*Hogwarts, Madame Minerva Urquart McGonagall's Private Chambers*
Minerva stared at the last dram of whiskey in her glass. The fire, once roaring, had receded to a few flames licking at the hot coals. It hissed and popped. She could feel Elphinstone's portrait watching her with concern from her side table and the guilt and sorrow crushing her increased two fold. What would her dear Phin say if he could see her now?
An angry How could you? Perhaps a more genteel Oh Min, it will be okay, you can make it right. Probably a frustrated I told you you trusted the old blusterer too much! Let me get my wand.
She downed the last of her drink and pressed her face into her hands as grief threatened to overwhelm her. She and Elphinstone were together for such a short time before he died. She'd grieved him longer than she was married to him. There were times she believed his death was her fault, a punishment for rebuffing him for so long out of loyalty to a Muggle. During such times, she believed this hole in her heart, this feeling of losing half of herself was something she deserved to endure. Whether it was true or not, whether she grieved the rest of her life or not, she should have never allowed it to affect her care for the students.
Not only was she the Deputy Headmistress of the entire school, she was the Head of House for Gryffindor. How easy it was to forget during the neverending mundane tasks that she was the representative of Godric Gryffindor in the school. She stood in the shoes he first stood in. Would he have allowed a New Blood to be harrassed for so long? Would he allow four of his own to creep in the shadows to stalk and harass a New Blood of another House without intervening? Without demanding proof it was justified or seeking to mediate? And the implications that it was two rich legacy Pure bloods attacking a poor New Blood were not lost on her. Hogwarts was created as a school for all to learn.
Minerva leaned back in her favorite stuffed chair. It was not as much of a comfort as it usually was. Then again, she hadn't felt comfortable since Miss Lily Evans turned in her prefect badge and walked out of the room. She'd turned toward her friend and mentor demanding answers and he tried to wiggle and sidestep like a worm dodging a beak. It took over an hour to pry the truth out of him– Sirius' attempt at murder, Lupin's condition, the lack of punishments. He didn't tell her about them being Animagi, but she'd been suspicious and the fact that Remus didn't attack them sealed it for her. She'd torn into him and even though he'd agreed to respect Lily's point deductions, she could tell he'd barely heard a word she'd said. He'd already decided.
Finally, she dared to peek at Phin's portrait. He brightened when he saw her and tapped his heart thrice, their secret declaration of love. Something in Minerva eased a little. Something burned inside of her,too, (whether the whiskey or bravery she wasn't certain) and she swore she'd set things right. She was going to go over the points records for the last five years, she was going to get with the other Heads and see where it all went wrong. And she was going to give that badge back to Lily with the assurance that it absolutely did mean something.
With a flick of her wand, she extinguished the fire and stood. She stretched, popping her back, and then leaned forward, fluidly transforming into her cat form. This time her stretch was much more satisfying. She padded over to the fireplace and curled up on the still warm hearth to sleep. It was easier to hold oneself in this body afterall.
*Potter Manor, the Ruby Sitting Room*
Lady Euphemia Potter née Lal watched her husband and son as they made plans, heads nearly touching as they leaned over the parchment. James looked so much like his father. The only bit of her she could see in him was his skin, which was a few shades darker than Fleamont's, but still not nearly as dark as hers. Her father was pure Adivasi and it showed. She was surprised that any of her coloring had shone through at all considering his three other parents were as pale as the underbelly of a snake.
A pang filled her as she thought of Charlus and Dorea. Charlus with his near golden eyes and Dorea with hair that was such a dark red it was nearly black. They'd been so very much in love, bonded so tightly, that there were times Euphemia had been envious. Charlus was an excellent Potioneer but he focused more on the Potter's wealth and holdings, allowing Fleamont the freedom to experiment and create to his heart's desire. He was terrifying when angered, but told some of the corniest jokes Effie had ever heard. Dorea was a Black, practically born to be a Duchess. She was all grace and wicked wit but she had a strange fondness for cockroach clusters and she'd learned Santali purely so she and Effie could argue over Arithmancy in her first language. Even Fleamont had never learned Santali. There wasn't a single thing Dorea feared, except losing Charlus or James. Perhaps it was a kindness that she and Charlus died together. Effie still had a hard time believing Dragon Pox could take two such unbelievably stubborn and powerful people out of the world.
