Chapter 11: In the Bleak Midwinter

17th December 1976

When they first got off the train, the steam that billowed across Platform 9 and ¾ gave the whole scene an eerie, disjointed feel. Sirius could just about make out the few people in front of him – his friends, leading the way – and the vibrant red of the carriages to his right. Already, students were being reunited with their families, hugging, smiling, expressing excitement at the holiday to come. Maybe it was for the best that the steam obscured so much of what was around him: it would only have made him feel more depressed to see so many loving, caring parents with their loved, cared for children.

One thing he did spot, through the haze, was his brother. How had he forgotten that this would happen? That he would be faced with his family again, even if it was within a crowd of people? Regulus stood, rigid of posture, face empty of emotion, being patted on the shoulder like an acquaintance by their mother. His eyes found Sirius', somehow, unlikely though it should have been: for a moment, it felt like Sirius couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

It wasn't just the sight of his sibling, although that could often be enough. It was that hand – those pointed, glossy nails (no colour, that would be gauche), the fingers curled in the same way they curled round a wand, that directed so much hatred and (worse?) indifference towards him.

A hand shouldn't have that much power.

Only a moment, though, and then he was aware of James guiding him on, of the voices around them again, and his gaze skated away, his breath found its place in his lungs again, the rigidity of his back eased just enough.

These things passed. They always did.

The further down the platform they got, the more the steam cleared, and Pete soon spotted his mum. "See you in the New Year!" he beamed at them, before disappearing into the crowd. Remus and James stuck close by each other, Sirius a few steps behind, and found a spot to wait in near the platform entrance. It wasn't unlike his parents to be late, James had reassured Sirius on the train; usually they had to leave the house four or five times before they actually had everything they needed and could properly set off.

"You'll write," James told rather than asked Remus, fixing him with a stern look. For his part, Remus didn't look too chastised. "And maybe we can all meet up for a day, between Christmas and New Year's?"

"Maybe," Remus agreed mildly. Sirius could tell that he was only saying it, that he had no intention of meeting up with them. Maybe if it had only been James. But now that James came with a permanent shadow in the shape of Sirius Black…it just wasn't going to happen.

"And don't open your present until Christmas Day," James added. He was looking around them, acting as if he didn't care, but clearly looking for someone specific. If Sirius had to guess, he would guess Evans. Not that that was so unusual, of course, but Prongs had been even more anxious to see her since the showdown the night before.

James had come back to the dorm, pale-faced and grim, and it had taken all of thirty seconds before the whole sorry story came pouring out. At one point, Sirius and Remus had shared a look, a mutual wince as James had repeated what he had said. "Well, the phrasing could have been a lot better, couldn't it," Remus had said, quite kindly, all things considered. "I'm not sure you needed to go in slagging him off quite so much…"

"I didn't mean to – I just – it sort of just came out," James had sighed, covering his face with his hands. "And now she hates me, and she doesn't even believe it's true."

Judging by Lily's icy demeanour at breakfast that morning, and the way she had linked arms with Mary and guided her firmly to the other end of the train, far away from the Marauders, Sirius thought this seemed like an apt summary. James, ever the optimist, seemed to have decided that maybe he could catch Evans at King's Cross and grovel his way back into her good graces. Well, dare to dream, Sirius thought. Even if it was about as likely as Remus suddenly deciding to forgive him.

As if willed into existence, a blur of red hair emerged from the steam – and that blur became a person, a person who was walking with Rafe Thicknesse's arm draped around her. Lily didn't even look over at them, just kept her gaze ahead as they walked past.

"Bugger," James said, practically a whisper.

"Give her some time to cool off," Remus advised. "And I'll talk to her next term, about…Rafe, and everything." He shook his head. "I should've handled it myself."

"Probably would've gone better," Sirius said quietly.

"Couldn't have gone much worse," was James' sad reply.

"There you are!" Hope Lupin appeared, an anxious smile on her pale face. Remus stepped forward immediately, drawing her in for a long hug. Sirius knew Remus had a strong bond with his mother – she was quiet, like him, and gentle in a way that Sirius didn't think Lyall Lupin was or could ever be. He hadn't had many interactions with Remus' father, but each one had seemed to peel back another layer of the Remus mystery, shed new light on the enigma that was their friend. The man wasn't a monster – he was hardly comparable to Orion Black – but there was a coldness there, a distance that made Sirius distrust the man on sight. How could anyone want to be distant with Remus? It didn't make any sense.

"Sorry we're late – your dad can't find a parking space, so he's just circling the block trying not to get a ticket…" his mum was saying. Remus released her and her smile strengthened as she patted him gently on the cheek. Then, her gaze found James and Sirius behind her son, and Sirius knew he wasn't being paranoid when he saw her smile falter at the sight of him. "Boys – good to see you."

"You too, Mrs Lupin," James replied. Sirius was glad for it: he couldn't have found the words if he'd tried. "Bye, Moony. Miss you already!"

"Yeah, alright," Remus grinned as James gave him a quick, tight hug. Over his shoulder, Remus' gaze found Sirius'. Sirius just stared back, more lost than ever. "Keep out of trouble."

"We'll try our best," James said, a wink taking the sincerity out of his words.

"Bye, Remus," Sirius added, hands shoved firmly in his pockets.

Remus nodded, an awkward movement, and let his gaze drift away as soon as he could. "Bye."

They stood there, watching Remus and his mother walk away, her arm securely linked through his, her chin tilted up to murmur something to her son; as they rounded the corner and vanished from view, Sirius could see his friend's face, the tired, worn expression that he seemed to bring out in Remus these days. At least the boy had a few weeks off from all that. He'd think that distance might make the heart grow fonder, but that hadn't exactly worked when Moony had disappeared for a month.

