "You never know."

"Sure, we'll try it on you," Remus offered. Sirius made a rude gesture.

They hurried through the halls, trying to match James' quick pace, and nearly barrelled over Amy Brown and some Slytherin in the process. James flung himself into the library (Remus caught the closing door) and planted himself at a table in the far corner, where Remus, Sirius, and Peter joined him.

"Do you think it'll storm?" Sirius asked hopefully, looking out the window.

"It's only drizzling," Remus said, putting a hand against the glass. Rivulets of water ran down the window, disappearing behind his outstretched fingers, and mist shrouded the distant mountains from their view.

"We'll get a storm soon," James said confidently, pressing his nose to the glass. "It'll come."

"Why do you want a storm so badly?" Remus asked curiously. Sirius shrugged.

"They're cool," he said. "All the lightning and the thunder rolling in. It's beautiful." James snorted.

"Beautiful?" He thumped Sirius with his shoulder. Sirius thumped back.

"Fuck off. The only thing you think is beautiful is your reflection."

"Oi, says you!"

"Children," Remus interrupted. "This is only supposed to take an hour."

"An hour when I'm meant to be in Divination," Peter said glumly. "You don't think Professor Nicholl will give me detention, do you?"

"Who cares?" said Sirius. "It's only detention."

"They're not that bad if you get a good supervisor," James added.

"I don't have that luck," Peter said, laying his hands on the table and putting his chin on them.

"An hour," Remus repeated, just to give James and Sirius a challenge. If they really figured this out in an hour, Remus was going to eat his hat. And their school hats were by no means small.

"Right," said James, cracking his knuckles. "Before we go looking at books or anything boring, we should have a think here. It'll save us time if we come up with something and go looking for only that thing." He drummed his hands on the table. "So. Ideas on how to confuse the living magic out of the castle?"

They lapsed into silence, thinking. Peter was the first to speak.

"What if we got really drunk? Just one of us, and then the other three sort of, erm, make sure the drunk person does the map." Remus rubbed the back of his neck. James pushed his fingers through his hair and held his head.

"Maybe," he said half-heartedly. "Drunk and high?" Peter nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, both, that's a good idea." But neither of them continued on with it. Remus tried to think. What would work? It was difficult to know when they couldn't pinpoint how strong the castle's magic was in this area. How many layers of enchantments did they have to fool? Was it as simple as just keeping their mind off the topic at hand? It had worked so far, and they'd successfully mapped bits and pieces of the castle in vague lines, though the scale was often off – a product of the four of them doing it at various times with no real measure of the distance save for their steps and what they just about thought. The map called for more precision if it was to be accurate, but Remus was uncertain if that could be achieved if they would be attempting to make the mapper (cartographer, he corrected himself) mentally deficient in order to get past the school's wards.

"The Imperius Curse would do it," Sirius said, finally, sweeping his dark hair off his face. "The person doing the mapping wouldn't be actively thinking about it. They'd just be following a command. And if the castle's magic targeted the person thinking about the mapping, it wouldn't necessarily interrupt the command, so the victim would be able to continue. It would only be if the castle's magic broke the curse. We'd need to cast a curse powerful enough to embed the command in the victim's mind even after the caster finishes the spell." Remus stared at Sirius for a long moment, as did the others. How do you know so much about an Unforgivable? They'd studied them in class, of course, but only really their name, incantation, and effect. Not the complexities.

"Yeah, but we can't do that," James said, breaking the silence. "That's dark magic, mate." His voice was light, but Remus could see a twinge of disgust in his face.

"We'd be expelled if we were caught," Remus added quietly. Sirius shrugged.

"Yeah. But it would work," he said. "It can hoodwink powerful enchantments. But it's dark magic. Fucked up shit."

"They reckon that Voldemort's using them, or will be soon," James said, leaning back in his chair. "Mum and Dad told me they got a pamphlet about it the other day, from the Ministry."

"Mine too," said Peter. Remus had not heard from his parents in three weeks, not since he had recovered from the last full moon. "They're meant to be on the lookout for if people start acting weirdly. Missing appointments or forgetting dates."

Sirius said nothing. Peter shifted in his seat. James blew out a breath and looked out the window.

"The idea is legitimate," Remus said, breaking the silence. "I think a spell will work better than a potion. First of all, potions are expensive, where spells are free -"

"I'll order a potion if we need it," James said. "I don't mind, honestly." I do. He knew most of everything was pocket change to the Potters, but he didn't like being bankrolled by them. It set his teeth on edge.

"Spells are also more easily controlled than potions," Remus continued. "If we want the effect to finish, we stop casting the spell. If something goes wrong, we stop casting it. And it's much less suspicious if we were practising spells on each other and something went wrong and we need to go to Madam Pomfrey than that we ordered a potion from somewhere, downed it, and now it's damaged our brains."

"Damaged our brains?" Peter repeated. "I don't want to end up on the Spell Damage ward!"

"You're not going to end up on the Spell Damage ward," James said. "We're not incompetent."

"Nah, we aren't," Sirius agreed. "But yes, I think we should use a spell." They fell silent, thinking, and then Peter looked up with a frown.

"Well – I don't know – this might be stupid," he started, "but, erm – is there a reason we can't just use the Confundus Charm?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. That could work," James said, and he clapped Peter on the shoulder. "Nice thinking, Pete." Peter's face lit up.

"Oh, well – I was just thinking, I mean, that's the simple option! – And if we start there – I mean, I don't know, I just thought, I was thinking, why not try that?" he babbled, straightening up.

"Look what you've done, James, you've encouraged him," Sirius said. Remus rolled his eyes.

"I'd rather him encourage Peter than encourage you," Remus said. Sirius stared at him for a moment, then hit him in the shoulder.

"Traitor!" Remus rubbed the sore spot. It hurt rather more than it ought to.

"That should be in one of the N.E.W.T textbooks," he said, after considering the matter. "I believe it's typically taught in sixth year. I can find it for us." James raised a single finger.

"Not yet," he said. "I want to do both at once."

