Chapter 8: Bruises That Won't Heal
22 days. 528 hours. 66 meals. Countless lessons. And still no Remus.
The routine had not changed. Every morning, Sirius woke up and looked over at the empty bed to check if Remus was there. At breakfast, he'd have most of his attention on the doors of the Great Hall. Lessons were spent half-listening, half-waiting, like a coiled spring. Lunch and dinner, a repeat of breakfast, watching the entrance for any movement seeming more important than eating his fill. It wasn't like he had much of an appetite anyway.
He watched, and waited, and nothing changed.
It had taken James a few days, back when Moony had first left, to say much more than a few terse words to him. Sirius knew that James felt guilty, thought that he'd somehow let his friend down without even realising it. Add that to the understandable belief that this was all Sirius' fault, and you had the recipe for the worst couple of days of their friendship.
It was only when Sirius – sick to death of himself and his thoughts and his ability to fuck up everything he touched – had lost his calm over the smallest thing that anything changed.
James had watched as Sirius messed up a simple reparo on a cracked picture frame of Remus' – trying to make his friend's space in the dorm more homely, as if that alone would bring him back to them. Somehow, he failed a spell he'd been able to do since first year, and the sight of that crack in the wooden frame – taunting him, laughing at him – was all it took to tip him over the edge. He'd thrown his wand across the room, whirled round and punched the wall in frustration, letting out a broken, sobbed, "fuck", the only word that seemed to fit this feeling that everything was wrong, that he was wrong, and instead of fixing it he could only make things worse.
James had climbed off his bed, murmured a simple healing charm on his damaged knuckles, and pulled him in roughly for a hug.
He'd barely coped with three days of James not talking to him. No wonder he felt like a raw nerve, a jagged edge, after 22 days of no Moony.
Desperate to do something, James had sent a letter by owl post, telling Remus they missed him and asking how he was. They received no reply. He'd written more, and again, no replies. Sirius had written some, too, but couldn't quite get up the courage to send them. Some Gryffindor he was. A stack of unsent letters sat, folded neatly, in his desk drawer. No one else knew they existed.
Life was carrying on around them all, as if nothing had changed. As if Sirius and James and Peter hadn't had the heart ripped out of them. That's what Moony was, after all. At least, that's how Sirius felt. Moony was his heart and his conscience and his – his soul, and here he was, left behind, half a life just wandering from lesson to lesson to meal to bed, and no one else seemed to notice or seemed to care.
James had told him he was making it about himself. That was hard to deny, but he didn't know how else to process this. It felt utterly, inextricably about him, about his mistakes and his temper and his thoughtlessness and his anger that had led him to making an error so big that it couldn't be talked away. What else was it about? Remus hadn't gone home because of anyone but him.
Peter had spent the first week saying, every day, "he'll be back tomorrow". That cheerful optimism, even in the face of every bit of evidence to the contrary, had been endearing at first. By day eight, it had been like wire wool on his last nerve. He'd had to apologise, later, shame-faced and quiet, for calling Pete "a fucking imbecile".
Sirius felt pathetic. He wasn't coping. And every day Moony was away, it only got worse.
Dear Moony,
I know you left because of me. It feels really strange without you here. How are you? Prongs said you had a broken cheekbone and a few broken ribs from the last full. I hope they're healed by now. I remember you saying broken ribs are a bit of a bitch.
This feels stupid. You probably won't reply, will you? If I even send it at all. Because I know you won't want to read anything I've written, and I know small talk via owl isn't going to help.
You should be here. It should've been me who had to go. I suppose that's the problem with not really having anywhere to go, isn't it?
I'm sorry.
Padfoot
" – and leading his team onto the pitch is Gryffindor captain, James Potter! A fine chaser indeed, and we'll see today if his leadership skills are as good as they're saying. Swift, still on as Keeper – as quick as they come, that one – Potter, Choudry and Randall are the Chasers, and, crikey, you wouldn't want to meet those two Beaters down a dark alley – Saini and Harrison – Saini must've been working out over the summer, look at those arms! You could mince a sparrow with those muscles – right, sorry Professor. Erm, yes, the Slytherin team have joined us…"
James tuned out the commentary – it never helped, to listen to the prattle, far better to concentrate on the task at hand – and swooped up higher to get a good view of the pitch. They had lucked out with the weather: sunny, but not too bright, and only a slight breeze. Given that the team had been practising in torrential rain and gale-force winds recently, this would be easy in comparison.
The Slytherin captain was arguing some point or other with Madam Hooch; James found it hard to believe that the bloke could already have something to complain about when the match hadn't even started yet. Rolling his eyes, he eased his broom off round the edge of the pitch, and that was when he heard it. The singing.
Back in third year, Remus had been trying to explain the rules of rugby as he reminisced about games he'd been to with his mum's family. Mid-way through explaining what a line-out was, he'd drifted into a story about the game they'd been to over the Easter break – "part of the Five Nations tournament, at Twickenham," he'd said, as if that meant anything at all to any of them. Remus had laughed as he talked about the songs the crowd had sung together, thousands of voices raised happily together even in the face of their eventual defeat against the England team.
"It's a hymn, really," Remus had said, adding, at the look on Sirius' face, "you know, a song from a Muggle church. Guide Me O Great Redeemer."
"You go to a rugby match and sing songs to Jesus?" James had asked, baffled.
"It's not really about religion," Remus had replied. "It's just a classic Welsh tune, and we do love a good sing. The best bit is…" and he barely paused before launching into, "bread of heaven, bread of heaven, feed me till I want no mooooooooore" with more gusto than they'd ever seen their friend express.
Well, James had always loved a new tradition, especially when it involved making plenty of noise, and they'd spent the rest of the evening changing the lyrics to better suit a Gryffindor anthem. By midnight, one of the fourth years came down to ask them to please, for the love of Merlin, stop singing, and so reluctantly, they had.
It took about two weeks to teach it to groups of their house-mates, and they'd been ready for the next Quidditch match, filled with patriotic tower pride. The song had been a staple of Gryffindor life ever since.
"Roar like lions
Roar like lions
Fly to victory, Gryffindoooooooor!
Flyyyyyy to victory, Gryffindor!"
The words rose up from the stands, roared in happy unison by the crowds waving their red and gold scarves, hand-made posters and banners. Not the most imaginative lyrics, James thought, with the wisdom of his now-sixteen years, but not bad for novices.
Of course, the singing brought on a mixture of feelings in him. Pride and exhilaration, knowing the match was about to begin, that it was another afternoon spent doing his favourite thing. But, of course, it also brought on the deep pang of missing Remus. His friend should've been there, amongst that crowd, singing his heart out and cheering them all on.
He shook his head. He didn't have time to be melancholy now. Too much was at stake.
The whistle blew, and with it, everything else was shut out.
