Chapter 5: Empty Chairs
Never let it be said that news did not travel quickly around Hogwarts. This event was no exception, and was deemed especially interesting due to the people involved. At the start of breakfast on the morning of October 9th, Hufflepuff Lucy Rawlings had told her friends that she'd seen Potter, Black and Snape trailing McGonagall back to the headmaster's study. Lucy was considered by everyone to be an extremely reliable source of information, known throughout the castle for her honest streak and lack of verbal embellishments. By the time the food had vanished and students were reluctantly starting to head to their first lessons of the day, however, it was widely believed that Lucy had seen Potter carrying Snape's prone and limp body away from some kind of skirmish, and that Black had had to be physically restrained by Hagrid and Filch.
No matter which version of the story pupils had heard, though - and there were many, many fascinating variations - the consensus was clear: James Potter, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, voted by the fifth years as most handsome glasses-wearer in the castle, and seen by many people last summer hoisting a particular Slytherin into the air via the levicorpus hex, had saved Severus Snape's life. No one was quite clear on Sirius Black's involvement, although he had been the subject of many mutterings since the start of the school year – everyone knew that he had run away from home over the summer, and the black mood that matched his name and followed him around every corner since then did nothing to dispel the gossip. Chances were, he had done something reckless and dangerous. It certainly wouldn't have been out of character, and there was no love lost between him and Snape.
But if people wanted to know more details than that – and they really, really did – they were out of luck. For some mysterious reason, James Potter came away from his meeting with the headmaster tight-lipped, pale and looking ready to either punch someone or vomit. One hundred and fifty points had been added to the Gryffindor total, and that, apparently, was that.
Black and Snape didn't show their faces in the Great Hall that day, or the next. In fact, it was three days later before anyone caught sight of any of the so-called Marauders.
Breakfast was its usual messy affair, students either half-slumped in porridge and struggling to keep their eyes open, or possessed of enough energy to indulge in chatter over bacon and eggs. Lily and Marlene fell into the latter camp; Marlene always could be fuelled by a good bit of gossip.
"I mean, saved his life," Marlene was saying, shaking her head. "That's not exactly un-melodramatic wording, is it. I thought Potter would sooner leap off the Astronomy tower than help Snape."
Lily didn't want to be as interested as she was. After all, it was two boys she had effectively sworn off last summer term. Severus had tried to speak to her many times, to apologise, but she wasn't interested in apologies. That ship had sailed. Potter, meanwhile, had been uncharacteristically normal around her since the start of the year – and that was normal compared to his usual standards, in that he was hard-working, respectful and hardly annoying her at all. Their interaction in an otherwise-empty common room a few nights ago had taken on new meaning since the news about Potter and Snape had broken, although she still wasn't quite sure how what he had said played into things. And she also wasn't sure why she cared quite so much.
She hadn't mentioned the fire-side chat to any of her friends. It had seemed private at the time, and now even more so.
"No, they're not exactly mates," Lily agreed. "I think 'mortal enemies' might be closer."
Marlene nodded her fervent agreement. "It must have been bad, too, for them not to be shooting their mouths off over it," she added. "Sirius normally loves telling us about his daring pursuits."
"Well, he's hardly been himself lately as it is," Lily pointed out. "He doesn't seem to love much of anything this year."
"Obviously there's more to it," Marlene declared, waving her fork demonstratively. "And I intend to – bloody hell, Lupin!"
Remus gingerly slid onto the bench next to Lily, and they both stared, open-mouthed, before remembering their manners. Remus, she knew, was prone to injury, and she had not failed to notice that he had often looked unwell or, worse, like he'd been attacked, after the times when he had said he was visiting his mother. Knowing Severus' thoughts on the matter hadn't made her more inclined to believe Remus' stories, although she was firmly of the belief that it wasn't her business, and that if Remus wanted to tell her more, he would. So she would nod along, and sympathise over his latest bout of illness.
But this…this could not be explained away as a run-of-the-mill illness. His arm was in a sling, held to his chest at a forty-five degree angle, presumably to keep it elevated. On his face was a fading, but still visible bruise: it spread across his cheekbone and down to his jaw. What looked like a slash of red disappeared into his shirt collar.
Apparently having had enough of their stares, he raised an eyebrow. "You should see the other bloke."
"Remus…what happened?" Lily asked with a frown.
She watched as he took his time transferring slices of bacon from the platter to his plate. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was giving himself time to think up a good excuse. "Bit of an accident. Long story."
"So bad that Pomfrey couldn't just give you some Skele-grow and send you on your way?" Marlene wondered, nodding to his arm.
"Ah, well, the break was…a bit spectacular," he replied awkwardly. "Did quite a lot of damage to the tissue around the bone. The bone is fixed now, but she says the rest will take a bit longer to heal."
"Blimey," Marlene exhaled sympathetically, watching as he tried to negotiate eating his breakfast with his non-dominant hand. It was only a moment before she tutted and reached over to slice his food up for him. "You don't do things by halves, do you?"
Lily poured him a cup of tea – milk, one sugar, she knew his order well by now – and slid it over to him. "How come your gang aren't here waiting on you hand and foot?" she asked.
Something in him stilled, just for a moment. "I came straight from the infirmary."
"Ooh, maybe you'll know the full story," Marlene realised. "What happened with Potter and Snape? All we know is he saved his life, but we're dying to know where Black fits in."
Lily noticed his jaw tense, noticed his unwillingness to lift his gaze from his food. "No idea," he replied simply. "Your guess is as good as mine."
There was definitely more to this than he was letting on, and it unnerved her. Surely his injuries weren't connected…? If they were, how was it that he had come away looking like he'd been attacked by a mob, and the other three didn't have a scratch on them?
So much for leaving people to their own business. Looking at her friend - the kind, gentle, funny boy who kept her mind off the stresses of schoolwork as they traversed the castle, who had listened sympathetically every time she had anguished over her sister, who cared deeply about his friends, every last one of them, no matter what they did – she knew that she was not going to be able to stop herself from trying to help. Not when he looked like he was only just managing to keep his composure.
It would take some doing. Some finesse. Sensitivity, definitely. But Lily liked a challenge.