"It shouldn't be difficult to enchant a dot to move around," Sirius said. "We stick our names on it, add in our classes and when we have breakfast, lunch, Quidditch practise, everything else, and it's done. Won't be hard to add the teachers on there if we can figure out their classes." Remus stared at him incredulously.

"Sirius," he said. "We have to embed the time – an accurate clock – into a piece of parchment. Multiple pieces of parchment, actually, until we link it all together." Sirius shrugged.

"They do it with diaries," he said. "We're smarter than any tosser that ends up stuck enchanting diaries for a living." Isn't it fortunate that you have the luxury of paid work being beneath you? Remus thought, but he didn't say anything.

"So shall I look for a book encouraging people to go into the diary-making field?" Remus asked, raising a brow.

"There'll be something on time magic," James said confidently. "Go to one of the weird sections."

"Weird section," Remus repeated solemnly. "Understood."

"Good. Now off you go, shoo!" Sirius said, flicking his hands towards him. Remus shook his head, smiling into his chest as he stood, and left them for the shelves.

The first book, as predicted, was not difficult to find. There were half a dozen copies of each required (as well as formerly-required and a century-outdated) textbook, and all of the senior textbooks mentioned the Confundus Charm. Remus grabbed one that seemed to have a reasonably thorough explanation and then headed to the stranger sections. Time, time, where were the books on time? The Hogwarts Library was very thorough, which was excellent in some ways – he knew, somewhere in the stacks, there would be the book he required – but also meant that you could spend the whole day searching and never find what you wanted. After nearly ten minutes, he dropped back to the table his friends sat at.

"This has Confundus," he told them. "I'm still looking for the other book."

"Right," said James. "Well, cheers, mate."

"Cheers, Moony," Sirius echoed.

"Thaank youu Mooony," Peter said.

"Mmm," Remus hummed. "You're welcome." He set off once more. Of course, he was always the one doing this sort of thing, but he couldn't begrudge it too much. If any of the others tried, they'd never get anything done. It was about playing to their strengths. It was why Peter usually was their lookout, and why Sirius and James did most of the spellwork and pulled off the largest stunts. So Remus was the researcher.

What a thrill.

Eventually, he went to the index cards, and found that the section on Time Magic (which looked quite limited) lay in the Mysteries section, which really didn't imbue him with a lot of hope. He dragged himself over and found a small selection of books covered in dust. He grabbed as many as he could carry: 'Time and Time Again: A Review of Early 20th Century Approaches to Understanding Time'; 'The Ticking Clock'; 'To Our Near Future, Love Our Near Past'; 'Zero to One-Hundred by the Short Path; and 'Modern Developments in Traveling Through Time: 1850-1900'. Remus didn't particularly care for traveling through time – he had no beautiful future promised to him if he could just get older – but he couldn't be certain which sort of book would have the information they needed. Balancing the stack carefully, he went back to his friends.

"We can start with these," he said, dumping them on the table. The top two fell off their pile, skidding across the table. Sirius picked one up.

"Could this really teach us how to time-travel?" Sirius said, flipping it over. "I'd like to go forward to my mother's untimely demise, please."

"You'd go forward, I'd go backward," Remus said, sitting down, thinking. If he could go back….but how could he, as a small child, stop a werewolf? What could he do to prevent it? He would have to rely on luck, that the monster who turned him went to another child, another house… Going back would be a roll of the dice to decide if someone else was condemned to Remus' fate.

No, time travel would not be in his future (nor his past).

"Moony," Peter interrupted, pushing a book towards him. "Do we use the Charm or the Hex?"

"Hm?" Remus read the text. Indeed, there were two spells with much the same effect – the Confundus Charm and the Confusion Hex. The Confundus Charm was taught first and was simpler to use, though its effect was variable dependent on the power of the caster, and would ultimately allow them more control. They would have to work on getting it to where they wanted, however, Remus thought. The Confusion Hex was more difficult to learn but once they had it, would efficiently produce a moderate amount of confusion. It found more use in duels than in stealth operations, the book told him.

"I thought the Charm," Sirius added. Remus nodded.

"I think so," he agreed. "We'll be able to start sooner, though we'll need to build up the effect. I know you'll all enjoy more homework."

"It's not homework," James chided. "It's fun. Don't make it into something boring."

"Fine," Remus said. "We'll have to practise it as part of our happy fun-times."

"Settled, then," said James. "Take a copy of it?" Remus reached into his bag and pulled out his wand.

"Geminio." Fortunately, there was not a copyright curse in place, so Remus could make a copy of the book's page. He shut the book and carefully folded and tucked the page into his bag.

After that, they peered in the books about time, searching for something that would allow them to enchant an object to match a clock. They could tie it, Remus thought, to one of the clocks at the school.

"Why not the big clock?" James suggested. "That makes the most sense. And it's not hard to get right up in the gears and everything, we can just go up the tower." Sirius threw down a book with a huff.

"This is a load of shit," he said. "Nothing about how to use the magic, just wondering what magic they might come up with. Fucking rubbish."

"Go find something else, then," Remus said. Sirius kicked his foot under the table, which tightened Remus' stomach for a strange second.

"Get it for me?" Sirius flitted his eyebrows teasingly. "Go on, Moony."

"Don't push me around," Remus protested, but he was already on his feet. Sirius held up a hand.

"Fine," he said. "I'll do it." Remus hesitated a moment, not believing his ears, but then Sirius had his wand out.

"No-"

"Siri -"

"Si-!"

"Accio books about time!" Remus thought for a moment that they were safe. Surely the spell wouldn't work with such a vague request –

Three dozen books flung themselves from their shelves and hurtled towards the corner the four boys occupied. Peter yelped; James shouted. Sirius reached out his hand, as if expecting the perfect text to fly into his grasp. Remus threw his arms over his face and turned, making himself narrow. The books hit them like hexes. A hardcover slammed into Remus' ribs. It knocked the breath from him and he stumbled to one side, gasping. Pelt! Pelt! Pelt! Silence. Remus waited before lowering his arms and taking in the damage. Peter crouched under the desk, James' face was naked without his glasses, and Sirius held a book in his hand, smiling. Books littered the table and the floor around them. Other students snickered.

