Chapter 3: The Means to My End
The end of September brought the rain to Hogwarts. Apocalyptic, unrelenting, build-an-ark-and-hope-for-the-best rain. The enchanted ceiling in the great hall spent days a wash of dark, foreboding grey, making every meal a dimly-lit affair.
Breakfast that morning was no exception: the sky was a canopy of murky, purplish clouds, like a series of angry bruises. This seemed to be reflected in the general mood below – subdued, glum students picked at their food, conversation not rousing above a general murmur. The Marauders sat, relatively quiet, at their usual spot in the middle of the table – just far enough from the teachers that they didn't need to worry about being overheard, but not so close to the doors that they felt like they were eating their meals in a tube station.
"It has to stop raining eventually," Peter suggested, casting a nervous glance to the ceiling as if afraid he was tempting fate.
"Yes, autumn in the highlands, known for its sunshine and clear skies," Remus replied, spreading marmalade onto his toast with gusto. Crap weather demanded a thicker layer of spreads. "Never been so glad to have dropped Care of Magical Creatures as I am now."
"Merlin, don't remind me," Peter sighed. "I'll be wetter than a haddock's swimming costume out there in this shite."
"Well put, Pete," James smirked, leaning across Sirius to nab the teapot. "Anyway, relax, the lot of you. A bit of rain never hurt anyone."
"A bit of rain?" Remus asked, shooting his friend a dubious glance. "I'm surprised they haven't evacuated us to higher ground yet."
"We do sleep at the top of a ruddy great tower," Peter reminded him through a mouthful of porridge.
"True…" Remus allowed.
James dropped two lumps of sugar into his tea from an impractical height, watching the splash they made. "Well, that'll give us some time, when the flood comes, won't it," he grinned over at Peter, who grinned back, glowing with the attention. It was true that Sirius' moods had at least one positive – James' focus was much more evenly spread. "And by the time it reaches the dorm window, we'll have transfigured ourselves a boat."
Remus crunched on his toast, his gaze wandering the great hall as Peter and James discussed what would make the safest vessel in the event of a flood. Further down the Gryffindor table, Lily was deep in conversation with Dorcas, Mary and Marlene – she caught his eye briefly and gave him a smile. He had to admit, he was relieved that tensions seemed to have settled a little between Lily and James: it was exhausting, as a friend of them both, to experience the battles and then have to deal with each of them dissecting it in the aftermath. He'd always thought that if James could just calm down a bit, and if Lily let go of some of her long-held grudges, they'd probably get on like a house on fire. He'd never said as much, of course…he didn't have a death wish.
Beyond Lily, a pair of staring, sullen eyes caught his attention. Severus Snape managed to make eating poached eggs look menacing; he was hunched over his plate, ignoring those around him and watching Remus with a look of intense distrust. He held the Slytherin's gaze for a moment, not willing to show that he was unnerved, before returning to his toast.
Any opportunity to dwell on this was interrupted by the arrival of the owls, swooping in with the day's post. Remus' mum had sent a letter, asking how the last full went and wishing him luck for the next one, fast-approaching, along with stories of her work at the Muggle post office in their village. There was no mention of his father, not that that was unusual. Hope Lupin tried to only write about pleasant or amusing things in her letters – something which Remus appreciated.
"Bloody hell," James muttered, frowning as he unfolded his copy of the Daily Prophet. "Look at this…"
Remus leaned over to catch sight of the headline: FOUR DEAD AND TWO MISSING IN DIAGON ATTACK. "Was it…?"
James was already scanning ahead through the article. "Looks like it," he confirmed grimly. "That creepy snake-skull thing was found over the building."
Peter looked decidedly anxious. "I thought things had settled down a bit…"
Sirius had been silent up to that point, hunched over a bowl of cornflakes with a blank expression. But at Peter's statement, he looked up, snorting derisively. "What, did you think these mental cases were just going to decide they don't want blood supremacy after all and go home to their mummies?"
James glanced first at Peter (who had blushed and returned to his food at this reply), then Sirius. "It has been a while since the last attack," he pointed out. "Months, I think. You can't blame a man for hoping for the best."
"Hoping for the best won't stop them from killing you," Sirius replied, and stood up, shoving his bowl to the centre of the table. "This is just the beginning, isn't it."
With those ominous words, he stalked out of the great hall; Remus watched him go with that now-familiar weight in the pit of his stomach. "Don't worry about it, Pete," he said at last, turning back to his friend. "He's just…in a bad mood."
"Again," Peter sighed, then looked quickly at James. "I mean – "
"You're not wrong, mate," James shrugged. "Trust me, I know it's getting old, being his punching bag."
Remus tried not to let his expression change, to let his worry or concern shine through. He had long worked at keeping parts of himself back – it was necessary to his survival, after all. He was so used to guarding closely-held secrets that it had become second nature. And he wasn't sure, but something told him that this, the way he couldn't detach himself from his worry over his friend, couldn't seem to drain the deep well of concern that had lingered since September the first, stepping on to the platform and seeing Sirius, blank-eyed and stiff, and knowing that something had changed. Ever since their late-night interaction in the bathroom, Remus had watched, waited, to see if any more fissures would show in Sirius' armour, if they were approaching the straw that would break the camel's back. On the tense morning after Alison Tratt's birthday, watching Sirius mumble an apology to James, Remus had wondered if this was it – him finally opening up, finally starting to come back to himself. He didn't wonder it for long, of course. Sirius was back to his sullen, sharp-edged self within a few hours. Remus' anxiety only grew, and he knew it wouldn't be hard to read between the lines if he let any of it bleed through his sensible veneer. The thought of James and Peter knowing – wondering where it stemmed from, why it seemed so out of proportion to their own worry for Sirius, when he himself could barely explain it – made him feel nauseous.
"I just wish we could help," Peter was saying, glancing back towards the entrance hall as if he could still see their friend there. Remus loved this about Pete – no matter how much of a prick Sirius was to him, he just wanted to make things okay. He wanted to fix things, to smooth over rough surfaces; he was always on hand with a bar of chocolate and a warm smile the days after the full. "Something has to change, right?"