The days in the infirmary had been a bit of a blur for Remus. After James' visit, he'd laid there, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, his thoughts twisting and fracturing as he went over his friend's words again and again; in the end, he'd got himself into such a state of anxiety that Madam Pomfrey had given him a large dose of Dreamless Sleep potion and he'd slipped into a blissfully empty, coma-like state for the next twelve hours.
Waking to find the headmaster by his bedside was unnerving. Dumbledore had gazed at him over his half-moon glasses, a gaze that seemed to do more than just look at him – as if he could read his mind, his cyclonic emotions, too. Unsurprisingly, his version of the story was almost identical to James', albeit with far less swearing, and he spent a while talking through Sirius' remorse, and his and Snape's punishments. Remus hadn't even realised he was tensing up, that the threat of tears was gathering at the back of his throat, until Dumbledore had said that Snape would keep his secret on threat of expulsion. He had blinked desperately, trying to force the tears back, not sure why this of all things was what would push him over the edge he'd been clinging to since yesterday.
"Remus," Dumbledore had said, softly. "You are still safe here. You are not at fault. I hope you know that."
A tear escaped, painting a trail down his bruised cheek. "If…if Snape says something…"
"I of course cannot guarantee it," the headmaster had replied. "But I am confident that he will not say a word."
He wanted to be reassured. Maybe he would be, eventually, once the shock and the sadness and the pain had worn away. He had simply nodded, unable to find words that could express the knot in his stomach, the lump in his throat.
After Dumbledore left, Remus asked Madam Pomfrey if he could not have any more visitors. He'd had a feeling that Sirius was waiting, keen to get his side across, to seek absolution – and Remus did not feel remotely ready to deal with that.
And so, he'd slept a lot, quietly asking for more painkillers, or just staring out the window as day faded into night into day into night. Eventually, though, it could be avoided no longer. Back to reality.
He'd tried telling himself that, now that he was less physically damaged than he had been, he could look Sirius in the eye, that he could have a calm and reasoned conversation with his friend. But it turned out to be almost impossible to even be near him: it became his mission to stay out of the dorm, out of the common room, to eat – when he could – early, or late, to sit on his own in lessons and fix a neutral, empty expression on to his face. It was all in the name of self-preservation.
He had become so used to trying to break his own fall, to anticipate when pain was coming; it was a habit ingrained over years. Maybe it was his own fault, all this, for letting his guard down, by assuming friendships were something he could have and keep, live in and be consumed by without the wolf tearing that to shreds too. His father had warned him about getting too close to anyone many times. He'd so wanted to prove Lyall wrong.
But this was the truth, wasn't it? Someone who he thought cared about him, someone he'd been secretly, achingly desperate to be near for the past few years, had shown Remus who he really was. A monster, a chess piece to move into place, a prop in a prank.
Did that make it hurt more, the way he felt about Sirius – even if those feelings were complex and confusing and overwhelming? He tried to imagine how it would have felt if James or Peter had done the deed instead, but didn't get very far. Peter wasn't someone who got riled up (McGonagall had described him as "being so laid back as to be practically horizontal", and she did not mean it as a compliment), and he cared far too much about what the others thought of him: he'd have thought immediately about James' reaction, if indeed the thought of saying something would even cross his mind in the first place.
And as for James… although James thoroughly enjoyed dancing right up to the line, nudging it with his toe, he would never cross it. His sense of morality, of justice and fairness and brotherhood, was so strong that to even accuse him of betraying a friend would be the worst kind of insult.
Sirius had always been a wild card. Unpredictable, mercurial. Wildly loving, funny, kind, caring deeply for his friends, yes. But he had that edge of cruelty in him, probably from growing up in that mausoleum of a house, with parents whose every thought and word was scathing and sharp. He'd never learned to control his temper, and now, Remus was the one paying for it.
All these thoughts felt like iron in his lungs. A sharp, constant pain at the base of his skull. His coping strategies were only barely enough to paper over the cracks that had formed, and he knew that everyone else around him knew it, too. James and Peter – when he saw them – watched him anxiously, hovering, obviously frantic to fix him, fix their group. Lily, Mary and Dorcas were clearly trying to make their observations less blatant, sidling up to him in the Great Hall or happening to 'bump into' him in the hallways. Marlene McKinnon, who he had harboured unfair feelings against for a good portion of their school career (not that he ever made it obvious, of course), had decided to act as his personal assistant, copying out her notes from their shared classes, lingering nearby when she saw him at the meal table to help him with his one-handed issues, and even offering to write out his essays for him.
A more logical mind, not quite so tormented and exhausted as his own, would've seen all this as friendship in action – the one thing he was so sure now that he didn't have.
That was the trouble with pain. It overwhelmed the senses.
Sirius Black was not someone who was used to being ignored. In his tender youth, as the heir apparent, he had been the focus of family gatherings; his parents directed their attention to him – not in a doting way, of course, or with anything that could be misconstrued as being close to affection, but still, he'd been the little prince of Grimmauld Place. At Hogwarts, his boisterous manner, easy intelligence and aristocratic good looks had made him centre of attention once more, and if that hadn't been enough to do it, the constant pranking and general tomfoolery would've got him there. Even within the Marauders, it was he and James who took the spotlight, every emotion or thought too big to be contained just inside their own heads.
Finding himself ignored, now, was unmooring.
Not that he blamed Remus. He knew, all too well, that when control was slipping out of your fingers, you clung to what little of it you had left. For Moony, he could control his interactions with Sirius. He could look past him, look through him; he could avoid him in classes, avoid him at meals, shut the hangings of his four-poster so that Sirius couldn't even have access to his presence as he slept. Sirius guessed that it was this small amount of control that had stopped his friend from screaming himself hoarse, or cursing him sideways, or just punching him in the face.
Understanding all that didn't make it easier.
Seeing Moony for the first time since the…incident, bruised and bandaged and pale, had been like a bludger to the stomach. Pomfrey had insisted on no visitors, and so it had been over the breakfast table that he at last laid eyes on his friend, and saw for himself the damage he had wrought.
Remus had looked up, his guard down for only a moment before he realised who was there, and it was like a veil had been drawn. He'd stood up – awkwardly, clearly finding it hard to manoeuvre with his arm strapped to his chest as it was – and left the table without a word. Evans, sitting next to Remus' now vacated space, had watched him go with a deep frown, before glancing up at Sirius and James. She hadn't needed to say anything; her expression spoke volumes.
