Chapter 17: In Restless Walks

March bled into April, and with it came the start of the final term of their sixth year. James returned to school with a sense of foreboding that he was not used to: he had never dreaded school, not once, but on the train from King's Cross, he felt that pit of darkness, congealing and distorting in his gut.

He didn't tell anyone about this feeling, of course. Some things were best kept to himself.

And it wasn't as if, once he was back in the swing of things at school, that feeling couldn't be shifted and covered over. Their professors were gearing up for exam season, piling on the coursework and homework at an even more rampant pace than they had been previously. Merryton managed to reduce Iris into a gibbering wreck within the first week of classes—Pete had declared that he would "wreak revenge, to protect my love's honour", something which earned him a very long session in a spare classroom with her. Iris didn't even seem to have noticed that he had failed to wreak any kind of revenge since then.

If that wasn't enough to be getting on with, he also had quidditch to attend to. Normally, he found quidditch a wonderful interlude, a freeing break from the intensity of classes. But, on his return to Hogwarts, two problems reared up that made the whole experience much less enjoyable.

Firstly, he was still a bit sore: not nearly as bad as he had been even a few weeks prior, but not up to his usual standard of fitness. He was pushing through the discomfort for now, determined not to let on that every lunge for the quaffle left him feeling sore; he just hoped that it would improve enough in time for their next match.

Secondly, their Keeper was gone. McGonagall would not comment on Charlie Swift in any way when James had gone to ask his head of house—all she had said was that he'd better look for a replacement. As if it was as easy as that to find another highly skilled, intuitive, hard-working Gryffindor. Just the thought of it had given him a headache.

At least the search for a new Keeper meant he could bin off some proper practices in the name of running trials. Small mercies. There had been a lot of interest almost immediately after he had put a sign up in the common room, with enough people seeming keen that he decided to spread the try-outs across several evenings. He even made sure that the reserves who were interested attended the trials, too; he didn't want to be accused of favouritism.

It turned out that none of the wannabe Keepers could hold a candle to Charlie, and James finished the last trial feeling utterly dejected. Just as he was considering heading off to drown himself in the locker room showers, Sirius—who had come along to watch each try-out, in his words, "for the free entertainment"—pointed out that Ornella Randall, one of his Chasers, would make an excellent Keeper, and that there were a few strong contenders from the trials who could take over as a Chaser instead.

Honestly, he could have kissed Sirius, such was the strength of his relief. And it was probably something James himself would have noticed, had he not been so tired, so achy.

Crisis averted, then, with Ornella happily taking over as Keeper, and fifth year Alf Gudgeon (who, luckily, was a darn sight better at quidditch than his seventh year brother Davey) joining the team as Chaser. Of course, that brought other demands: with a new team member and another in a new role, they needed extra practices to try to find their groove with each other, to try and coalesce. The first few practices had been worrisome, at best.

All this added up to a James Potter who reached the end of April feeling like he'd been run over by a herd of lairy hippogriffs, feeling nervy about the upcoming match against Ravenclaw—something Cadence thought was hilarious to tease him about, not, apparently, able to read the room when it came to quidditch—and feeling in over his head with schoolwork.

That was why, as Monday 1st May came to a close, the weather outside warm enough that many students had wandered out to slope around on the lawn after dinner, James instead found himself sitting alone at the top of the Astronomy Tower, brooding.

It was a little cooler up there, the breeze picking up as it crept round the turrets of the castle, but that wasn't enough to send James back down to a more comfortable space. At least up here it was quiet; he knew that the common room would be bustling as it usually was on a Monday evening, and even out on the lawn, the steady low murmur of the groups of pupils would be a distraction and an annoyance.

Besides, his own group of friends was gently fractured anyway. Sirius and Mary had headed outside to sit with Pete and Iris. Because of that, Remus had decided he'd rather sit by the fire in the common room, and Lily, Marlene and Dorcas had decided to join him. Of course, Remus would never admit that he wasn't going outside because of Sirius and Mary: that would require a level of honesty and self-reflection that James didn't think was likely to happen anytime soon.

The whole 'Black and Mac' situation didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon, although James couldn't work out exactly what that situation was. He knew that Remus had assumed, after catching Mary leaving their dorm, that they were shagging. But James wasn't so sure—they slipped off together a lot, true, and Sirius certainly didn't seem to mind the implication that they were rocking each other's worlds. There was just something about it all that made James doubt it. He'd quietly expressed as much to Lily, one evening by the fire, and she had murmured her agreement. Neither of them was sure—or, maybe, willing to state their guesses out loud—what exactly Sirius or Mary had to gain from pretending to be hooking up. It seemed to be part of the complicated tangle of emotions that was taking up half of the sixth year boys' dorm, but more than that, who could say.