James slung his arm round his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. "Christmas, Pads," he said, and Sirius could hear the effort behind the cheer in his voice. "It's going to be really fucking jolly, you'll see."

Sirius glanced at his friend, once more certain that he just wouldn't survive without this person in his life, without James Fleamont Potter to buoy him when everything else felt like it was dragging him down, ever deeper. "Will there be goodwill to all men?"

"There will," James nodded. "Women, too. Everyone can have some goodwill."

"Generous of you," Sirius said with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Ah! We're here, we're here!" Euphemia and Fleamont Potter emerged, both with beaming smiles. "And you're here! It's Christmas!"

"Yes, it is, mum," James agreed, grinning as she pulled the pair of them into a fierce hug. "Is this the level of excitement we can expect from you for the whole break?"

"She's been at fever pitch since the first of December," Fleamont told him fondly. "It can only get worse from here, boys."

"Come along, come along, let's get moving." Euphemia chose to ignore her husband entirely. "Sirius, you're looking thin. Are you eating enough?"

James shared a look with Sirius over the top of his mother's head as they started walking. It was a look which said, welcome to the club.

And in spite of it all, in spite of Remus' distant expression and Regulus' blank face and his mother's cold, careless cruelty, he couldn't help but smile.

24th December 1976

He found his father in the conservatory. Fleamont loved it in there, even if it was a mercurial space – far too cold in the winter and far too hot in the summer. But temperature wasn't a concern for his dad, and besides, he would argue, where else could you get such a view?

Although pretty much every window in the Potter house offered a postcard-worthy view, it was true that the outlook from the conservatory was quite special. The tall picture windows gazed out across the lawn, flanked by apple trees on one side and colourful flowerbeds on the other. The grass sloped gently away from the house, down to where the boundaries of the property met the undulating Badgworthy Water, the river where James had learnt to swim. From the wicker sofa by the window, you could see the gentle thread of the water meandering under an ancient stone bridge which connected the tiny hamlet of Malmsmead to the rest of civilisation. It was an easy place to pass the time.

The ground outside now was damp, the sky a heavy grey, but the view held Fleamont's attention nonetheless. "I think he finds it calming, dear," his mother had tried to explain it to James before – a concept that he had struggled to understand. Why sit and look and be calm when you could be up and out there and moving in a refrain as constant as the river itself?

It was true: he had always been this exhausting.

(Sirius, when he had first visited James' home back in the summer after first year, had not known what to make of the quiet and the space. Growing up in London had him used to a constant low level of background noise, and having to travel – something the Blacks rarely deigned to do – to get to any kind of greenery. "Don't you get…bored?" he'd asked that summer, and was surprised when James had replied, cheerily, "Mum says boredom is for boring people." And that was the end of that conversation.

He knew that Sirius was still getting used to his new living quarters; after all, it had only been two weeks living here in the summer after he had become, in his own words, a "teenage runaway". Being back in Malmsmead now, instead of shut up in that funeral parlour of a house with his toxic family, required some adjustment.

And not just the environment, either. The night they'd returned, Sirius had asked James, voice low and worried, "doesn't your mum get…angry, when you talk to her like that?" He'd watched, pale and silent, as James and Euphemia had argued with great fervour about the length of his hair, how he'd already made a mess of his room, the way he left the milk on the countertop instead of putting it back in the fridge. James had raised his eyebrows at the question, surprised, although the surprise went away the more he thought about it. Sirius didn't know what it was like to not be afraid of a parent. James knew, with his entire being, that his parents would sooner step in front of a bus than do anything to hurt their son, whether with their hands, their wands or their words. It made his heart ache, a bit, to realise that this was just another thing his friend didn't understand, another way in which his life had been so curtailed up to this point.)

James had barely crossed the threshold of the conservatory, slippered feet silent on the tiled floor, when Fleamont looked round. Once more, James realised just how lucky he was – not everyone had fathers whose faces lit up just at the sight of them. "Jamie," he patted the space on the sofa next to him, "join me, the starlings are on particularly good form this morning."

James sank into the cushions next to him, and followed his gaze. "Mum'll be pleased they're using the bird feeder."

"She will," Fleamont agreed. "She spent most of the autumn chasing the ruddy squirrels away from it."

James grinned. "Shame I missed that."

His dad laughed. "Well, my boy, the holidays are young. I'm sure those blighters will return before long, and she'll be out there again." Fleamont reached for the cup of tea that cooled on the windowsill, and took a sip. "She misses you when you're not here. It's good for her to have a project, even if it is terrorising the local squirrel population."

James shot his father a small, slightly guilty smile. That was the trouble with being an only child: no one else to direct energy or attention to. "Are you saying you don't miss me when I'm gone, dad?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes that his father soon matched. "Charming."

"You don't usually give us much chance to miss you, given the regular updates on your misdemeanours from Minerva." Fleamont shook his head fondly. "Poor woman. Although there have been far fewer dispatches this year so far…" Another sip of tea. "Turning over a new leaf?"

James stretched out, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "Trying to," he admitted. "It's not nearly as interesting, but I've got a lot more free time."

"Time spent studying, of course." His father raised a teasing eyebrow.

"Of course," James grinned. "As long as I've got time after Quidditch, and SWEN…"

"Oh, crikey, is that a new extra-curricular?" his dad asked. "Don't tell me they've made a club for duelling Slytherins."

"If only," James sighed wistfully. "No, I set up a…society, I suppose."

James knew, no matter how sheepish or foolish he might feel, that his parents would always listen intently and understand the heart of whatever he was trying to say. Sure enough, Fleamont gave him his full concentration as James explained SWEN, his hopes and aims, what they had done so far. "It's not much," he finished, feeling oddly self-conscious. All he ever wanted to do was live up to his parents' expectations, to their incredible legacy. "But it's a start."