After that interaction, and seeing Remus determinedly sit at the back of every class they shared, well away from Sirius, he had realised that his hopes of trying to explain this all away, of begging for forgiveness, were all for nought. Moony had no intention of letting him get that close to him, physically or otherwise. In the dormitory that night, Remus had said a stilted goodnight to James and Peter, before retreating into his curtained fortress. Sirius had felt the distinct edges of magic, then – a silencing charm, probably, and his heart ached in his chest at the thought of his friend, alone, having to magically muffle the sounds of his tears.
The heartache was part of the penance. That much, he knew.
James was acting as neutrally as he could. Sirius was at least grateful for that, knowing very well that he could have easily cast Sirius aside and given up on him completely. But now their friendship was split: James sat with Sirius, and talked with him, and said kind, comforting things, and then he would leave, to do the same for Remus. Sirius knew that Remus deserved that comfort far more than he did himself. But James was too good a person, too kind a friend, to ever let that show.
Peter, for his part, seemed utterly unable to decide how he felt. Clearly, he felt a kinship with Moony – he cooled considerably towards Sirius whenever Remus was in the room. When he wasn't around, Peter was much more like his normal self, perhaps in an attempt to appease James. Sirius felt a bit put off by the see-sawing of his affections, but again…he knew he only had himself to blame.
In order to let Remus have time in the Tower, Sirius tried to stay away as much as he could. It didn't seem fair that he was the one who had caused these problems but he was allowed free rein of the castle. That was why Mary MacDonald found him slumped behind one of the greenhouses, chain-smoking and oblivious to the cold.
He'd always been fond of Mary – she was friendly, and pretty, and laughed with a freedom he envied. They'd been paired up in first year Muggle Studies. She'd turned to him with a twinkle in her eye and said, "You're in luck here, Sirius Black, I'm Muggleborn through and through", before realising with delight, "hey! We're Mac and Black!" and he'd liked her instantly. Their matching distaste for pureblood nonsense, along with an abiding obsession with Muggle music, had bonded them from the off. They weren't the best of friends, by any stretch, but he always knew that he could count on her for a friendly face if he needed one.
"Black," she greeted him, as if they had arranged to meet there instead of her just turning up out of the arctic winds, and dropped on to the ground next to him.
He shot her a curious look. "Mac."
She reached for the pack of cigarettes in his lap, pulling out one for herself. "I was wondering where you were," she said lightly, pausing to light it with a flick of her wand and taking a drag, watching as the smoke drifted idly away. "Hiding?"
He snorted. "I'm not many people's favourite person at the moment," he pointed out. "Thought I'd give everyone a break."
Mary pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, glancing his way again. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you what happened."
He raised an eyebrow. "Very restrained of you."
"I thought so." She blew out another plume of smoke, aiming it towards the haze of grey clouds. "I'm still not sure that isolating yourself is a great idea, though."
A pinch of heat at his fingers reminded him that he'd forgotten how low his own cigarette was burning; he ground it into the earth and vanished the butt. "No?"
"No," she confirmed. "I get the instinct is to be alone, I do. But it's not going to help you."
He rolled his eyes. "Mac – "
"I know you've been all, damaged and what have you," she interrupted, almost breezily. She had an impressive quality of making even the most serious of subjects sound gentle and meandering. "I knew when you were chatting me up at Tratt's party." She shot him a wry smile. "You have to be quite messed up to flirt with me, Black."
Sirius frowned. "That's not true."
"Fifth year, after your uncle died," she reminded him. "And again in fifth, when you and your brother had that big argument in the Great Hall. And that's just a few of the times…"
Well, that was hard to argue with. Their relationship had always remained happily platonic, but when things got hard, Sirius got drunk – a winning coping strategy, if ever there was one – and blurred the boundaries that held him together. It was usually just heavy flirting, although one time, they'd had a frantic snog outside the portrait hole, and it was only his hand sliding down to squeeze her arse that made her leap back, burst out laughing, and bring events to a close. He knew it hadn't been his finest moment; luckily, she was the forgiving sort.
He shifted uncomfortably. "Look. I think that reflects worse on me than it does on you, if that helps," he replied eventually. "You know you're great."
"Oh, I know," she agreed, and gave him a brighter smile this time. "I'm not trying to make it about me. I'm just saying, I knew things were bad." She offered him her cigarette, since he had not lit a new one, and he took it, pulling in a long drag. "Marl is worried you're going to spin out of control and, I dunno, hex someone into oblivion. Or throw yourself in the lake."
He passed the cigarette back to her, watching as she took a drag, the soft pink stain left behind by her lipstick. "She doesn't need to worry about me."
"That's what friends are for," she pointed out. "We worry because we care." She paused, frowning slightly. "You know we're your friends, right?"
"Right," he agreed, although he didn't quite believe it.
"People don't just like you because of your status, or your money, or your ridiculously attractive face," she added. "Have a bit of self-worth, my love."
Sirius couldn't help a smirk. "Ridiculously attractive, eh?"
"Oh, stop," she waved a hand with a laugh. "You know you are. Besides…" She trailed off.
"Besides what?"
She hesitated. "You just…don't seem as interested, anymore," she said, glancing at him with caution. "I mean, I know you had a period of getting your rocks off in all the broom cupboards in the castle, but…"
He felt himself tense up. "But?"
Her earlier confidence seemed to have faded. "But…it seemed a bit like an over-correction," she said softly. "A bit of a…mask. That's all."
He looked away. Fight or flight was kicking in, and for once, he wasn't about to lash out. Icy fear seemed to have sunk over him at her words, at her knowing gaze; they both knew this was about more than just running away from home. They both knew it, but she was the only one brave enough to acknowledge it. "Dunno what you're on about, Mac," he said, as glibly as he could.
She watched him stand up, before standing up too, and gave him a small, apologetic smile. "Okay," she agreed. She looped her arm through his, an olive branch. "Sorry."
They walked back into the castle together, Sirius managing to steer the conversation onto much safer ground. Mary let him, and he knew she was letting it go, allowing him this…whatever it was. Denial? He could only face one problem at a time, and the current problem was a sizable one.