So, rather than pledge his allegiance to one camp or the other, he was happy to stay out of it. To take himself off and hide away, get some peace and quiet. Try to straighten his thoughts, if it was possible.

He hoped he would get back to normal soon. He didn't think he suited the whole lone-figure-brooding-at-the-top-of-a-tower aesthetic.

It was nearing curfew when the peace was interrupted: the door swung open behind him, and without even turning around, he could sense who it was. There weren't many people who could easily find out where he was. There were even fewer people who would notice that he had taken himself off to be alone, and decide to join him anyway.

Sure enough, Sirius plopped down onto the stone step next to him, briskly rubbing his hands together in a bid for warmth. "There's toastier places to be a lonely, grumpy sod, you know."

James glanced at his friend with what he hoped was a withering glare. He didn't have the energy to be sure that it was. "I'm not a lonely, grumpy sod," he replied.

"Says the bloke who's spent the whole evening up here staring off into the middle distance like someone out of those muggle novels Evans likes."

James just rolled his eyes. "I just wanted some time to myself," he pointed out. "I know that's not a concept you're familiar with."

"I can be by myself," Sirius replied, not a little defensively. "I just choose not to be." He sighed, shooting a look over at James. "You're alright, then?"

It was a lot easier to just say that he was. The truth of the matter was so much more complicated, a complex web of conflicting emotions and that heavy cloud of exhaustion that hung, ever present, casting a shadow over every feeling so that it stretched and distorted beyond recognition. He was too tired to try to put it into words. "I'm alright," he promised, because maybe if he said it enough, it would become the truth. "C'mon, we should head back or the prefects will have our guts for garters."

Sirius hopped up with the kind of energy befitting someone who hadn't stretched themselves too thin lately; he did, at least, offer his hand to help haul James up to standing too. "And it's Dearborn and Rush on duty tonight," he sighed. "Don't want to give the brother any opportunities to punish you for defiling his little sister."

James followed Sirius towards the door. "There's no defiling," he replied, knowing his friend wouldn't believe him. "Just…inappropriate touching."

"I'm not sure ol' Caradoc will find that much better, Prongs."

"No," James sighed. "Probably not."

They started down the stairs, Sirius slinging his arm round James' shoulders It was a blessing, in a way—someone to lean against as the weariness set in once more. Not that he would admit to that much. "Quidditch magazines in bed, I think," Sirius decided. James knew that this was a charitable gesture, that his friend would have preferred to linger in the common room playing games or just generally making a nuisance of himself. He was infinitely grateful for the concession. "And maybe, if we're lucky, Pete will tell us about the purity of his love for Fenwick again."

James couldn't help a laugh, tired though it was. It was times like this when he felt the warmth, the comfort, of his friendships; knew that he would founder without them. Even when they were nuisances. "We are due another recitation, aren't we…"

Sirius winked. "Gird your loins, Potter. It's coming, whether we like it or not."

And actually…maybe he did like it. Mad and strange and tedious and exhausting as it all was.

Someone had lit the fire in the dormitory, and it crackled merrily behind the grate, casting dancing shadows across the stone floor. Once they edged into spring, they didn't usually need the fire as much, although Remus was grateful for it now. From his prone position on his bed, he could feel the comforting warmth start to seep back into his weary bones.

Last night had been the full moon, and the first in a while where things were…well…normal. Since Remus' stint at home before Christmas, Sirius had opted not to join them for the full—not because he had been asked not to, but of his own volition. Remus hadn't known what to say about it: to acknowledge it, to invite a conversation, went against just about everything he held dear. He wasn't about to issue an engraved invitation; when Sirius thought it was time, he could re-join them.

And so he had, at last. And without any fanfare, either—quite unlike Sirius. It had come to the time when Remus was about to head off to the Shack, and Sirius had just said, "we'll see you down there." His expression didn't change, not even when James and Peter had both turned to look at him with slightly ridiculous looks of surprise on their faces. All Remus could do was nod, swallow his own surprise, and head off. At least he'd had some time to come to terms with the idea before the others had turned up a few hours later.

The night had gone how it usually did—he didn't remember a lot, but he woke up in a far better state than he ever did when he was alone, and Pomfrey hadn't even seen the need to keep him in the infirmary for more than a few hours after she'd fixed up the few scrapes and bruises he'd collected. Returning to the dorm, he found his friends all passed out in various states of undress: Pete had apparently had the energy to get into his pyjamas, and was tucked up sweetly in his bed; James was sprawled across the top of his covers wearing his Gryffindor jumper and boxer shorts; and Sirius slept slumped against the headboard, a book open in his lap and wearing only his pants and a Queen t-shirt. He looked as if he had tried to stay awake, and failed.