Three hours later, and the Gryffindors were still singing: this time, in the common room, a classic victory party only just getting started.
"I just, I couldn't believe it," Kasim was saying, shaking his head in disbelief. "Is it always like that?"
"What – scary and brilliant all at once?" James asked with a laugh. "I'm afraid so. Fucking ace, isn't it?"
Kasim nodded dumbly, taking a swig from his butterbeer. "I could go and play it all again right now."
"I couldn't," Ornella Randall, their fellow Chaser, groaned from the sofa. She'd taken a bludger to the arm at one point, and was sat in her girlfriend's arms, a bandage and ice pack helping the healing process – as well as a large glass of firewhiskey. "Don't make us do it, Potter."
"Couldn't even if I wanted to," James promised. "For one, you're too drunk."
"Drunk!" Ornella gasped in mock indignation, turning to her girlfriend. "Ruby, did you hear that? Drunk? Me?"
"You don't touch the stuff, do you," Ruby smirked.
"Eh, get as drunk as you like," James winked, and hauled himself out of the armchair. "Speaking of, I need another drink."
It took a while to wend his way through the crowd to the drinks table – every other person wanted to congratulate him, or thank him, or talk him through their emotions as they'd watched him score the clinching goal that meant the snitch could be safely caught – but eventually he got there, and reached for a dark red liquid in an unlabelled bottle.
"Rolling the dice are we, Potter?"
He glanced up, finding Evans standing on the other side of the table. "I like the mystery of an unknown drink," he replied. "Keeps things interesting."
She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. "I see. So you'll die of poisoning, then. We've been wondering how you'd go."
He smirked, sloshing some of the drink into his glass and giving it a sniff. "Well, if it's my time, it's my time," he replied. "Cheers."
He took a large gulp, paused, then nodded. "If it's poisoned, they've hidden it well."
"What a relief," she noted. "I don't think Gryffindor is ready for anyone else to be Quidditch captain."
He grinned, shrugging modestly. "They'd be fine."
She glanced around the room, and he followed her gaze – Sirius was sitting, alone, at the open window, smoking and staring gloomily out into the night. "Still no word?" she asked. She didn't need to explain what she was referring to.
He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm…" He trailed off, hesitated. "I'm starting to worry he might just…not come back."
She sighed worriedly, a frown marring her lovely features. Not that he thought of her as lovely anymore, of course. "You think so? It's really that bad?"
James took another swig of his drink. "It's bad enough," he confirmed. "And he's always been a bit confrontation-averse."
She was quiet a moment. "Sorry," she sighed again. "I've pissed all over the victory mood, haven't I?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "It's never far from my mind, trust me."
She looked back over at Sirius. "I'll go and talk to him," she decided. "See if I can get him to crack a smile."
James smiled himself, faintly, gratefully. "Good luck with that one."
She started to head off, then paused, turning back to him. For a moment, he thought she looked embarrassed. "Well done, again," she said. "For the game, I mean."
"Oh," he said, the profound person that he was. "Erm. Thanks, Evans."
With a last, quick smile, she turned once more and headed off to the window, and his best friend. James only allowed himself to watch her for a moment or two more before he turned away again, and let himself be drawn back into a conversation about beater tactics.
Strange, though. Sometimes he really couldn't figure her out.
Dear Moony,
Today in Transfiguration, Owain Ollerton made a joke about transfiguring water into wine (a Muggle religion reference, right? That fifth year MS essay on Jesus still haunts my waking nightmares) and I turned to my left expecting you to be there, smirking. It was strange that you weren't.
I had a mentoring session with McG. We talked about how I need to control my anger and let my feelings out in a healthy way. Tricky after seventeen years of the opposite. They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. What do they say about an old Animagus?
At dinner yesterday Pete ate nine sausages. That's a new record. I didn't think anyone would beat James' eight from fifth year. I'd say you'd have been proud but we both know you'd have just rolled your eyes and complained about him taking the best sausages from the platter.
It's weird, writing all this. I still haven't sent the last one. Probably won't send this one either.
I'm sorry.
P
"Oh my sweet lord," Marlene declared, pausing dramatically in the doorway to their dorm. Lily looked up from her Runes translation, eyebrows raised in expectation. "It's you. It's really you!"
Lily sighed. "Marl – "
"It's Lily Bloody Evans!" Marlene dumped her bag on the floor and threw herself across the bottom of Lily's bed, dark curls tumbling across her face. "That is your middle name, right?"
"It's Barbara," she replied evenly. "For my gran."
"Well, either way," Marlene beamed up at her. "Finally, Lily Bloody Barbara Evans! I have you, and I have you alone."
"That sounds incredibly ominous," she told her friend.
Marlene rolled on to her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Every time I've seen you lately, it's either been with all us girls, or with Sirius, your new best friend." She stuck out her bottom lip. "You know I don't like to share."
Lily set her Runes work aside; she could see she wasn't going to get back to it anytime soon. "You're always with Dor," she pointed out. "How's a girl meant to feel?"
"So you go off with my ex?" Marlene teased fondly. "You're just trying to get my attention, aren't you?"
"You're on to me," Lily sighed. "I should've known you'd see through my ruse. You're far too clever."
"It's a blessing and a curse," Marlene agreed. She paused. "Seriously, though – no pun intended, ha – are you and Sirius…?" She wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully.
"Christ, no," Lily laughed. "I've got more self-respect than that." She cringed. "No offence."
"None taken," Marlene rolled her eyes with a laugh. "So you're just friends then? I wondered if Ravishing Rafe the Ravenclaw Romancer had already been seen off…"
"Just friends," Lily promised, sinking back against her pillows. "I've got to know him a bit better through this Potions thing, and…well, he needs all the friends he can get, I reckon."
"True," Marlene allowed with a nod. "Well, I can't say I'm not a bit relieved. I think you two would be a dangerous coupling."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Too combustible?"
Marlene laughed, stretching out her legs lazily. "Yeah. You'd destroy each other within a week." She pulled herself up and clambered up the bed, budging Lily over with her hip so they could lean against the headboard together. "I'm glad you're giving Ravishing Rafe a proper chance."
Lily sighed. "Do you think we could just call him Rafe from now on?"
"No," Marlene shook her head sadly. "I don't think we can."
"Tosser."
With a grin, Marlene scooted down a little so she could rest her head on Lily's shoulder. "Ah, I've missed you, you horrible old thing."
Lily smirked. "I've missed you too, you nasty piece of work."