"Come find me next time," she suggested as they reached the portrait hole, and he finally met her gaze again. "I'll keep you company."
Despite the awkwardness, the rise and fall of their wandering discussion, he found himself nodding. "Thanks, Mac."
She gave him a wink before stepping through ahead of him. "Any time, Black."
Although the rain had stopped (for now), a vicious wind still whipped round the castle, and icy draughts slipped in under doorways and round windowpanes, making it even more of a wrench than usual to leave the toasty warmth of Gryffindor Tower. Nevertheless, James set off out the portrait hole, winding a scarf round his neck and trying to clear his head.
It had been a long few days. Remus had emerged from his determined isolation in the infirmary, intent on avoiding Sirius as much as he possibly could. James wasn't sure he blamed him for that, but it didn't make it easier to bear. After all, avoiding one of the Marauders was as good as avoiding all of them. Moony ate at different times, sat apart from them in lessons, shut himself firmly away behind his bed curtains; when they did see him, he kept a careful, closed expression.
James had no idea how to get Moony to open up, to let out his frustrations. He hadn't exactly been doing a bang-up job of helping Sirius through his emotional turmoil before this had all kicked off, had he? He felt distinctly out of his depth. All he could do was give his friend the chance to talk, and pray that he took it.
So, although he was due in the library with Evans and Sirius to look at the next section of their research, instead he picked his way through the corridors, keeping an eye on the usual places.
Remus was, if nothing else, a creature of habit. When he wanted space, a break from his noisy and rambunctious friends, he could mostly be found in the same spots: lurking at the back of the quiet but warm spare classroom on the second floor; sitting cross-legged in the dim light of the secret passageway behind the tapestry of eccentric Herbologist Aloysius Wendle on the fifth floor; or sat amongst a secluded outcrop of rocks on the far shore of the Black Lake. James rarely felt the urge to be alone – he replenished his energy stores through others' company, their affection and attention – but he liked to know where the good hiding places were, just in case. One couldn't ever be too prepared.
The passageway was empty apart from a suspicious, and empty, bottle of Ogden's Old. The spare classroom was playing host to a pair of Ravenclaw seventh years, who had been deeply unimpressed to have someone walk in and interrupt their busy schedule of feeling each other up. James sighed: outside it was, then.
Unsurprisingly, the icy draughts inside the castle were nothing compared to the bite of the wind outside. Fishing his gloves out of his pocket, and tucking his chin into his scarf in a bid for warmth, he set off across the grounds towards the lake. A few hardy types were out and about, including a small group of first years who were trying to practise wingardium leviosa with no thought to how the wind speed might impact their efforts. Still, there was something heartening about seeing them try – James hid his smirk behind his scarf and battled on.
He had already been walking for fifteen minutes, navigating the uneven, slippery path that laced the lake shore, when he finally spotted the top of a familiar head. The brown curls were being buffeted by the blasts of cold air, and he saw an irritated hand reach up to try to tamp them down (surely a fruitless endeavour, James thought). If it wasn't Moony, then it was going to be someone a hell of a lot like him.
Finally, he rounded a corner and the seclusion of the rocks gave way. Sure enough, Remus was sat, hunched over, staring out across the water, his mind clearly somewhere else entirely. James hesitated, not wanting to scare his friend, and cleared his throat. "There you are…"
Remus glanced up, blinking rapidly before he cast his gaze back out across the water. "Here I am," he agreed.
James picked his way through the lumps of stone and patches of nettles, lowering himself on to the flat expanse of rock next to him. "There are warmer places to be alone, you know."
Remus nodded. "Well, I thought if you were going to hunt me down anyway, I might as well go for the least comfortable option."
James watched him, taking in his tired eyes, the lines of tension in his neck. "You are one of my best mates," he pointed out. "It's my job to hunt you down and make sure you're still in one piece."
Remus smiled faintly, but with no real humour. "Not sure everyone has the same rules for friendship as you do, Prongs."
James pushed his glasses up his nose with a sigh. "I'm not taking his side," he said. "You know that, don't you?"
He shrugged, looking deeply uncomfortable. "I wouldn't ask you to take mine."
"I know you wouldn't." He leaned in, nudging Remus' shoulder with his own. "You're stoic like that. I can love him and be his best mate and still be disappointed, angry. Sad."
Remus looked down at his hands, fiddling with the bandage that still shrouded his arm. "Look. I – I don't really want to talk about it." He sounded more assertive than he ever had before, if not still deeply tired, weary to his bones. "Okay?"
"I'm not going to force you," James replied simply. "But…you know it's going to have to come out eventually." He paused, adding quietly, "Sirius didn't let it out, and look where that got us…"
Remus pursed his lips together. "That's his convenient excuse, is it?"
"No," James sighed. "No, he knows there isn't an excuse. Not really."
There was a long silence, not uncomfortable, as such, but loaded, burdened. When Remus spoke again, it was so quiet that James had to lean in a bit to hear. "I should've known."
James frowned. "Should've known what?"
But wherever he was, he was too weighed down with his own thoughts to hear his friend. He stared out at the lake, blinking fiercely.
"Moony," James murmured with a worried frown, pausing before wrapping his arm around the boy's slight shoulders. Remus remained tense, but dropped his gaze to his hands again. James wished, deeply, desperately wished, that he knew what to say. "I'm sorry…"
His voice was thick with the tension of holding himself together. "S'nothing for you to be sorry for," he mumbled, and let out a pained chuckle. "You saved Snape from a monster…"
James couldn't help but give his friend a heartfelt squeeze, trying to put so much into the embrace: sorrow, love, comfort. "What have I told you before," he said, quietly, firmly. "I won't have you talking about my best mate like that. We don't use the M word."
Remus 'hmm'ed a response, and James watched from close quarters as a tear slipped down his friend's cheek. "It's the truth, though."
"No it isn't," James replied, giving him another squeeze. "Moony, you're many things, but you're not a monster. You're clever, you're devious, you're annoyingly strong, you're a great friend, you're a really bad cheat at card games – "
"Alright, I get the gist," Remus mumbled, finally seeming to give in to the fact that he was being hugged, like it or not. He leaned into his friend with a heavy sigh. "I can be a monster as well as those things, though, can't I."