"This," Madam Pince hissed, descending on them furiously. Remus snatched his bag up and slung it over his shoulder, knowing what was to come. "This is why you do not use the Summoning Charm in the library! Look at the damage you have done! Out, all of you, out! Give me that!" She ripped the book out of Sirius' hand. Sirius' face fell into a fearsome glare. "Go! Gryffindors – I'll be speaking to Professor McGonagall!" She narrowed her eyes. "Potter, isn't it?"

"No," James said. "It's McLaggen, actually." Remus shut his eyes. James and McLaggen had an approximate height in common and that was it.

"Liar! Out, out, out!" They scrambled as she enchanted the books to flap furiously behind them, snapping at their backs. People laughed openly. James and Sirius slowed to swagger, but Remus and Peter hurried out. Remus didn't need to make a show of it. The four of them tumbled into the corridor outside. The library doors slammed behind them.

"Well," said James, running his fingers through his hair. "We got the first bit done, didn't we?"

"Out of curiosity, James, what's the time?" Remus asked mildly. James checked his watch, squinting. His glasses hung from the neck of his robes, one lens shattered.

"Two forty," James said. Then his face darted upwards indignantly. "Oi! Forty minutes this time, not five!"

"It appears I underestimated you," Remus allowed, grinning.

"That means I have ten minutes left of Divination," Peter frowned, wringing his hands. "What if someone sees us?"

"It's fine, Wormy," Sirius said. "Come on, boys. Let's go to the Kitchens."

And so the four of them headed off with one problem solved.

---

February 10th, 1976

In the beginning, there was nothing but the emptiness of the end of the world. It was, approximately, what one would see if they shut their eyes and then covered their eyes with their hand. Darkness, yes, but not blackness. Something fuzzy. Nothing was her canvas.

She pulled in a deep breath, remembering, for a moment, then letting it go. She was not supposed to remember, or to think. She had to make.

Her balled fists shook.

With an effort that knocked the air from her lungs, Dorcas Meadowes Saw.

A brown, wooden box, undecorated, unblemished. Horizontal grain. Sharp edges. Untouched. It opened on iron hinges, like a jewellery box, where it was cut through the middle. What lay inside was unknown. Where this box was, how old it was, who had made it – they were all unknowable concepts. There was only the box. Rectangular, but not overly so, more of a thin square than anything.

She woke, gasping, staring at the painted ceiling of the Divination classroom at the very top of the North Tower.

"Dorcas," breathed Professor Nicholl, crouched at her side. A dull ache cupped the back of Dorcas' head, but the pain was not overwhelming – she had landed on a bed of pink and red cushions. She would've started laying down, as to prevent a fall, if not for the worry that she would've fallen asleep rather than gone into the recesses of her mind.

Professor Nicholl offered her a cup of tea, and Dorcas sipped at it, sitting up. A fire burned gently in the hearth, and the pale, pinkish light of late afternoon snuck in through the gauzy curtains. Her heart pounded against her chest as if she had run from Hogsmeade Station to the Astronomy Tower and back. She tried to breathe slowly, but a sort of panic fluttered in her stomach whenever she thought too much about her body.

Professor Nicholl climbed onto the cushions and sat cross-legged, reaching up and taking her own teacup from her desk, which stood behind them. Dorcas felt her gaze, but did not lift her eyes to meet it. Instead, she stared at the hem of her robes, watching as it rose and fell as she breathed.

"How are you feeling?" asked Professor Nicholl, after an age. Dorcas still did not look up.

"Well," she said, shrugging very slightly. The ache in her head resided, and her breathing started to return to normal. "Tired, maybe."

"We can stop here," Professor Nicholl assured her, checking a bronze pocket watch. "We've only fifteen minutes left in any case." Dorcas nodded to show that she'd heard, because she knew people tended to get very strange if you didn't acknowledge them. Her cup was still three-quarters full, and she wondered how badly she would need the bathroom if she drained it all by the end of their time together.

Professor Nicholl set her cup back on her desk. Dorcas watched her through the dark, tight curls that shaded her face. Professor Nicholl looked back at her, and Dorcas dropped her eyes once more.

"How did you go?" the teacher asked slowly. Dorcas did not want any more tea, but she knew it would be rude not to finish it, so she took another sip. There was nothing wrong with the drink – it was a type she usually enjoyed – but at that moment, any flavour felt like too much.

"I think I Saw," Dorcas said, gently swirling the brown liquid in her cup. "The box, again."

"That's good," Professor Nicholl said warmly. "The box is good. That's the beginning of it, that's the first step in mastering Skill Seven." Dorcas knew this already, but nodded again to show she was listening. "Once you can create this box – you should be able to open it and begin storing memories in there. Nothing big, of course, just something small…accessible to you but much more difficult for others." Professor Nicholl sighed. "This must be frustrating for you, with our progress being so slow. Of course, there's always the guerrilla method, but that's a nightmare for student and teacher both. It's exposing. If we were under time pressure…" She checked her pocket watch once more. "But the Headmaster believes there are no such constraints on us for now."

If she was being perfectly honest, Dorcas did not completely understand why she was learning the skills of Occlumency. She enjoyed it, of course – it was very difficult, but each step closer she took to mastering it, the hungrier she got to learn it all – and she was thankful that Professor Nicholl had decided to extend her studies beyond the confines of the classroom, and that she believed Dorcas was uniquely suited to learn, to prepare for whatever was coming – but Dorcas did not see how anything that was coming would have anything to do with her. She read the newspaper most days, and yes, it steadily got worse, and more people disappeared, but Dorcas was not a muggle nor a muggle-born nor from a large family of so-called 'blood traitors'. Who, she wondered, would ever be targeting her and trying to read her mind?

If they did read her mind, for whatever reason, they would find very little of interest, Dorcas thought. She was what people considered to be a 'dull' person. She attended her lessons, she patrolled when required, she went to meetings of the Charms and Astronomy Clubs and to study sessions and to tutor Mary Macdonald. The only mildly surprising thing would be the role that Florence Diggory played with her in private.