It was true that her attention was divided these days. Between schoolwork, prefect duties and friends, there wasn't much space left for anything else. Yesterday, she'd managed a few laps of the lake with Rafe – she warmed at the memory of him pausing, tugging her closer, to press a soft, unassuming kiss to her lips – before being rushed off to patrol the castle. On returning to the common room, she'd found Sirius staring dully into the fire, sat on his own. It was surprising to her as much as to anyone else how she'd ended up actually caring about Black, given that their relationship prior to sixth year could only really be described as adversarial at best. But something about that look on his face, that expression of loneliness even when surrounded by people, hit her right in her silly, caring heart. She couldn't leave him like that.
That had been fairly indicative of most days, now. Wake up, work, eat, work, see Rafe, work, patrol, fall into the common room and chat to Mary, or distract Sirius, or proofread essays with Dorcas. It was fine – she was happy, at least – it was just…exhausting.
Marlene's sigh brought her back to the present. "Dinner's about to start," her friend said. "Think it's fish and chips night."
Lily held out her hand. "In that case – Marlene McKinnon, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Great Hall?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Marlene grasped her hand, and together they climbed off the bed and headed downstairs.
Dinner was already on the tables when they arrived, squeezing into a spot opposite Mary and Dorcas. Just along the table, Potter was wolfing down his food like he hadn't eaten in a week, flanked by Sirius and Peter, who were taking a more sedate approach. "Bloody hell, Prongs," Peter said nervously, "you'll choke at this rate!"
"Quidditch," he replied before shovelling a forkful of peas into his mouth, and that, apparently, was enough of an explanation. He caught Lily watching them and gave her a sheepish smile, which she returned, embarrassed, before looking away again.
Potter dragged the Quidditch team away about fifteen minutes later, and the rest of the meal went by with the usual level of companionable conversation. As the hall started to clear, Lily felt too tired and too full to go anywhere just yet, and watched as Marlene and Dorcas took themselves off to the library. She shot Mary an enquiring look.
"Don't ask me," Mary replied with a shake of her head. "Too much to unpack there." She pulled herself up from the table. "I need to go to the Owlery. Fancy a walk?"
Lily made a face. "I ate too many chips. I think it'll be a miracle if I make it back to the Tower at all."
Mary grinned. "Good luck, my dear," she said. "Hopefully see you back there!"
Most people had gone now: there were two Slytherins left on their table across the room, a solitary Hufflepuff who had been too distracted reading their Arithmancy textbook to finish eating…and Lily and Sirius. She shot him a smile. "Alright, Black?"
"Alright, Evans," he replied, and tried to smile. It wasn't very convincing. "Deserted by all your friends?"
"Abandoned," she agreed, and slid a little way along the bench so she was opposite him. "And all because my eyes were bigger than my stomach."
"Ah, you're only human – " He broke off, head turning quickly to the door; she turned to look, too. A tall, brown-haired boy had wandered in; they both watched as he headed over to the lone Hufflepuff, sinking down on to the bench to join them.
Lily looked back at Sirius, who looked devastated. She frowned. "Still nothing?" she asked gently.
He tore his gaze away from the newcomer. "Nothing," he confirmed. It was horrible, to hear the quietness of his voice, the emptiness. "I know it's daft, to keep looking for him…"
She reached for his hand. "It's not daft. He's your friend. You're allowed to miss him."
Sirius let out a noise that could've been a laugh, under different circumstances. "He hates me now. And I don't blame him."
She paused, studying his face carefully. "Did you two…have some big argument, or something?" she asked. "Did you say something you regretted?"
He smiled, a smile with no happiness whatsoever. "I did," he agreed. "But not to him."
Her frown deepened. "Sirius – "
"I told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow." His words tumbled out; she blinked, struggling to process what he had said. "I was – he was having a go at me, about my family, about my brother, and…I let myself get wound up, and…" He pulled his hand away from hers, raked it through his hair. "I wasn't thinking."
"The Whomping Willow?" She felt like she was just a step behind, panting to catch up even though she knew when she did, it would be devastating. "What does that have to do with Remus?"
Sirius' face was so full of self-loathing that it almost hurt to look at him. "The Willow covers the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack," he murmured. "…where Remus transforms each month."
Oh. Oh. For several moments, she was lost for words. The jigsaw pieces were sliding into place. "So Severus went out there," she guessed quietly, "and James…saved his life."
If it were possible to get any paler, Sirius would've done so. "He had his hand on the trapdoor," he replied dully. "If James had been even a minute or two later…Snape would've died."
Seeing the whole situation in the cold light of the truth did not make it any easier to get her head around. She thought of Remus, her friend, knowing that now someone who hated him knew his secret. Knowing that he could have killed someone, could've killed his friend, too, without even knowing it. And all that…because of Sirius' actions.
She studied his face, pausing to think carefully through what to say next. She thought, all things considered, that the silent treatment from Remus was a quite gentle punishment. But she also knew, because she knew him now, better than she'd ever thought she would, that Sirius was slowly, systematically destroying himself over what had happened. Telling him off now would not help the situation in the slightest.
"You've been through a lot," she said at last, and he looked up at her, an irritated frown on his face. "I'm not saying that it's an excuse," she added quickly. "But…I think you know what you did was wrong." She thought of Severus, of his face as he shouted 'Mudblood' at her, at his insistence that she should forgive him and that he hadn't really done anything wrong. "There's a lot to be said for admitting you've made a mistake."
"Yeah, well." Sirius dug his thumbnail into his hand; she reached over to gently, silently, stop him. "Now Moony's gone, and I don't think he'll ever forgive me."
"Maybe he will," she offered, "maybe he won't."
He raised his eyebrows. "Well, thanks, Evans, I hadn't thought of that…"
"I just mean," she shook her head, "that you have no control over his decision. What you do have control over is how you behave, how you show him that you're sorry."
He grunted. "Don't like not having control."
"None of us do," she pointed out. "Nonetheless – "
"There you are!" They both looked up; Rafe stood, hands in pockets and an easy smile on his face. "I looked for you in your common room but Mary said you'd be somewhere languishing over too many potatoes." He paused, then looked at Sirius, giving him a collegial nod. "Black."
"Thicknesse." Sirius stood up, glancing back at Lily. "I'll leave you two to it. Thanks, for…well. You know."
"Any time," she told him sincerely, and watched as he sloped off out the door. Rafe caught her eye again, raising an eyebrow. "He's going through some things," she explained.
"You're a good friend, Lily Evans." He offered her his hand. "Fancy a stroll round the castle?"
She smiled, and accepted his hand. "Yes," she agreed. She needed an easier evening, now. "I rather think I do."
M,
Merryton is quite possibly an insane person. There's no other explanation. She's set us an essay about thestrals and their historic use as a battle creature. Thestrals! They tried them in one bloody battle in 18-who-the-fuck-cares and it didn't work. Does she know her own subject? How the fuck can anyone string out even three inches on thestrals? I'm bored just thinking about it. I'm starting to wonder if she's setting all sorts of random shit now just to see if anyone complains.