There was a pause, then his father reached out and gripped his hand. "James, you could just blink and make your mother and I proud," he said. He had the same look in his eyes as he did when Euphemia teased him, or when he gathered his wife and son up into his arms. A look that bled warmth and happiness and love. "But this…this is wonderful."

James swallowed hard; he was not getting emotional. "Thanks, dad."

"This Christingle thing sounds jolly good fun," Fleamont added. "I know how you enjoy anything with fire."

That made him laugh. "I do," he agreed. "It went well. Although…"

A raised eyebrow over the lip of his teacup. "Although…?"

James shifted slightly in his seat. "It ended poorly. I…didn't handle something very well." He stared out the window, watching as another wave of starlings soared and dipped on the currents of the breeze above the garden. "I was trying to tell a friend of mine that her boyfriend is behaving – well, strangely, to say the least. He's probably messing her around, and she doesn't see it."

"Ah, a tricky conversation," Fleamont nodded. "She didn't take it well?"

James sighed. "She thought I was just trying to break them up. That I'm…jealous, or something."

"Are you?" his dad wondered, almost idly.

That was the question. To most people – even to Sirius – he would say, definitely not, he'd moved on, he was over all that. Merlin, he'd almost dated Mary, after all, or he certainly would have, if things had gone that way. But there was something about his father's tone, the gentleness there, the safety of being there, in his own home, miles away from Lily Evans and her soft smiles and kind heart and the drama and judgement of school. "A bit," he admitted, quietly.

Fleamont didn't say anything, just patted his hand.

"That wasn't what I was trying to do, though," he carried on after a moment. "I just didn't want to see her get hurt. She deserves better than being treated like that. She deserves so much better." He frowned at the floor. "He's got her and doesn't even realise how…how amazing she is. It's like having the best racing broom but choosing to walk the Quidditch pitch instead."

Fleamont smiled, just slightly. "Women don't love being compared to brooms, son," he reminded him. "But I see your point."

"Right," James agreed with a cringe. "A bit like they don't like you having a go at their boyfriends before you've explained the situation in full?"

"Yes, a bit like that," his dad nodded. "Well, even if you went about it the wrong way, you tried your best. It came from a caring place."

"Probably shouldn't have called him a smarmy git," James murmured, with the benefit of hindsight. He could be so wise in the clear light of day. Shame it didn't seem to translate to the key moments, stood in front of the girl he was – no, used to be – in love with.

"No, probably not," his dad agreed. "But you're a clever lad, Jamie. Learn the lesson, pick yourself up, move on." He set his cup, now empty, back on the windowsill. "Maybe in the new year, she'll have had some time to cool off a bit, and you can apologise."

"I hope so," James said.

"James Potter," his mother's voice rang out from the kitchen, "you'd better not have your feet on the furniture in there, or as Merlin is my witness, you'll be cleaning the place yourself!"

James quickly pulled his feet off the coffee table, shooting his dad a guilty grin. Fleamont just smiled back. "You're like me, son," he said fondly. "Drawn to the fiery ones."

"I heard that!" echoed down the hallway.

His dad, smile broadened. "Nothing wrong with her hearing, that one."

26th December 1976

Boxing Day, in the Lupin household, was always more exhausting than Christmas Day itself. His father's side of the family, such as they were – Lyall being one of two children himself, and his father long since passed away – did not have interactions with them if they could avoid it. Lyall's sister, Catriona, had been sympathetic to Remus' lycanthropy until she had children of her own, and then, cut off contact entirely, too frightened that her nephew might attack one of her brood. Remus' paternal grandmother, a small, hunched woman who loved deeply and intensely, had been too ill for too long to leave the house anymore. The last time he'd seen her, she had looked at him through milky eyes, patted his cheek fondly, and asked who he was.

All this meant that they would spend the 25th December just the three of them, opening small but well meant presents around the tree and eating Hope's home-made mince pies, before Lyall would Floo off to visit his mother. To be honest, Remus had always felt more comfortable in his mother's company anyway, so it was never a chore to wave him off.

After the peace of Christmas Day, the Howell side of the family would descend, bringing noise and chaos and joy along with them.

Uncle Meirion brought a leg of lamb to roast: he was a man who took great pride in his roast dinners and refused assistance for even peeling the carrots. Aunty Faith thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to catch up with her sister whilst calling out teasing insults to her husband in the kitchen. His cousins Bethan and Angharad, no longer the sort of age where they pestered him relentlessly, largely entertained themselves, or drew him in to one of their wide selection of board games. It was over a round of Scrabble that the subject of jobs came up.

Bethan had just finished crowing over putting down the word 'auspicious'. "Like how they'll describe my turn in the school play this year," she said smugly.

"Our Bethy wants to be the next Julie Andrews," Faith spoke up from her place on the worn sofa.

Remus and Ang exchanged a smile, almost hidden behind the glasses of lemonade that fizzed and popped in their hands. "And the first step is to play Startled Villager Number Two in the Llantrisant High spring production," Ang said, meticulously laying down tiles on the board herself.

"Piss off, Ang," Bethan rolled her eyes. "And we agreed you can't use Welsh words. It's not fair on old English boy over here."

"I have a name," Remus reminded her.

Ang huffed and picked her tiles back up. "Fine, fine."

"What are you going to be when you grow up, Ang?" Hope asked with a fond smile.

"You mean if she grows up," Bethan muttered.

Ang chose to ignore her sister. "I dunno – I've thought about being a nurse, like mam." She finished her go and nodded to Remus. "Your go. What about you, Rem?"