Remus hadn't needed any more encouragement than the sight of his comatose friends to change, too, and crawl into bed. Whenever the full happened to fall on a Friday or Saturday, it was truly a blessing—it gave them all more time to recover. No one was going to wonder where they were, or why they looked heavy-eyed and bleary in lessons. His head had hit the pillow, and he was out before he could think about anything else.

Now, waking up in the toasty warmth of the dormitory, he drew in a peaceful breath before rubbing the sleep from his eyes and glancing around him. His friends were all awake, but quietly so, something that couldn't usually be said for any of them. Pete was sitting up in his bed, squinting at a textbook, presumably in the hope that the information might present itself fully-formed and ready for his essay. James was battling with a tube of thick, pale green ointment—something the Healers had given him for his cursed scars. He had to apply it every day, although he usually waited until no one was around to do it. Perhaps today he was too tired to bother waiting; he looked about ready to fall back to sleep as he directed his wand at the tube, and closed his eyes as it squeezed itself out and smeared across his back. Sirius, meanwhile, seemed to be going back and forth between keeping an anxious eye on James, and looking at the map. It wasn't clear if he was looking for anything in particular.

"Morning," Remus croaked, forcing himself into a sitting position, and all three boys looked his way. "Or, afternoon, I suppose."

"It's just gone three," Pete confirmed. "How are you feeling, Moony?"

"Not bad," he replied, tentatively stretching his arms above his head; his bones clicked and shifted almost arthritically. "Just tired. Pomfrey only kept me in for an hour or so."

"That's good," James offered with a smile. "You certainly don't look like you've gone ten rounds with a grizzly bear."

"Always a bonus," Remus smiled back. He glanced over at Sirius, at the map in his hands. "Is something happening…?"

Sirius looked down at the map, something strange in his expression for just a moment before it vanished. "Oh, no, I was just having a nose," he replied. "Although…looks like Ollerton is on his way up here."

Remus felt terrible that his natural reaction was not a happy one. Before they'd become official, it had been easy enough to slip out of his life for a few days around each full moon. Now, it was much more complicated. He'd made up some mad lie about not feeling very well a few days ago, building up his 'symptoms' each day so that he'd have an excuse for disappearing for however long it took to recover from the full. And, yes, he wasn't bruised or battered, he didn't have to explain away any fascinating scars this time—but he was still exhausted, and he wasn't sure he had the energy to keep up the charade. Especially not when it was one that made him feel so guilty.

Pete, like the empathetic delight that he was, seemed to read this uncertainty all over Remus' face. "I'll go and head him off, if you like," he said. "Say you're still not feeling well."

He gave him a small but grateful smile. "Thanks, mate. You're a legend."

"I am, aren't I," he agreed, hopping off his bed and grabbing a sweatshirt from a pile on the floor before he headed for the door. "Back in a tick!"

The door closed behind him, and Remus, for whatever reason, did not want to look over at Sirius. Luckily, James came to the rescue. "Must be hard," he guessed sympathetically. "Coming up with excuses. Have you thought about…telling him?"

Remus felt a bit sick, just at the thought. "No," he replied, probably too quickly. "No, I—I don't think that's a plan that will end well for me."

James frowned. "He's a reasonable bloke, he clearly likes you a lot—"

"He doesn't want to tell him," Sirius interrupted, and Remus glanced over at him at last. His expression was impossible to read. "Just drop it, Prongs."

James, for his part, looked a mixture of confused and guilty. He had always been much easier to read. "Right. Sorry, Moony."

"It's fine," he replied. He threw back the covers and shifted to the edge of his bed. "I'm going to have a bath, see if I can wake myself up a bit."

"Good idea," James agreed. "Then when you're ready, we could go down to get some food from the kitchens, so you don't have to go to the Great Hall…"

Remus paused in the doorway to the bathroom, looking back at James. He was so lucky to have these brave, brilliant boys as his friends; boys who wanted to protect him, to look out for him at every turn. It just seemed so unlikely that anyone else could rise to meet that high standard, even someone as wonderful as Owain.

"Thanks," he replied, realising he'd been quiet perhaps a few moments too long. "Appreciate it."

Why tempt fate, why invite chaos, when he already had all the support he needed?

"And that," Mary said, dropping her last card down with a flourish, "is what we call winning."