Are you having to do schoolwork at home? You'd probably enjoy that, to be fair.
It's not the same without you here. Evans was playing The Beatles in the common room the other day and Eleanor Rigby came on, and I remembered you saying how it was one of your favourites, and I said it was a weird one to have as a favourite, and you said I was a weird one to have as a favourite and then we both couldn't stop giggling and Prongs threw his shoe at us. Thinking about it made me want to toss the record player on to the fire. I didn't, though. That's progress, isn't it? McG and Euphemia must be terribly proud of the snail's pace progress I'm making.
I'm so, so sorry.
Pads
Every Friday evening, like clockwork, Sirius reported to McGonagall's office. Seven o'clock would roll around and he'd leave his friends behind in the Great Hall, Pete probably finishing his third helping of treacle sponge and custard, and trudge along the empty corridors to face another evening of boredom and redemption. The only positive in any of it was seeing Snivellus' sullen, miserable face as he made the same journey down to Slughorn's office.
He had always liked McGonagall. She was fearsome, to be sure, sharp as flint. But he knew there was fondness under that cool exterior. Even if he was an entirely infuriating student to have to deal with ninety-five percent of the time, she still treated him like a fundamentally decent person. Considering his home life, this was as good as a constant stream of hugs.
(That was a weird thought. Hugging Minnie? Surely she'd be all hard angles and disapproving sighs.)
Of all the teachers to be serving weekly detention with, he'd probably have picked her. He'd done a detention with Merryton the previous month after handing in his DADA essay late, and she'd just made him sit there while she stared icily at him for an hour. He was impressed that she was able to keep that up for so long, but it didn't make the situation any less uncomfortable. Slughorn's detentions were always an excuse for free child labour, scrubbing out cauldrons, preparing potions or restocking the store cupboard. Plus, in Sirius' experience, you also had to listen to him ramble on with some story of a previous pupil who was now an illustrious who-gives-a-fuck. Time moved very slowly. And of course, Filch would've strung him up by his ankles if given the opportunity. So marking quizzes or organising student handouts for McGonagall was the best of a bad bunch, really.
Maybe it helped that he knew, ultimately, that he deserved these detentions. Deserved a lot more. It was a small penance for what he had done to his friend, what utter calamity he could have caused.
Her office door was ajar, and he paused at the threshold, knocking to announce his presence. His teacher was sat at her desk, reading from a piece of parchment, but looked up at the noise. "Ah, Mr Black," she nodded towards the chair opposite her. "Sit down. I see from the report from your teachers that you have had a quiet week?"
He did as he was asked, pulling his quill and inkpot from his bag in readiness. "Trying to, y'know, keep myself under control," he replied. "Like you said."
She watched him for a moment; he felt self-conscious, like she could read every thought that passed through his head. "Good," she said at last. "I'm pleased that you're taking this seriously."
He nodded, resisting the urge to make the obvious joke. "I am."
She reached for a thick stack of parchment and passed it to him. "Second year quizzes. The answer key is on the top for you to mark against," she said. "Once finished, please sort them in descending order of score."
Sirius got stuck into the task – although he'd never admit it to anyone, not even James, he didn't mind this sort of job. If nothing else, it was entertaining to see which pupils had clearly not revised for the test – and always satisfying to draw a big, red zero at the top of their page. As he worked, the only sound in the room was the gentle ticking of the clock above the fireplace, and the shuffling of parchment. For her part, McGonagall was reading through essays, a look of disdain on her face most of the time: evidently these were not quite up to scratch.
It was nearing the end of the hour when a gentle tapping made them both look up: an owl waited at the window. McGonagall rose from her chair to retrieve her letter, moving the essays aside to read it. Sirius hadn't meant to give it much attention, but as he looked up to set another marked test paper on to the pile on her desk, he caught sight of a swirl of writing on the reverse of the letter, and a distinct signature: Hope Lupin.
His heart felt like it had leapt up into his throat. Even if it wasn't from Remus himself, it was still Remus-adjacent, and more than he had seen or heard in what felt like forever. His mother was writing to McGonagall? And quite a long letter too, by the looks of it. He couldn't make out what the writing on the back of the letter said – it was at just the wrong angle, the writing just a little too sloped and small to make out.
He couldn't keep quiet. "That's from Remus' mum," he said, his voice surprisingly steady considering how hard his heart was thumping in his chest.
His teacher looked up, sharply at first before the gaze softened slightly. "Yes," she confirmed, and for a moment he thought that was all she was going to say on the matter. "She is sending me regular updates."
"Is he – " Something in her eyes made him pause, reconsider his words. "Does she know when he'll be back?"
McGonagall glanced down at the parchment in her hands. "Sirius, it is not appropriate for me to discuss the private contents of a letter about another student with you," she told him, trying to sound stern. "I understand that he is your friend, and you want to know how he is, but – "
"He's not here because of me," Sirius interrupted. He couldn't even be bothered to feel ashamed of the transparent sadness in his voice. "There's no way this is just a medical thing."
She pursed her lips. "No," she agreed quietly, "it's not."
He paused, looking desperately at the letter again, before he forced himself to return to his task. "Sorry. It's not my business," he murmured.
The quiet settled over them for long enough that Sirius assumed the matter was closed. Eventually, though, she spoke up again. "When I know he is returning, I will tell you," she said, and he looked up, managing a nod. "You've done your hour. Good night, Sirius."
A glance at the clock told them that, actually, he hadn't quite done the hour, but he wasn't about to turn down the chance to get out even a few minutes early. Even if it was offered out of pity. "Good night, professor," he replied, standing up and leaving the room as swiftly as could be considered polite.
Back at the dorm, he stopped before telling the others what had happened. He wasn't sure why, but it felt like it had an air of finality to it – like it was another nail in the coffin of their friendship. Clearly, if Mrs Lupin was writing letters, Remus wasn't going to be turning up at breakfast tomorrow. Sirius felt fear, like a rock in his gut, that the longer he was away, the less likely he was to come back at all.
Could it be that their friendship was over, just like that?
He didn't want to think about it. But the question kept rising to the surface, over and over.
M,
Did you know that Muggles use something called an X-ray to look at their bones? You probably do know that. We learned about Muggle medicine today and it's really fucked up. Imagine having to point waves at your arms just so you could know if something is broken. Evans told me at dinner that the waves aren't like the ones in the ocean, which makes more sense than what I was imagining. She started going on about particles and energy and I lasted about five minutes before I glazed over and had to eat another helping of trifle to wake my brain back up again.
Still. X-rays. I don't know how Muggles get by. Has your mum had any X-rays?
That's a weird question isn't it. This is how starved for Moony-information I am. I'm asking pointless questions in a letter I won't even send.
If you were here, I'd tell you how sorry I am. How much I wish I'd never opened my stupid mouth. I know it doesn't help things, it won't change anything, but I'd say it. Every day, if it helped.