"You have to stop saying that about yourself. Thinking that about yourself," James insisted. "I won't stand for it any longer, do you hear me?"
There was a pause. "Merlin's beard, you're bossy," Remus murmured.
"Think you'd be used to it by now," James pointed out. "Slow on the uptake, are we, Moonpie?"
This brought about a real laugh, still a bit teary, but far less broken than before. "Christ, I thought we were past the 'Moonpie' phase."
"I'll never be past the 'Moonpie' phase," James replied proudly. "In fact, it's not a phase. It's a way of life." He paused, grinning. "So get used to it."
Remus pulled back, meeting James' gaze with a small but genuine smile. He was quiet a moment. "Thanks, Prongs."
"Any time," he replied sincerely, before glancing round them. "Can we go in now before we freeze to death, or develop some awful wind-borne wasting disease?"
Remus nodded, letting James help him up, and together they set off back towards the castle. "I suppose I should be doing some work," he noted. "That Transfiguration essay won't write itself."
"Get started and I can look it over once I've finished with my Potions thing," James suggested. "You'll have a killer essay by the end of the day."
Remus seemed buoyed by this, and James didn't mention the fact that it meant the boy couldn't keep avoiding his friends today. If he had to proofread and revise a thousand essays to get Moony to stay in their orbit, he'd bloody well do it.
It seemed a very small price to pay.
Lily waited in the library, trying to take in the words on the page in front of her, and trying not to analyse why she was finding it so hard to concentrate.
Yesterday, she'd bumped into Potter in the common room and reminded him of their next Potions project meeting. He had nodded vaguely, his gaze shifting around the room, and she realised for the first time what it felt like to not have his undivided attention.
"4pm tomorrow," he'd replied with a distracted nod, evidently not seeing whoever it was he was looking for. "We'll see you then," and then he'd disappeared up the boys' staircase without a backwards glance.
She didn't care not to be his only focus – Christ, she'd wanted that for years at this point – but it did nothing to quell the distant unease, the concern that had lingered ever since she'd found him in front of the fire a week ago. His demeanour since then had invited Dorcas to guess, bluntly, "maybe he's had a blow to the head and it gave him a new personality." Unlikely, Lily thought, but she wasn't going to rule it out.
But then again, it appeared that his whole little gang had undergone the same character transplant. Pettigrew was even quieter than normal, and seemed constantly, twitchingly on edge. Black incessantly looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown. And Remus…well, he had all but vanished. He arrived at lessons just as they started, sliding into a lone seat at the back instead of alongside his friends; she'd seen him at the Gryffindor table maybe twice at the past week; in the tower, he was never in his usual spot of the armchair near the fire. She'd seen him so rarely that when she did, his injuries came as a surprise each time. His arm was still bandaged, although he no longer had to have it strapped to his chest, and the shock of bruises on his face still had not faded completely. Even without these injuries, though, she'd have thought he looked fragile. Like he was only just managing to hold himself together.
The sound of footsteps lifted her gaze, but it was just a pair of first years, traipsing up and down the stacks in search of a particular book and muttering to each other in frustration. She glanced at her watch and wondered whether, with whatever conflict was raging in their social circle at present, maybe James had forgotten. If he had, she wasn't even sure she was annoyed about it. Strange.
Footsteps again, and someone slouched into the chair next to her.
"Black," she said, not able to hide her surprise. "Hello…"
"Pr- James is on his way," Sirius replied dully, pulling parchment, quill and ink from his bag. "He just had to…he's looking for Mo- Remus."
She took this in with a dazed blink. "Is – is Remus okay?"
Sirius finally met her gaze, and gave her a brief, sad smile. "Don't know," he said, and returned his attention to his books. "But James wanted to check in with him, so…he'll be along soon."
Lily frowned, and cast a glance around them – no one else was nearby. "What the hell is going on with you lot?" she asked, her voice low, urgent. "Is this to do with people saying Potter saved Severus' life?"
Sirius tensed. "He did save his life," he replied evenly. "But we're not allowed to talk about it." He looked up with a smile more angry, more mocking, this time. "Sorry, Evans."
She held his gaze, her frown deepening. "You did something, didn't you," she guessed quietly. "You fucked up somehow."
He let out a huff of air that could have been a laugh, under different circumstances. "Don't I always?"
"Oh, don't," she waved a dismissive hand. "Don't start with the self-pitying bullshit, Black. We both know better."
He tried to shrug it off. "Have to live up to the family name."
"A name isn't a self-fulfilling prophecy," she pointed out. "Don't use it as an excuse for whatever you did." She paused, then added, more gently, "But you also don't have to use whatever you did to batter yourself with. Self-flagellation won't make anything better."
She had never seen Black look so human as he did right then. For six years she'd viewed him as a rich, handsome, clever prat who knew his assets all too well, who let any slight just glance off him, as if he was too good to care. Even since starting sixth year, his anger and moodiness had seemed aristocratic, almost filmic – the attractive, brooding antihero. But here, sat in front of her, was a boy, a boy trying – struggling – to not let himself care too much, to not let himself crumble; a boy with dark shadows under his eyes, like looming thunder clouds, and hands that, she realised, could not keep still. As if, if he stopped, it might all catch up to him.
"I don't know what else to do," he murmured. "He won't even look at me, let alone talk to me…"
This wasn't about Potter, then: James seemed to be at the very least on speaking terms with his friend. "Do you mean – "
"Sorry I'm late." James flopped into the chair on her other side. He looked drained. "What did I miss?"
"Did you find him?" Sirius asked, before Lily could reply. There was something like hope in his eyes, but hope ringed with shame.
James glanced briefly, awkwardly, at her before looking at his best friend again. "Yeah. I found him."
Sirius swallowed, hard. "Is he – "
"Let's…not do this now, Pads," James suggested, not unkindly. "Okay?"
She'd never seen Black look chastened before. It was unsettling. "Right. Sorry."
James pulled a stack of parchment from his bag. "This is my research so far…"
Lily tried to listen, to take in what Potter was saying…but she couldn't help but feel like they weren't going to get much work done today.
