The Price We Pay

by possessingtheproperspirit

As the summer before their sixth year comes to an end, Sirius, Remus, Lily and James consider how things may be different on their return to Hogwarts. When Sirius finally breaks free from his toxic home, it should be a fresh start - but unfortunately, it's the start of a spiral that will threaten the foundations of friendship, and change their lives irrevocably.

27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Burning Through The Sky

14th October, 7.24pm

"Dor!" Marlene's voice rose above the sound of the wireless, blasting out 'all the best wizarding hits', none of which Lily had recognised so far. Mary, who usually commandeered the record player on occasions such as this, was still in the shower and hadn't yet been able to intervene. "Come and give us a hand, will you? I think the zipper is stuck in the fabric…"

It was Friday evening, often a time for the seventh years to feel a bit hopped up after a busy week; add to that feeling the fact that it was Mary's birthday the next day, and that she had decided a 'little knees up in the dorm' was how she wanted to celebrate, and you'd have thought that some kind of national day of celebration had been declared. Marlene had only just finished painting her nails a deep purple, and was now wrestling into a rather daring minidress, having announced that she needed to make the most of the opportunities to wear it, "even if the only audience will be you lot and the lads".

Dorcas hadn't seemed as bothered about her outfit, choosing instead to prepare alcoholically: she had been slumped on her bed, watching Lily at the mirror and drinking a gin concoction, the whole time since they'd come back from dinner. She wasn't one for getting dressed up, anyway.

"In a minute, Marl," Dorcas replied; Lily caught her eye briefly in the reflection of the mirror, raising an eyebrow at her. "Lil is in the middle of a crisis and I need to be ready for when she implodes."

"Um, excuse me?" Lily turned around at that accusation. "I'm not in the middle of a crisis! I'm—I'm nowhere near a crisis, thank you!"

"Oh, now," Dor shook her head with a look that was probably supposed to be sympathetic, but just infuriated Lily more than words could express. "You've been standing there since we came up from dinner, you've held every single item of clothing you own in front of yourself—you've even gone through Mare's clothes, too—clearly you're in a meltdown."

"Ohh, love," Marlene clucked, "you don't need to worry about what you're wearing, Potter will be obsessed with you even if you're in a burlap sack!"

"That's—what are you—I'm not worried!"

The trouble was, she could very well hear the edge of desperation in her own voice, just as well as her friends could (and she knew they could—the knowing look they shared was infuriating evidence enough). And they weren't wrong, per se: she'd been over analysing every single outfit choice, wondering if it made her look like she was trying too hard, or not hard enough, or made her arse look big, or made her look like a firstie, or like mutton dressed as lamb…

She had never hated the contents of her wardrobe before. It was unsettling.

And, okay, maybe in the back of her mind she was a bit aware of the fact that James was joining them for this dorm room party (along with the other Marauders, but she was less bothered about their opinions on her outfit), and he usually just saw her in her uniform, or maybe jeans and a jumper at the weekends, which wasn't exactly the most enticing of looks. And she wasn't trying to entice him, exactly; she just…didn't want to look terrible.

That was normal, wasn't it?

Mary emerged from the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam. "What are we worried about?"

"Lil's panicking about what to wear for Potter," Dorcas replied brightly.

"I am not—"

"Lily my darling, he'd still fancy the pants off you even if you wore your pyjamas," Mary told her, heading over to her bed; she paused to cast a thoughtful look in Lily's direction. "That might be worth a thought, actually…"

Lily heaved a sigh, as loudly and dramatically as she could. "I'm not going to wear my pyjamas," she said, although she was, in fact, wearing her pyjamas at that moment. Just as a holding outfit, though; not as a fashion statement. "And I'm not panicking. I'm just…having an indecisive evening, that's all."

"True," Dorcas allowed. "You couldn't choose what to have for pudding either."

Lily could see Marlene's smirk coming a mile away. "That's because she was distracted by—"

She'd never been so grateful for a knock at the door; after a quick check to make sure they were all decent, she called out "come in" and, a moment later, the door opened just enough for a small blonde head to poke its way in.

It was Julie Jorkins, one of the first years', and she looked decidedly anxious. "Sorry to interrupt your evening," she said, her gaze darting nervily towards Marlene in her mini-dress.

"That's okay," Lily assured her, turning fully away from the mirror. "What's on?"

"It's Cilla, she's in the common room and she won't stop crying," the young girl blurted out, shifting from foot to foot. "She won't tell me what's wrong, she won't let me get Professor McGonagall, she won't come up to our dorm—I don't know what to do."

"Okay," Lily gave her what she hoped was a comforting smile; she reached for her discarded school blouse, hastily buttoning it up over her vest top. She didn't think giving the common room a show was the best plan, here. "C'mon, let's see if we can calm her down…"

She followed Julie out of the door and back down the stairs. "Do you have any idea what could—" she had started, but stopped as they reached the common room. Sure enough, Cilla Mills was sitting on the sofa by the fire, her face blotchy and damp…but she was no longer crying. Rather, she was blinking up at the Head Boy, who was patting her hand and wearing an encouraging smile on his face.

They both looked up as Lily and Julie approached; James shot Lily a quick grin, something which shouldn't have knotted up her stomach in the way it did. "Look, it's our illustrious Head Girl," he said, giving Cilla's hand a quick squeeze. The girl looked mildly mortified, quickly moving to wipe her eyes with her free hand. "Cill's got it in her head that she'll be kicked out of school for doing poorly on a Transfiguration test."

Lily perched on the edge of the coffee table, the better to meet the first year's anxious gaze. "If James didn't get kicked out for turning the floor of McGonagall's classroom into a swamp in first year, you definitely won't over a piddly test score."

Cilla's eyes widened, and she let slip a teary giggle, shooting James a scandalised look. "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed cheerfully. "And, in my defence, I was going for something less boggy. We can't all be perfect the first time." He gave her shoulder a nudge with his own. "Honestly, learning this stuff takes time. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Cilla nodded, drawing in a deep breath. "I know it's silly," she said, her voice steadier already. "I just…I found it really hard, and a boy in my class said I'd probably be chucked out because I didn't do very well on the last test, either…"

"Sounds like someone who's talking a load of nonsense," Lily shook her head. "Just trying to stir things up, I expect."

"Look, it's Friday, don't worry about this stuff now," James advised. "It's been a long week, you're still full of apple crumble and custard—" Another giggle, from Cilla and Julie this time. Lily might've giggled, too, but she had to maintain some level of composure. "—go on upstairs and relax for the evening, and if you like, we can look over the Transfig stuff tomorrow after breakfast."

"Really?" Cilla's eyes were like dinner plates at this point: she looked at James like he hung the stars. "You'd do that?"

"'Course," he replied with a smile. "Us Gryffindors have to stick together."

"Thank you so much," the girl breathed, and stood up, flashing a smile at Lily, too, before she grabbed her friend's hand. "See you tomorrow then…"

The pair disappeared to the stairs in a cloud of giggling and whispering, and Lily turned back to face James, a wry smile on her face. "You've made yourself a fan for life, there."

He winked—winked, ugh, she was helpless in the face of it. "All part of the job description." He nodded down to her flannel pyjama trousers. "Love the outfit, by the way."

"Piss off," she grinned, standing up. "I was about to get changed when I was summoned for a crisis. Which you stole out from under me, by the way."

James stood up too, hands in his pockets and a smile lighting up his eyes. "My apologies," he said. "Never meant to step on anyone's toes, least of all yours." They stood there, smiling at each other for a long moment—maybe for too long, Lily couldn't be sure, time had lost all meaning—before he nodded towards the staircase. "Well, I'll see you in a bit for the birthday shenanigans."

"Right," she agreed. "I'll be the one…not in my pyjamas."

He laughed, and as she climbed the stairs back up to her dorm, she tried not to think about the way the sound could send sparks throughout her entire body.

---

Thirteen days ago

It was a strange transition, Remus thought, to go from in a relationship to not. One day you're going about every day with this person, talking to them, sharing your opinions and your ups and your downs—being intimate with them. And then suddenly, you're not. They're gone.

Well, not gone as such, since Owain was still demonstrably around: he was there in the Great Hall, chatting with his mates; he was there in their shared lessons, offering clever and insightful input to class discussions; he was there in passing in the hallways, or sat at his usual table in the library, or wandering the courtyard outside in the brief snatches of half-decent weather they got. But what had first started as hurt looks, as clear and painful sadness as he mourned the end of their relationship, had turned into something else.

Now, Owain simply acted as if Remus were invisible.

His gaze swept past him at breakfast; he didn't acknowledge Remus' offerings in lessons; he looked right through him in the hallways, or in the library, or outside in the pale September sunlight.

Remus had done this before, with Sirius, after the Snape incident. He knew how much hard work it was to pretend someone didn't exist. It was, in a way, admirable that Owain was doing so bloody well at it.

And he supposed he could hardly blame him, given the way Remus had ditched him seemingly out of the blue, and with no real explanation. It was hardly as if they'd be able to stay friends, to move on from the experience a little bruised but still unshakeable in their bond.

But it didn't make it any easier, knowing that. He cared about Owain, of course he did, and he'd always liked him as a friend even before things turned in a different direction.