I'm sorry.
P
As December dawned, and another Hogsmeade weekend rolled around, James felt in a decidedly un-festive mood. Even the addition of twinkly lights around the entrance hall couldn't bring on the Christmas spirit. What was there to feel festive about? They still hadn't heard from Moony – McGonagall had finally said, exasperated and tense, "when I know, I will tell you, Mr Potter, you don't need to ask me every minute of every day" when he'd approached her again yesterday morning. The dorm felt empty without him, something which shouldn't have made any sense, given it was still three quarters full. But it did. It hadn't even been a month, and it felt like years.
He spent far too much time replaying his last conversation with Remus over and over in his head. He'd been so shell-shocked by what Moony had said, at the idea that he could even think he was less important to James than Sirius was, that he was sure he hadn't said the right things. He'd tried – he always did – but obviously it hadn't been enough, since their friend had vanished back to his home the very next morning.
He'd picked over the days prior to the moon, trying to work out where they'd gone wrong, what he might've done that made Remus think that he wasn't worth something to him. The trouble was, Moony had always been so good at controlling his reactions to anything negative – a great skill, unless you happened to be his friend and in need of dissecting what was at stake. James couldn't think of anything that might've tipped him over the edge.
Meanwhile, Sirius had been struggling. In a different way than he had been before the prank, but struggling nonetheless. He was quiet, sad, obviously drowning in guilt and other unnameable, complex feelings. It wasn't easy being angry with Sirius when he was in that kind of a state, so it wasn't any wonder that James had lasted not even three full days of the cold shoulder before caving and forgiving him. Besides, James thought that if Sirius had been hated by James as well as Remus, there could've been no telling what he'd do.
Pete, usually their easy-going, amiable middle ground, was finding the shift in group dynamics a challenge. He was a people-pleaser, and unfortunately, the people around him at the moment were very hard to please. James did what he could to be half-decent company for Peter, trying to make up for Sirius' low moods and Remus' gaping absence, but he knew it wasn't enough.
All in all, they were a sorry group.
Still, they'd decided to go to Hogsmeade anyway, to go to the Broomsticks and, if not get plastered, then at least merry enough to wash away some of their troubles. James had not been keen to go and had taken some convincing, eventually giving in if only to stop Peter looking like someone had just killed his cat. And he told himself, very firmly, that it wasn't that he wasn't keen to go because he knew that Lily Evans and Rafe Thicknesse were going to be parading around. It had nothing to do with that. He just wasn't feeling festive, that was all.
He was fine with those two. Happy for them, even. After all, hadn't he bumped into them holding hands in the corridors plenty of times by now? He'd even stumbled across them snogging outside the prefect's bathroom last week, and had felt infinitely proud of his calm, collected way of dealing with it. She was his friend. Good for her that she was having her tonsils tickled by an annoyingly, objectively handsome bloke. Good times all round.
At least the weather for this Hogsmeade weekend was an improvement on last time – the sky was a blanket of pale grey clouds, not dark enough to carry rain just yet, and it was cold in a bracing sort of way. Not exactly the stuff of epic poetry, but better than sleet. They'd bundled into the carriages, all of the Gryffindor sixth years together – apart from Lily, of course – and even Sirius seemed to have his mood lifted somewhat by the change of routine. Marlene and Dorcas had slipped off soon after they'd arrived, heads together as they'd laughed over some inside joke. That left Mary Macdonald in need of company and entertainment, and so she'd linked arms with Peter, given them all a cheery smile, and suggested they see who had the least chemistry out of all the couples in the pub.
It was a lot more fun than James had thought it would be.
Mary was fun, he reflected, watching her argue with Sirius over whether a Ravenclaw fourth year was even remotely interested in the boy she was sat with. Mary was bubbly, she was easy to talk to – she had a sense of humour, a quality that James prized highly. And, looking at her in the stream of winter sun from the nearby window, she was pretty. Today she'd done something to her brown hair to make it sort of wavy, and James noted now how it framed her face. Had she always been pretty? He'd not noticed.
She was smiling at Sirius over the rim of her glass, deep brown eyes sparkling with mischief. James watched her, her mannerisms, the way she laughed so readily, the contrast of her pale skin with that dark hair – it was all undeniably appealing. She glanced over at him and caught his stare. "What do you think? Love connection or doomed to fail?"
He blinked, and turned to look at the couple in question. He felt bewildered, distracted. "Erm…I think they've got what it takes," he decided, not really knowing what he was looking for anyway. What did he know about love? All he had was a doomed, unrequited thing he was desperately trying to shake free from. "They seem happy."
"I was happy, once," Peter piped up wistfully. "With Iris."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "It was only a few weeks ago that you were saying you were well shot of her, mate," he reminded him.
"Love can make you mad," Peter replied. "I didn't know what I had until it was gone." He took a swig from his drink and affected a look of intense longing and devotion. Or, what was supposed to be those things – James thought he looked more like he was struggling with indigestion. "Iris and I. Now that was chemistry."
"Two weeks," Sirius pointed out. "Two weeks, you two were going out. I've had stomach flus that have lasted longer."
"Now, there's a couple with chemistry," Mary jumped in, beaming with something like pride, and they all turned to follow her gaze to where Lily and Rafe had just arrived. They had settled at a cosy corner table, his arm draped easily around her shoulders.
Sirius shot James a wary look – his friend didn't believe him when he said he was moving on – and James looked away, reaching for his drink. "What about you, then, Mac?" he asked, not entirely to get the focus away from Lily and the happy, soppy expression on her face. "You've got chemistry with the chair - where's your date?"
Mary shot him a pleased grin. "Why thank you, Jamie," she gave him a wink. "I'm waiting for someone worthy."
"What've they got to do?" Sirius asked gamely. "Pull a sword out a stone?"
"Defeat a minotaur?" Peter suggested.
"Stay conscious all the way through double History of Magic?" was James' input.
Mary laughed, sliding her empty glass to the middle of the table. "Why not all three?" she asked. "Low expectations are the enemy of success."
She was flirting. Even James knew that, and he was notoriously slow when it came to this stuff. But Mary was flirty – it was just her personality, it didn't mean anything – and besides, his gaze kept drifting, against his will, off into the corner.
They were kissing now. Excellent.
James stood up with a forced smile and a sigh more weary than he'd intended. "Right. Another drink?"
Moony,
Pete ate twelve sausages tonight. TWELVE. It was obscene.
I miss you. I'm sorry.
Pads
Everyone knew what it meant for a budding relationship to make it official in Hogsmeade. It was considered a commitment, like exchanging promise rings, and sent a clear message to all other interested parties: we are both taken.
