A/N: Mary reads a star chart, Lily goes to Charms, Severus tries a spell, James attempts a heart-to-heart, and Remus reassures his friends.
Typical warnings for language and implied/referenced underage drinking. Also some mild violence, bullying, and rather unpleasant conversations.
February 16th, 1976
"So that makes you…" Mary ran her finger down the list. "A Scorpio moon?"
"No," said Dorcas. The two girls sat in the library, speaking rather louder than was usually permitted. However, without speaking at a close-to-normal volume, they never would've heard one another. The library positively bustled with harassed-looking sixth- and seventh-years, who slammed open books and scratched their quills loudly. They were joined by a rather giggly set of young Hufflepuff girls who perused the school's archives of magazines. Madam Pince stormed about, snapping at students and shelving books ungraciously.
Mary consulted the textbook again. "Libra?" Dorcas gave a short nod. "Virgo sun, Libra moon, Leo…? Mercury, Sagittarius ascendant?"
"Correct," Dorcas said, frowning. Mary's stomach flipped. She liked the Ravenclaw girl, but she was a little intimidated, too. "This isn't about our signs, however. We did that last year. This is about the relationships. You need to plot everything on the chart and analyse it." She handed Mary a piece of parchment. It was a diagram of a very large circle, with astrological signs denoted around the outside, precise, tiny lines ringing the inside, and a smaller circle in the centre. Inside, there were a variety of roman numerals, plus some of the planetary symbols – Mary recognised Mars, Venus, and –
"Jupiter?" she pointed to the symbol.
"Saturn," Dorcas said. "You need to replicate this structure with my birth chart." She withdrew her wand and tapped the page. "Geminio." A perfect copy appeared next to it. Dorcas gave this to Mary and returned to working on her own page. Mary regarded the copy enviously. She still had not mastered the Doubling Charm, and it was bound to come up on their O. .
Mary spent the next fifteen minutes carefully copying the format of the birth chart onto a blank piece of parchment, and started filling in the details of Dorcas' signs.
"Are you still working?" Dorcas asked. Mary looked up timidly.
"Yes," she said, in a small voice. Dorcas' frown deepened.
"We learned how to make birth charts last year, too," she said. "That's revision. The important part is being able to read the complexities. We need to prioritise." She gave Mary the complete birth chart that she had created, which happened to represent the sky at the time of Mary's birth. Mary set her things aside and focused on it. "What's going on between the Sun and Venus? What's the relationship there?"
Mary chewed her thumbnail. "Um," she started. "That's a – conjunction…?"
"Yes," said Dorcas. Relief washed through Mary. But now she had to interpret it.
"A conjunction between the Sun and Venus…probably with an orb of…" Fortunately, Dorcas had ruled the lines on the chart already, making it easier to read. "Two degrees?"
"What does that indicate?"
"That it's a conjunction," Mary said uncertainly. "And…um, it's fairly strong." Dorcas inclined her head. "So, erm, they're both in the fourth house, which represents...home life, family, domestic life. And both are Cancer, which is intuitive, emotional, and values family. So it's sort of…magnified…the main personality and the, um, femininity, the – the romantic parts, are all in…harmony." What else? There was more, but she could not think, not with Dorcas' dark eyes boring into her. She swallowed. Dorcas' gaze dropped to her notes.
"You want to be liked," she said, after a long moment. "You need to be liked. Your self-esteem is determined by what others think of you. You seek peace and harmony, you may avoid conflict. You may be a romantic. You want to present a certain way, and appear in a certain way. You're a people pleaser. You may be accused of being vain or egotistical, or being overly concerned with your appearance."
"I'm not vain," Mary replied, pale brows knitting. "I hate the way I look." The rest, however, rang true. Her teeth grazed her lower lip.
"Well, that's what your stars indicate. Maybe you'll become more vain as you get older," Dorcas said. Mary regarded her chart glumly. She decided it was best to move on to different planets.
"I think this is…trine? Here, between-"
"Dorcas?"
Mary froze.
Florence Diggory – a gorgeous Ravenclaw with long dark hair and a mesmerising gaze – stopped at their table. She smiled briefly at Mary – Mary's heart fluttered – and then turned her attention back to Dorcas, who looked shockingly unsurprised.
"Florence," she said. "Are you well?" A blonde girl with a shiny, jewelled necklace appeared at Florence's side – Lewis, Mary thought.
"What's going on?" Florence asked, and she frowned at Mary, who swallowed. What have I done? How have I upset her? Does she hate me?
"I'm tutoring," Dorcas said shortly.
"Tutoring?" Florence, for whatever reason, sounded sceptical. Mary wanted to disappear.
"Oh, I know you!" Lewis finally spoke. She, like Florence, was astonishingly pretty, and Mary was sure she was going to say the wrong thing or look like a complete idiot. "You're one of Lily Evans' friends, aren't you? Erm...Maggie?"
"Mary," Mary whispered, blushing.
"Mary, that's right!" Lewis said, handing out a hand. Her nails were perfectly manicured, with pearly French tips. "You know me, don't you? I'm Cynthia. Lewis, of course."
"Yes," Mary said, shaking her hand. They'd had lessons together for five years, but it wasn't as if Mary had ever spoken to them. She'd barely spoken to all the Gryffindors in her year. Dale Roshfinger sort of frightened her.
Florence leaned over, her hair a glossy curtain, and whispered something to Dorcas. Mary thought it a little strange, but Cynthia seemed completely unconcerned.
"So, what subject are you doing?" she asked, picking up her textbook. "Divination? Ooh! I really wanted to do Divination, you know, but Daddy said it was a soft option, so there you have it. Your parents must be really lovely to let you do it."
"Oh," said Mary, shifting uncomfortably. "Um, my parents are muggles." She'd never asked them about her choice of electives. Her mother thought it was ridiculous that she wasn't taking English and Maths and said the rest of it was 'all the same rubbish', though on reflection, Mary thought that they probably especially wouldn't like Divination. She was sure there was something against fortune-telling in the Bible, but then, there was plenty about witchcraft and sorcery too. And she knew that some wizards were Christians (she didn't know if they were Catholic or C of E, though), so clearly God made some kind of an exception.
Or they really were going to spend forever in hell. Mary paled. S
"Wow," said Cynthia. She blinked and looked back at the blonde girl. She smiled with a lot of white teeth. "That's interesting." She spoke very slowly now, widening her mouth to show each sound she made. "Do – you – like – magic – very much – then?"
"Um," Mary said, but she was saved from having to answer when Florence stood and flicked her sheet of dark hair over her shoulders, face pinched.
"Mary," she said imperiously, raising her neat brown eyebrows. Mary slunk into her seat, eyes wide. "You don't mind if Dorcas has to leave, do you? She forgot about a prior engagement." Mary didn't know Dorcas very well, admittedly, but that didn't sound like her. Her gaze flickered nervously to Dorcas' grim face.
"Um," Mary said, incredibly high-pitched. Her veins filled with self-loathing. Why can't you speak like a normal person? Why do you talk like a little girl? "That's – that's okay." Dorcas folded her arms across her chest.
"There you have it," Florence said silkily, addressing Dorcas moreso than Mary or Cynthia. "Come on, we'll be late."
"When do you want to reschedule for?" Dorcas asked, looking past Florence to meet Mary's eyes. Her eyes were warm and brown, serious but not scary. "We can do Wednesday afternoon between three and supper, Friday afternoon between four and supper. Or one morning before breakfast." Florence tapped her foot impatiently, flicking her hair once more.
"Wednesday?" Mary suggested timidly. Dorcas nodded.
"I'm sorry for leaving," she said, packing up her things. Florence hastened to help her. Cynthia gave Mary back her textbook, and she slowly put it into her bookbag. "I'll see you in Charms tomorrow," Dorcas said, as Florence buttoned up her bag and began to pull her away.
"Bye," Florence said, hurrying off.
"Bye!" Cynthia waved. The three girls bustled out the doors and Mary was left at the table, a sinking feeling in her chest.
Is there something about me that makes people want to run away? She thought dejectedly, laying her chin atop her hands where they were folded on the table. She knew it wasn't Dorcas' choice, but all the same, it smarted like a fresh slap. She glanced around and thought she might've been the only person in the entire library sitting alone. What's wrong with me? Why does Florence Diggory want to spend time with Dorcas Meadowes and not me? She knew she ought to be logical about it, but the rational part of her brain was very far away, floating into space. A wave of misery washed over her. The birth charts were still spread across the table. She gathered them and folded them away. She'd be useless at interpreting them without Dorcas. She was just too stupid to understand any of it. She was a stupid little fool. Tears burned in her eyes and she only hated herself more for being such a cry-baby. I may as well go back to the common room, she thought. There's nothing else for me here.