Sirius sighed, staring down at the pile of cards on the mattress between them before glancing back up at her. She leaned back against his pillows, looking entirely too smug. "You taught me this game," he pointed out. "How do I know you haven't changed the rules to make sure only you win?"

Mary clutched her hand to her chest. "You wound me, Black."

"I'm just saying," he held up his hands in defence, "you can be sneaky."

Their set-up at the moment was evidence enough of said sneakiness. They had shagged exactly once, back when they'd first come up with the idea, each desperate to think about something else for a while. And it had been…fine. More than fine, really, because Sirius hadn't yet had a sexual encounter he hadn't enjoyed, and his time with Marlene last year had given him some useful skills for getting a girl off with ruthless efficiency. But as they'd caught their breaths in an empty classroom on the third floor, it had quickly become clear that this wasn't going to happen again. That it was just…well…weird. Mary was his friend, one of his closest, by this point; he didn't want to jeopardise that, he told her. She agreed whole-heartedly, saying that while it had been fun, it wouldn't be worth it in the long run.

However, the idea of winding certain people up with the thought that they were hooking up…well, as Mary pointed out, it could work wonders for the jealousy factor. Who knew, maybe Remus would break up with Ollerton and express his undying love?

Unlikely, Sirius thought, but worth a try.

And so they started shutting themselves in behind the hangings of his four-poster, the curtains charmed shut and a muffling spell cast so that no one could hear them. This would look, on the outside, like an effort to make sure no one heard their cries of passion; in fact, it mainly made sure that no one could hear them playing cards, or laughing over one of her girly magazines, or getting a head start on their homework.

Mary had been right about one thing: it clearly had an effect on Remus. When he'd first discovered them 'post-coital' before the holidays, his reaction had been fascinating: he had shut down completely, ignoring Sirius and refusing to talk to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the rest of term. At James' birthday, he'd been all too aware of Remus watching his every interaction with Mary. And since term had started again, it had carried on, although Remus was at least trying to be subtle about it.

That was why, although it might not have been the most mature option, they had decided to carry on with the charade for a while longer. It was nice to have some quiet time with Mary, anyway, time that wasn't spent outside smoking. She didn't expect anything of him: if he wanted to talk, he knew he could, but if he didn't, he knew she'd respect that. She was just easy to be around.

And he hoped that he gave her a similar level of support. She certainly seemed happier than she had when they'd shagged, like the time they spent playing snap or practising wand movements had given her the chance she'd needed to just let go of her anxieties, her sadness, and be a teenager again.

He knew it wasn't right to lie, to let all their friends think they were constantly fooling around. That doing something for the express purpose of trying to raise the ire of one of his closest friends was foolhardy at best. And he knew Remus—he was hardly the type to let himself react. Which made all of this ultimately pointless.

But, for now at least, it was a routine, a pretence that boosted him a little, and her a little, too. Her self-esteem had taken a battering after the things that prick McMillan had said to her (and the bastard had added more to the canon when she said they were over, which, when Mary had relayed the details to Sirius, had been enough to make his hexing arm twitch), and anything that helped restore some of the patented Mac Shine was alright by him, frankly.

"I may be sneaky," she allowed, "but not in this case." She glanced at her watch. "Well, we've been in here twenty minutes. Is that long enough for you to have rocked my world?"

Sirius shrugged, leaning against one of the posts at the other end of the bed. "Let's give it a bit longer, just to be sure," he replied. "Can't have my reputation as a voracious lover called into question."

"God forbid," Mary smirked. She watched him a moment. "Any clarity on talking to Remus?"

This was a downside of their arrangement: she was free to bother him about things he'd rather ignore, any time she liked. "Well," he replied, as lightly as he could, "this morning in Transfig, he asked me what the incantation was, so…our communication is really top notch already."

She gave him a withering look. "Isn't this driving you mad?" she asked. "He's one of your best friends and you have deeper conversations with that strange blonde kid in first year."

"Quentin," Sirius nodded. "A fascinating boy. Did you know his great-great-grandfather invented Dreamless Sleep potion?"

Mary sighed. "Yes, I do, because I was there when he wandered up to us in the common room," she said. "I wouldn't have had the balls to talk to sixth years when I was a firstie."

"I did have the balls," Sirius smirked. "But then I've always been remarkable."

"That's one word for it," she agreed. "And don't think I can't see that you're changing the subject."

Sirius just shrugged. "What is there to say, Mare? He's happily holding hands and sighing wistfully at Ollerton. Message received."

"I don't think there can be a message when not everyone has the full information," she said, adding, at his confused expression, "how can he be making a statement about who he prefers if he doesn't know your feelings?"