James nodded, as if he could guarantee that at all. "I think we just need to keep giving it time…"
The trouble was, as far as Remus could tell, time was only making their friend angrier.
It was the sort of day that should have been written off from the start. Lily had woken up late, making it down to breakfast when all that was left was dry toast and a solitary fried egg, its yolk already pierced and run dry, congealed on the plate. An abandoned copy of the Prophet told her that two Muggleborns had been killed in Durham, with what was now being dubbed 'the dark mark' seen above the house where their brutalised bodies were found. A hint of a headache at the start of the morning had bloomed into a dull throbbing by lunch. Every professor had issued yet more stacks of homework, and their Arithmancy lesson had been so fiendish that Lambeth Shaw, a Hufflepuff of usually solid constitution, burst into tears trying to solve one of the set problems. The rest of the lesson had been set to a soundtrack of her sniffles while Professor Sindha pretended not to notice. To top it all off, they'd been trying non-verbal spells in double Defence that afternoon, and she'd found herself repeatedly thrown to the floor by Dorcas (who, at least, had the decency to apologise profusely each time.)
This was how she came to be slumped in an armchair near the fire, refusing to let anyone else take control of the record player and staring glumly into the flames. Joni Mitchell may not have been the most modern choice, but she needed to be soothed. This was the third play through Both Sides Now (her favourite), and she was starting to find peace.
That was short-lived: the Marauders trooped in, Sirius loudly asking, "who chose this melancholy shite?"
Lily did not feel that such a stupid question deserved an answer, and so chose to ignore it.
"My mum loves this record." Remus' voice lifted her gaze; he sat heavily in the chair opposite her.
"Mine too," she replied quietly. "It makes me feel like I'm six again, listening to her sing while she makes dinner."
They sat there for a few moments, Lily losing herself in the words again: and if you care, don't let them know – don't give yourself away…
"Dearborn has changed the rota, by the way," Remus said, a little awkwardly. He stared into the fire, allowing her a moment to watch him. "I know we were scheduled for Wednesday, but I've, I've got to go home – mum…"
"Oh, I'm sorry," she frowned. It didn't ever seem polite to ask what exactly was wrong with his mother, but she sensed there was a lot more to the story than he would say. Severus had shared some suspicions last year – ludicrous ideas that, admittedly, made sense astronomically if not in any other way. But maybe it was that she didn't want it to be true – for him, not for herself – that she clung to the notion that her ex-best friend was just resentful and cruel, and the friend in front of her just had a sad, difficult home life that he didn't like to talk about.
"I'm sorry to mess with the schedule," he replied. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes like blossoming ink stains. "Anyway. We're Monday, now, instead."
"It really doesn't matter, Rem," she told him, desperate for him to believe her, so that she could take even a little of the weight off his shoulders. "Don't worry about it."
He met her gaze with a small, tired smile. "Thanks."
Mary and Dorcas joined them soon after, similarly fatigued. "Is it possible that Merryton is trying to kill us?" Mary wondered, stretching her neck with some caution. "Marl obliterated me this afternoon. Cheeky cow, she must've been practising her non-verbals in secret."
"If she's trying to kill us, she's taking the long way round," Lily pointed out. At Mary's expression, she added, "I won't rule it out, though."
"Can't believe I thought I was working hard last year," Dorcas sighed. "It feels relentless and it's only just October."
"We need something to look forward to," Lily decided. "Something fun."
"Not another party," Remus said darkly.
"No, probably best to keep things dry," Lily agreed. "But we don't need booze to have fun!"
"The first Hogsmeade weekend is in a few weeks," Mary piped up. "We should make the most of it."
"How? Popping to Scrivenshaft's for new quills?" Dorcas asked with an arched brow.
"A scavenger hunt." All heads turned towards the new voice; Lily noticed that Potter looked sheepish rather than the smug she'd expected. "Keeps everyone moving, rings the changes. A bit of healthy competition."
Mary's eyes had lit up. "I love scavenger hunts! My church youth club went on one in Weston-Super-Mare a few summers ago. Totally beat the vicar's son even though he cheated."
Dorcas fondly stroked Mary's dark hair. "I love these insights into the MacDonald summers, Mare."
Mary poked her tongue out. "Shut it, Meadowes." She turned back to James. "But someone won't get to play, they'd have to make the treasure list and then they've got an unfair advantage."
Potter sat on the arm of Remus' chair, slouched back in a way that shouldn't have looked as cool as it did. "We could adapt Sluggy's randomiser charm, for objects instead of names," he suggested. "That way, everyone who wants to can play."
"You can do that kind of magic?" Lily tried not to sound too doubtful. "That spell is complicated even before you make structural changes…"
Potter raked his hand through his hair – but it came across as nerves rather than arrogance, oddly – and glanced down at Remus, who nodded. "We could do it," was Potter's reply. Again, no arrogance – just quiet surety. "That's if you don't mind me joining in…"
She shrugged as if it didn't matter in the slightest. "I say let's open it up to anyone who fancies it."
"Are we competing for a prize?" Mary asked, a glint in her eye.
"Eternal glory not good enough for you, Mac?" Potter shot her a grin.
"Eternal glory doesn't keep me in strawberry lip gloss, Jamie," she replied with a wink.
"I'm not sure we can stretch to a cash prize," Lily spoke up, not entirely sure why she wanted to interrupt what was clearly flirting. "But I'm sure we can come up with something worth winning."
Dorcas beamed. "You're right Lil – it does help to have something to look forward to." She leaned back against her friend's chair comfortably. "I'm going to wipe the floor with the lot of you."
Potter met Lily's gaze and gave her a small, almost apologetic smile (although she couldn't puzzle out why he would feel sorry) before pulling himself up to standing. "Well, I can hear my bed calling," he said. "Night, all."
"I'll come with you," Remus decided, accepting Potter's hand to be hauled out of his chair. "See you all in the morning…"
They walked away to a chorus of 'goodnight's, and Mary and Dorcas turned to look up at Lily. "Have we rescued the end of your crap day?" Mary asked hopefully.