Mary shuffled through the sprawling maze of corridors and mumbled the password to the Fat Lady. What if Dorcas hates me? Mary's spirits plummeted as she climbed through the portrait hole. What if she organised the whole thing? What if she wanted Florence to come and take her away? To rescue her? She'd done similar things for her friends before. If something happens on Wednesday too, you'll know she hates you. She's a prefect, she probably doesn't want to upset Professor Nicholl and tell her that she doesn't want to do it anymore. Mary's eyes were very wet by the time she regained her feet. A quick glance told her that Lily and Marlene weren't down here. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, she chanted to herself. Not until you're in the dormitory. She stared at the floor as she made her way towards the stairs.
"There she is now!" she heard someone say, in the way one hears someone say their name and then, somehow, miraculously, remembers the two or three things they said before that, that their ears heard but their brain disregarded.
"Go on!" said another. In her peripheral, someone stood, and started towards her. Mary hunched. She didn't want to talk to anybody. She wanted to fling herself onto her bed, squeeze Berlioz until he meowed, and then demolish a box of Cauldron Cakes.
Or, not the Cauldron Cakes part. She hugged herself and felt the softness of her stomach. It made her sick.
"Excuse me," said a boy, a familiar voice. Mary squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Why did she have to be so – what was it? – passive? Why did she always end up frozen? Sometimes she felt as if she had no control over her life at all. She was just a leaf and everyone else was a season, making her bloom or fall or crumble into dust. Mary longed to shout, go away! Leave me alone! I want to be on my own, okay?
Instead, hating herself, she looked into the boy's face and said, "Yes?"
It was Peter. A slight relief. She'd been terrified it would be a total stranger, or Black. He knotted his fingers together.
"Erm," he said, and looked back at his friends – Potter, Black, and Lupin sat in a choice spot by the fire. Potter gave him a thumbs-up, and he turned back to Mary. Panic bubbled in her throat. Oh, no, don't. Please don't. More than ever, she wished she could run, but her feet were glued to the ground.
"Are you alright?" he asked. Mary nodded quickly, realised what she'd done, and shook her head. He looked confused. "You're – are you, erm, not? Alright?"
"I'm – I'm – I'm tired," she managed, mumbling to her shoes. She wanted to fall through the floor. Even if she landed in the dungeons, it would be better than being here. Peter wiped his palms on his robes. "Um – I was going to go to bed."
"To bed?" Now he really looked confused. "We haven't had dinner yet. Erm – do you need to go to the hospital wing?" The hospital wing?
"No!" she said quickly. Oh, excellent, she could say it now. Where were Lily and Marlene? Why weren't they here to rescue her? She couldn't rescue herself.
"Go on, mate!" Potter whisper-shouted from the sofa. Mary shrivelled up. Peter's eyes widened.
"Mary," he said. No, no, no, no. Say no. Just say no. "Do you – I was wondering if maybe we could go to the dance together? If you want? Sirius said you didn't have a partner, and I don't have a partner, and we're both Gryffindors, and we used to go out, so I thought – well, James said – it would make sense if we went…" he trailed off quietly. Mary's face burned. Her hands shook. It felt like everyone in the common room was watching her. If she said no, she'd be the most horrible, awful, wretched person in the world. And if she said yes, she would have to go to the dance with Peter Pettigrew. She'd planned on spending the night with Marlene – but now Marlene was going with Sirius. Her head whirled. She opened her mouth. No sound came out. Her face was on fire. Make it stop, make it stop. Why did she always have to do whatever people asked of her? Why was she so stupid?
What was she meant to say?
The silence dragged on.
"You don't have to," Peter added, wilting.
Mary stared at the laces on her shoes. You don't mind if Dorcas has to leave, do you? A word hovered on her lips. She could say it. It was the easiest option, the right thing to do, it was the option that would solve the most problems. Peter was fine. He was nice enough. Potter and Black and Lupin watched eagerly. If Peter spent the whole night with his friends, Mary could spend the whole night with Marlene. As she'd planned. A nice, simple answer had been presented to her. All she had to do was accept it.
"No," she said instead. "I'm sorry. I'm really tired – I have to go – I'm really really sorry." Peter's face fell. She wrenched herself away and raced to the stairs, throwing herself up them. She slammed the door to her dormitory open – it was empty – and collapsed into bed, heart pounding furiously. Mary didn't know what had come over her, or how she'd done it, but she had. And now Peter and the others boys – all of Gryffindor, actually – probably hated her. Part of her wanted to cry, and the tears burst onto her cheeks. She'd been mean. She'd been awful.
But she'd said no. If she had her choice of everyone in the world, did she want to go with Peter Pettigrew?
No.
And through her tears, as Berlioz climbed on her, she managed to smile.
February 17th, 1976
Panting furiously, Lily staggered into Charms with less than a minute to spare. Professor Flitwick stood at the front with a scroll of parchment floating beside him, and made three more ticks on the register by Lily, Marlene, and Mary's names. Lily pushed her hair off her forehead, where sweat stuck it to her skin.
"Come on," Marlene said, stepping around her and making for the short set of stairs on their left. Lily followed. They squeezed down the top – and back – row, but instead of taking the seat next to Tarush Varma, Marlene sat down in the middle of the row.
"I can't sit next to him," she explained, in a whisper. "I can't sit near any male. If you don't want to see a homicide, you need to flank me."
"Alright," Lily said, sitting on Marlene's left, by Varma. Mary sat on Marlene's other side, face blotchy, chest rapidly rising and falling. Lily began to take out her things and Marlene slammed her head against the desk. To be fair, it was somewhat justified. She'd had a dreadful start to the morning. A surprise period appearing halfway to the first lesson of the day in the middle of a busy corridor wasn't exactly pleasant.
Lily unfurled her Charms roll of parchment, ruled a line, and carefully wrote the date. A movement from the other side of the classroom caught her eye and she looked up. Glen sat in the front row opposite her, and waved furiously, smiling wide. Lily lifted her hand in acknowledgement and gave him a little wave back. He gave her a perfect, even smile. His eyes didn't even crinkle. He, Lily thought, was the sort of person who didn't need to be clever: he could easily make a fortune modelling robes or shilling hair products.
The clock struck 8:01, and Professor Flitwick tapped the floating scroll with his wand. It curled up and nestled on his desk. He cleared his throat squeakily and climbed onto a platform that made him easier to see. With another flick of his wand, the classroom door shut.
"We are now one minute into our lesson, so anyone who is not here is clearly late," he said. "Firstly, I wanted to see if you all had…" And with that, the lesson started. They began by reviewing the previous lesson's material and asking a couple questions about the homework, then Professor Flitwick introduced even more content for them to remember. Lily's hand cramped from note-taking. Twenty minutes in, Mary leaned past Marlene, very pale, with her wide blue eyes fixed on Lily.
"I'm going to fail my O. ," she confessed quietly. "I don't understand a word."
"We'll go over it," Lily assured her. Marlene groaned and pulled at her ponytail.
Halfway through, the lesson seemed to finish, and Professor Flitwick cleared the blackboard. Lily set her quill down and flexed her hand, opening and closing it. A blister swelled on the inside of her pointer finger. Marlene looked up and raised her arm. Bewildered, Professor Flitwick called on her.
"Can I go to the loo?" Marlene asked. Professor Flitwick said yes. "Thanks." Marlene swung her bag over her shoulder and stood.
"Are you okay?" Lily asked. Marlene shrugged and nodded.
"Paranoid," she said. She squeezed down the row, between the backs of chairs and the black wall, and then hurried out of class.
Professor Flitwick tapped the board loudly, regaining the class's attention. The word 'ASSIGNMENT' appeared in chalk lettering.
"Your next piece of assessment," he said, indicating the board with his wand, "will be a written assignment on Substantive Charms, including their history, how they are cast, their current usage, the unique traits of these charms, and, for high marks, a reasonable prediction of what you think may be in the future of the creation of these charms." With each element he listed, a subheading appeared on the board. Lily regarded her poor fingers with a frown and started writing again.
Striding from Ravenclaw's hand punched the air.
"Yes?" said Professor Flitwick.
"Sir," she said, twirling her blonde hair, "I was wondering if this is a group assignment?" she asked hopefully.