That was the cost, he supposed.

This was what he was thinking about when he should have been working on his Defence essay. Normally, DADA was his favourite subject; last year, despite the terror that Merryton had induced in even the hardiest of students, he'd excelled under her tutelage. But this year, with Professor Selwyn at the helm…it was much more difficult to rustle up any enthusiasm for it.

Eliphas Selwyn had so far proven himself exactly as Remus and his friends had feared: the man had no interest in educating anyone who wasn't a pureblood, treating the rest of the class as second-class citizens who didn't even merit a glance in their direction. He'd shuffled the seating plan around—a dangerous proposition at the best of times, given how much everyone would really rather sit by their friends—to bring those deemed worthy to the front of the room; the back two rows now consisted of muggleborn students. Remus, for his part, had been placed about halfway, and although that might've been where he'd have chosen to sit anyway, the whole thing made his blood boil.

And that was just the seating chart. Selwyn was cold, mercurial in his teaching methods, ignoring parts of the NEWT syllabus in favour of whatever he thought was more important. He used his classroom as a pulpit, lecturing them on the inferior magic of anyone not in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was never outright offensive; the man was always careful to couch it all in language that could be interpreted another way, if you had the inclination. But he knew what he was doing. He knew what he was saying.

None of this made Remus more eager to write the latest essay they'd been set. That was why it was much easier to half-watch Owain with his mates a few tables away, and ponder the strange twists and turns life could take.

"God," came a tired voice; he looked up to find Lily, dropping a pile of books onto the table with a heavy thud, followed by her bag. "Are you doing the Defence essay? Making any headway?"

He grimaced as she sat down. "Not really," he said, gesturing to his parchment. All that was written so far was the essay title, and a few sentences that might've passed for an introduction to someone less thorough in their approach to work. "I haven't really got the head for it at the moment."

"Neither have I," she admitted with a sigh. "But I can't put it off much longer."

Remus nodded in understanding. Lily had always been a hard worker, fastidious in her approach to school and learning. But he knew very well that being demoted to the back of the classroom, that being ignored when she raised her hand, that having her essays handed back always marked as 'A', no matter how good the content was, had drained her of her dedication to the subject. Something he did not blame her for in the slightest.

"Maybe we can tackle it together," he suggested. "Let's be honest, Selwyn doesn't care enough about either of our efforts to notice if we've plagiarised off each other."

Lily laughed, a sound totally devoid of humour. "Probably true," she agreed wearily. "But I'm afraid that goes against all my principles."

"Ah, see, that's where you're going wrong," he told her. "Having principles. It's asking for trouble."

She shot him a fond smile; he was glad to see her smile was becoming more genuine by the minute. "So it would seem."

He watched as she riffled through her bag for parchment and ink. "You seemed a bit glum at breakfast," he offered, and she looked up, pausing her hunt for a quill. "Everything alright?"

"Oh, that?" Another sigh, and a roll of her eyes, something she often did when trying to brush off real and serious emotions. "Nothing, just…I got a letter from my dad."

Remus frowned; he'd thought she had a good relationship with her father. He felt a sudden stab of dread at the thought that Lily was receiving yet more awful health news from home. "Oh?"

"Yeah," she said, and shrugged, busying herself with inking her quill, smoothing out the parchment. "My sister got engaged last Christmas, and she's set a date."

Well, that was a relief. Albeit a confusing one. "Right," he nodded, eyebrows raised. "That's…exciting?"

Lily finally looked up. "I suppose so," she agreed. "But dad said…" She paused, let her eyes flicker away for a moment. "Petunia doesn't want me there."

Oh. Crap. Remus immediately set down his quill, leaning forward a little. "What? Why?"

"That part wasn't clear," she replied; her voice was quieter, and he hated the look on her face, like she was working very hard to hold it all together. "We've not exactly got on, since…well, since I found out about magic. But I didn't think she hated me this much."

Remus felt very aware of his only-child status; it was hard to imagine even having a sibling, and given the odd relationships his close friends had with theirs, it was harder still to imagine having a sibling who he got on with. Between Lily and Sirius, brothers and sisters didn't seem to have a lot to recommend them.

"That's ridiculous," he decided. "It's mad."

She gave him a faint smile. "Well, dad's going to try to change her mind," she said. "But he wanted to warn me, just in case. So I won't get blind-sided when I'm home at Christmas." She sighed again, and frowned. "It's not like I even like her fiance—he's a prick, Rem, trust me. But I thought, with mum gone…" She trailed off, and for a second, Remus was worried she might start to cry, right there in the library at three o'clock in the afternoon. He couldn't bear to see her upset like that, and certainly not with so many potentially unsympathetic witnesses. Luckily, though, whatever moment it was passed by, and her face cleared. "Anyway. I'm not going to beg to attend her wedding like she's the bloody Queen of England or something."

"It'd be her loss," he offered, gently. "Not yours."

"Too right," Lily agreed, clearly trying to aim for sounding more cheerful than she actually did. "Granted, I haven't been to a wedding since I was five, but I think I'd be a delightful guest."

"You would," Remus nodded. "Polite, well-mannered. You know all the lyrics to Dancing Queen."

This brought about a real smile, something bright and amused. It warmed him to see it. "I bloody do," she replied. "Because I know I'm not above Dancing Queen. None of us are."

He thought back to a party last year, that song blaring and Lily singing her heart out in the middle of the common room dance floor, ignoring Sirius' scathing commentary; it was a memory that brought a smile to his face, too. How could someone not want this kind, funny, sunshine sort of person at their wedding? It just didn't make sense. "You're right," he agreed. "Not a one of us."

She gave him a nudge with her shoulder, still grinning, and waved her quill indicatively. "Right, enough of that," she said. "Essay?"

"Essay," he nodded. Maybe together they'd actually finish the ruddy thing.

---

14th October, 9.32pm

When Mary had first announced that she didn't want the full common room bacchanalia to celebrate her birthday, Sirius had been disappointed. He may have reacted in such a way that would cause Marlene to call him "a child". It was just that he so enjoyed a good party, and it had been a while since they'd had one; if they weren't careful, they were all in danger of turning into a bunch of boring, swotty Ravenclaws. Perish the thought.

But, once he'd got used to the idea, a dorm party could be fun, too. Fewer people to have to interact with: just the seventh years, all of whom he enjoyed the company of, even Meadowes, who pretended to find him loathsome but, he knew, secretly adored him like the rest of them did.

Fewer people to share the booze with; more opportunities for fun games which could rile his mates up and maybe induce something worth gossiping about over the breakfast table tomorrow. It also meant he didn't have to be on his guard quite so much, worrying over what information might get back to the Slytherins he was still, somehow, convincing with his pureblood prick act. Much less stressful this way.

"I've decided that you can have your birthday party in your dorm," he'd told Mary benevolently after breakfast the week before. "It'll be fun."

"Wow," she'd replied, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Aren't you generous?"

By the time the day itself rolled around, Sirius was looking forward to shaking off another long and studious week, and indulging in a bit of firewhiskey. In fact, he'd dug into his personal stash, and swept into the girls' dorm with a bottle of Ogden's Old, a bottle of gillywater and two bottles of cheap red wine tucked under his arms, an entrance which earned him points with Meadowes. (Apparently, she'd already started on the gin, something which made her—for now—much more friendly.)

The party had started, as these things usually did, a bit awkwardly: music was playing, a record Lily had bought over the summer by a band called The Clash; the booze was being passed around, but most of them weren't quite tipsy enough to feel loose and free yet; and a cake had been produced, somehow, decorated in garish yellow icing and with the words 'HPY BDAY M!' picked out in chocolate ("I didn't have space for all the letters," Lily explained sheepishly).

But it only took an hour or so for any stiltedness to fall away, helped along by a brutal cocktail of Meadowes' concoction and a stirring game of charades, something Pete and Marlene—paired up by the randomiser charm—were surprisingly good at. Charades was followed by cards, and then Mary announced, with a grin that seemed to edge towards evil, "we should play truth or dare!"

Sirius was always happy to watch the world burn. "Good idea."

The game started innocently enough, with Peter confessing to hiding from Iris inside a suit of armour once to avoid a confrontation, and Marlene being dared to go down to the common room in her underwear (which she did, and returned to crow that the room had been empty, the jammy sod).

When it came round to Sirius's turn, he didn't hesitate. "Truth," he said, with a hint of a smirk; it was always fun to remind the others just who was the most laid back of all of them, to remind them how little he cared about whatever they could throw at him. Especially after having a few drinks.

Remus met his gaze, and suddenly Sirius wasn't so sure: there was something a bit unsettling in his eyes. "Were you really in a relationship with Mary?" he asked, his voice even, steady.

Ah. Well. He hadn't seen that one coming. Maybe he should have? Truth be told, he'd sort of forgotten about that whole situation; there'd been plenty of other things to concern himself with. As he gathered his thoughts, tried to arrange his expression into something that conveyed innocence and benign…ity (hard to do with this much firewhiskey under his belt), Marlene jumped in with a frown. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "What a bizarre question—"

Remus didn't look away from Sirius, merely raised an eyebrow, an expression that screamed, 'well?' He didn't have many options, did he, and especially not now most of the room was looking at him and he'd been suspiciously silent since the question was raised. There was only one thing left to do: ride it out, as stylishly as possible. There was no point in pretending otherwise, was there, because why would Remus have asked that question if he didn't already know something? All Sirius had left to do was to try and make his confirmation seem as normal as possible.