Lily gave her friends a fond smile. She could always rely on them to rally around her, even if she didn't really know why she needed it. "You have."
There was a time, in the not-so-distant past, that James would've been thrilled – obnoxiously excited, even – to be meeting Lily Evans in the library. A planned meeting, too, not just chancing across her and pestering her until she stormed off. But, although he was pleased, he was also extremely nervous. She was just barely tolerating him again – he didn't want to slip up and return them both to a frostier state of relations. The pressure was on.
It wasn't even that he was anxious about ruining his romantic chances: she'd made her feelings on that front perfectly clear at the lake back in May. Part of his summer of reflection had involved the dawning realisation that, no matter how he felt, it just wasn't reciprocated. Time to let it go and move on. Easier said than done, of course, but James was nothing if not a trier.
No, it was more a concern about crushing the fragile green shoots of friendship under his clumsy heel. He knew he was not perfect – far from it, in fact – and a tendency to act or speak without thinking was probably at the top of his list of faults. If he wasn't careful, he'd fuck up any chance of civility between them before they'd really had a chance.
Arriving late probably wasn't a good start, he was well aware. They'd agreed on ten – late enough to allow a lie-in, not so late as to derail their whole Saturday – and it was now almost quarter past. He had a good excuse though; he'd been trying to locate the third member of their Potions project group.
Sirius was nowhere to be seen. James had even checked the dorm to see if he'd taken the cloak, but it was still safely stowed away in his trunk. Finally, having asked every Gryffindor he'd passed if they'd seen him, he gave up. If Sirius didn't want to be found, there wasn't anything he could do about it.
He skidded into the library (earning a vicious look from Madam Pince) and made his way to the tables that were clustered by the far windows, behind the Transfiguration stacks. It was a prime study spot – most students congregated nearer the entrance, so it tended to be quieter, and the windows meant you didn't miss time passing as you slogged your guts out over this essay or that assigned reading.
He could see the back of Lily's head, her red hair pulled into a clever plait thing which looked like it would take hours to undo. Not that he had reason to think of loosening her long red locks…He shook that thought right out of his head as he got closer. Her shoulders were tensed, her back ramrod straight, so he knew already he had grovelling to do.
"Sorry, sorry," he slid into the chair opposite her; her face was stony. "I was trying to find Sirius and time got away from me."
She pursed her lips. "It's fine," she replied, clearly lying. "So Black isn't coming?"
James shook his head wearily. "Couldn't find him for love nor money. I suppose we'll just have to get started without him and hope he turns up."
Lily sighed, but pushed a heavy book towards him. The gold lettering on the cover had faded so much that the title now read '..va…s in …ot..s'.
"Ah, 'vas in ots'," James nodded, flipping it open. "A favourite of mine."
"Advances in Potions," she said. She didn't seem able to stop frowning. "It was written in 1856. There's three chapters on aconite."
James nodded, pulling a quill and a stack of parchment from his bag. "Seems like a good place to start, then."
It was at least a minute before she opened another book, presumably still glowering at him for his lateness; they sat in a slightly awkward silence for a while. He had never been very good with silence, though. "Devil's helmet, queen of poisons," he noted with a smirk. "Some people had a heck of a time giving aconite nicknames, eh?"
Lily glanced up, and reluctantly replied, "Women's bane is my personal favourite."
"Funny, that's what they call me, too," he joked, flipping the page. He could tell she was trying not to let herself smile. "I guess we'll need to include a section about the differences between using fresh and dried…"
She hummed her agreement. "It does seem to have a significant difference on the outcome." She turned her book so it was angled towards him. "There's a chapter in here about it being used in Ayurvedic treatments. Slughorn likes stuff like that."
James shifted into the chair closest to her – better able to see from there, after all – and squinted at the page. "Merlin, yes, he bloody loves a bit of history. Good find."
She nodded, almost primly, and opened her mouth to speak again – but was not given that opportunity.
"Lily." They both looked up, finding Severus Snape looming over them; he had his gaze fixed unwaveringly on his former friend, his jaw clenched. Clutched in his arms was a huge tome; the spine read, in thick, black cursive, 'Detection and Defence Against Dark Beasts'. "I need to speak to you."
James' gaze flickered to his study companion, who was now rigid in her chair, a look of utter coldness on her face. "Well, I don't need to speak to you," she replied. "We're busy."
Snape shifted his stare to James briefly – more of a glare, really – before trying again. "Lily, please. It's important."
"I'm not interested," she told him, voice quiet but firm. "Leave me alone."
It was excruciating to watch, and a tiny, miniscule part of him almost felt sorry for the other boy. He'd never understood their friendship, couldn't understand what exactly had bonded them together when she was everything Snape was not – bold, vibrant, effervescent, like a bolt of sunlight breaking cloud cover. That she could have ignored his darker tendencies for so long - pushed aside everything that seemed so completely obvious to James, as if you could just smudge away someone's hatred for a whole subset of people, make it blur until it faded into the background - was baffling to him. But, as she'd so often pointed out to him, she had never asked for his opinion on her friendship, nor did she need it. So he'd done what any normal boy with a crush would have done: flirted ostentatiously with her while taking out just a few of his frustrations on Snape. Now that he had some distance on it, and just a smattering of maturity, he could see why that had not endeared him to Lily.
"Lily – "
James found he could no longer sit in silence. "If she was any clearer with you, Snape, she'd be a window," he interrupted cheerfully. "She wants you to piss off."
Anger flashed in Snape's eyes. "No one asked you, Potter – "
"He's right, though," Lily snapped. "I want you to piss off." And with that, she turned her whole body so it was pointedly facing away from him, back towards James. She met and held his gaze, fire in her eyes. "Where were we?"
But, although she'd seemed made of iron when Snape was there, as soon as he left, she wilted. She leaned forward, face in her hands. James hesitated, unsure what to do next, unused to her being so vulnerable around him. Merlin knew it would be even easier to fuck things up now – he was determined not to. He was just wracking his brains for something helpful, and not insulting, to say, when she spoke up. "Why won't he just give up," she mumbled into her fingers.