"It is a partner assignment," Professor Flitwick said. Striding beamed. Lily looked at Mary, who met her eyes. That was always the trouble with there being three of them. Unless she let Marlene and Mary pair up, and then she could go with Glen… "But I will be assigning the partners," Professor Flitwick continued. Striding's face fell. "You may split the work however you wish, but I expect both parties to contribute to the essay, and you will receive the same mark, so it is in your best interests to ensure that each of you work hard in order to achieve good results."
Lily agreed in principle, but privately, she doubted the rest of the class would follow his advice. Anyone who struggled with the subject would hand it over to their partner in the hopes that they would do better, and anyone paired with a partner they considered – well, maybe not as…talented – would do the work in order to save their own mark.
She wondered whose work she would end up doing. Maybe she was being up herself, but she did do well in Charms, and even if she was paired with someone like Potter or Black, who infuriatingly got high marks despite a total lack of effort, she'd make sure to do the lion's share of the work just because she didn't trust them not to sabotage it for a laugh.
"I will assign you your partners – chosen randomly, by magic," he tittered at his own joke, and it made Lily laugh a little, "and then I would like you to get together with your partner and discuss the work, and how you might divide it. It is due on the sixteenth of March, so you have more or less a month to work on this. Therefore, I expect a high quality of work." The due date appeared on the board. Lily slipped her things into her bookbag, preparing to move to wherever her partner was.
"Good luck," Mary whispered, white-knuckled. Lily smiled kindly.
"It'll be okay, Mary. You won't get anyone awful."
"I hope not."
"You won't. Trust me." Because if she was partnered with anyone awful, Lily would threaten them until they promised to be nothing less than an angel to Mary. If they wanted to shout at someone, they could shout at Lily.
Flitwick cleared his throat and began.
"Black and Lewis." Cynthia Lewis from Ravenclaw stood ad turned around to talk to Sirius Black, who stood on the level above her. "Diggory and Stebbins." Stebbins knocked his inkpot off the desk and it spilled. Professor Flitwick smiled at him. "Do you know the charm to clean that up? Perhaps Miss Diggory can help you?" Stebbins made a high-pitched noise. "Bellchant and Meadowes." Meadowes, the black-haired prefect, blinked. "McKinnon and Macdougal." Marlene still had not returned from the toilet. Macdougal stood up, quill behind one ear and wand behind another, and looked around. Lily waved to her. Luckily, she was only in the row in front.
"I'll go to wherever my partner is," Lily told her, "so you can put your things on my desk." Macdougal nodded vaguely.
"Thanks," she said, coming up the stairs to them.
"I'm scared," Mary whispered.
"It'll be okay," Lily promised, standing to vacate her seat for Macdougal. "You'll get someone nice."
"Young and Chaise," Professor Flitwick continued. "Cai and Pettigrew. Vane and Macdonald." Mary tensed, but Lily relaxed.
"That's good," she whispered. "He'll be good, he's good at Charms, and he's nice." Glen caught her eye and smiled broadly at them. Then he stood to indicate that he would go to them. Lily nodded and mouthed 'thank you'.
"Enfield and Potter," said Professor Flitwick. Potter ran his fingers through his hair, saying something to Black. Enfield stood. "Evans and Lupin."
Oh, thank God. Lily would've dealt with whoever she got, but it would be a lie to say she wasn't thankful it was Remus. She squeezed Mary's shoulder.
"I'll go over to him," she said. "You'll be okay, okay?" Mary shrugged and nodded. Lily headed down the aisle and met Glen at the end.
"Oh – ladies first," he said, flattening himself against the wall to let her through.
"You should've been in Gryffindor," she said, stepping down onto the next stair to give him room. "With such chivalry and all."
"Ordinarily I'd never want to be in Gryffindor," he said, and Lily made a face of mock-offence. "But I'd be in any house if it meant I got to see you more often." He looked so serious that Lily could not help but laugh, though she felt horrible as it burst from her mouth.
"You need to be more loyal to Ravenclaw," she informed him. "I'd never give up my house for a boy." Glen straightened his tie, smiling that very perfect smile. Lily curled a thumb around the strap of her bookbag. "Be nice to Mary, won't you? She thinks you're going to eat her alive?"
Confusion fell across Glen's face. "She doesn't think I'm nice?" he asked.
"You're a lion or a tiger or a bear," Lily said, leaving him with that and continuing down the rest of the stairs. She headed in the direction of Potter and Black, knowing that wherever they went, Remus and Peter followed. She stopped to let people past, as they scattered like ants from a shoe to their places, and finally she reached the top level and where the boys sat. Cynthia Lewis was at the desk between Black and Potter, and Peter Pettigrew was right in front of Lily. She leaned round, looking past them for Remus, who she figured would be sitting on Black's other side. They always sat together. But on Black's right there was only an empty seat.
How had she missed him? She turned to go back, searching in the crowd for where he must've been.
"Lily! Erm – Evans!" Peter caught her attention, standing up and fidgeting with his bag. "Erm – Remus isn't here."
"You're welcome to sit with us, though," Potter added, ruffling his hair. Lily's eyebrows flitted upwards, asking a question, but apparently Potter didn't think it was all that unlikely because he only grinned in reply. She sighed.
"Is he okay?" she asked them, trying to recall when she'd last seen him. He hadn't been around yesterday, come to think of it, and – Sunday, he'd looked tired, maybe, but Remus always looked tired…
"Yeah," said Potter, as Black said, "No." Peter's response turned into a sort of groan.
"Erm…sort of?" Peter tried. Lily folded her arms across her chest.
"It's not like him to skive off," she said. "Not two days in a row."
"He's not skiving," Potter protested. "Evans, if he were skiving, wouldn't we be with him?"
"In what world do we come to Charms and he doesn't?" Black added. Lily had to give them that point, albeit begrudgingly. "He's -"
"- at his mother's," Potter said.
"- ill," Black concluded limply.
"He wasn't feeling well, and his mother's not well anyways, so he went home to visit and to get some rest," Peter said very quickly, shooting Potter and Black glances Lily couldn't read, on account of where she stood. If they'd said that to begin with, it would've made sense, but something just…she couldn't describe it. They were just being weird.
"Do you know when he'll be back?" she asked. The three of them looked at each other.
"Tomorrow," Black said. "Unless it gets worse."
"Okay," she said. She heard someone behind her – Enfield, Potter's partner. "Thanks."
She let Enfield through and returned to where Mary, Glen, Macdougal, and now Marlene sat, taking a random spare seat in the row. Neither Remus nor his mother were the healthiest of people – it wasn't a surprise, exactly, that they could both be sick at the same time. She outlined what they'd need to do for the assignment and chose one of the categories – she wasn't going to do nothing for the rest of the lesson, and she'd hold her ground on one category if Remus really wanted to argue about it. Marlene rolled her eyes at Macdougal as she drew pictures on the edges of their work, and Glen laughed loudly at everything Mary said, catching Lily's eye and beaming. She smiled back faintly and wished he would stop, because laughing when Mary wasn't trying to joke was probably going to make her a complete nervous wreck.
After this, she accompanied Marlene to Muggle Studies and went with Mary and Glen to the library.
"I think we should keep our momentum going," Glen said as they walked. "We're going well, Mary, aren't we? We've divided everything up already, we know what we need to research."
"Um," said Mary, who walked on Lily's other side. "Yes." Glen laughed, and Mary went very pale. While Glen was caught up in his own niceness, Lily locked eyes with Mary.
"Don't mind him," she whispered, very quietly. Mary gave a tight-lipped nod.
Fortunately, due to it being the second lesson of the day, the library was mostly empty. They got a good table by the window, near enough to the stacks that it was easy to access the books they needed. Rain drizzled lazily down the windows, a low grey haze blanketing the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. Despite the time, the lanterns in the library glowed brightly, yellow pools spilling across the wooden tabletops. Lily crossed her ankles and took out a fresh roll of parchment.
To Glen's credit, he really made an effort with Mary. He fetched all the books they needed, and took on the hardest parts of the essay. He waited for her to finish what she was saying before jumping in, and complimented all of her contributions. Really, there was nothing to criticise. Nothing substantial. It was only that after every exchange with Mary, he looked up into Lily's face and beamed, as if they were sharing a secret. She tucked her braids over her shoulders and dipped her quill in her inkpot, starting a new sentence. 'In the 17th century, French wizard…'
"Lily?"