He leaned back, and shrugged, as if none of this mattered. He glanced over at Mary, who was watching on with a sympathetic smile. "No," he replied. "I wasn't."

Apparently three simple words could garner quite the reaction. Pete exploded with a, "what?!", while Marlene spun round to look at Mary with an incredulous, "is he serious?" (to which, naturally, James piped up, "you'd think you'd know his name by now, McKinnon", helpful as ever.)

Dorcas, for her part, didn't look surprised: she leaned forward to take the gin bottle out of Mary's hands, remarking, "I thought this was something we all knew."

"Something we all—" Marlene started, swinging her focus back to Sirius. "Well I didn't bloody well know!"

"Me neither!" Peter said, quite unnecessarily; he was still pink in the face from his shocked exclamation. "I feel cheated!"

Sirius rolled his eyes, which apparently riled Marlene up even more. She pointed a menacing finger in his direction. "Fine, so it was nothing—what was the point of a fake relationship, anyway? What on earth did either of you get out of that?"

"Sorry, McKinnon," he replied. It seemed easier not to look back over at Remus, for now, at least. "My turn is over."

"This is—" she cut a quick, stern look back at Mary. "Fine. But if you think this is over—"

"Wouldn't dream to think such a thing, Marl," Mary assured her.

"Right, anyway," Sirius took a swig of firewhiskey for his troubles. "Evans: truth or dare."

Lily hadn't reacted at all to the 'bombshell', and she'd certainly dropped enough hints to Sirius in the past that she was onto them, so it didn't particularly surprise him that she looked like she'd tuned out of the conversation. She was lounging back against the end of her own bed, her gaze drifting—and he had to wonder if she was even aware of this—over to James, who was struggling to open a particularly recalcitrant packet of Every Flavour Beans.

But on hearing her name, she looked around, a flush decorating her cheeks. "Hmm? Oh, um—dare."

Excellent. "Excellent," he said, with a grin. Her eyes had narrowed at him. "Kiss someone in this room."

A puff of air expelled, and a dramatic roll of the eyes. A predictable enough reaction. "Christ, Black, are we in fifth year again?"

"Not to my knowledge," he replied cheerily. "Go on. I'm letting you choose, which I'm sure we can all agree is generous and, frankly, magnanimous of me."

"You're a fucking hero," Marlene cut in, monotone.

"I am, aren't I?"

"Fine, fine." Lily seemed to be determined not to look all around the room; her gaze hesitated on Marlene, presumably considered a safe bet, before her smile grew—something which was, Sirius could admit, a touch unnerving. She turned to Remus, on her right, and gave him a wink. "Care for a smooch?"

This got James' attention (beans abandoned in his lap, jaw hanging just slightly open), as well, if he were honest, as Sirius'. Fuck's sake. This was much less fun. He should've just told her to kiss Prongs. So much for subtlety; he'd never bother with it again.

"Okay," Remus agreed—amicably, as if he'd just been offered a chance to try a new flavour of chocolate—and Sirius watched on as he leaned in, placing his hand delicately at Lily's jaw as their lips met.

It wasn't a heated kiss; if anything, it was barely more than a peck on the cheek, just transposed to the mouth area. No, it wasn't the kiss itself that was the problem for Sirius, but rather the people doing it, and he suspected that his best mate felt the same way. Unsettling.

Pete had no such qualms, letting out an encouraging whoop when they pulled apart, sharing a friendly grin. "Not quite enough tongue," he told them. "But a good effort all round."

"Thanks, Pete," Remus replied drily.

"Dare completed," Lily dusted off her hands, and shot Sirius a smirk; damn the woman, she knew exactly what she was doing. "Whose turn is it next?"

"I feel like we need to circle back to Sirius as soon as we can," Marlene opined. She wore the expression of someone deeply betrayed, wounded even. Gin made her melodramatic. "I need more information."

Oddly enough, it was James who spoke up; Sirius wasn't about to analyse his motives, he was just going to enjoy the consequences of it. "How about we carry on with that game later?" James suggested cheerfully. "Are we allowed to dig into the cake yet?"

"Candles!" Lily declared, leaping to her feet with more agility than expected for someone who'd had so much alcohol. "And singing!"

Sirius wasn't sure which was worse. But at least he was saved…for now.

---

Nine days ago

October, it turned out, had no intention of being any easier than September had been.

Lessons were intense; there didn't feel like there was any kind of relief from homework, or revising for tests; even the first quidditch game of the year, a bright spot for most of the students (and certainly for James), didn't feel like it had the same sense of anticipation as it usually did.

This was the strange sort of mood that the seventh years found themselves in on Friday evening: the common room was surprisingly quiet, clusters of students talking or dozing in the squashy armchairs, the ones who hadn't already taken themselves off to bed. It seemed everyone had been hit by that first term exhaustion, not just those who had the threat of exams looming over them.

Even on a Friday, Lily and Dorcas were bent over their Arithmancy textbooks, muttering to each other as they worked; Sirius had refused to work, instead choosing to slouch at the end of the sofa closest to the fire and systematically flick tiny bits of parchment into the flames; and, after trying and failing to put their minds to schoolwork, Remus, Marlene, James and Mary were engaged in a very low-energy, low-stakes game of cards.

It was this slightly maudlin atmosphere that Peter sloped into, clambering through the portrait hole and looking worried. "Well, that's it," he said, letting himself fall onto the sofa next to Sirius as if he no longer had the muscle mass to hold himself up. "I'm done for. Make sure there are tulips at my funeral."

"Oh, I love tulips," Mary noted, surveying her cards. "Good choice."

James and Remus shared a look, a silent debate over who would be the one to ask. James felt quite certain that he had won, a feeling proven when Remus sat forward with a barely-repressed sigh, and asked, "What's up, Pete?"

Their friend pulled a face. "Iris' family host a Winter Solstice gala every year," he said. His voice sounded hollow. "Proper ballroom and everything. She wants me to go with her this year."

"Oh," James said, and shot a look over at Sirius, who just shrugged in return. James tried his best to look as if he understood the apparent magnitude of the situation. "Um…blimey, that's…awful, Pete."

"Surely you can have her up on a disciplinary for that sort of behaviour," Marlene agreed with a smirk.

"You don't understand," Pete told them, his words muffled on account of his head now being firmly in his hands. "There'll be dancing."

"Right," Remus nodded slowly, as if he were dealing with an easily frightened animal. "Which you do with merry abandon at every party we throw in the tower."

Sirius sat forward then, that dangerous glint of understanding in his eyes. "But it's not going to be that kind of dancing, is it Wormy?" he asked. "It's going to be proper dancing, isn't it?"

"Merlin's tits," Peter groaned. "She's going to dump me before we even get near the chocolate fountain."

"Chocolate fountain?" This had caught Mary's attention. "Hell, I'll be her date, Pettigrew—"

"If it's dancing you're worried about," Sirius interrupted cheerfully, "then look no further, my furry friend."

Lily had stopped working by now—not that James took pains to notice everything she did—and she was watching on with clearly growing interest. She wore that smile that he found so warming: the one that was a bit mischievous, a bit excited. Fuck, she was beautiful. (No wonder he was losing this game of cards. How could he be expected to excel in these conditions?)

"You can dance?" Lily said, directing her words at Sirius with obvious incredulity.

His best mate tilted his chin up, eyebrows raised in performative offence. "Some of us were raised pureblood pricks, you know," he reminded her. "Weekly ballroom dancing lessons to make sure I didn't show the family up or some such bullshit."

Lily laughed, a fond sort of laugh, shaking her head. "God, Black, you are such a cliche."

"I am, aren't I," he agreed, and held out his hand to her. "C'mon, Evans, let me show you my moves."

Before James could register what was happening, she had hauled herself up off the sofa and moved into Sirius' arms; she rested one hand on his shoulder, the other clasped in his as he put his free hand on her waist. "Look just over my shoulder, like you can't stand to be near me," he smirked. "I know that will be a challenge…"

Lily merely laughed again. "Just dance," she retorted. "Or are you all talk?"

Sure enough, Sirius led her in an elegant—if slightly rushed—approximation of a waltz around the space in front of the fire. James didn't feel anything close to jealousy, which surprised him a bit; surely he should want to be the one dancing with her? But for now, at least, he was quite content to watch her, the way the firelight caught her hair like molten rubies, the way she tipped her head back to laugh at the daft things that Sirius said. Including—

"Of course, it's not just me who was dragged to lessons all his childhood." Sirius sent a grin in James' direction. "Prongs here is something of an expert himself."

All eyes moved to him, and he blinked out of his reverie, surprised. "I think expert is overstating it a bit, mate…"

"What tosh this boy says," Sirius tsked, and gently spun Lily so she was standing just in front of him. "Such false modesty! Come on, show your Head Girl what you've got."