James had been in such pain from the severed bonds, that she and Flea had blood adopted him in a way that added to his heritage but didn't take away from it. It had helped some, but not nearly enough. Their boy was despondent and there was some concern that he'd inherited Dorea's Black-blood Heart. Flea had worked nonstop on a potion that would help him. A memory dulling potion, he'd called it, specifically to dull any memories or feelings related to Charlus and Dorea. It worked.
Sometimes Effie was afraid it worked too well.
They'd had to reteach James everything. Oh, he'd picked everything up quickly, but it still worried her. Fleamont had reassured her over the years whenever she brought her worries up, so she stopped, but the doubt still niggled away. Especially now.
The warm sun streamed through the stained glass window in the Ruby Room. The light spilled over Euphemia's shoulders like a sun-warmed cloak and, yet, she felt a chill sweep over her. James and Fleamont were discussing Miss Lily Evans. Again. She'd lost track of the number of times James mentioned her or Fleamont helped refine James' plots to woo her. Despite James' version of events, Euphemia could see the thestral among the unicorns– Miss Lily Evans did not want James. It wasn't the flowers or James' approach. It was not Mr. Severus Snape's fault. For Morgana's sake, it was obvious the young woman had somehow set the dogs loose on them. She was scared. Euphemia had never thought she would raise a son who would scare people in such a way.
What worried her beyond that, though, were his thoughts about Dark magic. Somehow, he'd come to hate it. Severus was a Dark, evil wizard. Slytherins were Dark and evil wizards. Could he not feel that he was a Dark wizard? Dorea and Charlus were both Dark. She herself was a light grey. Fleamont was the only pure Light wizard in their little family. Remus was a Dark Werewolf. Sirius was as Dark as coal. Peter was mostly Light, but even he had a little Darkness in him. What had happened to their son? Even the growing tensions surrounding the whispers about a potential heir to the Just and Most Olde House of Slytherin couldn't explain this strange hate.
Fleamont gestured widely and James watched raptly with a strange gleam in his eye.
Oh Fleamont, what have you done?
*The Dovecote, Qamar's Tower, Lady Shafiq's Personal Office*
Lady Mavia Shafiq pinched the bridge of her nose and slouched in her chair. Unladylike, yes, but why should she care in the privacy of her own personal space? If anyone had the audacity to Apparate inside, without her express permission, she would kill them. The letters scattered across her desk, and the few remaining in a small pile, made her feel ill. Her head pounded, her stomach squirmed, and her magic twisted inside of her. It wasn't rebelling. It wasn't calling on her to perform the Acts of Contrition, but it was far, far closer than it ever should be.
What could she do to fix this? How could she ever begin to heal the damage most certainly done? Such a small error and now she felt her family's very honor was at stake. One didn't have to be a Potter to hold honor in high regard.
The wooden dove carved into the windowsill cooed twenty-two times and Mavia winced. Cilla would not be pleased. Not at all. Suddenly, warmth bloomed across their Bond. It was all the warning she had before the door to her office opened with a rather ominous crack and her hands were bound together. She turned to face her captor.
Lady-Consort Priscilla Shafiq nee Parkinson stalked into the room like a sphinx whose riddle was answered poorly. The candlelight caught onto the gold in her skin and in her dark eyes and made them shine. It served to emphasize the scowl on her face.
"Darling, you said, I'll only be a moment, you said, no later than seven you, you said." She lazily pointed her wand at Mavia. "As you can see, I've reached the end of my patience. I do hope you'll enjoy being floated to bed like an errant first year's feather."
"Cilla, please." She opened up their Bond more fully and allowed her wife to feel the turmoil she was in.
Priscilla's entire demeanor changed. She vanished the weak bindings from Mavia's wrists and moved, her steps quickening with obvious concern. She leaned against the desk and Mavia's eyes fluttered shut as Priscilla's cool fingers stroked under her eyes and over her brows.
"Tell me," she demanded with utter softness.