"He's a resilient fellow," James replied grimly. He watched her a moment. "And I s'pose I can see how losing you as a friend would be hard to accept. But you can't let him guilt his way back into your good books. Some things can't be taken back."
She sighed heavily, still hiding in her hands. "I know…"
He paused, wondering if it would be too weird to put his arm round her. Yes, it probably would – and she might think he was leaping on the opportunity to take advantage of this low moment. He shook his head, knotting his hands on the table in front of him. "Look, Evans…don't let him get to you. He's not worth it."
For a few seconds, he was afraid he'd said the wrong thing – that even though those two had fallen out, her loyalty to her former best friend might still bubble up to the surface. That fear was short lived, though, as she dropped her hands, straightened her back and gave him a nod of agreement. "You're right. Fuck him," she said dismissively. "He can take a long walk off a short pier for all I care."
He let out a burst of laughter at this statement, "That's the spirit," he patted her on the arm, unable to hold himself back any longer. "I couldn't agree more."
She couldn't quell her small but fiery smile, holding his gaze for a long moment. "Right," she said at last, looking back down at the book. "Aconite…"
"Aconite," he echoed, and wondered why his stomach suddenly felt so wobbly.
He found her in the Owlery. Well, 'found' was stretching the truth, but he wasn't about to admit to her that he'd bothered MacDonald until she'd told him where Marlene had gone. He should've expected her to be here, though, knowing her as he did. She wrote to her parents every week, and had an odd, symbiotic relationship with the school owls. They never nipped her on the finger for no reason.
Sirius paused in the doorway, watching her for a moment. She was leaning against the sill, gazing out across the grounds towards the lake. Being Saturday, she was dressed in jeans and a mustard-yellow jumper which hugged her curves and made her dark hair seem an even richer mahogany. The girl knew how to dress her assets, that was for sure, even in casual wear.
"Fancy bumping into you here," he said at last, and she turned her head quickly, smiling at who she found there. "Communing with the avians again?"
"There are these things called 'letters'," she replied with a smirk. "You write stuff down and then send them for someone to read."
"That'll never catch on." He sidled closer, leaning against the sill next to her. "See anything interesting from up here?"
She turned her gaze back out to the stretch of sky. "Not unless you find the giant squid interesting."
"You know the two of us are old flames," he replied. "Don't be jealous."
She laughed. "I'll try not to be." Still staring out across the grounds, she leaned in to nudge his shoulder with hers. "What brings you up here, Black?"
"Fresh air," was his blithe reply. "And the view, of course."
She tilted her chin, watched him with a grin. "I'm not going to shag you, you know."
He raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"No," she echoed. "Don't you prefer being friends? Much nicer for all involved."
"Can I point out to you and the owls," he replied, "that I never asked for a shag?"
Marlene smirked. "You didn't need to ask. I can always tell." She paused, and for the first time he felt a flicker of unease under her gaze, like she could see through the bullshit and right to his blackened, shrivelled heart. "Having sex with me isn't going to make you any less…angry. Or sad."
It never used to require this much effort. Sometime in the middle of fourth year, they'd got drunk at a post-Quidditch party and stumbled off together to that tiny alcove behind the Gryffindor reading room that hardly anyone knew was there. After that, all it took was a raise of eyebrows, or a lingering brush of a hand, and one or the other of them could make their intentions perfectly clear. Neither of them wanted a relationship – frankly, it wasn't worth the effort, as far as Sirius was concerned – but the chemistry they had was too good to write off completely. By late November of fifth year, though, something had changed for both of them. Marlene had told him, gently, as if not to upset him, that she wasn't interested in this kind of hook-up anymore – that she wanted more, or even just some time on her own, to sort through her "thoughts", whatever those were. Sirius, for his part, had been relieved; ever since his birthday party, when they had returned to the common room looking pretty debauched after a firewhiskey-fuelled, frantic fuck in a broom cupboard, he'd caught sight of the look on Remus' face and felt like his stomach dropped out of him. It wasn't even a look of hurt, necessarily, or of jealousy…more like walls closing in, the bob of his Adam's apple as he'd swallowed down whatever uncomfortable feeling had arisen, and Sirius knew beyond anything else in the world that he would sooner throw himself out the common room window than be the reason that Moony looked like that. Not that he ever said as much to Marlene, of course – he was happy for her to think that she was the instigator of their 'break-up', such as it was. It wasn't like he could say, "oh, good, yes, I agree, because I have these strange, unnamed feelings about one of my best friends and our rigorous sex is getting in the way of that."
That would've required far too much self-reflection and honesty.
His instinct was to brush it away. "We won't know if we don't try," he pointed out, as lightly as he could.
"Oh, Sirius," she sighed, and turned her attention back to the grounds. "I hope you're at least talking to Potter about all this, or Lupin, or Pettigrew…"
"All this," he repeated with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "There's nothing to talk about, Marls, unless you mean your denial of how hot you find me."
She was quiet, the only sounds the soft hooting of the owls behind them and the gentle patter of raindrops on the Owlery roof. Then: "I'm sorry about your family, Sirius. You deserve better."
Did he? That was part of the problem – he wasn't so sure. "You know how to kill a mood, McKinnon," was his uncomfortable reply.
She turned, studying his face a moment before she pressed a kind (and clearly platonic) kiss to his cheek. "You know where I am if you want to talk," she said. She was smiling, but her eyes betrayed sadness, concern. Something he was becoming all too familiar with seeing.
She was gone before he could drum up a smutty reply, and although he wasn't wild about hanging around in a place that stank of bird faeces, he didn't make an immediate move to leave too. Leaving here meant wandering alone, or going back to the common room where his friends would edge round him, scared to cut themselves on the serrated blade of his mood. Honestly, he was as fed up with himself as they probably were.
He stared out, watching the distant blur of a figure walking round the lake, pausing every now and then to watch the raindrops ripple across the surface of the water. At least he wasn't the only lonely bastard here, he thought. That had to be a bonus.