"Feelings," he snorted. "Don't be so melodramatic. Look, maybe I overegged it all back before the hols—I was fresh out of the hospital wing, James was on death's door, I made it all into a bigger thing than it is."

Mary watched him, far more pity in her gaze than he was comfortable with. "You don't need to lessen it, just because you're hurt."

He swallowed. "I'm not." He leaned forward to grasp her wrist, looking at the time. "Eh, that'll do, won't it? Nearly time for dinner, anyway." He gave his hair a brisk rub, an attempt to make himself look suitably debauched, and undid his belt. "How do I look?"

She offered him a small, almost sad smile. "Freshly fucked."

"Good." He held out his hand, and she took it, drawing in a steadying breath. "Let's go."

The last stage of their Potions project—something that felt like it had been hanging over the sixth years for an absolute age by that point—was drawing near. It was difficult enough to keep up with schoolwork when you only had to be accountable to yourself; harder still when you were accountable to two others, with varying degrees of responsibilities and timetabling issues of their own. It took Lily, James and Sirius the best part of an hour to work out when they might be able to actually get together to start the final write-up portion of their project, and eventually they had had to concede that sometimes, it would have to be enough that two of the three could attend.

That day in the library was one of those concessions: James was running an extra quidditch practice to try to get the new Chaser used to the team, and so Lily and Sirius were holed up on their own. Lily had been surprised to find that Black wasn't actually that bad a study partner; he was obviously (annoyingly) bright, with a memory for information that made her feel like she was an old-age pensioner in comparison, and he was taking their project as seriously as he was able. "I have to take it seriously," he had told her when they sat down, his face solemn, "it's in my name."

He had only grinned at the groan and eye-roll he got in reply.

They were by now two hours into their work, various books scattered around the table and copious notes to show for their troubles, some in Sirius' elegant cursive, some in Lily's cramped, frantic hand. "I hate to say this," Sirius spoke up, casting one such page of notes to the side, with a world-weary sigh. "But I think we need another book."

Lily glanced up from the tome she was currently trawling through. "I thought we had all the ones we'll need?"

Sirius cast a disgusted glance at the pile of books nearest to him. "If only. We need that one that Sluggy was banging on about the other day, the one that details aconite's uses as a herbal remedy in muggle medicine."

She sighed, but nodded, standing up. "I think I know where that one is," she said. "You'll have to come too, though, it's on the top shelf."

"Ah," he stood up with his usual effortless grace, "you need someone tall and manly to help your dainty self, then?"

"And in the absence of such a person," she replied, "I'm asking you instead."

"Harsh, Evans."

They ambled off into the stacks together, winding down a long aisle, then another, and another, until they finally reached the spot where Lily knew the book to be. She chose to think of her knowledge of the Potions section of the library as inspiring, and not at all pathetic, as she imagined Sirius probably saw it. "There we are," she pointed up, and he reached easily to bring the book down.

As he did so, a group of voices suddenly got louder: three girls were talking on the other side of the stacks. The section on alchemy, Lily thought idly, before she realised that she recognised the voices. It was Cadence, Lambeth and Lucy, three girls who were rarely apart.

"—has to be here somewhere," Lambeth was saying. "And, look, maybe you're overthinking things."

"I don't think I am," Cadence replied; Lily could picture her, a swing of her glossy, golden hair, the way she stood, gifted with a natural elegance and poise. "He's being so strange, Lam."

"You don't think he still fancies Evans, do you?"

Lily did her best not to look directly at Sirius, whose gaze flashed over to her instantly.

"No," came Cadence's confident reply. "He said he hasn't been remotely interested in her for ages, and I trust him."

"They do seem closer, though," Lucy piped up. "You said she was even at his birthday thing—"

"Well, he was inviting all the other Gryffindor sixth years," Cadence replied. "It would've been weird for her to be the only one not going."

Lily swallowed hard, staring down at the books in front of her. That…wasn't true, was it? She hadn't thought twice about receiving an invitation by owl at the start of the Easter holidays, which in itself had struck her, since it wasn't that long ago that any communication from Potter outside of school would've been completely baffling. It was strange that it wasn't strange.

"It must have been weird anyway," Lucy guessed. "She's so obvious, isn't she? Got dumped by Thicknesse, tried it on with Black on Valentine's, and now she's moved on to trying to get your boyfriend, Cady. I don't know how you put up with it."

She'd always thought of Lucy as a friend. Not a close friend, by any stretch, but someone she liked and who liked her. Evidently, that was not the case.

And, Christ, the thought that people—that Cadence—thought she was trying to steal James away… her cheeks, by now, were flushed red with embarrassment, and she wasn't sure if crying or shouting was the best response.