And then, who would care? Maybe it wasn't…common…but how did it impact anyone else?

"I think we should leave it there, for today," Professor Nicholl said, standing up. Dorcas frowned at her teacup, which stubbornly remained very close to full. She braced, preparing mentally, and lifted it to her lips. She drank until it was drained entirely, and then she stood. "Oh. I didn't realise you were so thirsty."

Dorcas awkwardly put the cup on the desk. "Yes. Sorry. Thank you, Professor, for the lesson today, and for the tea."

She left the Divination classroom through the trapdoor, and made her way down the spiral staircase of the North Tower as the sun dipped lower behind the mountains. Her bookbag bulged as she made her way to the Great Hall, full with not only the Occlumency and Legilimency books she'd been reading, but also her texts and equipment from the two classes she'd had prior to the meeting. There was no time for Dorcas to reach her dormitory before dinner, so she carried her things into the Hall and tucked it neatly beneath her seat. She sat, of course, next to Cynthia and two up from Florence, who had Glen Vane on her other side. Dorcas was a minute late, and a flush crept into her cheeks as she looked up to the High Table. She adjusted her hat – which they were supposed to wear for all dinners, though people never did – and lowered her eyes to her empty plate. If not for the jingle of the bells on Professor Nicholl's purple cloak as she walked between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, Dorcas would not have realised that her teacher was several minutes late – in fact, she was the last of the teachers to arrive. Dorcas' stomach turned.

The Headmaster stood. The Hall fell silent, looking up at him.

"Our Caretaker has requested that I remind you not to antagonise the ghosts," he said. "I also ask this of you. Hogwarts is their home as much as it is yours. Furthermore, while some of them may have a propensity for making mischief, we would ask you not to encourage them, please." He looked in a certain direction as he spoke, and Dorcas (like most in the Great Hall) turned to look at Peeves, who blew a raspberry and did a somersault. Most of the Gryffindor table laughed. They turned their attention back to the Headmaster, who smiled.

"That is all for this evening. You may eat." He gestured, and food appear on the dishes and platters in the middle of the tables. Dorcas reached for a bread roll.

"I know it seems like a long shot," Branton Bellchant, who sat opposite Cynthia, said as conversation started again, "but we can beat Slytherin. We can. We've been training harder than anyone, we have the best strategies of any team – take the Gryffindors, for example, what techniques do they use? Wood's a good keeper, but ninety percent, I'm telling you, ninety percent of what they do is showboating. It's the same with the Slytherins. They get too caught up with how it looks."

"I think we'll win," Cynthia said earnestly. Dorcas began buttering her bread roll, having very limited interest in quidditch.

Instead, she leaned back ever so slightly to look at Florence.

Florence shook out her dark hair and laughed at something Glen Vane had said to her. Across from them was a pretty girl Dorcas vaguely recognised, as well as the captain of the Ravenclaw team, sixth-year Elphias Gamp. He leaned over to Branton and began chatting away about quidditch to him and Cynthia. Florence had not even said hello to Dorcas as she entered. That was a sign that something was wrong, wasn't it? In every fiction book Dorcas had ever read, not talking to someone meant there was a problem. She returned to her dinner, biting into the bread roll, and tried to ignore the strange feeling in her stomach.

The usual tutorial in the common room followed dinner, and Dorcas had a chance to exchange the books she had for ones more relevant and to set her soiled cloak and gloves in her washing basket, though there was no time to change clothes. Her sweaty robes scratched against her skin, and she set her jaw as she went down the stairs, trying to ignore it.

Every session, different students came, though Dorcas, in her role as a prefect, attended all of them. That night, there were only twenty of them. Florence and Cynthia were not present, and nor was Branton Bellchant, though Glen Vane sat with Moult and Walker, the sixth-year prefects. Dorcas could not remember them telling her about an event. Perhaps they had not wanted her to go, or knew she wouldn't miss the session to go with them. Still, it baffled her that they would miss something as important as this. She supposed their end-of-term exams were still several weeks away. Nevertheless, they had been inundated with homework and assignments, and Dorcas did not see what else they'd have to be doing when so much schoolwork awaited them.

"Alright," said Deepnita Varma, the female seventh-year prefect. "What do we need help with today? If we can find a subject or two we'd all like to work on…" She began taking suggestions. Dorcas was content to work on whichever class the others suggested.

"Was it really strange, seeing people from other schools?" one girl asked, when Varma called on her to suggest a subject. Varma laughed. She had left the school over the weekend to attend a Transfiguration competition, which she had not won but came second in. The silver medal hung from a cabinet in pride of place by the hearth.

"It was interesting, not strange," Varma said. "I think it helps to contextualise Hogwarts, when you see what else is out there."

In the end, they worked on Charms, which suited Dorcas just fine. After an hour or so they packed up, and Dorcas went upstairs to her dormitory. Florence lounged on her bed, curtains open, already in a silk nightgown.

"I didn't see you before I left," Dorcas said, kneeling by her trunk to put her things away. She and Florence were alone in the dormitory. Florence slipped a creamy, floral-patterned bookmark into the novel she read and set it on her bedside table. Dorcas had never heard of it before – the text on the cover read, 'Valley of the Dolls'.

"No, I came in after the group had started," Florence replied, sitting up. Her dark hair spilled over her creamy shoulders, and the nightgown clung tightly to her hips. Dorcas found it difficult to focus on neatly packing her things away.

"I didn't see you," she said, trying to keep her tone even and acceptable. Dorcas often found herself unobservant to the comings and goings of people, but she rarely missed the comings and goings of Florence Diggory. An inability to breathe was usually a symptom of Florence's presence, whether she consciously realised the other girl was there or not.

"No, I didn't want to distract you. I snuck," Florence told her. A lump swelled in Dorcas' throat. She selected a pair of comfortable pyjamas and folded them carefully before standing up. Florence slid her feet off the bed. "Where are you going?" she asked. "Nobody else is around. Cynthia's on her date with Branton, you remember? Kenna's helping Professor Sprout with something, and Rose…" Florence trailed off, and Dorcas had the sense she was supposed to be inferencing something, but she couldn't think what. "Well, we all know what Rose gets up to."