"But she's dancing with—" James started, stopping when Marlene (looking a bit too smug for his tastes) leapt up from her chair and settled into Sirius' arms herself. "Right. Um…" He stood up, finally meeting Lily's gaze: she was flushed from laughter, from the movement, but offered him a smile nonetheless. "You don't have to, you know—"

"James," she cut him off, and held out her hand. "I think you've got something to prove now, don't you?" She raised her eyebrows, a clear attempt at taunting him, and Merlin be damned if it wasn't working beautifully. "Or are you going to just let everyone assume you're not good enough to dance in public…?"

Instantly he rolled his eyes, taking her hand and drawing her close. "That was a remarkably transparent effort, Evans," he told her haughtily, trying not to overthink his hand now at her waist, or hers, which had slid to his chest. "Luckily for you, I am exactly that competitive."

"As anyone who has ever met you can attest," she teased, as they started to move, halting steps across the carpet.

It was strange, for many reasons, not the least of which being that he hadn't danced like this since his cousin Milena's wedding when he was ten, and that had been with his mum, which really didn't count. He hadn't had lessons in the same way Sirius had—there had been no punishments for his boredom, and they'd only gone on for six months or so, and only for that long because Euphemia enjoyed the opportunity to chat with the other mothers while the children were taught the foxtrot. This, with Lily, of all people, was an entirely different kettle of flobberworms. He felt very aware of his fumbling feet, constantly looking down at the floor to make sure he wasn't standing on her toes, and her hand at his chest felt like a brand to his skin. He never wanted to let go.

"Psst," she whispered, as he glanced down again at their feet, "relax—you're doing fine."

His eyes found hers, unable to hold back his smile. "Yeah?"

She returned that smile tenfold, and he gave himself a moment to bask in that warmth, that light—he so rarely got to enjoy it this close up. "Yeah," she echoed. "You're a natural." And then, a bit louder, that mischievous glint back in her eyes, "and you're much better than Sirius."

"Lying helps no one!" Sirius called back.

"You lot make this look easy," Peter said, sounding just a touch resentful.

"It's much easier than you think it is, Pete," Sirius told him. "You just like to overcomplicate things in your head. Small, simple steps, that's all it is."

That was when Mary suddenly sat up, wide-eyed and far more alert than she had seemed even minutes earlier. "We've been overcomplicating things," she stated.

"Overcomplicating what, Mac?" Remus asked, quite reasonably; he still clutched onto his cards, apparently not having yet given up on the earlier game. Ever the optimist, Moony.

"Certainly not dancing, judging by the skill on show here," Dorcas remarked with a smirk.

"No, not dancing—we've been overthinking the whole outreach, solidarity thing!" she told him brightly, before turning to look at the others in turn—James wasn't the only one who looked a bit baffled.

(He was also, it had to be said, feeling a bit awkward, as Lily had stopped dancing when Mary spoke, and now they just stood there, holding onto each other but not moving. Should he step away? Should he have done that already and now she was quietly furious with him?)

(It was possible he was overthinking it.)

"We wanted to do something, an event, to make sure muggleborn students know they're not alone," Mary continued. "But everything felt too forced, right? And that's because something one-off wouldn't help. It's like trying to mend a gaping wound with a tiny plaster."

At this, Lily let her hand drop from its position at his shoulder, and he tried not to outwardly mourn the loss. He could be stoic in the face of enormous loss; it was definitely in his skillset.

"That's true," Lily agreed thoughtfully. "A dance or whatever would be over too soon and then everyone's left on their own again."

"So why not something more simple?" Mary asked. "Small, simple steps, like Sirius said. A weekly thing, anyone can drop in to chat, share problems or worries or just talk about the weather if they want. A safe space, if it's needed."

Lily's smile was infectious, as well as being dazzlingly beautiful. "You're a ruddy genius, Mare," she decided, turning to James. "It's perfect, isn't it?"

He wasn't only nodding because it was her: he knew when an idea had legs. "It is," he agreed. "I'll talk to McGonagall, see about getting a regular room we can use."

"And all it took to inspire you was…whatever this has been," Dorcas added with a vague wave of her hand. "Maybe Black should break into dance more often."

"In your wildest dreams, Meadowes," Sirius replied sweetly.

"I'm glad you lot have sorted out your solidarity problem," Peter piped up, his face still a picture of woe. It was tricky, not to laugh at him when he looked like that—it wasn't that James didn't care, of course he did, Pete just had a particular sort of frown that had always amused him. It was endearing in a strange way. But he'd long learned to push down the urge to grin at the sight: turned out that Wormtail didn't enjoy having his sadness be the source of amusement. Who knew. "But I'm still buggered sideways here—"

"Sounds uncomfortable," Remus offered.

"C'mon, Petey my boy," Sirius said, abandoning Marlene on the makeshift dance floor to sink back onto the sofa, and sling his arm around his friend's shoulders. "Do you think we'd leave you to a partyful of embarrassment and shame?"

Pete didn't look sure. "Well—"

"Of course we won't," Sirius continued. "If James and I have to spend every waking hour dancing you around the dorm, then as Helga is my witness, we shall do it."

Lily shot James a grin. "Now that I would pay to see."

"Friendship is not something to sneer at," James informed her, aiming for a haughty air and, knowing him, missing by a long stretch. "I know not everyone can be as generous and kind as the likes of Padfoot and I—"

"You nicked the chips off Lupin's plate every time he was looking away at dinner tonight," Mary pointed out. "And was it yesterday when Black was telling anyone who would listen about Pettigrew's sleep talking revelations?"

"That was Wednesday," Sirius told her, as if that changed everything.

"As fun as it is to watch these two pretend to be model citizens," Dorcas said, tapping her quill against the tabletop, "we really need to try and finish these problem sets before our brains leak out of our ears."

Lily sighed, but nodded, slouching back over to her chair. "I suppose we can have fun another day."

"That's the spirit," Dorcas murmured, and it was only moments later that both their heads were ducked over the parchment again.

James only allowed himself a moment of watching her before he shook the feeling off and returned to his own seat. Her cards clutched in her hand again, Mary sat opposite him, watching him with a knowing smirk. "Your mind on the game, Potter?" she asked, innocently enough.

"Bugger off," he replied, with a grin that he hoped didn't give away how close she was to the truth. "Let's play."

---

14th October, 10.47pm

"I don't want to alarm anyone," Marlene said, her face sombre. All eyes turned in her direction. "But we've run out of booze."

"That," Lily offered, with a dramatic wave of her hand to the group at large, "might not be such a bad thing."

It was true, they'd all imbibed their fair share, but Remus didn't think anyone was hammered just yet. There'd been no vomiting, no declarations of love or, indeed, hatred; no one had danced around in their pants. Sure, Sirius had insisted—loudly—that Pete show the girls how much progress he was making with the waltz by leading him around the dorm, a performance that had been met with a lot of cheering. But Remus had suspected that would've happened even without the addition of alcohol. Pretty tame, all in all.

"Don't be such a square, Head Girl," Sirius said, although he said it with a grin, slinging his arm around Lily's shoulders. "A few more drinks won't hurt anyone."

"There's more in our dorm," Remus said next, heaving himself up off the floor. It wouldn't hurt him to stretch his legs, and the only entertainment before Marlene's pronouncement had been Peter and James trying to recall all the lyrics to a Celestina Warbeck ballad. Not something he minded missing. "I'll go and fetch some."

"There's the lad," Marlene beamed. "Community-minded, you are, Lupin."

"Happy to be of service," he replied, and started picking his way across the room, around discarded bottles and snacks and packs of cards. He'd made it to the door when he realised someone was following him.

"I'll help carry," Mary said cheerfully; Remus nodded, not sure what else he could do at this juncture without looking like a prat, and led the way out and down the stairs.

It certainly wasn't the case that he didn't like Mary, or didn't get on with her: he did, they'd always been able to chat and joke and mess about where needed. True, when she'd started pretending to be shacking up with Sirius, Remus had pulled back a bit, but he'd still been cordial, polite, if a bit distant. His issue was never with her.

But he wasn't daft; he knew she hadn't joined him just to help carry bottles of alcohol. They were, after all, in possession of magic—he could've levitated the booze back easily enough, or shrunk it all down to fit in his pockets, or any number of magical solutions that he could've come up with given a few minutes of quiet consideration. And that was all if they even had enough in their supplies that he couldn't just carry on his own. Plus it was her birthday, everyone knew the guest of honour wasn't supposed to go on bottle runs. They were supposed to sit back, be showered with attention and affection, and not have to lift a bloody finger.

All of which probably would've meant something, if Remus hadn't gone and asked that question during Truth or Dare. He hadn't planned on asking it. Only moments before, he'd been considering something that might just embarrass Sirius, rather than unleash a lot more questions from everyone else. But perhaps the swig of firewhiskey he'd just taken had landed differently, because he'd looked over at his friend's smug little grin (Sirius loved to think he was something akin to a rock star just because he wasn't afraid of answering a few personal questions) and decided, fuck it.

Marlene and Pete's reactions had been gratifying, and he'd noted with interest that James didn't look remotely surprised—not that Remus thought Sirius had told James the truth, but this seemed the sort of thing that Prongs was good at noticing. To be honest, Remus was a bit embarrassed that he hadn't noticed, too.