Remus pretended not to notice the look his parents shared at this question, or the flash of worry on his mother's face. "Not sure, really," he replied, pondering his tile rack. He paused, unsure why he felt nervous to say what he said next. "A teacher at school…thinks I'd make a good, um, detective. She's said she could arrange a meeting with someone high up in London."

"Wow," Ang breathed. "Now that is bloody cool."

Lyall – who tended to spend these visits reading quietly in the corner, not afraid to look remotely anti-social – looked up from his book. "A detective?" he asked. Another glance shared with Hope. "Who's the contact?"

Remus was starting to regret mentioning any of it at all. "Alastor Moody."

"That's even a cool name," Bethan noted.

Lyall looked like he would very much like to pull the subject apart further, but held himself back. After all, how much could you really say before accidentally breaking the Statute of Secrecy in fifteen different ways? "Well," was all he said, and watched his son for a moment longer before returning to his book. "Interesting."

Bethan and Ang shared a look: Remus knew they thought his dad was 'weird'. And that was when they didn't know the half of it.

"You're all so young, anyway," Hope spoke up. There was the slightest edge to her voice that most would not detect, the barest hint of something dark, worried, behind the performative smile. "No need to make these sorts of decisions yet."

They were rescued from wherever that conversation would drift next – and with his cousins, who could say where that would be – by Meirion bellowing from the kitchen. "Dinner's on!"

The rest of the day went by in the usual manner: eating, chatting, exchanging presents (a new journal from his aunt and uncle, as well as a tub of home-made Welsh cakes, his favourite). When Faith started to doze off in front of the fire, Meirion declared it time to leave, "or we'll never get your mother out of that chair."

The Lupins stood in the dark cool of the front garden, waving as the car weaved its way up the lane and into the night. Hope waved long past the point that anyone could see her; Remus felt, as he often did, the sad tug of worry for his mother, usually so cut off from everyone and everything out there in the middle of nowhere, with her taciturn husband and werewolf son. But she dropped her hand, and turned to Remus with a smile he could see even in the darkness. "Those cousins of yours are getting gobbier by the day," she said fondly.

"Must be the Howell genetics," he teased, both of them knowing that the Howell genes offered nothing but quiet love and stability.

Lyall said nothing, just turned back to the house and led the way inside. They shared the task of locking up for the night and tidying away the detritus of the day – wrapping paper, loose Scrabble tiles, an old photo album that Hope had pulled out late afternoon. It was as his wife made a pot of tea, as she always did before bed, that he spoke up. "A professor at your school thinks you should be an Auror?"

Remus paused, swallowed. Put down the tea towel in his hands. "Yes. Professor Merryton. She's the Defence teacher."

"She must not know about – " He broke off, glancing at his wife. "I hope you found a way to politely turn her down."

"She knows." Remus didn't know why he felt so utterly exhausted, so utterly infuriated, after what had been a largely contented day. Why did his own father bring out this side of him? "She doesn't care. She said I'm top of the class by a long way and would make a great addition to – "

Lyall scoffed. "How can she be encouraging you, filling your head with impossibilities like that?" he asked. "I didn't think teachers could be so unfair."

Well, his dad was obviously thinking back to his own education with rose-tinted glasses, but Remus wasn't about to point that out. "Maybe it's not impossible," he said quietly. "Maybe I'll meet with Moody and – "

"Remus," Lyall sighed; Hope turned, pressed a mug into her husband's hands. "One daft defence teacher can't change the reality of your situation. You'd do better to just put those thoughts aside and concentrate on your studies."

Hope passed Remus a mug next, catching her son's gaze for a moment. He wished he could unpick the look in her eyes. He wished that either of them could speak up against the man leaning against the counter next to them. "Right," he murmured. "Sorry…"

"Time for bed, I think," Hope said, closing the gap between them to press a kiss to her son's cheek. "You look tired, my lovely."

Remus didn't reply; there didn't seem to be much point. Instead, he nodded, and followed his parents up the stairs, watching the lip of his mug with intense focus to make sure nothing spilled out.

Couldn't let anything spill out, after all, could he?

With his bedroom door tightly closed, he set his mug down on the desk and pulled his wand out from the top drawer, casting a silencio that instantly vanished the mumble of his parents' voices across the hallway. He sat down and found his gaze drawn out the window, as if magnetised, to the waxing moon that hung, bright, haunting, in the blackened sky. Less than two weeks until the next full, but still ruling his life like it always did. An oppressive force.

He blinked and shook his head, reaching for his drink again, and spotted a paper bag he'd shoved to one side on returning home a week ago. Of course, James' present – he'd be horrified if he knew that Remus hadn't opened it on the 25th. The boy was a stickler for the rules when it suited him.

Setting his tea to one side, he picked up the bag and pulled the present out…and found another hidden beneath it. This one was wrapped simply, a little haphazardly, in brown paper, tied with what Remus recognised as the string used in the Owlery to attach letters and parcels. A label read, 'Happy Christmas, Moony' in distinctive handwriting.

Sirius had got him a gift. Had slipped it in with James', to try to hide the fact.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

Hands trembling just slightly, he carefully peeled open the wrapping. Why was he nervous? At least no one was there to watch him open the bloody thing. Inside, wrapped in more string, was a stack of what looked like letters and, underneath, a large bar of Honeyduke's finest. Each of the pieces of parchment started with various forms of address – "Dear Moony", "M", "Dear Remus", "Moons" and more, a seemingly endless pile of missives all in Sirius' aristocratic cursive. The dates, scrawled in the top corner of each letter, spread across November and into December. The time he had been at home. The time he had wondered if he would ever show his face at Hogwarts again.