"Snape?" Lily's hand pulled across the page, leaving a slash of ink. Sev stood above her, face drawn, and it was Glen who had questioned his presence. Upon seeing the unusual expression on Sev's features, she stiffened.
"Lily," he said, voice low and urgent, quivering. He, too, had been missing throughout History and Potions yesterday, but he didn't look injured. Instead – he seemed to glow. "I need a word."
She hesitated only for a second. "Okay," she said, standing.
"I'll clean this," said Glen, wand in one hand and her parchment in the other.
"Thank you," she said, but Sev had already started off down an aisle of books. Lily hurried after him.
He stopped midway down, between books on nogtails and Norwegian Ridgebacks. She joined him, her back to texts on kneazles-breeding. His height unnerved her. It still seemed absurd that he should have the advantage, that his nose should stop a little higher than his, that she should have to tilt her head a little. They stood close, pushed together by the shelves. A dim lamp swung above them, highlighting only the ridges of their faces.
"Lupin wasn't in class this morning," Sev whispered, but he stated it as a fact. Lily flinched back.
"I'm not doing this," she said, realising. A book landed at her feet. She bent to pick it up. "Sev, I'm not-"
"But he wasn't," Sev said, words burning with excitement. Lily held the hardcover to her chest like a shield. "He wasn't there, was he?" She exhaled noisily.
"Does it matter?" she said. "Sev, I know they're horrible to you, but -"
"It does matter," Sev insisted, leaning over her. His eyes gleamed. "It matters, Lily. And if he was there, you wouldn't be doing this. You wouldn't have to argue the principle of the matter because you'd be able to argue that I was wrong in the details." He'd caught her in the lie before she'd said it.
"What about you, then?" she shot back. "Where were you yesterday? Oh, wait, I know – you must've been busy turning into a vampire and sucking the blood of the innocent, or -" she glanced at the book in her hands, "- breeding kneazles under your bed." He inhaled sharply in a short, mirthless laugh.
"You can thank your bestest friend Remus for that," he said. Lily faltered.
"He hexed you?"
"I saw him," Sev said quickly, and Lily sensed they were getting to the heart of it now. "I saw him, on Sunday night, I saw him by the Whomping Willow, with Madam Pomfrey. It was sunset, and he – he crawled under it. There's something under there."
"No," Lily said. "No, there couldn't be."
"Why not?"
"How would have he got that close? He would've been smashed in half by that tree!"
"The tree was asleep," Severus said, lowering his voice even further. He stepped towards her. A spine of a book pressed against her own. "the branches were frozen. He went under, and Madam Pomfrey went under, and I tried to follow – but it woke up as I got closer. It got me, Lily, it knocked me out. I woke and it was dark, and Madam Pomfrey was there. She covered for him. I know she did."
"It got you?" Lily gasped, instinctively reaching for his face. She brushed his bare skin and it burned her fingertips. She pulled back. "Why did you follow him? You got yourself hurt."
"No," he said shortly, "you don't understand. I could've found out where he goes. I'd know. I'd know for sure what he and his mates get up to-"
"You mean Madam Pomfrey?" Lily interrupted. She thought of what Potter and Black had said to her earlier. "You really think he'd be sneaking out of the school somewhere without his friends? You think they'd let him? Or what, is Madam Pomfrey having a secret affair with a student?"
"Maybe they were waiting for him," Severus insisted.
"And Pomfrey?"
"Or," Severus continued pointedly, "I'm right. They send him under that tree into a hole in the ground so he can – Lily, it was a full moon." His crowning jewel. His trump card. She knew the implication and recoiled from it. She turned and shoved the book on kneazles back onto the shelf. "Lily."
She had grown up with them as fairy stories, something out of a film. She knew that often, things were different in the wizarding world, but she still could not imagine that thin, quiet Remus, who shook his head and smiled wryly at Potter and Black could be a werewolf. He was sick, and had poor taste in friends, and that was all it took for him to fall under Sev's suspicions. She couldn't deny that the Whomping Willow thing was weird, but if Madam Pomfrey was involved, and Sev had hit his head – well, she wasn't going to say it, but she thought Sev's recollections might be as untrustworthy as he thought Remus was.
"I asked where he was, actually," she said, straightening the books, not looking at him. "He's not well – you know what he's like – and neither is his mother, so he's gone to spend time with her."
"Who told you that? Potter? Black? You believe them?"
"I don't know what any of it has to do with the Willow, but maybe Madam Pomfrey had to escort him somewhere. Maybe – maybe she had to escort him into the village and apparate with him. He's underage, he couldn't do that on his own."
"Why not use the floo?" Sev insisted. Lily spun to face him.
"Maybe all the spinning would make him dizzy! I don't know, I wasn't hiding out in the hospital wing spying on him!" Her voice rose to something approximating a shout. She shut up, hoping the librarian wouldn't come after them.
The excitement, the pride that beamed off Sev's face died in an instant.
"You don't want to believe me," he said quietly. "You know I'm right, but you're so – you're so caught up with them, with Lupin and his mates, that you'd rather lie to yourself."
"What I don't want is to fight with you," she said, glancing down the aisle to where Glen and Mary waited. "I thought we agreed. Just leave him alone, Sev."
"They don't leave me alone!"
"Just drop it!" She worked hard to keep her volume under control. "I don't care about what Potter does or what Black does or what Lupin does, okay? I care about what you do. Whatever's wrong with Lupin, it doesn't have anything to do with you or me. Sev, I – I need to go do my assignment." She started down the aisle, cheeks flushed, braids bouncing across her back. When was the last time she and Sev had spoken to each other without arguing? Why did it always come to this?
"Lily!" She stopped and closed her eyes. Apologise, she thought. Apologise, Sev, please, apologise, read my mind, just say you're sorry, say it's done, say you're sorry. Please.
"What?" she said, inviting him to say it, to fix things. "What, Sev?" He took a breath. Please.
"How can I prove it to you?" he said, instead. "What will it take for you to believe me?"
Lily wiped her eyes and stormed away, wishing she didn't long to look back.
February 18th, 1976
He was nothing short of a saint. Not that he gave them any merit – his parents had hardly been prone to moping over dead people who'd supposedly done good deeds – but if he were to, he would surely join their ranks. After all, he had not demanded an answer for the lakeside tryst. He had not even mentioned it. He had been polite, calm, collected – she had raised her voice, not him. He had not even hissed a remark as he passed them by, despite his being there, despite his bright, letter-of-the-law smile. Severus Snape was nothing short of a saint.
He told himself this as he left History of Magic, her red hair disappearing around a corner. Who else knew? Had she confessed, giggling, pink-cheeked, to McKinnon and Macdonald? Had that mouthy dormmate of hers spread the news? Did all of Gryffindor know? Most of their year? It had not yet reached Severus' ears as a morsel of gossip, but that did not mean it was entirely unknown. Who had Vane boasted to? Would the Ravenclaws look particularly smug, or jubilant, in the afternoon's lesson? If Vane so much as smiled at him, Severus would curse him into next year.
Hopefully with his new invention.
Despite being thwarted on Sunday evening, he found no shortage of dead spiders in the Potions cupboard they accessed during their lessons, and he doubted Professor Slughorn would mind his borrowing of some. He intended to return them, after all; he had found a spell to vanish magical traces, and therefore judged it unlikely that his interference would truly tamper with anyone's potion. Even if it did, they ought to know how to counteract it with other ingredients, so he was only teaching them. The important thing was that the spell had worked on the spiders.
He saw no reason it would be any more difficult on a person.
He followed the crowd towards the Great Hall, where lunch awaited them. The crowd thickened at the Entrance Hall, and that was where Severus slipped away, murmuring an excuse to Rosier and Avery about putting his books away.
"Whatever," Avery said. "I'm starving."
Severus descended to the dungeons, where – as he had hoped – two classes of younger Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs emerged from their Potions lessons, hair frizzed and robes loose.
"Third-years!" hollered Professor Crockett from a doorway. "Twenty inches! I mean it! If you've any questions, ask them now, because I will not be answering next lesson!" The students ducked their heads and scurried up the stairs around Severus. Only two or three doubled back to ask for clarification. He slunk past as though he intended to continue on to his common room and turned a corner. There, he flattened himself against the wall so he would be out of view, and waited. Their high little voices carried down the hall.