Still, pleasing fury from McKinnon aside, now that he'd asked the question, he'd opened himself up to further scrutiny himself. And here he was, offering himself up on a platter by leaving the room on his own. A schoolboy error, if ever there was one.

Sure enough, they were only one step up the boys' staircase when Mary piped up. "So," she said; he shot her a quick, wary glance, "you knew about me and Sirius."

He tried for innocence, even though he knew it wouldn't work. "Hmm?"

Yep; she didn't look remotely convinced. "You don't ask the question you asked without already knowing the answer," she pointed out, giving a passing fourth year a pleasant smile. "How long have you known?"

Remus hesitated. "Not long," he said, in the end. "Near the start of term."

"Hmm."

They reached the seventh years' dorm, heading inside, and Remus was glad for a focus: he made his way across the room to where they kept their usual stash of contraband. There was another bottle of firewhiskey in there, plus some of Sirius' horrifying gin mixture, which he hesitated over before picking up the bottle—maybe someone would drink it.

"So, do you hate me?"

At that, he stopped, turning back to face Mary with a look of incredulity on his face. "Hate you?" he repeated, baffled. She just looked back at him, her expression not giving anything away; there was a slight flush to her cheeks, but he guessed that was just the alcohol, not to mention the girls' dorm feeling like a sauna with them all packed in there. "Why would I hate you, Mary?"

She shrugged, looking away, letting her gaze trail around the room. "Misleading you, lying by omission…"

Remus just stared at her, unsure, at first, what to say. It seemed quite unlike her, he realised, and felt a wash of guilt sink over him. He'd been so caught up in everything with Sirius, on that whole side of the story, that he hadn't really considered her part in it, or how she might have taken his reaction to it all. He didn't usually fool himself thinking that everyone loved him and was desperate for his approval; it wasn't true, and wasn't healthy, besides. But perhaps he'd underestimated how much Mary cared.

"I don't hate you," he said, firmly, almost stern—she glanced back up at him at last. "It was—a shock, to find out the truth, but…look. You were being a friend to him and…he thought that was what he needed, so…I mean, he thought it was—not that I cared before, of course, but…"

Mary raised an eyebrow, apparently intrigued by something. "Christ on a bike," she remarked. She had started to smile, and he found himself smiling, too. "You're as messed up about this as he is, aren't you?"

Remus did his best to laugh it off, to appear suitably casual. "No one's messed up, Mary," he told her, before amending, "at least, not about all this."

She laughed, too, and closed the gap between them to take the gin bottle from his hand. "Alright," she agreed. "Well. As long as you don't despise me."

"I don't," he promised. "Who could hate you? It would be like hating Bambi."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," she decided, before glancing critically at the bottle in her hand. "Is this all you lot have left? Only I don't fancy throwing up my intestines."

"That sort of depends," Remus said.

"On what?"

"On how much of an invasion of privacy you think it is to go through Sirius' trunk," he replied, to which she grinned with glee bordering on deviousness. "Pretty sure he's got something stashed in there, too."

"Well, I am his ex-girlfriend," Mary joked, turning on her heel to find said trunk. "So I think that gives me certain rights."

After a quick search—and a fine running commentary of the process, including such gems as "merciful Jesus, how many pairs of pants does one boy need? Does he think he's going to shit himself every day?"—they headed back down the stairs, another bottle of firewhiskey tucked under Remus' arm, making their way back up to the party.

Sirius looked up as they entered, just a hint of wariness in his eyes. He glanced from Mary (still smiling) to Remus (also, smiling), then to the bottles they carried. "Did you—"

"It's my birthday, Black," Mary cut him off sternly. "Have some fucking compassion."

Sirius didn't seem to think that was enough of an excuse, and Remus watched as the pair bickered amiably, finding he didn't feel the same weird tug in his gut as he might have done a few months ago. That was a bonus of asking the question, he supposed. Not that there weren't other things to twist his stomach into knots over.

"Oi, Moony," came Sirius' voice again, breaking him from his reverie. "You'll have some of this gin, won't you? Help me prove it's not the poison it's put out to be?"

Maybe he shouldn't have any more to drink.

Maybe one more wouldn't hurt.

---

Eight days ago

"There's an owl," Peter piped up. They were all running a bit late for breakfast that morning, something which Sirius took no blame for: it wasn't his fault that he took long showers. If the others had got up a bit earlier, they wouldn't have been banging on the bathroom door making increasingly ridiculous threats. A piece of advice that none of them had wanted to listen to as Sirius had emerged, clean as a whistle and incredibly well-coiffed, if he did say so himself.

"On the ledge," Pete continued, gesturing to the window nearest Sirius' bed; sure enough, one of the school owls was there, pecking insistently at the pane. "You know it's for you, Pads."

Ever since his last letter from his solicitor had arrived over breakfast with his faux-friends at the Slytherin table, Sirius had gone out of his way to ensure no post was delivered to him in the Great Hall. No mean feat, but he was a spectacular person that way, as he reminded his actual friends. He could even convince an owl to do his bidding.

Some people were just born talented.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Sirius said, picking his way across the detritus that littered the floor between his bed and Pete's—a sock, a pair of boxer shorts, two textbooks, a scroll of parchment attempting to be a Care of Magical Creatures essay, and something so coated in mud that it was anyone's guess what it once had been—to reach the window. The owl, clearly aggrieved at having been made to wait out in the cold, gave his fingers a sharp nip as he unfastened the letter from his leg, and didn't look too impressed when Sirius immediately closed the window again. (He didn't give treats to anyone who bit him. It was a matter of principle.)

He settled on to the end of his bed to prise open the envelope.

Dear Mr Black,

Regarding the estate of Mr A E Black, I can confirm that, as per your instructions, the properties were successfully sold at auction, and the belongings, barring ones you requested we set aside, have also been sold. Following the sales, accounts with various shops and restaurants were settled on your uncle's behalf, as well as funeral and burial fees, and legal fees all settled. We also, as per your request, made a donation of one thousand galleons to the Muggleborn Protection League under the name 'W Black'. I am sure they will reach out privately to convey their thanks for such a generous donation.

All duties thusly taken care of, the remaining value of the estate stands at 1,805,622G, which has been transferred to your vault at Gringotts.

Thank you for using Fawley, Fawley and Flint for your legal needs. Please do let me know if you have any further requirements as I would be more than happy to assist wherever needed.

Yours faithfully,

Franklin Fawley Esq.

"Crikey," Peter said; Sirius glanced up to find his friend peering over his shoulder. "Independently wealthy, are we?"

"At last," Sirius agreed. "And you know what that means."

"It means the first round's on you at the Three Broomsticks next week," Pete replied brightly.

Sirius pulled a face. "I suppose. But also… it means it's finally time to buy a motorbike."

"Merlin," came James' input from across the room—he was battling with his tie. "As if the roads of Britain aren't dangerous enough."

"Rude," Sirius sniffed. "You won't get the first ride with that kind of attitude, Prongs."

"Good," James retorted. "My face is too pretty to end up smushed on a road."

"Arguable."

"Now who's rude?"

"You made a donation to the MPL," Pete interjected, still studying the parchment that Sirius had since abandoned atop his pillows. "In your mother's name?"

Sirius did his level best not to look too overtly pleased with himself. It was tricky. "It seemed like the right thing to do," he smirked.

"Oh, good," James said, having given up on his tie; he was heading for the door. "It's been a while since someone got a Howler, nice to have that to look forward to."

Sirius snorted. "She won't deign to send me a Howler," he replied. "She'll just stew in her own juices like a furious little apple about it all, and isn't that just the gift that keeps on giving?"

"Well, now I'm hungry," Peter decided, casting Sirius' letter back onto the bed; within moments, he was following James out of the room. "Prongs, wait for me!"

Sirius picked up the letter again, folding it neatly to get lost in the depths of his trunk, and when he looked up, Remus was watching him from the bathroom doorway. He'd forgotten the boy was still there: he'd barely said anything to Sirius since waking up an hour ago.

"Do you think it's such a good idea to wind your mum up like that?" Remus asked thoughtfully.

Interesting. Sirius had been feeling so exhaustingly in and out of Remus' graces lately, like the sun darting behind clouds one moment and then blinding in its warmth the next. Moony couldn't seem to decide how to treat him, and truthfully, Sirius wasn't sure either. It all felt too complicated, too potentially fragile, even now that Owain was out of the picture. That hadn't simplified things the way that Sirius had thought it might, and all of this mess was a quagmire he wasn't keen on wading into. Not yet.

(When, exactly, he would be ready was anyone's guess. But he didn't like to acknowledge that fact.)

"I'm of the opinion that it can't do any more harm than is already there," he replied with an easy shrug. "What's she going to do, disown me? That broom has already flown."

"She might find the energy to come after your money again," Remus pointed out. He was still holding his toothbrush; Sirius only just, then, noticed the smudge of white at the corner of his mouth. Spearmint, that was Remus' preferred flavour. It didn't matter why he knew that. "Then no motorbike for you to terrorise the people of Dorset with."