The Hogsmeade date venue a couple chose also made a statement. Puddifoot's was for third and fourth years, or older students wanting to prove that they could still be romantic before groping each other in the carriages back to school. The Hog's Head was for casual couples - less about the ambience and more about the opportunities offered by the many dark corners. If you wanted to break up, you took your partner to the greasy spoon cafe on one of the side streets, where no one could be accused of finding even a hint of romance. If you wanted to be seen, you paraded hand in hand up and down the high street, perhaps pausing for a snog on a bench. And then, for all others, there was the Three Broomsticks. Low-key enough to not make anyone feel pressured, but nice enough to feel special with the right person. Plus, if things went awry, there was usually someone around to look after you.
Despite the potential pressure a Hogsmeade date should have brought, Lily found herself feeling remarkably relaxed. Maybe it was because they had forgone waiting for the day itself and had already spent time together in the castle. They'd done so many laps of the grounds by now that she was sure she could have made her way round it blind-folded if necessary. She already knew about his family, his pets, his favourite subject, his career aspirations. She also knew that he was a good kisser, so it wasn't like she was anxiously waiting, wondering if he was going to make a move. He'd done that two weeks ago, something they'd both thoroughly enjoyed.
And so it was that she'd met Rafe in the entrance hall, only excited butterflies in her stomach and none of the gut-wrenching anxiety. Maybe a small amount of fear of messing up, somehow, but that was to be expected.
They'd managed to snag their own carriage by lingering behind the crowds, since neither of them minded getting to the village a while after everyone else. Lily had had a few dates before, including a memorable occasion having tea spilt all over her by an extremely nervous Luke Brand, poor chap, but they had never felt quite like this. She felt special, on the arm of this handsome, mature specimen. He was the epitome of politeness, helping her out of the carriage, holding doors open. He even tried to buy her a book, although she talked him down from that – it was too soon to be getting into relationship debt, she thought.
It was cold enough that she was glad when he suggested they head to the Broomsticks for lunch (she'd forgone her woollen hat, in order to maintain some semblance of sex appeal, and so her ears were starting to feel frozen) and they soon found a table in a quiet corner. She preferred being tucked away – not for nefarious reasons, of course, but to avoid too many people being nosy. Lily had always enjoyed some privacy.
She'd spotted Mary sitting with the Gryffindor boys when they'd arrived at the pub - her friend had shot her an encouraging grin before returning to her conversation. Now, while Rafe got them drinks, she let her gaze wander over to the group again. Mary and Potter were sat next to each other, chatting and laughing, and his arm was draped across the back of her chair. Huh. Were they…? Probably not. True, Mary had had a crush on him back in third year, but she'd stopped talking about it by the end of the year and so Lily had assumed she'd moved on.
She frowned, wondering why her thoughts had drifted in this direction. Mary and Potter would make a very attractive coupling. What difference did it make to her?
"Here you go…" Rafe slid back into his chair, passing her a butterbeer.
"Oh, thanks," she tore her gaze away and gave him a smile. "I'm surprised it's not busier in here."
He took a swig of his drink. "A lot of the seventh years stayed back to study." He winked. "They didn't all have the incentive that I did."
She smiled shyly. "Am I keeping you from an exciting essay?"
"You are," he said, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to her lips. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she laughed.
"Rafe!" They both looked up; two seventh years - Ravenclaws too, who Lily recognised but didn't know - stood in front of them. A witch with long dark hair continued speaking. "You decided to take a break from work too?"
Rafe gave them an easy smile. "All work and no play, et cetera," he replied. He glanced down at his companion. "This is Lily."
"Hi Lily," the dark-haired witch smiled. "Nice to meet you."
The blonde at her side hadn't said a word yet; she was smiling, too, but in a very different way. Lily couldn't decide if it was friendly or not.
"This is Ama," Rafe gestured first to the dark-haired witch, "and Aoife."
Lily didn't often feel awkward with new people. She tried to swallow down this sensation. "Lovely to meet you too," she directed at Ama with a small smile.
"Well, sorry for interrupting your date," Ama said, shooting a look at her friend. Aoife had turned her gaze to Rafe. "We'll leave you in peace."
Rafe just gave a pleasant smile. "See you later."
Lily watched Rafe watching them go, not sure what to say at first. Was she imagining that it had been awkward? She did tend to overthink things… "They seem nice," she said, for want of anything better to say.
Rafe turned back to her, that same easy-going smile on his face. Nothing seemed to bother him. "They are," he agreed. "We've got a good group in our year in Ravenclaw."
"It helps, doesn't it," she said, glancing back towards the table of her friends. "We've only recently been getting on better and it makes life a lot easier."
Rafe nodded knowingly. "Well, in fairness, you've got some strong characters in with you," he smirked. "Potter and Black are a law unto themselves. I don't blame you for not getting on with them."
She bristled slightly, not sure why she felt so defensive. It wasn't that long ago that she would've readily, heartily agreed with him. "That's all for show. They're nice blokes, really."
He raised an eyebrow, but nodded, obviously seeing her reaction for what it was. "If you say so."
"Anyway." She took a sip of her drink, feeling foolish. "We don't need to talk about all that lot."
"We don't," he agreed, his hand on her shoulder gently guiding her in closer; she felt that warmth flush her cheeks again as he tipped her chin up for another kiss. "We don't need to talk at all…"
Any defensiveness, or awkwardness, or strangeness, melted away in a matter of seconds.
Remus,
I thought I'd start differently today, then maybe I'll actually send it.
David Garnet sat in your seat in Charms today and I wanted to punch him in the nose. I didn't. I just glared at him until James told me to stop. He said it's not Garnet's fault that he's not you. Maybe, but it's not my fault that it's not Garnet's fault.
I am working on taking responsibility for things. Honest.
I don't know if you're reading the Prophet at home. There was another attack, in Durham. You can tell people are starting to dread the newspapers coming in the mornings, now. It feels a bit relentless, all the bad news.
Mulciber called Charlie Swift a m-b the other day, outside the Great Hall. Prongs and I both resisted the temptation to hex his testicles so far back up his body that they'd come out of his throat. As you can imagine, this took a lot of restraint. Dearborn and Evans were there and gave him a fuckload of detentions and took 50 points. It doesn't feel like enough, though, does it? It never does. Evans said she didn't know what enough would be, and that maybe whatever enough was would make us just like them, and so it wasn't worth it. She's more wise than I've given her credit for. Shame about her taste in music.
We all really miss you. I think I'm going mad without you here, Moons. I wish you'd come back.
I'm sorry.
Sirius
One long stroke, then another, and another, and another, and – "Done!" Mary beamed at him, sitting back to admire her handiwork. "What do you think?"