"They're just friends," Cadence replied, and Lily felt herself almost deflate with relief. "And barely even that, sometimes, as far as I can tell."

"So if he's not all hung up on Evans anymore," Lambeth spoke up thoughtfully, "what's his problem?"

"I don't know," Cadence said with a sigh. "I don't know if I'm coming or going with him. One minute he barely talks to me, and the next he's pulling me into the prefects' bathroom and sticking his hand down my—"

Lily didn't hear the rest of what Cadence was saying, because Sirius had taken her by the elbow and firmly guided her away. Interesting that that was where he wanted to draw the line. Not that Lily minded; much more of that conversation and she might have lost the plot completely.

"That wasn't true," she realised Sirius was saying; he tugged her back over to their study table, depositing her in the chair as if she were incapable of finding it herself. "About his birthday. He wanted you there, it wasn't a pity invitation."

She nodded, more keen to believe it than she realised. It was a devastating thought, somehow, that James might not actually be her friend after all. "Right…"

"Honestly," Sirius insisted; she looked up to meet his painfully earnest gaze. "I dunno if Cady just got the wrong idea, or—I suppose it's possible he said that just to get her not to worry about you being there—"

Lily blinked. "Why would she be worried about my being there?"

A pause as Sirius took in what he had said, tried to process a reply. "Oh, well, you know," he replied vaguely. "Girls—um, can get funny about stuff like that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Can they?" But before she could give him a chance to reply, a horrible thought occurred to her. "Oh, god, does James think I fancy him?"

Sirius looked surprised. "Um…no, I don't think so," he said. "He hasn't said anything to me about it, anyway."

Lily sighed heavily. That was a relief, at least. "Good to know that Lucy Miller secretly thinks I'm a conniving bitch…"

"Ignore her," he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "She's always been a two-faced cow. We hooked up in a broom cupboard back in October and she was slagging off Cadence like it was her job." He was looking at her as if he was worried—she found it unsettling. "Seriously, Lily, I wouldn't let any of that bother you."

Well, that was slightly reassuring. But only slightly. "I'm not bothered," she said, because she had long reached the point where she did not want to talk about this anymore. "We should get on with our work. No rest for the wicked."

Sirius paused, but nodded, reluctantly turning to their new-found book. "Alright. If you say so."

Remus was a sensible boy. He had common sense to spare. He didn't believe in the nonsense 'art' of Divination, not even able to cast aside his derision in order to take it for NEWTs and get what would inevitably be the easiest O of his life. He liked things that were set in stone, that were logical, that followed tried and tested patterns.

But even so, he was aware that sometimes the universe acted in strange and mysterious ways, ways that could not be easily explained. That didn't make him a 'crystal ball licker', as Pete so lovingly phrased it, but merely showed that even behind the logic and order of his beliefs, he had room for that little extra something.

So, when Flitwick was assigning partners for their Charms lesson, he shouldn't have been too surprised at the way things turned out.

And yet.

He'd been so busy worrying about who his own partner would be—please not Sirius, please not Sirius—that he almost missed it as Flitwick announced, "Black and…Ollerton!"

Remus' gaze flicked straight over to his boyfriend, who merely smiled pleasantly at his new partner across the classroom; Sirius, meanwhile, looked about ready to walk out. Oh, Christ. This lesson was going to be excruciating.

"I'll come to you, shall I?" Lily's voice interrupted his panic-spiral, and he looked up to find her moving to sit in the now-vacated space next to him (Pete having moved to his partner, Mary, near the window).

"Oh," he blinked. He hadn't even heard Flitwick pair them up. "Yes—sorry."

She gave him an easy smile as she sat down. "Why are you sorry?"

A straightforward question, surely. But he still wasn't sure of the answer. "I'm not sure," he admitted with a sheepish grin. His gaze drifted again, unwittingly, towards the front of the room where Sirius and Owain now sat together. "Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry," Lily advised. "Especially if you don't know what you're apologising for." She followed his stare. "Could be interesting."

Remus raised his eyebrow, turning his focus back to her. "You think?"

She raised her eyebrows in return. "They're not exactly best mates, are they," she pointed out. "Sirius seems to struggle to hold back his hostility, as far as I can tell."

He bristled a little, just at the thought. "It's bullshit…"

"Of course it is," Lily agreed. "But jealousy will do that to a person."

"What?" He looked back towards Sirius, trying to see what she apparently saw. "He's not—"

"Of course he is," she replied, managing to sound only mildly patronising. "He's not exactly subtle, Rem."