It was as the figure walked round to the near shore that Sirius was able to make out who it was. Snape was clutching a book, turning pages with an almost feverish focus. His stopping wasn't to watch the rain dance on the water, after all, but to mutter to himself and stare into the middle distance. Sirius watched him, feeling that familiar urge to fuck with the boy – Snape was lucky he was too far away for any kind of decent hex. He'd been itching to dish out a bit of rough justice ever since their run-in after the DADA exam in May – it was only because James had asked him not to that he hadn't gone after Snape himself. Maybe Snape wasn't pureblood, but he seemed to have picked up the vocab and pleasantries of the worst of his kind. A bloody good hexing might knock the word Mudblood out of his greasy mouth.
With a sigh, Sirius turned away. Surely the only thing worse than the pity of his friends was standing up here, wasting valuable cognitive function on that miserable, spiteful little shit.
It was a bit of a vicious circle, really, Remus reflected as he hung back at the end of their Defence lesson: he was feeling nervous about having to talk to Merryton, so he'd been distracted for the last twenty minutes of the class, which meant she was probably already irritated with him, which made him feel more nervous. God, what he wouldn't give to have the nerves of steel James and Sirius seemed to possess. He made a mental note to try to work on that, somehow.
Professor Merryton had wiped the chalkboard clean with a flick of her wand, and was now tidying the papers on her desk, ignoring the chattering students as they left the room. Remus lingered, chewing on the inside of his lower lip, ostensibly waiting for everyone to be gone but also, yes, putting it all off as long as he could. He damn near wet himself when she spoke up: "I presume you are loitering with intent, Lupin?"
"Oh," he said cleverly, and quickly moved forward, shooting a glance to the door – the last of his peers had finally gone. "Yes. Sorry, professor. It won't take long."
She raised her gaze to his, eyes calm and cold and distinctly uninterested. "It will take longer, I suppose, if you never actually get to the point."
He swallowed. "Yes. Of course. Well, I – that is, Thursday's double lesson, I – well, I won't be able to attend, and I know our latest essay is to be handed in then – "
She didn't remark on him not attending her lesson – Remus assumed that, even if she didn't know precisely why, she knew she wasn't supposed to kick up a fuss about it – but merely raised an eyebrow. "I explained when it was set, Lupin. There are no extensions."
"No, I know," he agreed quickly, "and I wanted it ready to hand in today, but, um, well – it's not – " Bloody hell, he felt like he was going to wither and die here, under the impersonal brutality of her stare. " – anyway. I wanted to check if it's okay if one of my friend's hands it in for me." Not something he had to ask any other professor, but he remembered quite vividly how she had dealt with poor George McMillan a few weeks ago, trying to hand in David Garnet's essay while he was laid up with the flu. The whole class had shrank back in their seats, and no one dared speak for the rest of the lesson.
She pursed her lips. "And why would that not be acceptable?"
He blinked. "Oh. Well, I thought – George, the other week – "
"McMillan had written it for his friend," Professor Merryton interrupted. "He didn't even bother to disguise his handwriting. I assume this essay will be entirely your own work?"
Well, at least her reaction made more sense now, even if it still wasn't entirely in proportion. He decided not to mention how many times he'd written essays for his friends, or they for him. "Of course, professor."
"Very well, then," she gathered the parchment on her desk into her arms, and turned away, already making her way up the small, winding staircase that led to her rooms. "I will look forward to it being handed in on Thursday by one of your classmates."
He exhaled heavily, managing a quick, "thank you!" before she shut the door behind her and he was left on his own. Again, he wondered at the simple fact of how utterly terrifying this woman was; he felt like he needed a strong drink. Instead of giving in to that instinct, he drew in a slow, steady breath, and made his way out of the classroom –
- where he found Severus Snape, lurking, a darkly pleased look on his face. "Missing classes again, Lupin?" he sneered. "How unusual to know in advance when you will be taken ill."
Remus worked hard to keep his face impassive, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "I would've thought you had better things to do than eavesdrop on your teachers and classmates, Severus," he replied steadily. "Surely anything would be more interesting."
"Oh, I doubt that." The boy's voice was silky, yet barbed. "I find your monthly exploits very interesting, Lupin. And once I've got proof, you'll be thrown out of this school, along with your reprobate, enabling friends."
Remus sighed. "Okay," he agreed, as if he didn't care, brushing past him to carry on his journey.
But he did care. Of course he did. This was his most shameful secret, the part of himself he despised and feared in equal measure. To think that Snape was closing in on him, could tear apart his whole life, his future – that his peers would stare at him, and be frightened of him, and hate him – was too much to bear.
But when he got back to the common room, and James asked if he was okay, he didn't tell them what had happened. It felt like admitting it, letting his worry loose, would just invite it to happen even sooner. Far better to push it down. Why change the habit of a lifetime?
At least it meant that Sirius wasn't the only brooding Marauder in the dorm that night. Misery did love company.
Lily could remember a time when she found the prospect of prefect duty rounds exciting. She'd been so thrilled, the summer before fifth year, to feel the extra, unusual weight to her Hogwarts envelope, knowing what it was and yet still nervous about getting her hopes up. "A prefect!" her mum had smiled. "Our little Lily, a prefect!" She'd put the badge in pride of place on her bedside table for the remaining two weeks of the holidays, and lay on her side, watching it catch the light of her lamp each night before she fell asleep.
The day of her first duty rounds, she'd been almost twitching with eagerness to get started. To march round the castle, to feel in control, to help those who needed it and, yes, scold those who deserved it. If she had the patience, she'd probably have made a good teacher in years to come. For the time being, though, being a prefect was enough.
She was paired with Remus Lupin, who up till that point had just been the least foolish-seeming Marauder. She knew next to nothing about him, apart from the fact that he had a sickly mother, and seemed to get into a surprising number of accidents or fights for such a mild looking chap. They had fallen into step as they set off for their first loop, quiet for a few minutes before he mentioned having seen her reading Jane Eyre in the common room a few days prior, asked her what she thought about the brutality of poor old Helen Burns' fate, and that was that. They'd been friends ever since.