"Mm," Dorcas agreed. "I'm going for a shower. I'll only be a minute."

"Oh, good. I'm just getting sick of this book, you know. Rather dreary." It looked well-thumbed, in Dorcas' opinion, but she couldn't think why Florence would lie about it, so took her at her word. "I'd be glad of some company."

"Okay," Dorcas said. She hugged the clothes close to her and looked at the door to the bathroom. "Erm…I'm just going to, erm, shower. Then we can spend time together."

"Perfect," Florence said. Dorcas nodded quickly and headed into the bathroom.

Showers, she often heard, were some sort of mystical thing designed to wash away your worries, but this wasn't her experience. Sometimes, she could feel each droplet on her skin, like pins pricking into her, and washing her hair – well, that was a nightmare. She dreaded it. Nobody could ever tell her exactly how long to leave the conditioner in for, or how long it was supposed to take to wash out shampoo, and her fingers were often wrinkled and her mind severely waterlogged by the time she stepped out. The girls in her dormitory had often been cross with her at first for taking so long, but now they knew what she was like and shook their heads, laughing at her for being so precious about it. She didn't meant to be precious about it. It was just how it was. Of course, now that she'd been conferred a badge and a title, she could use the Prefects' Bathroom, but she was not comfortable slipping into the pool-like tub in case someone came in. She supposed that there were shower stalls in there, but she didn't fancy carrying all her things down and up multiple flights of stairs. There were too many steps. It was too overwhelming.

She dried herself off ferociously (she hated the feeling of being damp) and stepped out into the dormitory. Florence smiled at her.

"You were only ten minutes. I take it you didn't wash your hair?"

"You were waiting on me," Dorcas mumbled. She put her dirty clothes in the basket and then sat on her bed, arranging her pillows to prop herself up. Florence groaned.

"Don't sit all the way over there," she said, patting a space next to her. "Come on." Oh. Dorcas padded across the floor and climbed into the proffered spot, pulse quickening. Florence smiled at her with a twist of her pink lips, and leaned over to pull the bronze tassels that hung from the bedframe. With a tug, the rich blue curtains closed around them. Florence took her wand from beside her. "Lumos," she whispered, and they were lit by wandlight.

Predictably, Dorcas could not breathe.

Florence smiled wider, and her blue eyes were full and luminous. Dorcas was aware of every inch of bare skin on display, so white that the blue veins beneath were easily visible. Cautiously, she moved her hand closer. Florence took it. Dorcas always liked the look of it, their hands together, intertwined. It made her feel like they were in a painting. She traced circles over Florence's knuckles. Her thoughts slowed. There was something she was supposed to ask…what was it?

"At dinner," Dorcas murmured, remembering. "You didn't – you didn't say hello."

"Oh." Florence frowned. "Well, Glen was yabbering away – you know how he is – I thought you were talking to Cynthia and Branton and Elphias, and you know I can never say the right things when it comes to quidditch." She lowered her voice. "Personally, I think Slytherin are going to thrash us, but I'm hardly going to say that."

"You should," Dorcas told her. "You should always say whatever you feel." That was the point, wasn't it? Dorcas was no good at playing parts. What was the point in lying when you could tell the truth? What more was there to life than finding out the truth?

"Do you want to know what I feel right now?" Florence asked, drawing her face closer.

"Of course."

"I feel like I really like you," Florence said. Dorcas moved forward, until their faces were almost touching.

"I really like you," she said, honestly. Then, being brave: "Sometimes all I think about is you, Florence. Sometimes I feel like you consume me." Florence's expression flickered, but Dorcas could not read it.

"Prove it," she dared.

Dorcas kissed her. Florence kissed back, soft and then firmer, wanting, probing. Dorcas could not think; there was nothing in the world but the girl in front of her, whose hand was curled around hers, whose arm snaked around her neck, whose fingers grasped the curls of her hair. If Florence had been the box, Dorcas would never have had trouble with Occlumency. This, she thought, was the truth of it all. The truth of her heart. Nothing compared. In the past, she had been obsessed with a number of things - the history of the Hogwarts Express, the categorisation of beings, tessomancy, Pluto, and collecting quills – but none of them had ever been half as intoxicating as Florence Diggory.

Soon, in the way it usually went (not that Dorcas was complaining), Florence was on her back beneath her and stretching out the length of her neck. Dorcas leaned down, eager.

Click.

The door to the dormitory opened.

Dorcas froze, hovering above Florence, but the other girl pulled herself out from beneath, smoothing down her hair. Four footsteps across the floor.

"Flo?" It was Kenna Macdougal's voice. "You alright? You're in bed early." Florence put a finger to her lips, looking at Dorcas, and then called out.

"Oh, I've got a headache! If you could just be a bit quiet…"

"Oh, that's crap! Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey?" A trunk, presumably Kenna's, opened.

"I think it'll be okay, I just need some quiet…I need to get some rest."

"Okay. I might go downstairs then, I have an essay to finish up. Do you need anything?"

"Oh….no, I think I'll just rest."

"Alright. Look after yourself." The trunk shut. Four footsteps, then the door opened and shut.

A moment passed, then two, then Florence laughed.

"Oh, thank god," she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Then she leaned forward, touching her lips to Dorcas'. But Dorcas pulled back.

"You lied to her, again," she said simply. The inner corners of her eyes began to prickle, and she blinked it back. Just as she usually did.

"I know," Florence sighed. And then, a smirk. "Do you want me to lay down again?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows.

Here, the usual response was 'yes'.

In its place, Dorcas closed one hand into a soft fist, looking down. "When are we going to tell them?" she asked.

"Hm?" Florence frowned, brows almost meeting. She brushed her finger against Dorcas' thumb.

"I just figure, once they know, we can just ask them to leave us be," Dorcas said, growing a little more assertive with each word. "Instead of having to lie about it."