Sirius had been quite content ignoring his Muggle Studies textbook and staring into the middle distance when Mary had accosted him twenty minutes ago, apparently bored and looking for entertainment. "You'll look like Bowie," she'd promised, waving a bottle of black nail varnish at him in an almost threatening manner, and ultimately, he'd decided he didn't care enough to protest.
He looked down at his hand, stretching out his fingers to study them carefully. "You've a steady hand, Mac," he allowed. "Who knew it was possible to look even cooler than I already do…"
"You're a wonder," Mary agreed drily, reaching for his other hand. "Okay, hold still."
She set to work again, and he slumped back against the sofa, head tilted up to the ceiling. Really, there were worse ways to spend an evening. Prongs was at Quidditch practice, Wormtail at chess club; Evans was off somewhere snogging her boyfriend, probably, and he had no idea where Meadowes or McKinnon were. It wasn't fair to say Mary was all he had left, but, well, it was accurate.
"Black…" she started, voice light; he turned his head so he could see her face. Her expression was carefully neutral, still focused on the task in front of her.
"Yeah?"
She paused. "Does…does James still fancy Lily?"
Sirius paused, too. Now there was a loaded question. "I dunno," he lied easily. "Why do you ask?"
Mary glanced up for only a moment before returning her attention to the nail of his middle finger. "Just wondering…"
He raised an eyebrow. "Mac."
She didn't look up but rolled her eyes. "Black."
"You can't fool a fool," he told her. "What, you interested in our Mr Potter?"
She pursed her lips, cheeks tinging just slightly pink in the firelight. "I don't know," she replied. "It's…he's been quite flirty, lately, and…I dunno."
Sirius had noticed that too, but had possessed just enough scraping of common sense not to comment on it. It had taken a lot of his self-control. "Ask him out," he suggested blithely. "See what happens."
She stopped painting his nails then, looking up at him incredulously. "Are you joking?" she asked. "I can't just bowl up to him and ask him out!"
"Why not?" he asked, quite fairly, he thought.
"Because – because it's James!" A globule of black nail varnish dripped off the brush and on to her knee. She didn't notice. "He's my friend. It'll make things so weird when he says no – "
"If he says no," Sirius corrected, but paused. "I get it, though. You don't want to ruin your friendship. Make him uncomfortable."
A pause, a look shared between them – Mary, much too knowing for Sirius' comfort. "Exactly," she confirmed at last.
He sighed. "Look, I'm not going to just…betray his trust and tell you his feelings," he said. "I've fucked up enough friendships lately as it is. But Evans is all coupled up…and, you know…if you don't try, you don't know."
Mary shook her head, returning to painting his nails. The last few coats were a little more slapdash. "Forget I mentioned it," she tried to laugh it off.
"Wish I could be more help, Mac," he offered.
"What do you need help with?"
They looked up; James stood over them, muddy and sweaty in his Quidditch gear. Sirius glanced at Mary, who swung her head back down in a way that let her hair hang over her face – covering her blushes, not very subtly, he thought. "Mary's after my help with Transfiguration," Sirius replied. She kicked him in the shin. "But as you know, I don't like to be too helpful for fear of diluting my own abilities."
"Right," James agreed with a smirk. "Of course."
"Say," Sirius said next, voice bright and with an edge of mischief that he hadn't felt in a while. "James here is super at Transfiguration and actually likes helping people."
"Black – " Mary started, a warning.
"I'd be happy to assist, Mare," James cut in cheerfully. "You always help me with Muggle Studies."
"Ol' James, Jamie, Jimmy me lad," Sirius patted his friend on the arm. "You're one of a kind. So generous. Mac will gladly accept your offer."
"Your nails are finished," Mary pushed his hand away, finally looking up at James. "Honestly, it's fine, I know your schedule is mad enough."
"I'll jump in the shower and be back in ten minutes," James promised anyway; Sirius watched him with a fond smile. James loved to help. "Don't go anywhere."
They both watched him disappear up the boys' staircase. "Why do I talk to you at all?" Mary wondered.
"You're not the first person to ask themselves that question," Sirius replied sagely. "And I'm sure you won't be the last."
"You're a pain in the arse."
"You're welcome, Mac."
Moony,
Didn't send that last one. Apparently how I address you makes no difference. I'm a coward no matter how I write it.
Today has been a bit shit. It felt really difficult to get up and get going. I knew if I skived off, I'd just end up in more trouble than I already am, but it was rubbish. I barely listened all day. After last lesson, Mary took me off for a walk round the lake. She can tell when I'm a bit moody. You can always tell, too. I didn't say much because I didn't know what to say but I suppose it was okay just being outside and being quiet.
Quiet? Sirius Black? Surely to Circe, those words don't go together, I hear you cry.
You should be here, making sarky comments and ripping the piss out of me and pulling me up out of my funny moods. And then you'd be here, and I could make sarky comments and tease you about your taste in jumpers and thank you for pulling me out of my funny moods.
I'm not sure I even know exactly what the wonderful thing we had was that I've fucked up. Maybe that's the worst part of it.
Merlin, this one's a bit sad-sack-y, isn't it. Good thing I'm not sending it.
I miss you. I'm sorry.
Padfoot
For once, he was waiting for her rather than the other way around. Sirius had a mentoring session with McGonagall, but this was the only time that Lily could fit in a Potions project meeting – her timetable filling up with prefect duties, other schoolwork and…other commitments. Combine that with James' Quidditch training schedule, and it left very few windows of opportunity.
James hadn't actually spoken to her properly since Hogsmeade, when Lily and Thicknesse had stopped by their table on their way out to say hello. They'd been wrapped up in each other, smiling as if they couldn't have stopped if they'd tried, Lily blushing as Thicknesse laid the compliments on…well, thick. James thought the bloke was a bit smarmy, but he wasn't about to say as such. It was none of his business.
He had to guess that Thicknesse was the reason for Lily's late arrival to the library. Maybe he should get a girlfriend, he thought, so he could turn up late wherever he liked with a ready-made excuse.
Of course, that wasn't the only reason he should get a girlfriend. And to be honest, it was something that had come haring to the forefront of his mind lately. He suddenly felt very aware of his single status. Sirius had suggested that he find some girls to wander into broom cupboards with but James had pointed out how not very well that had worked out for Sirius, and his friend had nodded glumly before falling into an inexplicable silence for the next forty minutes.
Besides, James had never been the snog-them-and-scarper type. He wanted a connection, he wanted someone to talk and laugh and be with. True, snogging – and other broom cupboard pursuits – were a key element, too. But it couldn't just be that.
It was just complicated. He'd only ever wanted all of that with one person. That one person was now a tenuous friend, and enjoying sinking into the strong arms of some brainy seventh year who Mary insisted on describing as "really, unreasonably good looking". Plus James had moved on. Was moving on. An ongoing action that required regular reminders to keep on the right path.