Somehow, these letters felt like a show of intimacy beyond anything Remus could have expected from Sirius. The boy didn't let people in easily, and certainly not to the darker shadows of his emotions: as he had shown this year alone, he was much more comfortable letting anger or resentment flood to the surface.

Remus hesitated, staring down at the parchment. He didn't owe Sirius anything. He didn't need to let him back in again in this way.

It was confusing, then, that he still felt compelled to do so.

With a deep breath, as one prepares for imminent pain or the sting of bad news, he picked the first letter off the pile, and started to read.

29th December 1976

Petunia Evans was engaged. This was just about all anyone could talk about over the Christmas Eve-Christmas Day-Boxing Day period (onslaught, really) of extended family gatherings. Her sister had driven up from her flat in Vauxhall on the 24th, bringing along with her one of the most miserable looking blokes Lily had ever seen in her life, and flashing about a ring as if it were one of the crown jewels.

It wasn't that she wasn't happy for her sister. It was just that Petunia made it quite difficult to have positive feelings around her at all.

Add to all that the distressing way the term had ended, and it was a recipe for an unhappy holiday. Lily had managed to stop crying by the time she reached the tower, and bundled herself to bed before anyone could notice her red eyes and ask any follow-up questions. The next morning, even just the sight of Potter at the breakfast table had sent fury pulsing through her – but equally, she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he had bothered her with his bullshit. Or of knowing just how humiliated she was, thinking he had turned a corner, that he was a friend now and not just exactly the same person he'd always been.

Between the spectre of James Potter, and the very real presence of Petunia, she wondered how she was going to make it through the break at all. By the 27th, Lily had had quite enough of the passive aggression and outright ignoring that came from her sister's corner of their family home, and quite enough of being left with her own thoughts, and reached out to her friends asking – no, begging – to meet up.

The way that their friendship group was spaced out meant that they didn't often see each other in the holidays. Marlene lived in Liverpool, so not exactly round the corner, but that wasn't the only issue. She was pureblood through and through – the only train she'd ever been on was the Hogwarts Express, and her friends knew vividly and without a doubt that if she got on any other train on the British Rail network, they would likely never see her again. Southampton-based Dorcas, also pureblood but with much more common sense and a healthy dose of Muggle knowhow, would've gladly met up with any one of them. Unfortunately, her parents kept her busy during every break from school: this Christmas was being spent in Poland with her maternal grandparents.

Mary, on the other hand, was always happy to meet. She split her holidays between Dundee, with her dad, and Swindon, with her mum. This break was a Swindon one - "where hope goes to die," Mary had sighed on the train, before adding loyally, "not that Dundee is much better" - and so she and Lily had arranged to meet somewhere broadly in the middle: Oxford.

Cokeworth wasn't exactly a travel hub, so she got a lift from her dad to the nearest train station. "Give us three rings from a phone box before you get the train back and I'll be there to pick you up," Anthony Evans promised.

"Dad," Lily shot him a look, "you don't have to, I can get a bus."

"And deny myself more quality time with my favourite youngest daughter?" His green eyes twinkled. "Absolutely not."

Her train didn't leave for another twenty minutes so Lily found a small café on the platform in which to wait. It was surprisingly full; she guessed most people were headed into the bigger cities to do some sales shopping. She bought herself a cup of tea and sat down to wait at a table in the window, wishing that she'd thought to bring a book with her. She'd been so keen to just get out of the house that it hadn't even crossed her mind.

After a few minutes, she became aware of someone watching her: glancing out the corner of her eye, she saw a striking girl – rich mahogany skin and intricately-braided black hair; the sort of cheekbones that only models and Sirius Black were in possession of – glancing over at her. Trying not to feel unnerved, Lilly took a sip of her tea and tried to focus on the view, such as it was, out the window onto the platform. But her gaze was drawn back again, and that was when she noticed a familiar blue and bronze scarf around the girl's neck. Ravenclaw. Suddenly, things slotted into place and the girl, apparently having the same brainwave, pushed up from her chair and wandered over. "Lily? I thought it was you!" she smiled. "Ama Okaeme - Rafe's friend?"

"Hi, Ama," Lily smiled back, relieved that she had introduced herself again. She remembered meeting her a few times and thinking she was friendly if not intimidatingly beautiful. "Small world."

"The smallest," Ama grinned, looking back at her table where a handsome boy was watching her fondly. "My boyfriend is taking me out for the day."

"Lovely," Lily nodded politely. "I'm meeting up with a friend."

"The holidays go so quickly don't they?" Ama sighed. "It feels like we'll blink and then have to be back at King's Cross."

Lily didn't mind that prospect at all: she much preferred being at school than being trapped in a house with a sister who couldn't stand the sight of her. "Yeah…" She paused. "You seeing friends over the break?"

"Not really, everyone's so spread out," Ama replied. "Rafe's the closest, not that he's even home."

Lily blinked. "…he's not in London?"

Rafe's family, he had told her, had some sprawling town house in Chelsea. "I expect I'll spend most of the time hiding in my bedroom, studying and avoiding my parents' boring friends," he'd told her at King's Cross. "Think of me, won't you?"

"London?" Ama looked at her with something uncomfortably close to pity. "Oh, no, Rafe's parents are away at some tedious law enforcement conference in Belgium so he went to spend the break at Aoife's in Belfast."

He's obviously cheating on you, Evans. Potter's words flooded her mind, and she felt as tense now as she had when he'd actually said them. "Are they…" She paused, unsure how to finish that sentence. If she even wanted to know. "They're exes, right?"

Ama raised an eyebrow. "Merlin, yeah. On and off more than a bloody tap," she said. "That's why he told me you were helping him out – getting Aoife's attention again. Worked a treat, too. Good of you to play along, not many girls would've done that."