"Dorcas," Florence said, and Dorcas knew that tone. "What am I meant to say? They'd get the wrong idea, you know they would. It'd be awful. I don't want them to think that, not when it's not true. This," she said, taking both of Dorcas hands, "this is good. This is easy. It's uncomplicated. I don't know why you want to go and just make it all impossible."

"What don't you want them to think?" Dorcas asked, nearing the heart of the issue. Florence opened and shut her pretty mouth.

"You know," Florence said. "Don't make me say it. Don't play stupid, it doesn't suit you, you're clever and we both know it." Dorcas pulled her hands away, though anxiety pulled at the strings of her heart. She's going to think that you hate her. She's going to hate you and then you will never, ever get to kiss her or anyone ever again, and everyone will hate you, and you'll lose her. Just let it be!

"You'd rather it be easy than truthful," Dorcas said. Florence huffed, and let go of her hands.

"Is that wrong?" she asked, leaning down to look Dorcas in the eyes. "This is good. It's simple. It's not like this is – it's not like other people's…arrangements. You know, people say all sorts about Rose and it's not easy for her either, do you want to be in that position? Because I don't. And I know you're fine with being on your own, or something, but I like being liked, and I like getting asked to dances and I like boys, and if they get the wrong idea, then I lose all of that." Florence sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. "Why do you have to make this so difficult?"

"Someone asked you to the dance?" Dorcas asked, stupidly, because that was what had been implied and in hindsight, it didn't need clarification. But she had thought…she knew Cynthia was going with Branton, but that was different, he'd asked her on a date and she'd accepted and Cynthia had been in love with him (or so she said) for weeks. Florence, however, did not go on dates with anyone.

Unless this was a date.

But in any case, Dorcas had assumed she and Florence would be attending the Gryffindor fundraiser dance as friends.

Florence looked down.

"I meant to tell you. I was going to – tomorrow – it only happened after dinner." Dorcas stared at her.

"Who?" she asked. "A boy?"

"Of course a boy," Florence snapped. She inhaled deeply and sat back on her heels. "You know Perseus Padgett, from Slytherin."

Not all rumours reached Dorcas' ears, but some were impossible to ignore.

"I know his reputation," she said, feeling dizzy. "That's why you were late. That's – that's why you think Slytherin's going to win."

"No, I think Slytherin's going to win because they're in the lead and Ravenclaw is at the very bottom," Florence said. "And his reputation has been blown out of proportion, frankly, but even if it isn't – he's discrete, isn't he? Nobody hears about the girls unless they have reputations themselves. You only hear about him."

"But-" Dorcas did not give a damn about Florence's reputation, in all truth. "I wouldn't do that." She couldn't even imagine it. She could not stand there in itchy robes dancing with some strange boy while Florence was elsewhere, beautiful and smiling and smelling of flowers.

Florence folded her arms across her chest.

"Well, maybe you should," she said quietly. "You're not – boys would ask you, I could put a word in for you. Varma's nice – or even Enfield? What about Cresswell, he's an odd fish, a fourth-year, but he's very smart – he's in the Slug Club. Mind you, so's Stebbins, but his acne can be…"

"I don't want to go with Varma or Enfield or Cresswell or Stebbins," Dorcas said hotly. "I don't want to go with anyone, actually. The only person in the entire world I would want to go with-" her eyes prickled again, and she turned her head. "Well." She inhaled, preparing to continue, but she could not. A thickness choked her words.

"Oh, Dorcas." Dorcas turned her head away, but Florence rested her hand on the back of her neck, twining a finger through the curls at her nape. "Come on," she said, moving closer to pull her into a hug. "Come on, don't be like this. We were having such a lovely time. Come on." Dorcas squeezed her eyes shut as Florence hugged her. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Dorcas didn't look at her, because she knew the moment she saw Florence's round blue eyes she would fold.

"I just feel like you're ashamed," Dorcas said to the bedspread.

"We don't need to talk about that sort of thing," Florence said. "We're happy, aren't we? I like this. I don't want to give it up, there's no need. We're best friends. This is our time, and I don't want to waste it talking about the rest of the world." Florence pressed a kiss to her temple, and Dorcas' resolve wobbled. She wanted to melt. "I only want you right now. Please." Florence's fingers brushed the soft round of Dorcas' chin and pressed into her right cheek, turning her head to look at her. Dorcas' brown eyes met Florence's blue ones.

As usual, she folded.

---

February 12th, 1976

The sight of the sky brought murder to Sirius' mind. It was a comfortable grey day, clouds smothering the sunshine, and with a different gust of wind, the heavens could be persuaded to open up and rain a little. He wanted to curse something. The air did not growl, rumble, or light itself with the crackle of a bolt as it felled some overlarge tree. They – they being Sirius, James, and Peter – were being conspired against. Since the fateful day when they had finished their brewing of the Animagus potion and stored it away, there had not been so much as a splutter of thunder. They would not even know for certain if they had brewed it correctly (though Sirius had great confidence in his potion-making abilities) until lightning next struck and their mixture lit up blood-red. Until then, Sirius was subjected to Peter's worries ("What if I did something to the leaf while I was asleep, maybe I spat it out in my sleep and then ate it again, and I've ruined the whole thing and now it won't work because I'm stupid?") and James' predictions ("I'll be a lion, I know I will be. As for you, Sirius, I'm seeing… hm… is that a puffskein?" "Fuck off, Horklump.") and his own endless tossing and turning as he tried to sleep each night, trembling with anticipation, wishing it would come sooner. He was only two annoyances short of getting his broom out, flying to the clouds, and cursing them until they stormed.

"No, your middle name." James reiterated, holding Peter by the shoulders. Peter blinked dozily.

"Erm…Ph…Philip?"

"Yeah," James said. "Yeah, that's it. Alright. What's your birthday, mate?"

"Erm…I'm fifteen."

"Yeah, but when will you turn sixteen?"

"Oh. Maybe…August? Yeah, August. The… the fourth."