Remus paused, trying to find his footing in this conversation; he had not expected to be thinking about this, let alone talking about this, during a Wednesday morning Charms lesson. "I don't think he's…"

She patted his hand gently. "You know he fancies you," she said, "don't you?" She paused, considered her own words. "Actually, I'd say 'fancies you' is putting it incredibly mildly at this point."

Remus frowned and didn't know what to say. It was one thing to wonder, to think there were hints, that something had changed between them; it was quite another for someone else, an independent third party, to state it in such plain terms. It meant that he couldn't just pretend it was all in his mind, that it wasn't real.

Finally, he had to say something. "Has he…told you?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't need to," she replied. "I noticed something between you last year, but then with the way he kept going off with impressionable girls to broom cupboards, I just assumed…" She trailed off, perhaps noting the discomfort that must have flashed across his face at the mention of Sirius' many trysts. "But…especially since you and Owain started up…it's become hard to explain away."

He really didn't know what to say. To acknowledge it felt too big, too significant. "I—I really don't think he—"

"Come on, Rem," she sighed. "It's no coincidence that he and Mary started hooking up just after you and Owain made things official. The lad is lashing out."

At that, Remus snorted humourlessly. "His speciality."

"Yes, well," she glanced back over to Sirius and Owain; they at least seemed to be talking quite amicably by now. Miracles did happen. "It's hard to break those habits, isn't it? Especially when you're hurting."

He swallowed against the lump of discomfort sitting heavily in his throat. "We should get on with our task…"

She gave him a sympathetic smile: of course she understood it wasn't just his dedication to his studies that made him say it. But she was too kind to comment on it, and so they diligently turned their attention to the task at hand.

The lesson led them to lunch, and as usual everyone stood up, gathering their things quickly to get down to the Great Hall. Even Remus could admit that breakfast seemed a long time ago now, although he still dawdled as he packed his bag. And it wasn't just so he didn't have to leave at the same time as Sirius, who had found James and was making his way out of the classroom.

Owain ambled over to them, and Lily shot both him and Remus a cheery smile, saying, "I'll see you downstairs," before she, too, headed off. They were the only ones left in the classroom, and Owain took the opportunity offered by drawing Remus into his arms, planting a soft kiss of greeting to his lips. "Hi."

"Hi," Remus managed a small smile in return. "Fun lesson?"

"Incredibly so," Owain grinned ruefully. "Black didn't hex me on sight, which I consider a bonus."

He thought back to what Lily had said; if it was true, then that session must have been agony for Sirius. "He's not so bad."

"Of course," Owain agreed, probably to keep him sweet, Remus thought slightly uncharitably. "Just being protective of his mates. I can stand up to a bit of scrutiny, don't you worry."

Remus really wished that was all it was. It would be so much easier to deal with. "Let's get some lunch," he suggested, gently extracting himself from Owain's embrace. "I'm starved."

Owain agreed, taking his hand as he led the way out of the classroom and into the hallway, bustling with other students making their way downstairs. As they walked, Remus tried to ignore the growing sense of disquiet in his gut; finally, they reached the hall itself, and he made a decision. A decision to avoid Sirius at all costs. "Why don't I sit with you and your mates today?" he suggested, and felt guilty at the way Owain's face lit up in response. "You can all try to get the Gryffindor quidditch secrets out of me."

"Now there's an offer," Owain winked.

They ate together, the atmosphere light and friendly, and he only glanced over to his own table once—and, anyway, found Sirius not looking his way.

The Great Hall was typically bustling with students and teachers, a standard Friday evening, not much to differentiate it from any other day. James sat at the Gryffindor table and stared into his bowl of stew as if trying to divine information from amongst the chunks of beef and carrot. Although it wasn't a fascinating thing to look at, it was the best option he had.

One alternative was to look up, and catch sight of the enchanted ceiling, hanging above them and showcasing a dusky blue sky dusted with streaks of peach and pink from the setting sun. A lovely sight, if you didn't associate the ceiling with intense pain and the sense of darkness settling around your heart.

Another alternative was to look at the group of friends around him. Sirius, Mary and Pete were engaged in an intense debate about the merits of Abba; Marlene, Dorcas and Remus seemed to be picking over their latest Arithmancy lesson, trying to make it make sense for each other. All fine, really. It was Lily that made this choice a less palatable alternative.