Now, aged and wise in their sixth year, Lily found prefect rounds much less thrilling. To be honest, they were usually quite dull, and time that could be better spent tackling the piles of homework they'd already accumulated. Professor Merryton had been predictably scathing in her feedback to most of the students on their first essay, and declared another, even more complex essay was needed to make up for it. Professor McGonagall – far and away Lily's favourite teacher – had started the year reminding them that their very future hung in the balance, and dished out acres of required reading that made Lily, a self-confessed book worm, want to scream into a pillow. And that was even before you got to Slughorn and his delight in adding new requirements to their research project. Every moment spent patrolling the corridors was a moment she could be spending in the library, cramming knowledge into her brain whether it liked it or not.
Alas, the rota did not care how much homework she had.
"So," she spoke up as they rounded the corner past the prefect's bathroom and then again, towards North Tower. "Apparently, the broom cupboards on the fourth floor are being put to good use."
Remus raised his eyebrows, shooting her a smirk. "Is that so?"
"I heard Jones and Elphick complaining about having to fill in more forms about it in the prefect office yesterday," she confirmed. "Whoever it is has been caught a few times now."
"You'd think they'd have the common sense to find somewhere else," he remarked drily. "Are you saying we have to go and make sure no one is being debauched down there?"
"Debauched," she laughed. "You're a Mills and Boon come to life, Rem."
"You say the nicest things."
"But, yes, I'm afraid that is what I'm saying," she added. "Once we've covered this floor, anyway." They paused to peer into a classroom, but all was empty, quiet. "Have you ever put the cupboards to good use?"
Even in the dim light from the flickering torches on the wall, she could see that had made him blush, just slightly. "Lily Evans," he said, his voice put-upon prim. "What exactly are you implying?"
She smirked. "Just trying to dig a bit deeper, uncover the raging currents beneath that placid surface," she teased. "C'mon, there's no shame in it."
"You tell me first, then," he retorted.
"Fine – the head boy found me and David Garnet snogging in a broom cupboard in fourth year," she replied, holding her head up high. "It was mortifying and I vowed never to be caught in such a way again."
Remus laughed, patting her on the back consolingly. "Not to do it, or just not to get caught?" he teased.
"No comment," she grinned; they turned another corner and set off down a corridor as quiet and dull as the last had been. "Okay, now it's your turn."
"Oh, I've never been caught."
"Remus Lupin!" She smacked him on the arm. "You must have something to share – you led me on!"
"Maybe I just do all my snogging in more secure places," he grinned.
"Fine, fine, I won't pry," she shot him a begrudging glance. They reached the stairs and started down towards the fourth floor. "Maybe I've missed all the gossip with my nose stuck in a textbook, but it feels like things have been quiet on the romance front lately."
Remus nodded thoughtfully. "Although, Pete asked Iris Fenwick to Hogsmeade the other day," he offered. "She said yes and scared him shitless. He wasn't expecting a yes."
"They'll make a cute couple," she decided. Iris was a quiet, sweet girl, a Hufflepuff through and through; Lily sat next to her in Ancient Runes and they'd long had a tradition of trading bewildered looks each lesson, and trading garbled study notes in the lead-up to an essay. "Good for him for asking. That takes guts."
Remus shot her a look that she couldn't quite read. "Yes, it does."
Now on the fourth floor, they set off past the library – it took all of her inner strength not to suggest stopping in for just a little while – and down the corridor. "Anyone you want to ask out?"
Remus smiled slightly, the edge of discomfort in his eyes. "You are relentless."
She nudged him gently. "You're my favourite Gryffindor male, Remus," she pointed out. "I feel like I have a vested interest in your happiness."
He hummed his response, along with a dubious glance.
"Besides, I have to offer you a sensible shoulder if you need one," she added. "It's not like your other mates are going to be much help, advice-wise."
"James has his moments," Remus chuckled. "And Pete, if you catch him just after a meal."
"If you say so," Lily replied. They turned another corner, and she held out her arm to stop his path. "This is one of the ones," she whispered, nodding towards the broom cupboard a few feet away.
"'The ones'?" he repeated, voice at a similar whisper, but with a decidedly mocking tone. "The sex cupboards, you mean?"
She rolled her eyes, and took a few cautious steps forward. "C'mon, let's see if we can catch someone out," she hissed. "I haven't filled in a report form since February! I need a change of pace."
"This is voyeurism at work," Remus told her, but followed willingly enough. They paused in front of the cupboard door, sharing a glance. "On three?"
Lily nodded. "One," she whispered, her hand edging to the door handle. "Two…" On the count of three, she heaved the door open – and found nothing but a few mops, a broom (it would have been disappointing not to have found one, in a broom cupboard) and two buckets.
"Oh my stars," Remus intoned. "How deeply erotic."
She sighed, closing the door and setting off again down the corridor. "That's not the only one, of course," she said, trying not to sound too hopeful at the possibility that they might still catch some unlucky couple in the act. "Apparently there are five 'hot spots'."
The next three of the so-called hot spots were a similar disappointment. The third one had briefly raised her hopes, but what she'd thought was a student was in fact an old robe hanging off the end of a broom. Remus had laughed solidly for the next three minutes after that one.
The laughter had died on his face, though, when they opened the fourth broom cupboard door.
"Oh my god!" A blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who Lily vaguely recognised as being a fifth-year Ravenclaw quickly stood up from where she'd been on her knees in front of Sirius Black. He, for his part, looked unbothered by the interruption and merely buttoned up his trousers.
Lily cast a glance at Remus, but he wouldn't look back at her. He seemed unwilling to say anything, anyway, so she turned back to the pair: the girl was now frantically trying to button up her blouse, not having noticed that her skirt was still rucked up to show off her bright pink underwear.
Black raked his fingers through his hair and met Lily's gaze with an insolent one of his own. "Can we help, Evans?"
The absolute brass balls of this boy. She gaped at him for a moment before she recovered. "Merlin, Black! It's past curfew and you've been caught getting a blowie in a cupboard. Do you know what shame even is?"
"Oh, god," the girl muttered, her cheeks bright red. "Oh, god…"
Lily shot the girl a pitying glance before returning her gaze to Black. "What's her name?"