"Yep." Peter had volunteered himself to test their Confundus Charms, proving himself useful once again. They had their lunch break between History of Magic and when Remus had to trudge off to Arithmancy, so they'd snagged sandwiches and come up to the empty fifth floor to work on the map. They still had not figured out how to enchant the time onto the parchment, but James had put in an order for a diary, and they intended to examine it when it arrived to figure out the enchantments.

"We send him off, you reckon?" James asked, glancing back at Sirius and Remus. Sirius shrugged.

"Yeah," he said. "He seems sufficiently out-of-it."

"Yes, we'll give it a try," Remus agreed, reaching into his bag.

"Marvellous," said James, taking parchment and an ink-dipped quill from Remus. He gave them to Peter. Sirius twirled the back of his earring. Remus slipped his hands in his pockets, watching. He'd paled in the last day or so, with the moon drawing closer, and he'd skipped lunch, which Sirius doubted helped, but if that was how Remus wanted to do it, fine. Sirius turned his attention back to James and Peter. If they could master this, their mapping of the castle would be done much quicker, as would their additions to it. Sirius had half-a-dozen half-considered plans running through his mind. If they could add their routines to the map, and the teachers', there was no reason they couldn't add Snivellus'…or Filch's. But more than that, he was certain he had seen things that tracked objects – or people – live. If they could do that, they would not need to enchant the map to understand time. Sirius' chief problem was that he could not think where he had seen such a thing. Something at Blackfield rang a bell…the home of his Uncle Cygnus. What had it been?

"Right, Peter, mate. I want you to use the quill and the parchment and everything to sort of sketch out what you see, alright? Just go to the end of the corridor and back, draw a little square for the doors and all. I'll come with you," James instructed. Peter nodded.

"Er – yeah, okay."

"Right. We'll be back," James told Sirius and Remus, before setting off. Sirius stepped back, behind Remus, and leaned against the wall. Remus did the same.

"Is this exploitative?" Remus asked, interlocking his fingers. Sirius shrugged.

"He agreed to it."

"That doesn't mean it's not exploitative."

"But he agreed to be exploited. So on his head be it," Sirius concluded. If only one of them did it, perhaps it could be considered exploitative…but their plan was to do it in pairs, meaning James would be bewitched at some point too. Sirius and Remus both refused to be subject to the spell; Sirius hated the thought of having his defences weakened, of being suggestible…It wasn't the same as being drunk, though James had compared the two. Confundus Charms did not bring a sense of elation, a sense of being carefree – only a feeling as if there was something you had forgotten, something that was meant to be done, something lingering. It left you vulnerable. Even when drunk, Sirius did not think he was vulnerable. If anything, he was better at fighting – drink numbed the hard edges of pain, and magical exhaustion slipped beneath notice while ever his head pounded.

His mouth watered. He reached into his robes and pulled out a shiny grey flask. He unscrewed the lid and swigged. The whisky barely touched the sides of his throat.

"Drink?" he offered the flask to Remus, who flinched. He pointed with a single finger to the flask. Sirius realised, and laughed softly. "Metal, not silver."

"It's barely twelve," Remus said. Sirius pulled a face.

"It's not as if we're getting smashed. It'll put hairs on your chest, Moony."

"I'll have enough of that in a few days," Remus muttered. Sirius sighed and slid the flask back away.

"Do you feel like shit yet?" Sirius asked, pulling out a cigarette instead. Remus folded his arms across his chest. Sirius held the cigarette between his lips as he made to get his wand out.

"How're you going to say the incantation like that?" Remus asked, stepping in front of him. Sirius put his free hand to his lips, ready to withdraw the cigarette to make a comment, but instead Remus withdrew his wand. "Incendio." The end lit. Both Sirius and Remus stowed their wands away. Remus tucked his into the belt of his robes.

"Thank you," Sirius said, exhaling smoke. Remus smiled mischievously.

"Manners," he commented.

"Thank my bitch of a mother," Sirius said, lifting his cigarette in a toast to the wretched hag. Remus chuckled, and looked down, fiddling with his crimson badge.

"I think it's wasted on me," Remus said, pinching it between his fingers. "I'm hardly an exemplary student. I'm sure I'm the only one who spends a night a month in Hogsmeade instead of the castle."

"You think very highly of yourself," Sirius informed him. "Give some credit to the rest of us, we aren't all boring."

"They should've given it to Peter. He'd be telling you not to smoke. I'm just…observing. Allowing it."

"Nah," Sirius said. "Your prefecthood makes me reconsider the things I do, sometimes."

"Really?" Remus raised his eyebrows.

"No." Remus snorted. "But I've been planning on it doing that, at some point or another. When it's not too inconvenient."

"Well, do let me know, and we can book it in."

"Excellent plan, Mr Moonarius." They both laughed, and Sirius tilted his head back, blowing rings of smoke into the air.

Droplets of rain glistened on the tall windows across the hall from them, and James and Peter's footsteps echoed as they walked. Sirius watched Remus out of the corner of his eye. Remus swallowed, and the muscles in his jaw rippled. Then he stretched up to rub the back of his neck, lowering his gaze so that his short, fair lashes skimmed the purple circles beneath his eyes. It was mental that he had never had a girlfriend. Sirius would've imagined girls like Lily Evans would go mental for some tall, skinny do-gooder with a sense of humour. Not a Renee Walker or Florence Diggory, mind, but an Evans or a Hufflepuff, yes. But then, Sirius was glad that Remus didn't have a Lisbete. If Sirius got a girlfriend, that was fine, he could set boundaries – but would Remus or Peter be able to say, 'piss off, I'm spending time with my friends'? Sirius simply didn't like the idea of Remus with a girlfriend. It would alter the group dynamic. What would they do without their lead researcher and resident prefect on call? And if he ran into James snogging someone in a broom cupboard, well, that was one thing, but to see Moony doing it would be quite another. Disgusting, really. Prefect-types shouldn't be allowed to snog.

"Remus," he said, and the boy in question met his eyes. "Do you ever -"

"Oi!"

James jogged towards them, hand enclosed around Peter's wrist, dragging him down the corridor. Peter stumbled along. Sirius took a quick drag on his cigarette and headed to them. James wrenched the map from Peter's hands and showed it to them. A pattern of inky lines striped the parchment, but Sirius quickly recognised what it was supposed to represent. As he did, the lines blurred.