Maybe he should make a list of suitable girlfriends. The list of girls who thought he was attractive, who he thought were attractive, and who didn't find him uniquely irritating was a short one. It would require some pondering.
He had picked up his quill and was about to start the list when Lily dropped breathlessly into the seat next to him, looking a bit too dishevelled and flushed for his tastes. Not that she looked bad, of course – was that even possible? – but he didn't like what was implied by the look. Again, not that it was any of his business. "Sorry," she sighed, dumping her bag on the table and pulling out a sheaf of parchment. "Lost track of the time."
"S'okay," he replied, putting his quill back down. He was glad he hadn't started writing his list. "Things are a bit mad at the moment, eh?"
"Just a bit," she agreed. "I'm covering more prefect duties, with Remus being away – " She broke off, looking at him guiltily. "Not that I'm…I'm not complaining. Sorry."
"No, I get it," he nodded. "You can miss him as a friend whilst still being tired and irritated at covering his rota."
"I'm not irritated," she considered. "Don't think I could be even if I wanted to be." She leaned back in her chair, fiddling with the strap of her bag. "I wish he would write back."
James 'hmm'ed his agreement. "I think Sirius is losing his mind, watching for an owl every morning…"
She nodded, staring into space. "He was always such a good listener," she said absently. "I'm sure he didn't love being my sounding board for all problems as we wandered the castle, but…"
James thought of his friend, his kindness, his ability to strip down the extraneous details of a story and pick out the heart of it, to give thoughtful and helpful advice. All while keeping his own emotions, apparently more tumultuous than any of them had known, locked away in a cage of his own making. It was a hard thought to process.
But here, sitting in front of him, was another friend – maybe not as strong a friendship, by any stretch, but someone who missed Remus almost as much as James did. Someone who, James could tell (in spite of his lack of emotional literacy), needed someone to listen. And he really wanted to be that friend for her. "I can listen, you know," he told her.
She hesitated. "I wouldn't want to bore you, Potter…"
"I'm sure it's not boring," he replied. "Are you…okay?"
"I'm fine, really…it's probably going to sound ridiculous," she gave a sheepish smile. "Rafe wanted me to meet and hang out with his friends, we were chatting in the Ravenclaw common room."
He raised an eyebrow. "Enemy territory, eh?" he joked. "Did you nick anything as a trophy?"
"No," she replied patiently, "because I'm not a marauding pirate."
"Missed opportunity." He didn't want to keep talking about this, but the message didn't seem to have reached his mouth. "So they're nice, are they? His mates?"
There was a flash of hesitation. "They are," she agreed. A slight pause. "It's…silly. I do feel a bit…of an outsider."
He frowned. "How do you mean?"
She tried to shrug it off. "Just…they're all purebloods, clever as anything," she replied. "I know they're only a year older, some a bit less, but they felt like a different generation. I spent the whole time worrying what they thought of me, that they might…not think I'm good enough." She rolled her eyes at herself. "I'm a bit too insecure for my own good, I think."
This was an interesting challenge: how to be a friend, to reassure her, without making it seem as if he condoned her dating that cheesy bore? "Them being purebloods doesn't mean anything," he pointed out. "Other than they might be related to each other. So unless you find incest intimidating…"
She shot him a look. "I dunno," she sighed. "I know it's silly. They were perfectly friendly. I need to relax a bit."
"Also, not being funny, Evans, but you're as clever as anything," he added, warming to the theme. "You're just brave as well, that's why you're in Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw."
She looked doubtful. "But compared to – "
"Well, don't compare yourself," he interrupted cheerfully. "It's pointless. What's so special about them, anyway?"
She paused, glancing around them before she leaned a bit closer, dropping the volume of her voice. "The girls he hangs out with…do you know Aoife Walsh?"
James nodded slowly. "Yeah, the fit blonde," he nodded. "I think she used to play on the Quidditch team."
That descriptor didn't seem to have helped. "Well, that 'fit blonde' is one of his closest friends," Lily said. "And I don't think she likes me. In fact, all the girls he's mates with are just…gorgeous."
James shifted uncomfortably. "Are you angling for a compliment here, Evans?" he asked. "Because I've not had good feedback from you about that in the past…"
"I'm not," she assured him quickly, looking equally embarrassed. "I'm not saying I'm a troll or anything. Just…" She sighed again. "I hate this side of me. It's so stupid, isn't it? I always feel like an outsider, I have done my whole life – an outsider as a Muggle, an outsider as a witch...and this all just came roaring back to the surface when I was sat with his friends."
James paused. "I suppose wizarding society hasn't exactly been the most welcoming," he agreed. "It's no wonder you feel the way you do. But…" He decided to just say it. "You don't need any stuck-up pureblood's approval, Evans. You're clever, you're funny, you're – you know, you have a nice face." He hoped his cheeks weren't as red as hers were turning. "You're a bloody good witch and everyone knows it. They should be wanting your approval."
Lily blinked, gazing at him wordlessly for at least a minute. He couldn't read the look in her eyes and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Eventually, she found her voice. "Thanks," she murmured. "Sorry, this is supposed to be a project meeting, not a Lily Evans pep talk…"
He shrugged with a smile, as if this were all perfectly normal and okay and he didn't desperately want to brush his finger across that flushed cheek of hers. "No reason it can't be both," he replied. "Later on, you can give me a pep talk, if you like."
She laughed, some of her awkwardness clearly easing away. "What do you need a pep talk for?" she asked. "I thought you were Merlin's gift to wizardkind."
"Still waters run deep, Evans," he replied with, he hoped, the appropriate amount of mystery. "Even a bright young thing such as myself needs cheering on sometimes."
"Okay," she agreed, shaking her head with a smile. "Fair's fair. I will give you one pep talk on the subject of your choosing."
"You're all heart," he winked, reaching for the textbook in his bag. "Right. Work?"
"Work," she echoed with a nod.
M,
I'm just. I'm so sorry.
P
He stared up at the castle, looming before them, a place he hadn't been sure he would ever want to return to. Even a day ago, he'd been set against it. What did he need an education for, anyway? It wasn't like it would improve his job prospects.
But his father had sat him down, told him he would be going back for the full moon, and then staying on until the end of term in a few weeks. "You need to get back to your routine," he'd said. His mother had stood at the kitchen counter, face unreadable but body tense. She didn't say a word. "Staying here and brooding isn't going to help you."
The sun was sinking below the horizon. In a few hours, the moon would rise to take its place. Another night, without his senses.
"Ready, Re?" His mum smoothed down his jacket, as if creases mattered when he was about to turn into a slavering, vicious beast. They were saying goodbye at the gates; Madam Pomfrey had come down to greet them, and escort him to the Shack. He didn't want his mother to see the place he transformed in every month – let her live a bit longer with the gentler images she had in her head.
He met her gaze, gave a brief nod. "Ready."