Sirius tilted his head thoughtfully. "You know, I'm not sure we'd got that far."
"It's Cassie," the blonde girl said with a hurt frown. "I told you that half an hour ago!"
"Cassie," Lily sighed. "Get back to your dorm, please. Now."
She didn't need to be told twice; avoiding meeting either Lily or Remus' eyes, she slid past them and hurried off down the corridor, her blouse mis-buttoned and her skirt still in a state. Lily couldn't blame her for wanting to beat a hasty retreat.
She rounded back on Black. "What in the name of Circe is wrong with you?"
Sirius sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Maybe if you had an orgasm once in a while, Evans, you'd be less uptight," he suggested. "Give it a whirl."
"We're going to have to report this," she told him. "McGonagall will have to find out! Don't you care?"
"Report it all you like," he shrugged. "Minnie's already had three conversations with me about lewd behaviour in cupboards."
Her eyes widened. "You are the one they keep catching?" she asked. "Christ, haven't you run through all the girls in this castle by now, Black? Trying to shag away the pain?"
Black met her gaze at that, and she almost took a step back: apparently her words had pressed on a bruise, a livid ache. "Get fucked, Evans."
Remus cleared his throat, and they both turned their heads to look at him. Before, Lily couldn't read his face – now, he just looked resigned. "Go back to the dorm, Sirius," he said. His voice carried no humour, no anger: nothing at all. "Now."
Sirius paused, as if considering a smart-arse reply, then shrugged. "Yes, sir," he replied, and shouldered past them to head off at a purposely-slow saunter.
They stood there, watching him go until he had disappeared round the corner. Lily closed the cupboard door again, quietly, as if any louder a noise would shatter the fragile peace that had descended. She looked up at her friend, and felt a strong urge to hug him. She resisted.
Remus blinked, and pulled his gaze away from where they had last seen Sirius. "Well," he said, and didn't seem sure of what to follow it with.
"Well," she agreed. A pause, then she gently looped her arm through his, and guided them away, back onto their duty route. "Mystery solved, eh?"
"Yes," he replied quietly. "I suppose it is."
Sirius had strolled back into the dorm as if he'd only been gone for five minutes, rather than disappearing with a dark look on his face just after dinner, and went to lounge on his bed. James was working up the courage to ask him what he'd been up to all evening when Remus returned from prefect rounds.
"Alright Moony?" James said, relieved to have someone else to talk to (Pete having fallen asleep at least an hour ago). "Have fun protecting the castle from ne'er-do-wells?"
Remus had an odd sort of look on his face as he met James' gaze, and glanced behind him at Sirius for a moment. "Ne'er-do-wells is right," he said, unknotting his tie.
"Oh, don't you start," Sirius piped up; James turned to see he'd abandoned his quidditch magazine and was looking mutinous. "So you found me getting sucked off in a cupboard, hardly worth getting your knickers in a twist about – "
"Wait, what?" James' eyes widened. "That's where you've been gone this evening?"
"He's making quite the name for himself," Remus replied, voice steady and calm.
Sirius heaved a put-upon sigh. "You should try it yourself, Moony, loosen up a bit."
Evidently, that was the wrong thing to say – Sirius' specialty, lately – because Remus climbed into his bed and quietly, firmly, pulled the hangings closed.
James turned back to his best friend, eyebrows raised. "So you've had a fun evening, then?" he asked after a short pause. "Because you might want to tell that to your face, mate."
Sirius rolled his eyes, laying back down again. "Well, they did interrupt at a rather crucial moment, so…"
James got up, crossing the short space between their beds and climbing on to the end of his mattress. Normally, this was not something unusual, but as he did it, he realised they hadn't done anything close to this all term so far – Sirius always had his hangings closed, or at least his emotional walls up. Well, fuck it. He was not against running into walls if needed. "What is this about, Pads?" he asked, lowering his voice. "I know things aren't….easy. Since…" He exhaled heavily. "But it feels like it's got even worse lately."
For a long few moments, he wondered if Sirius was even going to answer. The boy was staring down at a small hole in the toe of his socks, as if he hadn't heard him at all. Then: "She blasted me off the tapestry."
James frowned. "The what?"
His friend looked up, his gaze measured, controlled. "The family tree tapestry."
Sirius had told him about the family tree tapestry a few years ago, and he'd slotted it away along with the other "okay, that's barmy" facts he'd gleaned about the Black family. Not to say he didn't have a family tree too - it just wasn't embroidered with the finest silks and golden threads. No, the Potter family tree was on a worn old piece of parchment, folded and unfolded so many times that parts of the tree were near impossible to read anymore. Once, he'd pointed out "—ius Potter, 1723-1745" and asked his dad if he knew who it was. "Crikey, no," was Fleamont's reply. "And in the 1700s, the Potters had a sort of ad hoc competition going to see who could most startle the Wizarding Baby Registry, so the name really could have been anything." Another family member lost to the obscurity of the folds of paper.
And they didn't hang the thing on the ruddy wall. They did the normal thing and left it in the top drawer of the old filing cabinet in his dad's study, sitting alongside Euphemia's Muggle driving license ("it was more about proving to your father that I could, dear, rather than because I thought I'd actually use it"), the deeds to the house, and a ratty old card folder labelled JAMIE in bold letters. That folder was retrieved more often than the family tree, actually, brought out to add to or to embarrass him when his friends were over. It held such treasures as some crayon-ed masterpieces from his tender youth, various photos deemed too random to be on display, and every letter he'd ever written them from Hogwarts (the shortest of which read: "McG floo-ing you tomorrow. Please remember that truth is a highly subjective art, and water damage is actually quite easily fixed. Love, James. P.S. can you owl me some more cash? I've run out and owe Sirius five galleons on a completely unrelated bet.")
James shook his head. "Did they write to you to tell you that?" he asked. He wouldn't put it past Sirius' parents to be that vindictive. "When did you find out?"
"No, Reg told me," he replied. "Well, he told Avery, who was reminding me how expendable I am."
James automatically rolled his eyes. "He's a prick and you know that – wait," he paused. "When did this happen?"