The Shafiq Matriarch allowed herself a moment of soaking in the comfort her lady-wife provided.
"Mavia," her wife repeated. Mavia felt Priscilla's lips press against Priscilla's favorite spot, the streak of white on her temple, a signature of the Shafiq family. "My lady, let me help you bear the burden."
Mavia finally opened her eyes. "Do you remember when we spoke of Lily the other day, that it was strange to not hear from her at all since December?"
"Yes, but understandable. O.W.L's are quite brutal. I remember forgetting the spell to tie my shoes for an entire month."
"She has been writing to us."
Priscilla stilled. "Pardon?"
"She has been writing to us, the entire time," Mavia explained, gesturing to the letters on the desk.
Priscilla looked at the number of letters and turned to Mavia, bewildered. "Why haven't we received them until now? What's happened to Lily? Has something happened to Lily?"
Mavia watched as her wife's posture changed back to something predatory and dangerous. "Has someone tampered with our mail?"
"Do you remember the girl Peregrine brought home for Yule?"
"That simpering flighty thing with no backbone?" Priscilla asked, pursing her lips.
"And do you remember when our darling, lovestruck son told Sully to treat her as if she were his mistress?"
Priscilla's eyes narrowed dangerously and Mavia felt something in her magic ease. She knew that look. They would fix this. "I do."
"Apparently, she had enough backbone when threatened. She saw a letter from Lily and thought she was competition. She ordered Sully to confiscate all letters from her and not tell anyone, but she didn't tell him what to do with them. Sorrel found them when she was cleaning and brought them to my attention. I've already made an order that should ensure it never happens again."
"I'll curse her so subtly she'll go mad from trying to identify it long before the curse takes her. Peregrine will be devastated. I'll add an extra curse for breaking his heart," she practically growled.
"Since the first week of O.W.L's, Lily has sent us over thirty missives. Some of it she glosses over, but what it comes down to is that she truly believes Heirs Black and Potter are trying to kill her friend Severus. She's desperate to find a way to protect him and herself. Heir Potter has escalated to hurting Severus and claiming he won't stop unless Lily goes on courtship dates with him. He's taken to cornering her alone. She's started reporting, or self-reporting, every single time, and sending us letters begging for help. Apparently, she turned in her Prefect badge. Her last letter, dated a week ago, apologized for being a bother and confirmed she would be here as planned in several weeks time."
Ice began to creep across the desk with Priscila at the center. "She must think we've abandoned her or that we didn't believe her. What has she gone through? She was so proud of that badge! It was one of the few things she actually bragged about to us."
Mavia nodded, putting her hands over her wife's frozen ones, trying to coax the ice back inside. Priscilla was furious. "Exactly. But I fear the root of the problem goes farther back. I looked back through the years of letters we've exchanged and something happened during her second year. She went from being open and enthusiastic, sharing personal anecdotes and asking us questions, instead of just requesting information about her studies, to slowly but surely withdrawing completely from us personally."
Priscilla frowned. "We'll fix it. We'll warn Peregrine about his paramour, write to Lily's Head of House to find out exactly what is going on and why we were not informed by the school, and then we'll make plans for Lily's visit and get this sorted once and for all."
"We will," Mavia confirmed, her magic settling further.
"Now," Priscilla purred, "Do I need to float you to bed or will you come willingly?."
With a dangerous smile of her own, Mavia flicked her wand and had Priscilla wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy. A quick Leviosa sent her floating out the door, Mavia following at an even pace. They would fix it. Their foster would not be forgotten.
*Lupin Family Cottage, Dining room*
Hope Howell, once Lupin, watched her son fiddle with his fork. He hadn't been the same when he got off the train this year. His friends had waved enthusiastically as usual, and Remus had returned the farewells, but Hope's eyes were far too keen to miss the something hollow and uncomfortable in his eyes. In fact, she would almost dare to say that she hadn't seen him this unsettled since before she'd kicked Lyall out of the house. It had been painful and dangerous to separate their Bond, but worth it to no longer be tied to the man that thought hurting their son was helping him. When her Bond with Remus remained strong, she was certain Mother Magic agreed with, even blessed, her decision.