"Quick!" James urged. "Quick, before it fades!" Sirius switched his cigarette to his left hand and whipped his wand out.

"Aridium Epistula!" Sirius shouted, waving his wand over the page. His hand crashed into another's. Remus swore softly. "What are you doing?" Sirius asked him.

"I did the spell too," Remus said. "I just have better aim than you do. More control."

"Fuck off."

"Both of you, shut up," James ordered, shoving the parchment under their noses. The lines stayed where they were, firm and unyielding. "Look. Think about it."

"Holy shit," Sirius uttered. He clearly lined up the long, straight lines to walls; the little squares to doors; the circle as the statue of Boris the Bewildered. A pain throbbed briefly behind his eyes, but the lines stayed where they were, even while being perceived as a map of the castle. James beamed at them, eyes dancing, and ruffled Peter's hair.

"It worked," Remus breathed.

"Of course it worked," Sirius said, reigning in his own surprise. "We came up with it. We're the cleverest people at this school."

"Geniuses," James agreed. Peter blinked groggily.

"Cleverer…cleverer than, you know, Dumbledore?" he asked, eyes widening slowly.

"Of course," Sirius said. "Now keep being an idiot, Wormy, we aren't done yet." Peter clumsily put two fingers up at him.

"I reckon we try to label it," James said eagerly. "If we get Pete to write it and then quickly do the spell, I reckon we can get it to work."

"Go on, then," Sirius encouraged. "Let's see." He whacked Peter on the shoulder. Peter raised his eyebrows.

"Mm?"

"There," he said, pointing at an expanse of the bottom corner, "write 'fifth floor' for us."

"Please," Remus added. Sirius glanced sideways at him.

"Manners."

"Thank my mother." Remus smiled lopsidedly.

Screwing his face up in concentration, Peter dipped the quill carefully into the inkpot James held and wrote. It was in a messy hand, but the words were easily read. 'Fifth Floor'. Curiously, Sirius looked at the map, checking that it didn't change, and consciously thought of the parchment as a map of the fifth floor of Hogwarts castle, Scotland. The words didn't fade.

"Strange," he said. "It's not…illegible."

"No," Remus agreed, frowning bewilderedly. James tilted his head to one side. His hair flopped with the movement.

"Well," he said. "I s'pose we can write 'fifth floor' on anything and it's fine, you know? It must just be when it's a map thing."

"Should we label it, then?" Remus offered. They agreed and began denoting classrooms and bathrooms and statues, until the map was a jumble of words atop the lines sketching out the castle. Sirius dragged on his cigarette and crammed another label on the parchment in a tiny hand.

He pulled back, considering.

"What's the spell to make the words disappear?" he asked the others. Peter shook his head a couple of times, slapping his cheeks lightly.

"I think it's maybe sort of wearing off," Peter told nobody in particular.

"Why do you want the words to disappear?" Remus frowned.

"Not permanently," Sirius said. "I'm not an idiot. But how do we make it so that the labels only appear when we're looking at this part of the map? Or when we're looking for something in particular?"

"You want to create a telepathic connection with the map?" Remus asked incredulously.

"An activation spell," James said, face lighting up. "Yeah, we could do that. Maybe if you tap on the classroom with your wand -" he tapped the paper, demonstrating, "- the label appears. Tap it again and it disappears. Same with the statues, everything.

"I don't want to have to tap it every time after I'm finished with it," Sirius said. "An activation spell to show the label, then let it disappear after a certain period of time."

"Or, once we get our timetables on there, the label for the room can appear when we enter," James suggested.

"We'll be in the room," Remus pointed out. "Why do we need to know where we are if we're there?"

Click.

Uncle Cygnus had a map of England he'd purchased for hundreds of galleons hanging in his study between the bookcase and the large window that overlooked the grounds of their sumptuous country estate. Upon it, in art very similar to that on that damned fucking tapestry Sirius' mother loved so much, were three faces – one for each of his daughters. And upon that map, which had the ability to show areas in greater detail when tapped, was their every position and every movement. Uncle Cygnus boasted that he could see which shop they were in when they visited Hogsmeade, and sent them letters of inquiry when he saw that they had ventured to Madam Puddifoot's. The only place in which the girls truly had privacy was Hogwarts, which of course, was Unplottable, and as such did not appear.

"We keep working on the timetables for now," Sirius said slowly. "It will be useful."

"But?" said James. "I sense a 'but'." Sirius grinned at him and Peter, and turned to Remus.

"Moony, my old friend, how much do you love to research?"

"About as much as I love being your friend," Remus said, with false sweetness.

"I understand, it's the only think that makes your life worth living," Sirius nodded. "Well, my dear pal, I may just have another treat for you."

"Oh, wow. You spoil me so."

"Do I have to get Confundused again?" Peter asked, scratching his head. "Or can I Confundus someone?"

"I still don't know what the 'but' is," said James. Peter pulled a face.

"How do you wipe?"

"Gentlemen," Sirius interrupted. "But. But. How do we feel about being able to track exactly where we are, at any given moment, rather than where we ought to be? After all, when are we ever where we're ought to be? The map would say we're in the Great Hall at this very moment, and we're obviously not."

"Sirius," James breathed, alight. "Seriously?"

"Always."

"Holy shit."

Sirius realised very suddenly that the rain had stopped. The last drops smudged the windows, and the sun showed its yellow face, brushing a fringe of grey clouds from its eyes. He inhaled sharply. If one task could not be completed, he'd have to work on another.

---

A/N: Thank y'all for your continued support of this story! Sometimes I worry it drags on too much, but I really love writing it and if even one other person enjoys reading it, that's enough for me. We are now about 56% of the way through fifth year, and I'm very excited for what's coming - the ends of some relationships, the beginnings of new ones, a lightning storm, some scenes from canon, O. , mothers, and a peek at a familiar organisation.

The new semester starts on Monday, so updates will be back to every three weeks. Next up - Valentine's Day!