A rather nervous-looking second year had delivered the news: McGonagall wanted to see him in her office. "She said, erm, now," the girl had added, avoiding Sirius' gaze as if she expected him to lash out at her at any moment.
Sirius had been slouched in an armchair by the windows in the common room, watching the clouds pace across the sky and thinking about Moony. Not the most productive way to spend his free period, true, but it was about all he felt capable of at the moment. Although this wasn't anything that could not be interrupted, he still took his time gathering his things together and ambling at a snail's pace towards his head of house's office.
Apart from the classrooms and the tower itself, McGonagall's office was probably where he'd spent most of his time during his school career so far. Detentions, scoldings, meeting after meeting where they discussed his 'potential' and 'disregard for the basic safety of others'. In all his years, though, he'd never seen her truly furious or truly disappointed in him…until now.
But then, that wasn't a surprise, was it? Almost killing several people and almost costing his best friend his freedom wasn't exactly comparable to stuffing fifty dungbombs into the Slytherins' vat of lunchtime tomato soup.
He paused outside the doorway, frowning slightly – he could hear more than one voice. But the wood was too thick to identify anyone (something he knew already, of course, from years of trying to listen in to James being bollocked for something that he himself had got away with) and so he drew in a breath to steel himself, and knocked briskly.
"Come in," a raised voice called.
He had already stepped in and was closing the door behind him when he truly took in the sight before his eyes. McGonagall was sat behind her desk, cup of tea and saucer in front of her, and in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk was Euphemia Potter, complete with matching cup and saucer and an expression of deep sadness.
He swallowed. Shit.
"Ah, Sirius," McGonagall nodded her head, and stood up. "Good. I asked Mrs Potter to meet with me this morning regarding…everything that has happened." She glanced at her watch. "It has been a useful conversation, I feel. I must go and speak with the seventh years, briefly, and will be back so we can talk about a plan to move forwards. In the meantime, I suggest you two have a discussion."
Without giving him a chance to say no, his teacher swept out of the room; he turned to look at Euphemia, his nerves like a boulder in his gut.
She studied his face with a frown. "Sirius, dear, sit down," she encouraged, patting the chair next to her. "You don't need to be frightened of me, for Godric's sake."
He nodded, moving to take a seat; he often forgot that not everyone had the same reactions as his own mother. "I – I didn't know they'd contacted you…" he said sheepishly.
"Minerva is very concerned about you." She set down her teacup and reached for his hand. "Fleamont would have come, too, but he had some big to-do with the International Potions Society," she told him, and paused. "Are you…alright?"
He tried to smile. "Well, everyone hates me, now, and I 'spose they've got good reason to."
"Don't be daft," she said, firm but fond. She reminded him so much of James in that moment. "I know for a fact that my dear son does not hate you. And perhaps it is just necessary that you give Remus time."
He stared down at her hand on his. "I don't know," he murmured. "I really fucked up."
"Language," she tutted, but it seemed more automatic than actually intended. "I know that you've been struggling, since the summer. James has been very worried about you. We all have been." She gave his hand a squeeze. "You cannot let your family control you like this, Sirius. Rule your life so that your moods live and die with them. Anger is a wasted emotion – it will only wear you away, not them."
He looked up at her – his best friend's mum, a woman who had shown him more love and devotion in the few years that she had known him than his own mother had in his whole lifetime. It hurt, to acknowledge that. To think that his life, his personality, his heart could have been so different if only he hadn't been born into the family Black.
"It's not just anger," he said, his voice strained. He wasn't sure why he felt like he could lay out every thought and emotion with her, when it seemed impossible with everyone else. But it suddenly felt as if he would break, shatter into pieces, if he didn't let these feelings stream out. "I've felt…broken. Sad." He shook his head, frustrated. "Can you imagine it? Sad, to be away from those hate-filled arseholes?" The words seemed to crack in his throat, and he realised, with embarrassment, that he had tears in his eyes. "Why am I sad about it? I fucking hate them, they – they never cared about me, they only cared about – about blood purity, about the fucking dynasty – keeping up appearances and clinging onto control – why am I sad to be away from that?"
It had all come rushing out of him, and Euphemia Potter had sat there, watching him, not flinching away or getting angry at his words or cutting him down.
After a moment, she leaned forward, and he almost flinched back out of instinct, but before he knew what was happening, she was folding him into her arms and giving him the tightest, warmest hug he'd ever had.
"You're sad because you love them, Sirius," she spoke up, rubbing his back soothingly. "It's very common for abused people to still love their abusers. It's not something to punish yourself for – it's something to come to terms with, to let go of." She paused. "I'm sorry, sweet. I'm sorry you've been feeling this way and felt you couldn't talk about it."
Abused. He closed his eyes tight at that word, letting it sink through him like a stone. "It's not an excuse, though, is it," he murmured eventually. "Doesn't make it okay that I betrayed my best friend."
Euphemia released him from her embrace, pulling back enough to pat him gently on the cheek, then to press her still-warm cup of tea into his hands. "No, it doesn't," she agreed. "But you won't be able to get anywhere if you can't even acknowledge and deal with your own feelings first."
He let this churn in his stomach for a moment, and was about to say more when the door opened again and McGonagall entered. She hesitated, silhouetted in the door frame with the daylight behind her. "I can give you more time?" she offered.
Sirius shook his head, quickly wiping his eyes and determinedly avoiding her gaze. Crying in front of McGonagall – not an experience he'd ever wanted to live through. "'S'fine…"
Euphemia gave a small smile. "Thank you for contacting me, Minerva. I care very deeply about my boys and want to help in any way I can."
Her boys. Plural. Sirius blinked, trying not to start tearing up again, although this was a warm feeling, one he was much less familiar with. To be cared for, loved, as a mother loves her son.
"Certainly, Euphemia," McGonagall nodded. "I believe James is in a Divination lesson now, if you'd like we could send for him?"
"No, it's fine, I'm sure he's busy studying the tea leaves." Sirius swore he could see the hint of a smirk exchanged between the two women. "So," Euphemia continued. "Detentions each week? And mentoring sessions, did you say, Minerva?"
"Indeed," McGonagall nodded. She looked at Sirius. "We will be exploring ways to control anger, and finding better ways to channel emotions – into positive things, not negative."