"How are we meant to get to twenty inches?" one asked. "I mean, what is there to say about it, Professor?" Although Severus had never been taught by Crockett, who had only started in his fourth year, he knew from consensus that she did not tolerate stupid questions. Privately, he wished she'd taken them instead of Slughorn. Slughorn had more experience, but he suffered fools to a ridiculous extent. Severus sometimes fantasised about the Ministry deciding to move their O. to third year instead of fifth, so he could have four long years of taking lessons only with those who wanted to be there. Instead, they'd prolonged his suffering two years. What good came from making an idiot like Pettigrew destroy his cauldron (and Severus' patience) until he was sixteen? If you couldn't pick it up by third year, there was no hope for you at all.
Two students left, and one pleaded with Crockett a little longer until the Potions teacher shut the door on him. Severus stepped into the almost-empty corridor. Only he and the third-year remained, and the third-year was as deaf as he was stupid, for he didn't hear the approach of another person. Instead, he made for the stairs, scratching his red hair.
He would do.
"Expelliarmus," Severus whispered. The boy did not have his wand in his hand – it had only been a precautionary measure. Still, it proved his idiocy – he did not, apparently, feel the touch of magic's cool hand. As Severus passed the doors on his left, he muttered, "Colloportus." The locks clicked. Any first-year with a wand could've unlocked them, but it would buy him time.
The clueless Gryffindor carried on.
It fell into place more easily than Severus could've dared to hope for. As the boy drew nearer to the door at the top of the stairs, and Severus to him, he gripped his wand and locked that door too. It flew shut, and finally, the boy had the sense to turn around.
"Wh-?"
"Levicorpus."
Perfect.
It was not the gentle, graceful rise Severus had wished for, but he found he liked its new form better. As if pulled hard by a string, one of the boy's legs shot into the air, stopping at perhaps nine feet. His bag fell to the ground and something shattered. He hung upside down, wriggling helplessly, holding his robes tight to his body. Ink leaked from his bag onto the stone floor.
"What the hell?" he shouted. Severus realised his mistake.
"Muffliato!" he cast, concentrating hard. He hoped that any further noise would go undetected.
"Who are you?" the boy demanding, pummelling his fists into the air. Severus laughed darkly. "What the hell have I done? What's wrong in your head?"
"Don't ask stupid questions," Severus said. "I don't appreciate it and neither do your teachers." He flicked his wand upwards. "Liberacorpus." The boy fell to the floor and yelped with pain. So both spells had been a success. He'd done it. His veins pulsed with excitement. If he could hoist Vane into the air – if his books dropped, if the blood rushed to his head and turned red and blotchy – if his robes were to fall over his head – what would Lily think of him then? Rendered useless with a flick of his wand, too dim-witted to defend himself. Then she might see him for what he really was…And if Severus could get Potter with it, too, and Black – they might find their cow-eyed audiences with more affection for the spellcaster than for the weak, snivelling cowards he would prove them to be. Potter wouldn't be half so grand with his pants on display and his glasses hanging from his ears.
"I'll report you to the prefects!" the boy shouted, ink splattering his hands as he gathered up his things. "I'll tell them!"
"You don't even know who I am," Severus said. "Alohomora." The door at the top of the stairs swung open, and a beleaguered seventh-year stumbled forward, one hand around the handle and the other raised as if to pound something. Severus turned with a swish of his robes and strode down the corridor to the common room, head held high. He'd done it. It worked.
He smiled.
February 19th, 1976
"You can talk to me. I'm not here just to make your friends think you're the luckiest girl in the world."
She sniffled her blocked, red-tipped nose and looked up at him. "Pardon?"
"I mean - I care about you and stuff…" He fidgeted. "If you want to, er, talk about it or anything…"
"Oh!" And she flung herself onto him, arms around his neck, damp eyes buried into his robes. He embraced her tightly, figuring she'd like it. "You're so thoughtful, Jamie," she gushed into his robes.
James and Lisbete stood in a corridor on the sixth floor, where he'd spotted her on the way to the common room after lunch. It was pretty much deserted. She squeezed him very tightly then let go, brushing blonde strands of hair back from her face.
"I just - I don't want you feeling like shit," James said. "You deserve more than that." He snuck his hands into the front pockets of her robes. She blinked at him, and managed a watery smile. For a moment, he thought of the game of Exploding Snap that awaited him up in the dorm…but he sort of had a duty. And she was nice, and she genuinely didn't deserve to get about having a crap day. And he kind of liked helping people - people he liked, though, not people he didn't know from Thomas Wizard.
Lisbete pulled the front of his robes towards her.
"I don't deserve you," she said, and kissed him. He kissed her back gently, wrapping one arm around her waist.
"Do you want to talk?" he asked, pulling back and nudging his nose against hers. "Or what do you want to do? I find flying helps me."
"We could fly," she shrugged, biting her lip. James grinned. If there was a right answer, that was it. He pecked her lips.
"Sounds good to me," he said. "I'll grab my broom. We'll both fit on it."
The common room wasn't far off. James gave the password and climbed through the portrait hole, helping Lisbete as he did so. He made for his dorm, jogging over to the steps and taking them two at a time.
"Lisbete?" he stopped halfway up, realising she wasn't following. He turned and went down a few steps. "You can come up, it's not like the girls' stairs." Lisbete hugged herself and shook her head. He came to the bottom of the stairs. "What's wrong?"
"I can't come up," she whispered fiercely, taking James aback. She looked round. "People will see."
"See?"
"They'll think – James." She widened her eyes significantly. It took him a moment.
"Oh," he said. "But we're not. If we're only up there for the time it takes for me to grab my Comet, they'll either figure it out or only have bad things to say about me, not you."
Lisbete shook her head. "I don't want to go up," she said. James shrugged. He supposed it was different for girls – well, people would treat it differently, for whatever stupid reason. And, to be fair, he'd found that fifth year was the year where you started getting used to that sort of thing – if a girl had tried to get into his dorm back in third year, he would've declared war on her as an invading force.
"Alright. Wait here then."
He dashed up the stairs, grabbed the broom, and returned in no time at all, his Comet slung over his shoulder.
"Will you be alright to fly in your school robes?" he asked suddenly, taking in Lisbete's clothing for the first time. "Not uncomfortable?"
Lisbete tugged at her collar. "It'll be fine."
They ventured down to the pitch, which looked empty enough. A mist clung to the hoops. He slung his arm over her shoulder carelessly as they trudged across the damp grounds. They passed by a red-faced Gumboil and sweaty Hoover, both carrying their brooms. Hoover waved and Gumboil glared. James grinned cheerfully at them both. He and Lisbete continued on, sliding a little down the damp slopes. James knew the password to get access to the pitch – technically, only the captains and the professors were meant to have it, and anyone who just wanted to 'go for a fly' was to use the training grounds, but fuck it all. He gave the password to the door and it swung open, admitting them.
"Wow," Lisbete said breathlessly. James thought she looked a bit cheerier. That was something. He still – he felt like a piece of shit, in all truth, for what he'd said to his mates on Valentine's Day. Every time he looked art her, his own words rung in his ears. Had he meant it? He couldn't exactly envision them getting married, or having kids, or living happily ever after – but that didn't mean he didn't like her. He just…well, wasn't it alright for now? He was fifteen. He didn't have to be thinking about the future. Did he? Was she?
Lisbete tossed her hair and looked up at him. "Are we allowed in here?"
James grinned. "Nobody's here to say we're not." And if someone arrived, he'd just say he was early for practice – technically, it could be true. He did have practice later. He'd only be seven-ish hours early.
They strolled onto the pitch, finely manicured grass bowing beneath their feet. A thrill rose in him as he looked up. James could vividly see phantom crowds in the stands, screaming his name; McGonagall in the commentator's box, supervising with a stern smile; the old Headmaster clapping upon every goal, but maybe a bit harder when it was Gryffindor who scored; a looming keeper from the other team, smirking as if it was bound to be an easy save, only for shock to drop across their face. His heart swelled.
"Brilliant, isn't it?" he murmured.
"I've never been here," Lisbete said. He nodded vaguely, swinging his broom down. He instinctively threw one leg over the handle and bent his knees, preparing to kick off. The pitch beat a second, excited pulse in his chest. He thought quidditch might've been in his bloodstream somehow; prolonged exposure. "On the grass, I mean."
"What? Oh, yeah, right." He glanced at Lisbete, who gave him a smile. He knew he'd have to fly carefully with her on the back; she'd be holding on, of course, so it wasn't very likely that she'd just fall off the back and plummet, but he figured he should try not to scare her. Given that he was meant to be comforting her and everything.
"Do you want me to get on now?" she asked, after a moment.