It suddenly felt much, much warmer in the café than it had even minutes before. She stood up, grabbing her bag. "That's my train," she said, relieved that it was true – god bless British Rail, for once being on time to whisk her out of this hell. "Sorry, better run. I'll see you at school."

"Oh," Ama said, and smiled, stepping back so that Lily could round the table. "Yeah, see you!"

An hour later, Lily told Mary the whole sorry tale, hands clutched round a mug of hot chocolate on the Oxford high street. "What a bitch," Mary scowled. "Didn't she notice you looked blind-sided?"

Lily shrugged helplessly. "I think she genuinely thought I'd been in on the whole thing," she said. "Mare, I feel like such a twat…"

"You shouldn't feel like a twat!" Mary insisted loudly. She ignored the fact that she'd drawn the disapproving attention of a nearby family. "He should be begging for your forgiveness – he knew exactly what he was doing, the scum!"

Lily took a glug of her drink, not that the rich chocolateyness did anything to make her feel better. Christ, it was all so mortifying. How many of the seventh years had seen her all over him, dewy-eyed and smitten, and thought she was a prize idiot? "And Potter…" Another source of embarrassment and regret.

Mary frowned – Lily hadn't shared that part of the story. "What about him?"

"He told me this was going on and I didn't believe him," Lily sighed heavily, covering her face with her hands. Maybe she could just sink down into the floor and disappear completely. That had to be preferable to this. "I – I called him a jealous, arrogant twat."

Mary was quiet for so long that Lily was forced to emerge from her makeshift wall. She met her friend's gaze and raised her eyebrows expectantly. Mary could always be relied upon to have an opinion, after all.

"I mean…he probably was jealous," Mary said at last. "But it sounds like he was trying to help you."

"I know," she groaned. "And I acted like a right royal berk."

Mary paused, watching her a moment. "I'm sure he'll forgive you."

Lily frowned. "That's – I suppose so, but – " She hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice was much quieter. "Mare…did you step back from Potter…because of me?"

Mary lifted her mug to her lips, using the sip as a chance to put off answering, probably. She certainly took her time. "I did," she admitted, at last.

Her frown deepened. "You didn't need to do that," she pointed out. "You know I want you to be happy."

"I know you do," Mary agreed with a small smile. "And I love you for it." She shook her head. "Anyway, that whole…situation is a bloody mess, and not one I want to wade into."

Lily paused. Swallowed. "What do you mean?"

Mary shot her a kind but dubious look. "Lil," she reached over to give her hand a squeeze. "I think you know what I mean."

"Do I?" she asked, not caring about being purposely obtuse. It felt safer, somehow.

"You do," Mary confirmed patiently. "Like how you talked about Rafe being a cheating fuckface for about two minutes before you started worrying over the fact that you were harsh to James when he tried to tell you…"

She turned her gaze to her drink again, prodding the few remaining, unmelted marshmallows there with her teaspoon. "It's not what you're implying, Mare."

"Alright," Mary agreed, after a short silence. "If you say so."

It wasn't often that Lily found herself without an answer.

31st December 1976

"So let me get this straight." Sirius turned the collar of his coat up in a bid to protect himself from the cold wind that whipped through the trees. It was a clear night, the stars watching over them as they huddled halfway down the garden, between some of the apple trees where James thought his mum probably wouldn't be able to see Sirius smoking. (On this, he was wrong, because one should never underestimate a mother's intuition for poor choices happening in the vicinity. But he didn't know he was wrong.) "Your parents invite all these people, every year, to the middle of fucking nowhere – "

"Or, the border of Somerset and Devon," James interjected proudly.

"Right, the middle of fucking nowhere," Sirius continued. "And these people actually…come?"

James shrugged, waving another plume of smoke away. Sirius knew he didn't approve of his smoking habit, but he was too good a friend to leave him out here on his own. "What can I say, they're popular."

Sirius cast a glance back towards the house: every window was lit, music drifted out through the open back door and someone, somewhere, was laughing raucously. "And you have to sit through it every year?"

James shrugged again. "I usually do a quick circuit and then disappear to my room," he replied. "Last year I managed to sneak a bottle of Ogden's up with me and got merrily drunk all by myself."

Sirius snorted. "What a lovely story, Prongs."

"I thought so." James shifted slightly, transferring his weight from one bum cheek to the other, presumably in an effort to stave off the bitter cold that lingered in the earth beneath them. "We could go and do the rounds, if you like."

"Who's all here?" Sirius asked, not that he was all that interested in 'doing the rounds'. Why talk to boring old people (the Potters not included in that assessment, of course) when you could lark about outside with your best mate instead?

"Oh, the Prewetts – remember Gid and Fab? Their parents," James started. "Um, the Dearborns usually come. McGonagall is probably in there somewhere – "

"Whoa, hold on a second," Sirius held up a hand. "Minnie is here and you didn't lead with that information?"

James grinned. "I thought you'd probably spent enough quality time with her in the past few months."

"True," Sirius allowed with a slight shudder. "Sometimes I forget she's mates with your mum."

"Sometimes I do, too," James sighed, a look of wistfulness passing over his face. "Simpler times."

"Did you say the Dearborns too?" At James' nod, Sirius smirked. "Think they brought Cadence?"

A small sound – a throat being cleared, delicately – made them both turn around quickly. Christ, Sirius thought. Speak it and it was willed into being.

"Alright, lads?" Cadence Dearborn stood, silhouetted against the festive backdrop of the house, the light giving her sweep of golden hair an almost angelic looking aura. Even in a form-fitting wool coat, thick tights and boots, she looked…entrancing. Sirius shot James a quick grin. "Did I hear you mention my name, Black?"

"I was just reminding Jamie here of your charms," Sirius replied easily; James' elbow quickly found his ribs. "Not that he needed much reminding, of course."