Sirius gave a brief, glum nod: that sounded bloody awful, but he knew he was not within his rights to complain.
"If there is anything more you think would help, please do say," Euphemia said. "Monty and I will do whatever is needed."
After finishing her tea, Euphemia gave Sirius one last hug – saying "do tell Jamie I love him, and make sure to do it nice and loudly in front of as many people as possible, dear" – before climbing into the green flames in McGonagall's fireplace.
The room felt smaller, emptier without her vibrant presence. Sirius looked up at his teacher, not sure what to say at first. In the end, he settled for, "…thanks, Professor." And he truly meant it. Until now, he hadn't realised exactly what it was he needed.
McGonagall gave him a look, a kind look, almost warm – certainly a long way from the scathing one he had expected. "Of course," she replied. "You know where I am if you need anything, Mr Black."
As he walked away, back to the common room, he realised that, actually, he might take her up on that offer.
Remus wasn't a clubs sort of person – probably put off by the fact that he hadn't been able to attend any as a child – but when Pete had invited him along to the first Chess Club gathering of the year, he'd agreed. It was either go along or stay back in the Tower, and Sirius was there. An easy decision, then.
He liked chess as much as the next person, unless the next person happened to be one of the twenty, ardent members of Hogwarts Official Chess Club. The club was a bit of a revelation, to be honest. It was no surprise that Pete was good at chess, having been roundly thrashed by him in every game they'd played since first year. But seeing him amongst his chess club cronies, Remus had realised that actually, Pete wasn't just good – he was ruddy brilliant. If he got nothing else from the evening, he at least was able to watch his friend wipe the floor with every player he came across.
"Well, I did alright," Pete said with a modest shrug as they made their way back to the Tower a few hours later. "We were just playing for fun tonight, really. The strategy kicks in next week."
"You won every game," Remus pointed out. "I feel sorry for you now, being stuck playing against me for the past six years. That must've felt like playing against…" He searched for the right word. "Against a goldfish."
Pete grinned. "You're better than a goldfish, Moony."
"High praise indeed," Remus smirked.
"Think you'll come back next week?"
"Probably not," Remus admitted. "I like to keep activities that make me feel sub-intelligent to a minimum."
"Same, that's why I don't listen in Transfiguration." Pete stopped as they reached a junction that, to the left, took them back to Gryffindor, and to the right, down to the Entrance Hall. "I'm starved. Fancy a kitchen run?"
"You go ahead," he replied. "My appetite is still recovering."
Pete nodded sympathetically. The painkillers had given Remus the eating habits of a small bird. "Alright, mate. See you up there."
They parted ways, Remus listening to the fading footsteps of his friend until they vanished completely. He glanced at his watch; it was nearing nine, reaching the point where he couldn't avoid his dorm for much longer. At least Sirius had stopped trying to talk to him every night. He could just go in, brush his teeth and shut himself away for the duration. Simple.
He rounded another corner as a figure stepped out of a classroom; their eyes met, and his heart sank to see the cold gaze directed at him. How they had managed to avoid each other so far was something of a mystery.
"You," Snape spat, drawing his wand.
"Severus – "
"You almost killed me, you monster - half-breed." Snape's voice was dripping with hatred, venom like nothing he'd heard before. "And here you are, just wandering around because you've got that pathetic Dumbledore's protection…"
Remus swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, Severus, but – "
"Sorry," he repeated, scathing, bitter. "You don't deserve to be here, you're putting everyone at risk so you can claw yourself an education you won't even be able to use, because who'd want a monstrous beast in their employ – "
All of these words were ones that had run through his own mind before, many times. It didn't make it easier to hear them voiced aloud. "I'll steer clear of you, you can steer clear of me."
Severus' lips curled in an ugly snarl. "Oh, how benevolent of you, Lupin – a werewolf, offering me reprieve – "
A small clearing of a throat. "It's nearly curfew." Lily Evans' voice was calm, steady. "You should both be back in your houses."
Remus felt like his heart was going to thud out of his chest completely – how much had she heard? She had to have heard what Snape had just said… so that meant… he blinked hard, trying to calm the rising tide of panic.
"Lily," Snape started, voice losing the edge of malice. "You don't understand – "
She stepped forward, now in Remus' field of vision, although he couldn't bring himself to look over at her. "Go back to your common room, Severus," she said firmly. "Or I'll have to dock points."
"Lily – "
"Now."
Snape shot Remus a final glare, and swept past them, muttering to himself under his breath as he went. Remus felt some of the adrenaline that had powered him so far seep out of him; he drew in a shaky breath, staring down at the floor and willing his heart to slow.
"Remus." Her voice was soft, kind. The polar opposite of his last conversation companion. "Rem? It's okay…"
He finally looked up, finding her in front of him now, face awash with concern. He didn't know what to say. It seemed like all he could do, all he could focus on, was trying to calm his breathing, slow his heart rate back down.
"It's okay," she repeated, and reached to give his hand a squeeze. "Okay?"
He nodded, unable to do much more. He wasn't sure he trusted that it really was okay, but he had to cling on to something.
She glanced at her watch. "You should get back to your dorm," she suggested gently. "Do you want me to walk with you?"
At last he found his voice, although it shook, tremulous, cracked. "No. I'm okay," he replied. "You finish up your patrols."
She gave him a small but genuine smile. "It's not the same without you," she told him. "Reuben Riley is not nearly as good company."
"Sorry," he murmured, and managed a smile too, somehow. "I'll be back in commission again soon."
"You will," she agreed, pausing before leaning in to dot a kiss to his cheek. "Night, Remus."
"Good night, Lily."
With the first game of the year fast approaching – Gryffindor against Slytherin, or as James framed it, "good vs evil" – practices were becoming more frequent and more intense. Their previous captain, Lizzie Lewis, had been well-liked but known for being a fierce taskmaster; no one had minded, though, since it led to a high level of success on the Quidditch pitch. When James had taken on the role, some hopeful (foolish) team members had been pleased, thinking that at least the pressure might ease. They had been wrong.
Maybe he was channelling his energy into something he could have an impact on – a problem he could solve. Maybe he would have been like this anyway: after all, there weren't many things in life he took more seriously than Quidditch. But, not being in possession of a time turner, there was no way of knowing if things would've been different. The Gryffindors were stuck with the captain they had, and this captain was training them to within an inch of their lives.