He tilted his head, considering the point. "Maybe," he allowed. "But I doubt she will. That's too much like hard work, and she'd much rather things fall into her lap, or else she can sit back and be quietly furious for the rest of her miserable life."

"As long as it's quietly furious," Remus sighed, and stepped back into the bathroom. "And kept inside Grimmauld Place."

"Well, Moony my dear, it wouldn't be proper to let her fury be seen in public," he called back. It was nice, just the two of them, chatting like they used to. It made him want to miss breakfast. "That would be far too gauche."

"Ah, of course," Remus' voice now echoed off the bathroom tiles, and Sirius could hear the smile there, too. "My mistake. I am but a lowly pauper."

"S'alright," Sirius smirked. "If we were all as well-to-do, there wouldn't be such a lovely class system, would there?"

Remus reappeared: the toothpaste at the corner of his mouth was gone, and he'd fixed his tie too. He was smiling, pink cheeked from the steam that still lingered in the bathroom; it warmed Sirius, right down to his toes. "That just doesn't bear thinking about," he replied. He glanced at his watch, then back up at Sirius, seeming for just a moment almost regretful. "I suppose I should go down ahead of you, eh? I assume you'll be eating with those bastions of purity again."

"For my sins," he agreed, but hopped up off the bed anyway. "I reckon we can walk most of the way together, though. Those tossers only come up from the dungeons."

Remus looked surprised, but nodded, gesturing to the door. "Well, alright," he said. "If we see anyone…I'll stage a fight, or something."

"You jumped to that idea very readily, Mr Lupin," Sirius pointed out, following him out of the room. "Do you have a penchant for violence we should look into?"

Remus shot him a grin. "Wouldn't you like to know…"

Five minutes later, he sat down at the Slytherin table, and had no good answer for why he was in such a good mood.

---

14th October, 11.04pm

This stage of a party was always James' favourite. The high energy levels of earlier had faded nicely into a softer mood, no less happy or drunken for it. They'd splintered off into pairs and threes, initiated by Dorcas who had declared that she would read Pete's palm (despite having given up Divination as soon as she was allowed) and dragged him—and Marlene, a willing audience member—over to sit on her bed.

He had not planned it this way, although he could certainly see how it might seem otherwise to any onlookers, but he'd ended up off to the side with Lily, and to say he was pleased was an understatement. He had, of course, drunk far too much—he was merry, surely, or tipsy, if tipsy could be multiplied by five, but not so drunk as to be a mess, or an embarrassment, he hoped fervently with every fibre of his being. He really didn't want to somehow mortify himself in front of Lily Evans, of all people.

They'd started off sitting on the floor, leaning against her bed, ostensibly to riffle through her selection of snacks after James had declared himself "ruddy starving", to which Lily had laughed, and reminded him of the sizable portion of cake he'd eaten recently, and asked him, "are you bottomless?", to which, naturally, he'd replied, "Certainly not, young lady," and given his arse a demonstrative shake, a move which sent her into delightful peels of laughter.

But, once they'd got past that outburst, and once he'd as good as inhaled a pumpkin pasty and some more birthday cake, James had declared that he could probably definitely accurately describe the exact position of the stars in the sky that night even through the ceiling, and so they'd both flopped back to gaze up, not even thinking to drag a pillow down with them. "That's not the stars you're seeing," she'd grinned after letting him ramble for a few minutes. "That's just the fifth year girls' dorm."

"The stars are always there, you know," he'd replied airily. "Even if the fifth years are trying to come between us." And then, "look! Orion's Belt," to which they had both broken into a fit of laughter only interrupted by Marlene, across the room, demanding they enjoy themselves less.

Since then they'd fallen quiet again. James didn't mind it; he felt oddly comfortable there on the uncomfortable floor, knowing she was next to him, the buzz of alcohol and sugar and silly jokes pulsing through his veins. He laced his fingers together behind his head, and imagined they really were staring up at the stars together, and what that would be like. All the wonder of the universe above them, and all the wonder of her, at his side.

He had to say something, or he was going to say the wrong thing.

"It's weird, isn't it?"

Next to him, he felt the slight shuffle of movement that was her turning to look at him. The flagstones were like ice beneath them, but, sprawled next to each other on the dormitory floor, James felt nothing but warm.

"What's weird?" she asked. Her voice had been softened by the gin cocktails that Dorcas had been mixing all evening, and, meeting her gaze, he found that even her stare had been softened too. She was always beautiful: that was just a simple, objective fact. But here, now, in the flickering candlelight, her hair splayed out around her head like a halo of flames, the room quieter than it had been all night as weariness and intimacy set in, she was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Transcendent.

He could spend every day just soaking in that peaceful look in her eyes and never get bored.

"It's weird, how many wixen have done this before," he elaborated, trailing his gaze back to the vaulted dorm ceiling. Best not to stare at her too much. "Looked at this same ceiling, felt these same stones…"

She made a quiet little noise which he took to be agreement. It was a contented sound, one he'd like to hear more often. A few moments stretched by before she spoke again.

"My dad says people leave an imprint behind, in places that are important to them." He knew she was thinking of her mum; her voice, once sounding like it was bathed in sunlight, now had drifted into shade. "So there must be loads of imprints here. Loads of people who felt that this place was…" She paused, and he cut his eyes back to her—she looked utterly lost in her own head. "Somewhere special."

"The castle must remember them all," he decided, still watching her closely. She was chewing on her lower lip, a move born of anxiety, and he wished he could smooth it all away. "Right?"

"Right," she agreed. Another pause, then her gaze found his again. "It'll remember you, too."

He smiled, inordinately pleased she thought so. "You think?"

She tilted her head, a smile blooming on her lips to match his. "Definitely," she said, then added, "Hard to forget the orchestrator of such chaos."

He let out a laugh, helpless all over again: helplessly charmed by her and the light catching those green eyes, helplessly caught on every word she spoke. Helplessly in love, really. And it was getting harder to mind. "Of course. Purveyor of ultimate mischief."

Her smile had taken on a fond sort of haze. "And it'll remember all the good, too," she told him. "The James Potter Effect."

"Well," he said, because he wasn't sure what else to say, and he felt the firewhiskey pumping through his veins—the danger of doing something unwise felt stronger and stronger with each passing second. "I'm glad to have my own Effect."

She was staring at him. Lily Evans, this clever, beautiful, sharp and loving person, was staring at him. At him. He knew his cheeks must've been flushing deeper pink by the minute.

"It's real," she assured him. Her voice was somehow even softer, only just audible over the background hum of conversation on the other side of the dorm, and the crackle of the record player. She still hadn't torn her eyes from his. "Trust me."

The only thing he could think was, don't look away. It seemed suddenly vital, life altering, that he should hold her gaze, should try to understand what lingered there in that stare. It felt like his stomach was in knots, not helped when she turned a little more, on to her side, closer to him, and he found himself turning a bit too, and—

"Lily Evans!" Mary's voice cut across the dorm, seeming to James louder than it actually was—noise akin to the blast of a ship's horn, like a bucket of icy water thrown over them both, and it might as well have been, because Lily's cheeks had blushed a delicate rose and she hurriedly sat up, looking for her friend. "Lily Evans, I need you!"

"Coming, Mare," she replied, already halfway to her feet; as she got up, she glanced back down at James—still lying on the floor, dumbstruck and feeling like he'd been snatched from a dream—to offer a small, almost apologetic smile. She gave a little embarrassed bow, complete with flourish of the hand. "My people need me…"

And then she was gone; across the room, certainly, but it might as well have been a million miles for how it felt to him.

He closed his eyes. It was all he could think of to do.

---

Five days ago

At last, at long last, the first weekend visit to Hogsmeade had arrived. It felt to Lily as if they'd been waiting years for it, for the chance to get out of the castle, to blow off the cobwebs and have a change of scenery. Even the calmest of her fellow students had seemed antsy lately, overworked and overtired; what better way to relax than a jaunt down to the village?

Of course, the day was a little bit different when one was a Head student. A few days ago, she and James had been pulled into a meeting with McGonagall to discuss logistics, which included the various duties they would have to fulfil to make sure the day went smoothly. She'd been surprised, too, when they were tasked with going over the list of permission slips to check for any anomalies.

"Do people really try to fake this stuff?" James had asked, a question which had earned him a heavy sigh and a short lecture on the 'lengths some pupils will go' in order to conduct mischief. It felt, to Lily, and probably to James too, to be a bit pointed, but she supposed he was used to that sort of thing by now.

Saturday itself had dawned cold but dry—a miracle, by all standards, given how much it had rained over the past week—and she had left her friends lazily preparing for the day to head down to the entrance hall. There, James stood, hands in pockets and a cheerful smile on his face. "Ready to have an appropriately fun day?"

"Aren't I always?" she smiled back, choosing to ignore Filch, standing nearby with a look of deep distrust on his face. "Did you get the list from McGonagall?"

"I did, along with a stern reminder of our responsibilities today not including drinking too much firewhiskey," he replied. He didn't seem too bothered about this. "As if! I never touch the stuff."

"Of course," Lily nodded, adopting a solemn expression. "Pure as the driven snow, you."