"Yeah, come on." He slid up the broom a little. It wasn't built for two people, but the Cushioning Charm was broad and well-applied, letting him manoeuvre and shift his weight as needed. Lisbete approached tentatively. "Just swing your leg over and put your arms around my middle." She put a hand on his shoulder and hoisted one leg up. She bent to sit on the broom, and he watched over his shoulder. Her left arm hung lower than her right.
"Is this okay?"
"No, you need to shift over a bit, lean to your right. You're not balanced properly."
"Oh." She moved. "Is this better?"
"Put more weight on your right foot."
"Like this?"
"Er – yeah, that'll do. Hold on." Her face pressed into his back, and her hands knitted together around his stomach. "Ready?"
"How high are we going?"
"Let's go!"
James kicked off into the air and accelerated moderately, keeping a gentle slope. She squeezed him tight. He made it to the goals in about twenty seconds, though if he wanted to, he could've done it in five. Nevertheless, Lisbete gasped.
"You're going so fast," she said, words muffled by his body. Her pulse raced against him.
"I'll slow down," he conceded, and did a leisurely circle of the hoops. He liked to do sprints before training, darting up and down the pitch as quick as he could, but he guessed that Lisbete wouldn't be a fan. Instead, he started off at a turtle's pace, drifting through the sky like they were being pushed by a gentle wind.
"We're so high," Lisbete said. "What if I fall? I won't fall, will I?"
"Not if you hold on," James said. He took one hand off the broom to hold it over her hands, but she squealed and he put it back hurriedly. "What's wrong?"
"You took your hand off the broom!"
"Yeah?" She groaned a little and hugged him so tightly his eyes watered. It was easy flying; he was going largely in a straight line, so he barely had to steer. Lisbete squirmed every so often and he had to shift around to counterbalance her weight.
"I think the height clears my head," James said, as they rounded the hoops at the other end. "The air up here is cleaner. Colder. It gets into me, you know, and then I can figure out whatever I need to figure out. And when I'm on a broom – the whole world is down there." He pointed at the grass, and Lisbete sucked in her breath. "that matters is me and the broom and the clouds and the sun – and the quaffle and my teammates, if I'm playing. But up here, I'm untouchable." He adjusted the broom's course very slightly.
"It's Valencia and Father," Lisbete said quietly. "They quarrelled and Val left, she just – she just took her things and left. And she won't answer their owls, and Eudrew sent her a letter and she still hasn't replied." They flew through one of the goal hoops, and James turned quickly so that they wove through the next.
"Well," James said, steering, "she's an adult, isn't she? She's allowed to leave if she likes."
"But I don't know where she's gone!" Lisbete said. "Nobody knows, she won't talk to us! What if -" and here, she took a ragged breath, "- you've seen the papers, haven't you, Jamie? There was a witch from Fife who went missing just last week. What if…what if something happens to her?"
James pulled the broom to a stop. With some difficulty, he lifted himself, shifted his weight, and turned atop the broomstick. Lisbete squealed again, but James managed to turn himself around, so that he sat backwards on his broom, facing her. She gripped the broom with two hands, knuckles and face white, and so did he. The tops of their fists brushed.
"It's shit," James acknowledged, squeezing her hand, "but she's a pureblood. They're not going to be after her for no good reason. She's not seeing a muggle, is she?" Lisbete shook her head vehemently. "And your family – they don't have much to do with muggles?"
"No," Lisbete said sharply. "No, of course not. I haven't even seen a muggle in my whole life – except maybe at the train station before school."
"Then she's not going to be in any danger," James said simply. "Look, I don't know why she's run off on your parents, but I reckon she'll be in touch once she's figured things out. And-" here, he softened his tone, "- if something happens to her, it'll be in the papers. She'll be okay, Lisbete. Maybe she just wanted a change of scenery."
Lisbete sniffled very hard and chewed her lip, looking down at the pitch below. James adjusted his seat on the broom. A sombreness crept between them, and he wondered if she'd agree to just one flip (and maybe a bit of a dive) to take their minds off things. It was difficult to think about anything else when you were hurtling towards the grass at sixty-eight miles an hour.
"Jamie," she said. "I don't like it up here. I want to get down."
And something in him changed.
A wave of revulsion rose in his gut, and suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere but there. He wanted to be as far away from her as possible. He wanted to be on the other side of the school. Her eyes were rimmed with red, the tip of her nose was raw, her face was swollen and puffy from crying, and every bit of sympathy, every bit of guilt he'd had for how he'd talked about her vanished.
"Right," James said stiffly. He turned around and leaned forward. "Hold on." She pressed against him and wrapped her arms around him. Without warning, he dove, though slowly and on a gentle slope. She didn't make a sound. They landed gently. James got off the broom at once, and Lisbete hurriedly followed. He carried his broom over his shoulder and strode towards the pitch's gates.
"Where are we going?" Lisbete asked, scampering behind him. James looked straight ahead.
"I'm going to my dormitory," he said, pushing the gate open.
"To put your broom away? Maybe after that, if we have time, we could just find a corner of the common room and-"
"I don't like being called 'Jamie'!" He spun around to face her, fury pulsing in his neck. He could not explain why that was the first thing that erupted from his lips, but with each word he seemed to grow angrier. "I hate it, actually, and everyone else thinks it's stupid! My name is James! You're not my mother and I'm not four! 'Jamie' is two sounds and 'James' is one anyway, it's not as if you're shortening it!"
Her face reddened. "What do you mean, everyone thinks it's stupid? Who thinks it's stupid?"
"What do you mean, 'of course not'? Why 'of course' do you not have anything to do with muggles? Why are you – proud – of never having seen a muggle in your life? They're just people! Do you not ever pop down to the pub in town, or go through muggle London on the way to Diagon Alley?"
"We're not allowed to go near muggles!" Lisbete said, recoiling. "They're dangerous! They – they riot at their funny sports matches and attack each other with things and – and blow each other up!"
"So do we!" James shouted back. "And if you weren't allowed near muggles because your mum and dad thought they'd – what, blow you up? – then maybe that's why your sister ran out on them! Do they have a problem with you coming to Hogwarts? I think there are more people here who'd blow someone up then you'd get in a normal muggle village!"
"Don't talk about my family!" Lisbete yelled.
"You wanted to talk about your family! You're the one who told me about your sister, and about your parents! What am I meant to do, just sit here and not think about it at all, not have an opinion? Or do you just want me to say your parents are right, your sister's a bitch, she shouldn't have left?"
"She's not a bitch!"
"Then are your mum and dad in the wrong?"
"Who laughed at me calling you Jamie?!"
"I can't be around you right now," James said, pushing his hair back. "I can't." He wrenched his gaze away from her, chest burning, and started quickly towards the castle.
"Jami – James! No, please, I don't want to fight!"
He didn't look back.
February 20th, 1976
"What a stupid name," Sirius said, pressing a buttered third of toast to the end of his nose. He squinted his eyes, face taut with concentration, and quickly removed his fingers. The toast slid down his face and landed on his plate, leaving behind a swishy trail of yellow on Sirius' pale skin. Remus raised his eyebrows.
"It's the stupidest thing I've come across all morning," he said. Sirius wiped his face with a serviette, picked up a knife, spread butter thickly over the toast, and once more pressed it to his nose. Remus and Peter locked eyes, and then Peter went cross-eyed. Remus snorted. The back of his throat burned. He rubbed his neck. Though it had been five long days since the full moon, he'd only returned from the Infirmary on Wednesday evening, and today would be his first day of lessons. Three vials sat by his cup of pumpkin juice, and with a twist in his stomach he remembered he was supposed to take them immediately after his first bite of breakfast. All that remained of his three slices of toast were little brown crumbs peppering his plate. He sighed and set the newspaper down, uncorking the vials and taking each in turn. One was supposed to help his body to regain its strength; one was to mend the tears in his calf muscles; the final potion was a simple painkiller.
"I didn't think it would take so long," James said, nodding at the second vial, now empty. "Shouldn't Pomfrey fix that up in a jiff?" Toast, once more, slid down Sirius' face. Remus glanced around, but the rest of the table chattered away busily, either jabbing their fingers at the Hufflepuff and Slytherin tables or gossiping furiously about the dance on Sunday evening.
"It's dark magic," he said, voice low. "It's different. It doesn't respond to medicine in the same way." Sirius threw his serviette down, features stormy.
"It's as stupid as that fool in the paper," he said. "You're not dark."
"It doesn't matter what you think," Remus replied. "That's what it is. It's a fact."
"Fuck the facts."