At this, Sirius looked down at his socks again. "Last week. Before the party."
Ah. Well, that made more sense now. He'd known it wasn't a sudden interest in Alison Tratt (who, two days later, had approached Sirius to warmly thank him for the party and had received a, "I'm sorry, have we met?" in reply). And Sirius' determined efforts to get absolutely trollied that evening made sense, now, too. "I wish you'd told me."
Sirius shrugged. "Wouldn't have made a difference."
"Yes it would," James replied stubbornly. "A problem shared is a problem halved, as my mum says."
Sirius glanced up, raising his eyebrows. "It's not a big issue," he tried instead. "I don't even know why I'm telling you now…"
"Look," James reached to give his hand a squeeze. "There are better ways to handle things, mate. Talk to us, instead of going off and…I dunno, breaking more girls' hearts."
"How is it breaking – "
"You know very well how, Pads," he pointed out, sternly but gently. "They want the amazing Sirius Black as their boyfriend, not for a quickie in a cupboard."
"You don't know that for sure," Sirius replied, but he did have the decency to look a bit embarrassed. "But…I take your point."
"Keeping it all in clearly isn't helping," James added. "So…let it out."
Sirius didn't look so sure, but nodded nonetheless. He didn't say anything for a minute, just stared down at James' hand on his. "Time for sleep, I think," he murmured at last.
James let go and stood up, knowing a brush-off when he saw one. "Yeah. Get some rest, mate. See you in the morning."
"Night," Sirius murmured, and pulled his hangings shut tight.
James stood there for a moment or two, in the dim light, and hoped desperately that maybe they'd finally turned a corner.
That hope remained, a gentle flicker of light, for just over a day. But then it was the full, Sirius woke up in a foul mood, and wound up in detention that afternoon with McGonagall.
And James naively thought that was the worst the day could get.
Sirius idled along the corridor, hands in his pockets. His detention had finished just as the clock struck nine o'clock, although McGonagall had added another lecture to her repertoire as he tidied away the Transfiguration tests she'd had him marking, which meant that it was closer to half past by the time he got out. All this fuss over a bit of light swearing. (Or, as James had framed it, "Pads, you dropped a see-you-next-Tuesday on Avery in front of a teacher – what did you expect?" Fair enough, although Avery had fully deserved the epithet.)
He knew James and Pete would be waiting for him in the dorm, ready to head out to the shack. Remus didn't like them being there for the actual transformation, so they tended to sneak out under the cloak, transform in the tunnel, and find Moony waiting, already tearing the place apart looking for his pack. Sirius was fine with this arrangement, although it did tug at him inside that their friend had to experience that excruciating pain, that vicious pulling apart of his whole body, all on his own. Still, there was no reasoning with Remus when it came to the full. Better to go along with his way of doing things than change anything and risk his wrath when he woke up the next day.
Still, he didn't hurry. He was feeling irritable this evening, a bit raw, to be honest. His sleep the night before had been plagued with nightmares, his mother standing over him, his father raising his wand, his brother watching, muted and useless, as pain spread through his body like a wave. He had woken several times, struggling to catch his breath, but every time he went back to sleep, he returned to that dream. By morning, he was exhausted and furious, and worst of all – sad. The sadness only made him more angry, because he couldn't explain why he felt so low. It wasn't as if he missed his parents, or wanted to return home. His mind was a mess.
And so, he ambled along, feeling that if he was irritated, then James and Pete should be, too. Perfectly reasonable.
As he rounded a corner, a figure stepped out from the shadows that shrouded the walls. Sirius flinched, surprised at this reaction in himself – then narrowed his eyes when he saw who it was. "I can understand the urge to hide in the dark with a face like yours," he told Snape, "not that it isn't a delight to see you, Snivellus."
Snape's lip curled. He did not move out of Sirius's path. "Big night for your lot, isn't it?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be hurrying along to your half-breed friend?"
If Sirius was surprised to find that Snape had even the inkling of a clue about Remus, he didn't let it show on his face. Years of Black family training had helped him there. "Shouldn't you be licking the arse of someone bigger and uglier than you?" he replied lightly. "Mulciber looks the type to protect others for 'favours', if you're any good on your knees."
Snape scowled. "I don't need protection."
"No, I suppose you're in with those cretins already, aren't you?" Sirius twirled his wand idly round his fingers. "I've seen you trailing after my baby brother plenty of times. I 'spose they don't have to be bigger and uglier, do they? As long as they're pure enough."
Snape stepped closer. "Oh, the things your brother has told us," he hissed. "You can pretend to be the big I Am around here, Black, but we know the truth."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "If you say so – "
"How you cried and cried for mercy under the cruciatus," Snape interrupted, voice dark, cruel. "How much of a colossal disappointment their oldest son and heir was. Beatings with a poker, was it? Regulus said the bruises would last a long time."
Sirius bristled, jaw tensing. That his coward of a brother would tell his friends – Sirius' enemies – the intimate details of some of the worst weeks of his life was like being back in that house again. Betrayed, beaten down. "Fuck off, Snape," he snapped.
Snape clearly saw that he'd found his weak spot. "Pathetic, traipsing around school like you own the place when you're nothing but a weak, broken-down traitor who consorts with dangerous beasts – "
"Merlin, you are obsessed, aren't you?" Sirius bit out. "Is it because you have no real friends of your own, Snape? Can't leave mine alone?"
"I know how you sneak out every month," Snape scowled. "I know you're protecting that pathetic monster of a friend – "
"Oh, Christ's sake, don't you get tired of your own whining voice?" Sirius asked. He knew the anger, the frustration, was now clear in his voice – no use trying to pretend he hadn't been got at. "If you're so fucking curious, why don't you nip down to the Whomping Willow and bash that huge nose on the knot, see where that gets you?"
Snape's eyes narrowed, and a glint of something flashed in his eyes. "What?"
"Or better yet, why don't you crawl back into whatever hole you came out of and leave the rest of us to enjoy a world without your ridiculous face in it?" Sirius barged past him, and was half-way down the corridor before he realised that he'd had the last word – most unusual – and glanced back.
Snape was already gone.