Hope stood, "Let's go put the Wireless on. I need my hair brushed, if you wouldn't mind."
Remus' whole demeanor changed into something far lighter and he rushed to gather the soft mats they used to sit on the ground.
Lyall had told many lies over the years, one of the most egregious ones being that she was a Muggle, but it wasn't true. Believable, because she never went to Hogwarts, but still not true. Hope was an oddity. She was the exceedingly rare witch born from the union between a wizard born werewolf and a witchborn werewolf. As such, she'd been raised as a werewolf, instead of a witch, until she'd gotten her menses at age fourteen without changing once. That was when she'd been sent to her wix grandparents to learn to live with "her kind."
Oh how she had prayed to Mother Magic after her once Alpha bit Remus to punish Lyall that the bite would simply waken the wolf that was hiding in Remus' blood instead of Turning him. She still prayed, even now, that a true wolf would roar to life. That he would not suffer for her ignorance. She hadn't known about Lyall's beliefs. He didn't show her his papers. She had little interest in newspapers or journals. But she should have known and now Remus was cursed. She would continue begging for Magic's mercy until he gained his majority and all possibility was lost.
She waited until he was comfortable enough that he had started humming along to the music before she posed her question.
"Remus," she asked gently, "what happened at school?"
She felt him pause and then he chuckled. "Well, O. , you know?"
"Remus John Lupin, are you going to lie to me while you're brushing my hair?"
She felt him tremble then. "Mum.."
She twisted toward him and patted her lap, "Come here, my beautiful boy."
He crumpled into her lap, tears already flowing. She ran her fingers through his hair and held him as close as she could in an attempt to ground and comfort him. She waited until his tears had stopped and she'd hummed through two songs on the Wireless before she asked again.
The story came spilling out like sickness from a wound that needed lanced. He confirmed her thoughts that his friends knew his secret, but then tumbled into a disturbing story about the girl James was stalking and her friend they were attacking, and how Remus felt he had little choice but to stand back. At least until they'd tried to use him as a weapon to kill someone. He spoke of his fear they'd abandon him, but how absolutely ashamed he felt when Lily Evans confronted him. How it felt like he was the only one with something to lose if he did the right thing.
Wizards, she thought, Prideful, duplicitous wizards.
Perhaps she'd been going about this the wrong way. "Remus, if they would throw you away for doing what is right, then they are not worth keeping. If they would betray you, let them, and let them bray their own faithlessness to the world. I've spent so many years teaching you to be a good wizard, perhaps it's time to teach you to be a good werewolf. Let me tell you about your grandparents."
As the moon rose high in the sky and settled into their bones, something old and heavy slipped off her shoulders. They would move on from the specter of Lyall Lupin once and for all.
*The Knight Bus, Second Floor, Fourth Row, Seat by the Window*
No matter how fast the bus moved, it could not outpace the speed of Severus' thoughts. When he had woken up this morning, he had no idea how the day would go– his father appearing with a sharp tongue and snapping belt, then Lily and the blood, then the broken swan and his broken mother and the power, the voice. Merlin, that voice. It had shaken him to his very core. There had been some small comfort in his mother's apology, freeing him of any guilt over her death, but that did not assuage all of his guilt.
Lily, fresh from Potter and Black running her out of her home, had saved him again. She was guiding him even now as he sat rudderless. If it were not for her, he might still be standing over his parents' bodies even as the bobbies came. His own unbelievably strange tragedy did not deflect or overpower her own. What terror she must have felt knowing they found her in a place where she couldn't use magic to protect herself. He hasn't done a very good job lately of giving her the same protection and comfort she'd been providing him. Finally he moved, lifeblood rushing back into his limbs as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, tucking her head under his chin.
"I swear to you that as long as I live, James Potter will never possess any bit of you. He will never marry you, never bond with you. I will challenge him to an honor duel in your name if you say the word and I will crush him."
She whimpered softly in his collar and he felt a few tears dampen his shirt.
"Thank you, brother," she whispered.
Another thread as strong as Acromantula silk sprang to life between them. Sister. It grew truer every day. He swore to himself that by the summer was up, Lily would be his sister one way or the other.