He finally called a halt to proceedings around 9pm, feeling that he was flagging just as much as his team by that point. It had been a long day, no free periods, and an afternoon sweltering in the Divination classroom followed by a rushed dinner – his bum barely hit the bench at the Gryffindor table before he was hurrying back out again down to the pitch to set up for practice. Well, at least they couldn't say they weren't prepared. And Kasim was finally able to be near a bludger without panicking and almost falling off his broom, so that was the sweet smell of progress. One had to take the small victories in life.
The team walked back to the castle together, chatting idly about the state of the other house teams this year. James fell back into step with Charlotte Swift, a fifth year and a current cause of some concern. Charlotte was normally lively, energetic, even in the face of relentless drills. This evening, she'd been subdued, not saying much on the ground and then hovering with an air of distraction in front of the hooped goalposts. James knew that people had off days but Charlotte never had before. She was a machine.
"So," he said, throwing caution and subtlety to the wind. "What's up?"
She looked over at him as if she'd only just noticed he was walking next to her. "Hmm?"
"Something's up," he pointed out as they trudged up another staircase. "I'm wondering what it is."
"What what is?"
"The thing that is up," he replied helpfully. "C'mon, Charlie. Out with it."
She sighed. "Sorry. My mind's a bit…" She waved her hand, and he nodded in understanding. "It's nothing, really. I'll be back on form for next practice."
"I'm sure you will," he agreed, "but you're not okay now, are you?"
They reached the portrait hole, and both seemed to come to a silent agreement to stop before going through. Charlotte glanced behind her. "Did you see the Prophet this morning?"
He furrowed his brow a moment. "Yeah, briefly," he nodded. "Another attack…"
"Oxford," she nodded grimly.
He paused. "Oh! Aren't you – "
"Yes," she sighed.
"Was it – " he paused, thought better of that question. "Have you been able to contact your family?"
She nodded again. "McGonagall helped me. They're all fine. But…it was another family like ours."
James watched her, the discomfort writ large on her face, the worry and anxiety and fear that made her look so much older than sixteen. "You're Muggleborn," he said softly – a statement, not a question.
"It's fucked up, isn't it," she murmured. "To be glad other people died instead of my own family?"
He shook his head. "I don't think anyone else would have a different reaction."
"I'm scared to tell them the extent of it all," she added. "I think they might pull me out of school if they knew."
He frowned. "I'm sorry," he offered quietly. "I can't imagine how it all must feel. Is there – " He shook his head. "I wish I could help." That was it, wasn't it. Another problem he couldn't solve, another person he couldn't help. There weren't many things in the world he hated more than being helpless, feeling useless. "You're a talented witch, Charlie. Not to mention a bloody marvellous Keeper. Your ancestry doesn't change any of that."
She met his gaze, managing a small smile. "Thanks, James."
"And if I can do anything to help…" He sighed. "You've got lots of people on your side, okay?"
Charlotte nodded, about to speak when they both became aware of someone behind them: James turned to find Lily Evans, standing quietly and watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. Charlotte gave the girl a slightly stronger smile. "Hi, Lily," she greeted her, before turning back to the portrait hole. "Right, I need to sleep. Thanks again, James…"
"No problem," he called after her, watching as she stepped through and disappeared towards the dormitory stairs. He paused, not sure why he felt strange all of a sudden, and glanced back at Lily. He hesitated. "Alright, Evans?"
She blinked as if breaking from a reverie. "Oh. Yeah," she replied. He'd not seen her look so unsure before. "You?"
He smiled awkwardly, nodding to his muddy Quidditch gear. "Just in need of a shower," he said, and gestured to the portrait hole. "After you, ma'am."
She slipped past him, mumbling her thanks, and disappeared to the dormitory stairs as well. It was only the Fat Lady muttering, "are we going to take all day, here?" that propelled him forwards too.
His dorm was quiet; Remus' bed hangings were firmly shut, and Sirius sat on his bed staring glumly at a Defence textbook. "Where's Pete?" James asked. shucking off his scarlet jumper and knocking his glasses askance. "Didn't see him in the common room."
"Don't know," Sirius replied. He cast a glance towards Remus' bed. "Haven't seen him since he went off to his club."
James nodded; he knew that Peter was avoiding too much alone time with Sirius lately. He'd told James that he didn't know what to say to him. James didn't, either, but didn't tell Pete that. "You okay?"
Sirius closed his textbook with a thud. "McGonagall called your mum in."
He stopped, muddy trousers half-way down his legs, to squint at his friend. "I'm sorry, what?"
Sirius' sigh was weary. "She got your mum in for a meeting, then summoned me for an ambush." He raked a hand through his long dark hair, more habit than necessity. "Your dad would've been there too but apparently he was busy tarting around with some potions committee or something."
James kicked his trousers off to one side. "Bloody hell…"
"Yeah, well," Sirius shrugged, looking down. "'S'not like they were going to bring in my parents for a cosy chat about helping me become a better person, were they."
James crossed the room in his pants – they had no boundaries, and never had done – and leaned against the post at the bottom of his bed. "Was she…cross?"
Sirius seemed unwilling to meet his eyes. "No. She was nice about it." He picked at a thread on his quilt. "Gave me a hug."
James smiled slightly. "Ah," he nodded. "Good, aren't they?"
Sirius finally looked up, eyeing him with slight distrust before he allowed, "yeah…"
James studied his face, tried to decipher the expression on his friend's face. "So…"
"So we talked about my…parents," he replied uncomfortably. "And how I've felt since I left." He sighed heavily. "I might have cried."
"Well," James offered, "crying can be cathartic."
"Doesn't change anything, though, does it?" he asked. He sounded tired, sad. "I've still fucked up. I've still ruined one of the closest friendships I had."
"I wouldn't say ruined," James frowned. "You just need to give him – "
"Time, yes," Sirius interrupted. "I'm just not so sure that time is the great healer you think it is."
"Maybe, maybe not," he replied. "But if it matters to you – if Moony matters to you – you have to try."
There was a pause. "Offering wisdom in your pants," Sirius mumbled at last. "What has happened to you?"
"Good question," James smiled. "I don't know."