He opened his mouth to retort, an answer she suspected (judging by the glint in his eyes) was going to be something cheeky, but stopped himself: the sound of footsteps trampling closer, down the stairs, had caught his attention. "Our crowd awaits," he said, producing the parchment list from his pocket—a neat tap of his wand had it unfurled down to the flagstones, just in time for the first batch of students to reach them.

It was busy work, making sure no one was sneaking out without permission, and the flow of students kept a steady pace for almost an hour before they crossed off the last batch and went to join the journey down to the village itself. Some had set off already, walking ahead, and if Lily wasn't already aware that their friends had long since left, she might have considered a stroll too: it was the sort of weather she quite liked, blue sky and biting air. But she was too keen to catch up with the others, so she hopped into one of the last carriages, and hid her disappointment well when she realised James was in the next carriage along.

It didn't take long for her to track down Mary, Marlene and Dorcas, crowded as they were in Honeydukes, taking full advantage of the free samples. "Not with the lads?" she asked, as nonchalantly as she could.

Mary offered her the sample plate. "We came down with Remus and Peter," she replied. "They went off to Scrivenshaft's, I think. Sirius buggered off with Selwyn and Greengrass."

Lily wrinkled her nose. "I thought he'd have rather stayed back than hang around with those two all day."

"He would've, but apparently Selwyn made a big song and dance about it," Marlene interjected. "He said he's going to make an excuse after an hour or so and head back to the castle."

"I really doubt he's getting very far with this infiltration shite," Dorcas said dismissively. "He's just wasting his own free time and getting nowhere."

Though blunt, she was probably right. Sirius had been complaining to Lily only the night before that the first SPMI meeting had been pushed back, and that Sef Selwyn had been annoyingly tight lipped as to why. Lily suspected that Sirius had thought he'd have snuck into the group, uncovered all their darkest secrets and could've been free of them all by now. In fairness, if anyone was going to make that easy a job of it, it would've been Sirius Black; he made most things look like they required very little, if any, effort on his part. But apparently he had met his match in this cluster of paranoid Slytherins.

"Well, that's his choice," Mary shrugged. "Whatever gets him through the day." She cast an assessing gaze around the shop. "It's mad in here. Shall we go to the Broomsticks for some lunch?"

"Gods, yes, I need some chips," Marlene agreed, linking her arm through Lily's. "Can you spare us some time, Head Girl?"

"For you ladies? All the time in the world," she smiled in return.

"You say all the right things, babe."

They made their way down the busy high street, weaving around groups of fellow students all looking beyond delighted to be out and about (well, apart from David Garnet and Barbara Finnegan, who were having yet another blazing row outside of the post office). By some stretch of luck, The Three Broomsticks wasn't as busy as the thoroughfare outside, and they managed to find a table by the windows, where they were soon joined by James, Remus and Peter. Chips and sandwiches were ordered; butterbeer was flowing; they were near the blazing fire. What more could she ask for?

It was at least two hours later, and it was her turn to venture out into the cold for a quick recce up and down the street—one of the things they'd promised McGonagall they'd do, although Lily wasn't sure what exactly they were supposed to be on the lookout for, but she wasn't one to shirk responsibility, and James had done the first shift already a while ago. To say she was reluctant to tear herself away from her cosy spot—surrounded by friends, toasty warm and feeling an almost zen-like level of peace—was a bit of an understatement. Still, duty was calling, and she wasn't going to let anyone down.

Outside, the once-blue sky had started to fade behind smudges of cloud, nothing that looked like it threatened rain, for now, but it managed to take away what little warmth the sun had brought. Lily tucked her chin further into her scarf against the cold breeze that rustled the fallen leaves on the cobblestones below her, took a steadying breath, and set off on the agreed route.

Most students (and, indeed, Hogsmeade residents too) must have been applying their common sense, because hardly anyone was outside. Puddifoot's looked like it was crammed full, and the tea shop a few doors further up was busy, too. She wandered past a small cluster of third years, excitedly showing each other what they had purchased from Zonko's, around one oblivious couple who were huddled close on a bench and keeping warm in the time-honoured way, and followed the curve of the high street as it rose steadily uphill, towards the edges of the Forbidden Forest, and the Shrieking Shack. Here, the shops tapered off, changing to cottages and what looked like a ramshackle Victorian-era schoolhouse, long since abandoned; it was rare that students ventured up this far, unless they were daring each other to go up to the fence that offered the perfect view of the Shack. And in this weather, Lily expected most to be avoiding that leisure option altogether.

But as she slowed, near where the street became more of a rocky path, she noticed that someone was there. A familiar figure, leaning against a fence post, shrouded in black robes. Severus Snape.

He wasn't looking her way at first, too busy glancing over his shoulder towards the Shack and the forest, but apparently something about her now lack of movement—for she had come to a rather abrupt halt, surprised to see her old friend there—caught his eye, because he turned back in her direction. She could tell the instant he saw her, taking in her thick navy duffle coat, the Gryffindor scarf wound around her neck hiding only some of her admittedly distinctive hair. He stiffened, and she did, too.

For a moment, she considered just turning around, walking back down the slope, back to the pub and her friends and well away from that look in his eyes, like ice and fire all at once. But that was a coward's way out, wasn't it, and she was no coward.

She straightened her spine, and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

Severus was apparently determined to match her cold demeanour. "Last I heard," he replied, "it's a free country."

Not for people like me it's not, she wanted to shoot back, but Christ if she didn't have the energy to slice open that particular wound right now, and certainly not with him of all people. Instead, she swallowed down the urge to let him rile her, a move that she'd had to practise and perfect over the past eighteen months. "You're almost out of bounds, you're on your own—it looks rather suspicious."

He just stared back, impassive, imperious. There was something in his expression that felt uncomfortably new to her, although maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise. He had changed so much from the person she had once known so well; it was no wonder there were parts of him now that felt alien.

It was this slowly-dawning realisation that made her realise, belatedly and foolishly, that she was putting herself in harm's way, here. That it wasn't just her old friend Sev she had marched up to and berated, but essentially a stranger, someone who had proven himself capable of dark and dangerous things.

God, wasn't she more sensible than this?

Footsteps caught both their attention: over his shoulder, traipsing out of the shroud of trees in the distance, was a clump of black-cloaked boys—men, some of them, or ought to be, at least—heads together, laughing. Severus' gaze flickered back over to her, and she saw something unexpected there, just a flash of it. It was concern. Fear. For her?

Whether that was his response or not, she was not inclined to hang around and find herself heavily outnumbered by a gang of Slytherins who would enjoy letting out some of their latent aggression in her direction. She lifted her chin, desperately trying to cling on to some sense of dignity—she wasn't running away, she wasn't dodging a fight. She was just tired of it all, of every interaction being a confrontation, of finding herself always on edge and waiting for something awful to happen—

Well. Not always. There was a group of people sitting in The Three Broomsticks now who she never felt like that with.

"Do try to act like a prefect, Snape," she said, her voice steady and cool, even as the gang of Slytherins edged ever closer. Avery, at the front and smirking over something with Regulus Black, had just noticed her presence. She needed to go. "And not just some lackey look-out."

Not the greatest of insults, it was true, but not bad considering the extenuating circumstances. She turned on her heel, one hand casually in her pocket—aiming, desperately, for nonchalance—while the other stuck like glue to her wand in her bag. She heard the words "...the mudblood want…" drift behind her, and knew Avery was dying for her to turn around, to engage with them.

Not today, she thought grimly, and picked up her pace.

It wasn't until she stepped back through the door of the pub, back into the enveloping warmth, such a stark contrast to the chill outside, that she felt like she was able to catch her breath. She looked down at herself, trying to relax the tension out of her muscles. She'd been waiting for an attack, she realised. They weren't above hitting someone when their back was turned.

A simple walk up and down the high street, and she'd come back feeling like this? She hated it. It felt like weakness.

Lily quickly cast her gaze around the room. It looked like her friends were still at the table by the window, laughing over some shared joke. The mood over there seemed as jovial as it had been when she'd left, and she couldn't help but feel that if she rejoined them right now, she'd plunge them all back into a cold, dark reality. Surely they deserved a break from all this shit, for as long as they could?

She just needed a few minutes to pull herself together, to gather herself and steady her heartbeat. Then she could smile, and laugh, and joke around again, just like she had been before. The main room of the pub itself was too busy to offer any sanctuary, and she could hardly venture back outside on her own, unless she was a glutton for punishment.

No, there was only one thing for it. She'd have to hide in the loos until she felt like herself again, a perfectly normal thing to do. She was already starting to feel calm just thinking about a few quiet minutes, helped along by the growing distance between herself here and now, and the Lily who had stood at the top of the high street, looking into the eyes of someone she used to call her best friend.

But as she pushed through the door from the pub to the corridor that housed the kitchens and led to the bathrooms, she heard a familiar voice. No, two familiar voices. She stopped short, not yet rounding the corner that would take her towards those voices, and the loos beyond, and tried to calm her once-more rapid heartbeat.

There was no doubting it. It was James—and Cadence. For a moment, she wondered if she should quietly go back the way she came, give them some privacy—and that thought, in itself, stung more than the icy air outside had. She knew she shouldn't just stand there and listen in, and yet it felt like her feet were stuck to the floor, and—

Well…there was an edge to James' voice, something there that was so unusual for him, that made her not want to go anywhere. Not yet. Because they were clearly having an argument.