"Of course," she smiled with a roll of her eyes. "I'm glad you all are here, my parents dragged me along 'cause Car's out and they didn't want to leave me on my own."

"Don't worry," Sirius leaned over and patted the ground next to James, even though there was a perfectly serviceable patch of grass next to himself. "We'll look after you, won't we, James?"

James gave her a small smile of his own as she sat down, stretching her long legs out in front of her (presumably, Sirius thought, to avoid flashing her knickers at them). "It's not exactly scintillating stuff out here," James told her. "We were just discussing whether it's worth going in and showing our faces if it means we could nick some booze."

Cadence laughed. "Ah, well, you'll be glad I'm here then," she said, opening her handbag and pulling out a large bottle with a triumphant grin. "I swiped this as I made my way through the dining room, just in case."

"Sweet innocent little Cady Dearborn," Sirius shook his head, smiling as he dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it under his heel. "You are full of surprises."

She shot him a look. "Less of this 'little' – I'm only seven months younger than you, Black." She carefully unscrewed the bottle. "And I had a growth spurt last summer, I'll have you know."

"Oh, we noticed," Sirius assured her with a wink.

"Ignore him," James offered with a smile; Sirius was pleased to see he seemed to be warming up a bit more. "He can't help himself."

"It's true," Sirius agreed. "Plus I think the cold has seeped into my nervous system."

Cadence took a swig from the bottle – both boys watched as she wiped a droplet from her lips – and passed it to James. "You are wizards, you know," she reminded them. "Why haven't you done a warming charm?"

A pause, and then a laugh, from both of them. "Merlin, I didn't even think of that, did you?" James asked, quickly fishing his wand out of his jeans pocket. "How long have we been sat out here freezing our balls off?!"

"Long enough for it to be embarrassing that it didn't occur to us," Sirius replied, making a grab for the bottle. "Cadence, it's a good thing you turned up, or Potter and I would have frozen to death out here."

"A tragic tale," James sighed. "We'd never have got to see what 1977 had to offer."

"You'd have been missed," Cadence grinned, although Sirius couldn't fail to notice that her remark was directed entirely at his friend.

"So, we have booze, we have magic bringing us back to an acceptable temperature," Sirius said, passing the bottle back to Cadence. "What do you two want to do next?"

James and Cadence shared a smile. It was going to be a long slog till midnight, Sirius decided.

The gentle knock at his door wouldn't have been enough to draw his attention, but luckily, he'd heard his mother make her way up the creaking stairs just moments before and had known she would be headed in his direction. Remus had been sequestered in his room for most of the day – not out of any desire to avoid his parents (or his mother, anyway), but feeling a need for quiet and solitude. True, you didn't get much more solitude than up there on the crest of a hill, surrounded by trees and miles from the next nearest house, but he'd felt a strong urge to withdraw even further, and so, he had.

"Re?" Hope opened the door, peering round with a look of worry she was trying to disguise. "You alright in here, my love?"

He reached for his bookmark and shifted against the headboard, gifting his mum a small but genuine smile. "Yeah, I'm okay."

She hesitated in the doorway, and he could hear the distant sounds of his mum's favourite Derek and the Dominos LP crackling downstairs. Like a fool, I fell in love with you… "Dinner will be ready in an hour or so," she said. "Sorry it's so late."

"I don't mind waiting," he promised her. She'd been working most of the day; he certainly didn't resent her taking a bit of time to sit and relax before making them all dinner. "Can I do anything?"

"No, no, it's all sorted." she waved a hand. Glancing round, her gaze landed on a postcard – one that had arrived that morning, in fact – propped up on his desk. "A postcard from – is that Aberystwyth?"

He followed her gaze. "Yeah," he replied, not sure why he felt nervous, all of a sudden. "A…friend of mine lives there. Owain."

"Ah, now there's a nice Welsh name," she smiled. "I've not heard you mention him before, is he new?"

"No, he's always been around…we've just – got to know each other a bit better lately."

His mum paused, looking over at him; he was surprised, slightly, at the canny look in her eyes. She was quiet, yes, unassuming – but she picked up on a heck of a lot more than anyone gave her credit for. "Oh?" she smiled, moving to sit on the end of his bed.

He felt himself blushing. "It's not…a big thing."

She reached for his hand. "If it makes you happy, my love, then it makes me happy."

He smiled slightly, gratefully, but glanced back towards the door. "I don't think dad will like it," he admitted, voice quiet.

Hope's smile faded slightly. "Maybe not," she agreed. She sounded apologetic – as if it were her fault. "I won't say anything, if you don't want me to."

"Thanks," he murmured.

She watched him; she seemed to see every part of him, even the parts he couldn't quite see himself. "You seem happier than you did in November," she said.

"I think I am," he nodded, looking down at her hand on his. "It's not…back to normal, yet. I don't know if it will be. But…James and I talked, and…Owain is good company…"

"Those friends of yours love you very much," she told him softly. A slight pause. "Every one of them."

He swallowed, looking up to meet her gaze. He wasn't sure what to say. What he could say, without emptying his heart out entirely, right there in the middle of his bedroom at eight o'clock on New Year's Eve. He wanted to show her the letters, each one that he'd drank in like a man dying of thirst, lines of which lingered constantly at the back of his mind, like a whispered chorus.

I'm not sure I even know exactly what the wonderful thing we had was that I've fucked up.

What did that mean, he wanted to ask? It was dangerous, though. The flicker of hope, a tiny flame so easily fanned into a wildfire, or extinguished with just a breath of wind. Everything, or nothing.

He didn't say any of this. Didn't dig the letters out from where they sat in his bedside table, didn't point out every line that made his heart hurt. He just nodded.