"Yeah, fuck the facts," James echoed darkly, glaring down the table at a particular blonde third-year. Once more, Peter crossed his eyes. Remus picked the paper back up, hoping to steer the conversation before James had the chance.
"'The Rabbit'," he read on, voice slightly hoarse, "'has claimed responsibility for a wave of attacks across the Midlands, leaving behind the apparent face of a rabbit – seen in the illustration on the left as a circle with two large vertical lines extending from the top, and two smaller vertical lines extending from the bottom of the circle at the centre – at the sites of attacks. Head Auror Frank Jordan has urged the wizarding community to notify the Auror Office immediately if this sign is known to you, or if this sign is spotted in the community.'" Remus turned the paper so it faced upright to Sirius and James. A drawn depiction of supposed signature of 'the Rabbit' sat in the top left corner, while the Head Auror, a tall, respectable-looking man with tight dreadlocks and neat robes, gave them a stern look from the bottom right.
"Why would someone call themselves a rabbit?" Sirius asked, stabbing his third of toast viciously with a fork. "It hardly inspires fear."
"Yeah," James said, sliding his front teeth past his bottom lip. He adopted a very high-pitched voice. "Meh-heh-heh, look at mee, aren't I evil?" He dropped the act. "He sounds like he needs a hex to the head."
"You don't think it's a – Death Eater?" Peter asked, pulling at the feather of his quill. Sirius laughed darkly.
"It would be the kind of thing those idiots would call themselves," he said. "Maybe it's Rabastan Lestrange. He's always been a twitchy little fucker. Buck teeth, too." He pulled an atrocious, twisted expression Remus guessed was an approximation of Rabastan Lestrange, and Remus couldn't help but laugh. "James. James."
Sirius turned to James, who now gazed wistfully down the table. Sirius grabbed his sleeve, and Remus hurriedly produced the next distraction.
"When are we going to start tearing this apart?" he asked, setting the hard-covered book between James' forearms. A brown price-tag dragged on the table. James ripped his eyes from his girlfriend (maybe? Remus, Sirius, and Peter had quietly rejoiced for all of five minutes while James had been in the bathroom last night, only for him to come out and announce that he wanted to resolve the matter) and regarded the diary in front of him.
"As soon as we can," he answered, brightening. "I hate Friday. We aren't all free until four."
"You hate Friday?" Peter repeated. "Who are you? It's Friday! We don't have to get up tomorrow!"
"Exactly," said James. "Tomorrow is Saturday, and we haven't got to get up for lessons or put our uniforms on all day, and we can stay up as long as we like. More than that," and he drummed his hands on the table, "tomorrow is quidditch." He faltered. "It'd be better if I was playing, but the point still stands."
Yes: inescapably, tomorrow was quidditch. That was the source of the pointing at the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, and the reason why so many added a touch of yellow or green to their uniforms today, even if they were Gryffindors or Ravenclaws. Remus, Sirius, James, and Peter all wore yellow socks (or socks that they'd charmed to be yellow before coming down for breakfast). Laura Vickers wore a yellow ribbon in her black ponytail; Alice Rhysfield's hair was held back by a yellow headband; Connor O'Neill had turned his tongue yellow and Ludovic Bagman had pledged to all of the Gryffindor common room the night before that he would get a tattoo of a badger on his arse if Hufflepuff lost by more than two hundred points. Almost no-one in Gryffindor sported green; in Ravenclaw, it was considerably more mixed. Remus, by virtue of being friends with James Potter, had already planned for at least three hours in the stands, and hoped only that it wouldn't be too wet, so he could read when nothing interesting was happening.
And after that wonder of a day promised to him, which wouldn't even be rewarded with a party afterwards, he had all of Sunday to spend with the other Gryffindor prefects setting up the fundraiser dance. For which a date still eluded him.
As James would say, fucking brilliant.
"We could," Remus said carefully, "spend tomorrow working on this instead. We could have it done by Monday morning."
James stared at him.
"Quidditch is tomorrow," he said.
"Yes."
"Yes. Quidditch. Hufflepuff versus Slytherin."
"I had no idea."
"Remus. It's quidditch. We get six matches a year, and you want to rip one from my hands? You want to look at my dreams, my wants, and crush them?"
"When did you get so poetic?" Sirius said, looking sidewards. "I don't appreciate competition, Potter. Perish."
"Perish yourself. Perish your mother."
"Gladly." Sirius sipped his spiked pumpkin juice, because apparently, there was no better way to begin a Friday morning than with a mixture of pumpkin and whiskey. Privately, Remus preferred his tea. "I'm bored."
"Well, should we go?" Peter asked, glancing up from his parchment. Then he looked stricken. "Is that typical? Would we normally leave breakfast at -" he glanced at the big clock on the wall, "-seven thirty-nine?"
James shrugged. "I don't think so. We're usually almost late for our first lesson with Remus on our arse, so I reckon we leave about seven fifty-five."
"Fifty-four," Remus corrected, smiling. Peter frowned ponderously.
"Should I put that down now, or wait?"
"Just wait," James said, waving his hand. Peter nodded.
He was in charge of a piece of parchment that they were using to track their normal daily movements for the map. Once they figured out the enchantments on the diary James had ordered, they'd apply the same spells to the bits of the map they'd created and they'd begin to have something of a working, time-accurate map. Well, assuming they followed their normal schedules. There had to be another way, Remus thought, to track themselves in real time. It might be helpful for knowing where people were likely to be during lessons, but who was to say they'd do the same thing every Friday night?
"I'm still bored," Sirius complained. Remus rifled through the paper and threw the crossword in his direction. It landed on his head.
"There you go," Remus said. "Use your wasted brain." Sirius pulled the sheet down and examined it.
"A crossword?" he said, disbelievingly.
"Oh! You can borrow my quill!" Peter dipped it in ink and passed it over. Sirius took it.
"This is stupid," he said.
"Do you want to read the health column instead?" Sirius glared at him. Remus pulled out the quidditch pages for James and the lottery for Peter, who never entered but liked to look. Remus himself started on the international news. 'MACUSA has announced…'
"Nine letters, a witch who was passionate about hat pointiness. Last letter is 'a'," Sirius said, after a minute or so. Remus and the others looked up from their reading, stumped. Hat pointiness?
"Erm," Peter said. "Carpentina? No, that's ten. Jamesitia? Hareenfula?"
"Are you making things up?" Sirius frowned.
"No, come on," James said, hitting his hand against the table. "We've learned about her. I swear on my magic we have." He froze, the picture of thoughtfulness, then clicked his fingers, pointing directly at Remus. "History of Magic!"
"You remember something from History of Magic?" Remus asked, both surprised and impressed.
"Who was she?"
"I don't know – oh! She was a Minister, wasn't she?"
"Not the first one?" Peter piped up. "Artemisia! Artemisia Lufkin!"
"How do you know that, Wormy?" Sirius asked. Peter lifted his chin.
"My sister always says if she has a baby and it's a girl, she'll call her Artemisia."
"That's almost as bad as 'Fleamont'," James grinned.
"Artemisia would fit," Sirius said, tapping the nib of the quill against the page. "Did she have a thing about hats?"
"I'm sure she did," Peter said hurriedly. "It has to be her, who else would it be? I got it!"
"No," Remus said, clasping his hands together and pressing them to his forehead. "No, no, I know who it is. I remember…"
"I knew it was in History of Magic," James said proudly. Remus rattled his brains.
"It's in the eighteen-hundreds," he said. "There was Flint, Gambol…Lestrange…" Sirius gagged. "Milliphutt… What were their first names?"
"The Flint was a woman," Sirius said. "Josephina. That could be it. They have a big portrait of her in their entrance hall, it's the only decent thing they have."
"No, it's a stranger name," Remus said, and pressed harder, as if by cracking his skull he could remember the answer. They'd had exams on all the Ministers. He'd made silly nicknames up to help himself and his friends remember them. Who had it been? There'd been something about hats… "Hortensia!" he cried suddenly. "Hortensia Hathumper!"
"What?" said Peter, but Sirius beamed.
"Hortensia Hathumper! How could I forget! Hortensia Hathumper the Milliphutt Millipede. Nice one, Moony." Sirius scribbled the name down.
"I still don't understand what a millipede is," James confessed. Peter deflated.
"Are you sure it's not Artemisia? It could be…"
"Hortensia sounds right."
"I think this one going across is 'Horklump', so Hortensia fits…"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
They left the Great Hall at seven fifty-four and thirty seconds, making for Transfiguration. The lesson proved difficult but they weren't given a completely ridiculous amount of homework.