(Did it make her a bad person, to want to listen? She didn't want to examine that idea too carefully.)

"—just ignoring me now, is that it?"

There was a heavy sigh. "What is it that you want from me, James? You dumped me, I didn't think you even wanted to talk—"

She couldn't see James' face from this vantagepoint, but his voice made his frustration quite clear. "You can't just barely say hi to me but then corner my friends and give them the third degree—"

Cadence laughed softly, although it was an awful sort of sound—sad and angry and irritated. It wasn't a side she often saw of the Ravenclaw. "Oh I just knew she'd come crying to you about that—we barely talked about you—"

"Wait, wait, hold on a tick," James said, and Lily felt oddly queasy all of a sudden. "Who's 'she'? I was talking about Sirius and…" There was a pause, and all Lily could hear was her own breathing and the faint hum of the pub in the background, before... "Fucking hell, Cady, you've been bothering Lily too?"

"How is that worse?" Cadence demanded in return. "And I hardly think I was bothering her."

"It's—it's not worse," he replied, sounding a bit flustered now. "That's not my point. My point is you can't just go around asking my friends about me—"

Cadence's voice was softer when she spoke again; Lily felt as if she were listening in on an intimate moment, something which only made her feel worse. "I miss you, James," she said, only just audible. "I miss us. We really had something, but you just got too scared—"

"I wasn't scared," he told her, firmly, yet gentle all at the same time. "I'm sorry, Cady. I should've done it sooner than I did. I shouldn't have let it drag on, give you the wrong impression."

"We were fine," Cadence insisted, and Lily could almost picture the soft, sad look on her lovely face. Cadence Dearborn was the sort of girl who looked pretty when she cried; Lily always just looked a blotchy, puffy mess. "But—you can't pretend you weren't influenced by her, James—she's so transparent—"

"Stop." James sounded weary; it made her heart hurt to hear it. "Lily and I are just friends. That's all we've ever been." Lily closed her eyes for a moment. Why was she still standing there? What good did she think it could possibly do? "And anyway, that's irrelevant. I'm sorry that you're hurt, I'm sorry that I upset you, but—this is it, now. You have to stop trying to get my friends to help you pick apart our relationship. You have to…" He sighed; there was a shuffle of movement. "Cady…don't…"

That was enough. Lily didn't need to stand there, picturing scenes just around the corner that would drive her stupidly to distraction for the rest of the day—there was only so much self-flagellation she could cope with. As quietly as she could, she shuffled backwards, back through the door—the sound of the pub drowning out whatever it was that Cadence was saying in reply—and stood for a moment, catching her breath. So much for calming herself down. She felt like she'd been shot through with adrenaline.

"Lily!" a voice cut through the hum and chatter of the pub around her, and she looked up to see Marlene at the bar, evidently having noticed her friend. "You alright, love?"

She pushed up a smile, and nodded. She was fine.

She had to be, didn't she?

---

14th October, 11.29pm

"Merlin's balls it's hot in there."

Remus had taken refuge in, of all places, the bathroom, for many reasons. With his head feeling fuzzy from booze, some quiet had seemed appealing, even if the noise from the dorm still filtered through the door he hadn't thought to shut. Also, he'd thought the cool of the tiles would be really rather pleasant after the hot-house feel of the other room. That was why Sirius had wandered in and found him with his cheek pressed to the wall. At least the Marauders were used to this sort of oddity by now; Sirius made no comment, just slouched down next to him with a sigh of satisfaction.

"I tried to open a window," Remus said, blinking heavily. "But…"

"Hard work," Sirius agreed. "And you'd have had to clamber over Prongs and Evans making eyes at each other to get there."

"Yes," Remus nodded, a thoughtful frown crossing his brow. "What's that all about, eh?"

"They fancy each other but think the other doesn't fancy them," Sirius replied, in a tone of voice which suggested he found the entire thing utterly absurd. "It's exhausting. Maybe we should just push their faces together and be done with it."

"Hmm," Remus considered the idea as carefully as his muddy, whiskey-filled brain would allow. "I'm not sure that would help."

"No," Sirius agreed, almost mournfully. "Probably not."

They fell quiet, listening for a while to the low murmur of voice floating through from the dorm. Remus hadn't planned on bringing it up; he didn't want to invite too deep a discussion, and particularly not when he wasn't in full possession of his wits. But apparently his mouth hadn't quite caught up with that plan, because—

"So, you and Mary," he said.

Bugger.

Sirius glanced over at him, pausing, studying his face as if looking for something in particular. Remus had no idea what it was, or whether he had found it there, but before he could wonder too much, his friend spoke up. "Yeah," Sirius said, and winced a little. "Sorry about that."

"That's…" he trailed off awkwardly. "You…don't need to apologise. What does it matter, eh?"

Sirius stared back at him, and once again Remus felt picked apart, scrutinised. "It mattered," he replied simply. "Didn't it."

That last part wasn't even a question, and Remus swallowed against the lump in his throat. Now was not the time to be pathetic, to hide away. To obfuscate and distract. He had to have some of that Gryffindor courage, surely. "I suppose," he admitted quietly. "But…I can understand making a decision in haste. Trying to deal with…things…in the wrong way."

Sirius quirked his eyebrow at him. "Yeah?"

Remus shrugged, looking away for a moment. "Well, you know—making things official with Owain when we'd all just been through a huge traumatic event," he offered. "That was…an interesting decision of mine."

Sirius seemed stunned, for a moment, like someone had sneakily directed a Confundus his way when he wasn't looking. "I thought you…wanted that."

Remus felt sure he needed to stop talking: he worried for what would come out. Had there been veritaserum in the firewhiskey? "I did and I didn't," he replied, as if that was any clearer.

"Well," Sirius frowned, still clearly trying to process all this information. "I'm sorry for lying, for…trying to get a rise out of you."

Now that was something they couldn't just breeze past. Like a boulder had plopped down in the middle of their conversation, immense and immoveable. "You—trying to get a rise out of me?"

Sirius shrugged, looking, for just a second, almost embarrassed. "A reaction. Daft, I know."

Remus felt like his breath had caught, somewhere between his lungs and his mouth. You are too drunk for this conversation, his brain tried to tell him, and he didn't disagree, but he was hardly able to tear himself away from it now. Not when…

A reaction.

He cleared his throat. "Sirius, I—"

"Padfoot!" James' voice was like a sudden bucket of ice-cold water being thrown over their heads; they both looked up hurriedly. Their friend stood in the doorway, holding a slip of paper. "A fifth year just brought up a note for you, it's from—"

"Right," Sirius agreed, and Remus didn't think he was imagining the regret in his voice. He kept his own gaze firmly on the floor as Sirius stood up, brushing non-existent dust from his trousers. "Sef and Calliope wanted to meet tonight. I suppose I should…I said I'd…"

"The double life waits for no man," James said. "Although you have to admit it's getting a bit boring now, Pads."

Remus looked up, taking in Sirius' expression: it was oddly gratifying to see that he looked no more pleased to be leaving than Remus was for him to leave. "It is," Sirius agreed heavily. "Trust me, I know."

"It's after curfew—"

"I'll take the cloak," Sirius shrugged off James' concerns, and glanced briefly back at Remus. "I won't be long. I'd like to—" He cut himself off this time, gaze darting to James for a moment before returning to Remus. "I think we should carry on this conversation."

"Yeah," Remus nodded, his voice hoarse. As if he could say anything else, at this stage. "Me too."

Sirius flashed him a half-smile, reluctant and irritable all at once; then, giving James a nudge with his shoulder as he passed, he headed out.

James shot Remus an intrigued look. "Alright, Moony?"

Remus could only nod, but found that actually, despite everything, it wasn't a lie. He really was alright. "Fine, Prongs," he replied. "Just fine."

---

14th October, 11.41pm

Boring was one word for all of this super-spy bullshit, Sirius thought as he traipsed down the stairs and away from the place he'd much rather be. He could think of several other, more colourful descriptors, too, but then, he had signed himself up for this, hadn't he?

Selwyn and Greengrass had found him at dinner (alone, as per usual, at the Gryffindor table) to say that there would be a small SPMI meeting that night, a last-minute thing, but urgent all the same, and they wanted him there. This was what he'd been working towards all this time, so of course he'd agreed, not really considering that it was Mary's party tonight and he might have much more interesting ways to spend his evening. Well, he just had to swallow down his disappointment, get this thing over and done with, and get back to the party—to Remus—as soon as he could.

He didn't have to venture as far as the dungeons: the meeting place was an empty classroom on the fourth floor, tucked away down a corridor that was largely unused. He shed the cloak, bundling it up under his arm, as he got nearer, and wondered idly if his breath smelled like firewhiskey. Probably, he thought, not that there was anything he could do about it now.

The door to the classroom was already open, and he stepped in, glancing around—there was no one in sight. The alcohol in his system made it very easy to roll his eyes, to mutter, "all this cloak and dagger bullshit and they don't even—" before he was cut off by a quiet, sure voice.

"You must think we're really stupid," the voice said, and he turned around.

That was when everything went black.