Hope stood up, pausing to dot a kiss to the top of his head. "I'll call when dinner's up," she said.

She'd already gone, closing the door behind her, before Remus thought to reply.

In a move that could only be attributed to a higher power – the answering of fervent prayers – Petunia and her new fiancé Vernon decided to go back to London for New Year's Eve, and departed the Evans house late afternoon. Lily tried very hard not to show her immense relief at this change of plans: she had thought she would have to hide herself away in her bedroom all night in a bid to save her own sanity. At least now she could sit on the sofa and be boring, instead of being boring behind a closed door.

She'd never had such a productive holiday break. After seeing Mary, she'd decided that her time would be much better spent ploughing through reading, getting started on some essays – basically, anything that meant she wasn't thinking about Rafe and the blossoming sense of utter humiliation, or thinking about Potter and everything that Mary had said (and not said) about him. Denial and repression might not have been the most healthy approaches to dealing with her problems, it was true, but sometimes you had to do whatever you could to get through the long days. And maybe, she hoped, if she just ignored it all for as long as possible, it might all just go away on its own.

She really felt she was owed such a miracle.

By late afternoon, her dad had knocked on the door and announced she was not to do any more work. "It's the end of another year, Lil," he'd told her sternly, "and you will not see it in covered in ink stains."

And so – after thoroughly washing her hands, to remove the aforementioned ink – she made her way downstairs and settled in the living room with her parents. Her mum had been quite quiet for much of the holidays; Lily had put it down to Petunia and Vernon's presence. The man didn't exactly leave other people much room for talking. But, even with them gone, she seemed not quite herself. Meanwhile, her dad was making more of himself, as if to fill the void left behind by his wife. Before dinner, the pair played several rounds of Boggle, followed by a hotly contested game of Scrabble. After dinner, Anthony found Connect 4 – Lily's favourite when she was younger – and they passed a lot of time playing, chatting, laughing, as music danced gently in the background.

At one point, a dusty bottle of champagne was brought out – "we have to have something to celebrate the new year with, after all," her dad had said – and a period of intense negotiation began. She was almost seventeen, practically of age in the wizarding world and not far off in the Muggle world, either, but her parents had quite firm views on underage drinking. Her mum seemed to be of the opinion that one sip of alcohol before she was legally old enough to drink it and Lily would become a wanton woman, going out and getting pregnant and taking drugs at every opportunity. Lily didn't have the heart to break it to her that she'd already had more than a sip of booze (Gryffindor parties being what they were) and none of those things had happened yet.

Finally, it was agreed that she could have some of the champagne as long as it was mixed with orange juice. "A lovely Buck's fizz!" Anthony beamed. "Very refreshing and unlikely to lead you down a path to sin. Everyone wins."

Unfortunately, it did mean she had to go out to get some orange juice – all the bigger shops were closed by that point, but there was a corner shop a few roads over that was open come hell or high water, so she wrapped up warm in the thickest coat and scarf she could find, and headed out.

The streets were quiet, the pavement wet beneath her feet from the earlier squall of rain. It was quite nice, actually, to get out for a bit, to get some fresh air – she loved her parents, loved them dearly, but she still benefitted from a break every now and then, even if it was just a fifteen minute round trip.

As she walked back, carton of orange juice tucked under her arm, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She was a brave girl – she was a Gryffindor, after all – but something about the sound, the cold night air, set her nerves on edge just a little.

And then a familiar figure stepped into the pool of yellow light from the lamppost in front of her, standing rigidly, hands in pockets, face drawn.

"Lily," Severus said; she stopped abruptly, not keen to get any closer. "I was hoping I'd see you."

She glanced around, looking for an escape route. There was none. "Funny, I was hoping not to see you."

He looked pale, a frown on his heavy brow. There was a time, not even all that long ago, when she would've cared how he was, would've wanted to know if he was being treated well over the break, if he was faring okay at home. It was funny, how things could change. No, not funny. Sad.

"All this stuff with Lupin – I don't think you understand," he started, his voice sounding pained, and painfully earnest.

"Of course I understand," she interrupted him. "I may be a Mudblood but I'm not stupid. I understand it all very well, Snape, and I don't need your input."

He had flinched at her word choices, although she wondered whether it was her use of his last name rather than the slur he'd thrown at her last summer. "I know you're not stupid – I just, you need to be careful – "

"I thought I was perfectly clear." She straightened her shoulders, drew in a steadying breath. "We're not friends anymore. Maybe we never really were. You chose your path and I chose mine." She moved forwards, giving him a wide berth as she passed him by. "Goodbye, Snape."

"But, Lily…"

She didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence, just kept walking, and maybe he was starting to understand the situation because he made no move to follow her. It was tempting to turn round and look back, to see the expression on his face, to see if maybe it had finally sunk in, but she knew that would only give him encouragement where there should be none, and so she tucked her chin into her coat, tightened her grip on the orange juice, and marched on towards home.

Later, as it neared midnight and her mother sat dozing in the armchair by the fire, Lily volunteered to make the drinks. It was as good a way as any to make sure there was enough alcohol in her drink – something she felt she needed – and her dad was happy to let her do it, engrossed as he was in watching the BBC prepare for the New Year on their tiny television set.

It was as she was pouring out the champagne that she spotted it. A letter, tucked away on the countertop. The words 'Mrs Rose Edith Evans' and 'haematology clinic appointment' seemed to leap from the page, and she didn't mean to snoop, but it was right there, and she held the letter in surprisingly steady hands, taking in every word as if it were in another language, and yet she understood it all, understood it all too well.

"Lil!" her dad's voice filtered in from the living room. "The countdown's about to start! Ready for 1977?"

She stared down at the letter, and didn't think she was ready at all.