"Oi," Marlene warned sternly, when Sirius shot a jinx in her direction. "Watch yourself, or you'll be dancing on your own on Sunday."
"My heart would break," Sirius said dryly, leaning back in his chair.
"Arsehole." Sirius laughed melodically, and Remus' stomach twisted. He supposed he was nervous about the upcoming event. With only a little over forty-eight hours to go, he still lacked a date, as did Peter, who looked just as squirmy as he felt.
Sirius observed them both with a smirk. "You know," he said, carelessly carding his fingers through his dark hair. Remus shifted, inhaling deeply. "If you really need dates, I'm sure one of you could take Lisbete. Jamie would be more than happy to have her off his hands." James' quill snapped as he pressed it against his parchment.
"She's still my girlfriend," he said. "And I'm going to fix things with her. Bugger off, Black."
"Bugger yourself, prick." Sirius swung his feet up onto the desk, leather loafers perfectly polished. Somehow, no matter how much Sirius put them through the wringer, they appeared brand new. It would be some expensive enchantment, probably. Remus glared at his own battered lace-ups, where a grey depression at the tip threatened to expose his socks. "But truth be told, Moony, you make it far more difficult for yourself than you need to. You're running the event, you're halfway intelligent, any Ravenclaw girl would trip over herself to go with you." He paused. "Perhaps not Florence Diggory, but anyone else."
"Oh, thank you," Remus said. "You fill me with confidence." It wasn't a lack of confidence, necessarily, that prevented him from asking someone, however. It was more that he didn't know what to do with a partner. He didn't relish the idea of dancing with some girl he barely knew, and besides, thinking logically, it was better that one of the Gryffindor prefects was free to attend to any issues that might come up, wasn't it? If they were all partnered off, they'd all be distracted. Yes, exactly. He only needed to explain that to Alice, and everything would be fine.
"And Wormy, if you just find some soppy Hufflepuff – a fourth-year would do – you'll be in luck too."
"Oh." Peter laid his head on the desk.
Potions came next, and Remus stiffened when the Slytherins came along. Skulking at the back was Snape. Remus' insides turned to ice. Since – since Sunday, they had not seen each other, and part of him had wanted to believe it was a bad dream. Some monstrous vision carried along his subconscious during his transformation, some delusion borne of paranoia. Because Snape could not have seen him. He couldn't've. If he had, why was Remus still here? He would've figured it out – he would've gone to Dumbledore, or the Board of Governors if Dumbledore did nothing – he would've written his parents, wouldn't he? And he wasn't a muggle-born, so certainly his parents would've been banging on the school gates in an instant, declaring that a dark creature could not be permitted to stay at the school, calling for banishment or even execution –
"Lupin," Severus greeted, upper lip curling. "Nice holiday?"
Sirius drew his wand, and Peter sucked in his breath loudly. Remus' open hands clenched into fists deep in his pockets. It took every ounce of effort to remain collected. It had not been a dream. He knew. Snape knew. But, for whatever reason, he had not told. And that intrigued Remus more than he would've liked.
"If that's what you call being in bed with Mumblemumps, then no," he said coolly.
"Not that you'd know, Snivellus, it's not as if you have anyone who'd want to hear your voice," Sirius said.
"Did you suddenly come down with it by the Whomping Willow?" Snape asked, raising his eyebrows. "What a coincidence."
"What a coincidence that you happened to knock yourself out there at the same time? Indeed." Remus had not witnessed this himself, but when he had frantically asked Madam Pomfrey about the matter upon being escorted to the Infirmary the next day, she had told him what had happened.
Peter choked a laugh. "You got knocked out by the Whomping Willow? But everyone knows not to get too close to it!"
"Be reasonable, Wormy. It's not as though he has any friends to pass the message on," Sirius said, stepping forward. His grey eyes blazed. His profile cut the outline of a hero; his jaw set, his muscles coiled like springs, the draught in the dungeon corridor blowing his hair ever so slightly. His robes might have been a king's. They fit well, but at the same time seemed to drape lazily over him like frivolous adornments. Snape withdrew his wand, black eyes narrowing.
"No wands out in the corridor!" Lily called from the door to the classroom, hands on her hips. Neither Sirius nor Snape obeyed.
"It must have been a bout of full moon-induced lunacy," Severus said, his lips twitching into a cruel smile. Remus froze.
"You fucker!" Breaking his silence, James launched from the shadows towards Snape, who deftly stepped backwards to avoid him. "You fucking shit-breathed fat-nosed fucking knobsucker! Go to your own creepy little arse-licking mates and fuck off! Nobody fucking likes you, nobody has ever fucking liked you, your father obviously fucking hates you to let you have that atrocious fucking cock hanging off the middle of your face, everyone in our year fucking hates you! When will you get it into your demented little head that nobody wants you here?"
"Potter! Potter!" Lily ran forwards, and Remus slunk back. James, to his credit, did not hex or punch Snape, ensuring that the worst he could get was a few points taken off.
"Oh, that's rich, Potter," Snape drawled. "Do you really believe that everybody wants tickets to the never-ending Potter show, where we're subjected to you and your neanderthal friends' childish ideas of fun? You think you're so great, but -"
"I am great!" James shouted, leaping forward into Snape's face, who backed into the wall. "I am great, actually, Snivellus. I made the quidditch team in second year. Not as a reserve, as the chaser. I get better marks than you in half our classes. I'm representing all of the UK in the International Transfiguration Tournament, I'm getting portkeyed out to Australia! When have you ever represented anything but pathetic little losers? And I have mates, proper mates I can have a laugh with. I get invited to things. My parents love me, which doesn't make me great, but certainly makes me greater than you. I know what a shower is. I've snogged girls, not just the back of my grease-stained hand. I'm not a fucking creepy little future Death Eater that wets his pants at the thought of getting to bash a muggle-born up all while wanking to one on the daily! You are fucking pathetic! Nobody has ever or will ever fucking like you, because you're a waste of magic, and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to themselves so they feel like a nice person!"
"Potter!"
Lily's face burned red, her hair whipping around her face like dark flames. James smiled a smile that in any other context would've seemed carelessly happy.
"Evans," he greeted politely, and quite calmly. His head swivelled back to Snape. "There you go," he said, shrugging as if the matter proved a point.
"I know," Snape spat. "I know what you, and your little friends get up to, I know -"
"Mate," James said, laying a hand gently on Snape's shoulder. Snape flinched back so hard his head slammed into the dark stone wall. Sirius and Peter laughed loudly; though Remus knew he ought to disapprove, a smirk fought valiantly for his lips. "Having a good time isn't a secret. It's actually what everyone does. It's not our fault you'll never get that."
"Potter," and now it was a warning from Padgett, one of the Slytherin prefects, who looked more resigned than anything. James shrugged again and strolled back across the corridor. Snape raised his wand, and Lily cried out.
"Fifth-years, you may come in," Professor Slughorn boomed from the classroom door, smiling cluelessly at the assembled students. "Please keep quiet in the corridors, I wouldn't like to disturb any of the other classes that may already be working."
"You should've told me you were going to do that," Sirius said, as they stood at their workbench that lesson, cutting various ingredients. Remus swore as he nearly burned his hand putting odd leaves into their cauldron. "You can't go in on Snivellus without it being a group effort, we all have to have a little fun."
"I didn't know I was going to do it until I'd done it," James grumbled, squinting through his glasses at their textbook.
"I want to know what he meant when he said that he knows," Peter said. Remus' gut pinched. "I mean, knows what? What did he mean about Moony having a nice holiday?"
"Moony was gone for nearly a week, even an idiot like Snivellus would've noticed," Sirius said, taking the spoon from Peter and stirring their mixture. Remus' mind waged war with itself; to tell, or not to tell? If he told, Sirius and James would beat Snape to death with a wooden spoon and a book. If he kept quiet, perhaps it would go away. Snape had not said anything yet; he was clearly waiting for something. Perhaps while he waited to press his advantage, he would forget. He had hit his head, after all; perhaps it would soon seem to him as it had to Remus – a bad dream…
"But he said about the full moon," Peter pressed. "And about the Whomping Willow, how could he know about that? And at the end, to James, he kept saying he knew. Does he…?" Peter looked to Remus, round face full of concern. "He doesn't know, does he?" Three pairs of eyes bore into his skin. Remus swallowed.
"No," he said simply. "He doesn't know. How could he?"