James may not, historically, have been the most perceptive of fellows when it came to the emotional quirks of the female species, and least of all of Lily Evans, the object of his unwanted affection. But even he could not have failed to notice that, for at least a week now, Lily had done her utmost to avoid getting in a situation where they would have to interact in any way. In the common room, she placed herself as far as she could from him, or else made some excuse or other to slip up to her dorm or wherever else she could hide. At meals, she hung back until everyone was seated—he guessed, so that she could work out where he'd sit himself, not that he was paranoid or anything—and then sat at a distance which could not possibly invite conversation with him. Currently, she was sitting at the other end of the group of sixth years, staring morosely into her own stew in much the same manner that James had just been adopting, not even pretending to join in with the Arithmancy puzzling going on next to her.

He had no idea what he had done now to invite this level of avoidance; as far as he knew, he'd been perfectly friendly. He didn't remember saying anything obnoxious to her, and he tended to remember most of their interactions. Earlier in the week, he'd been tempted to ask Sirius or Remus if they knew what was going on: after all, Remus had always been close with Lily, and somehow Sirius had wound up with a decently strong friendship with her, too, despite the fact that the pair had been happily and mutually antagonistic towards each other not even six months ago.

But he knew that if he asked, even if he asked Remus, that they would know why he was asking. Know why he cared. And if he was interested in being lectured about his feelings for one girl while he was dating another, he would ask for it.

So, he stayed miserably in the dark about the whole situation.

Technically, yes, he could have asked the woman herself. But that was a prospect that was wholly unappealing: why invite more conflict? Hopefully, if he just pretended he didn't mind or hadn't noticed for long enough, she'd forget whatever it was he'd done wrong, and they'd all be able to move on with their lives.

Staring at stew was all he had left.

"Jamie." He glanced up to find Cadence, the candlelight in the hall catching the gold of her hair distractingly well, standing opposite him. She had that nervous smile on her face that he had come to…well…resent, a little bit. Why was she nervous around him? He wasn't intimidating.

He did his best to shift these thoughts. "Hi," he greeted her. "Alright?"

"Beef stew night—what's not to be alright about?" she replied, and paused, glancing around them. His friends had made no attempts to hide the fact that they had all stopped talking to listen in. "Um, fancy a walk? After dinner…"

Not really, he wanted to say. He was exhausted; if simply being back at school and still trying to recover from his injuries wasn't enough, the intensive schedule of extra quidditch practices had given him a shove from merely tired into almost broken.

But he could be a good boyfriend, even when all he really wanted to do, on his one free evening this week, was crawl under the covers of his four poster and close his eyes against the world. "Lovely," he agreed, hoping he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt. "Come and find me when you're finished."

Her answering smile was dazzling, and he felt a fresh wave of guilt. "Great," she nodded, fixing him with one last, warm look before she hurried off to join her friends at the Ravenclaw table.

Most of the others had gone back to their previous conversations; Sirius was the only one who hadn't, and was now watching him thoughtfully from across the table. James heaved a sigh. "What?"

Sirius merely raised an eyebrow, in that infuriating way of his. "I didn't say anything."

"And yet you're being irritating as fuck anyway," James grumbled, returning his focus to his dinner.

Sirius paused, then leaned in a bit closer. "Don't take it out on me just because you don't want to spend time with your girlfriend."

Another sigh; he sounded like a balloon deflating. He felt like one, too. "It's not that I don't want to spend time with her," he replied, quietly, defensively. "I'm just knackered, that's all."

Sirius speared a chunk of beef with his fork, pausing with it halfway to his lips to study James more closely. "Yeah, you do look a bit ropey, to be honest."

"Thanks." James resisted the temptation to flick gravy at him. "You're too kind."

"Just saying," Sirius shrugged. "Maybe you should see Pomfrey, see if she can help."

"I'm fine," James insisted, bristling slightly just at the implication that he wasn't. "It's just tiredness, getting back into the routine of things. And a walk round the castle with Cady will hardly kill me, will it."

"No," Sirius agreed. "But someone else might if you don't work on the attitude."

James shot him a look. "Pot, kettle."

"I speak from a place of intimate knowledge," Sirius allowed. "So you should heed my words." He paused a moment. "Cady will understand if you're tired, mate."

James paused in his demolishment of his stew to glance over at the cluster of Ravenclaw sixth years, a little way down the hall. "I'm not sure she will," he admitted. "She's been a bit…funny, lately. Like she's waiting for me to dump her."

He couldn't help but notice Sirius glance in Lily's direction—something he didn't remotely understand—before he replied. "Are you? Going to dump her, I mean."

He was too tired for this conversation. "Not planning it, no," he shrugged.

"Well," Sirius said, after a short pause. "With that kind of lukewarm sentiment, I'm not surprised Cadence feels bowled over by your affection for her."

"Piss off," was all James could be bothered to reply with.

The dungeons tended to be about as warm and welcoming as the name implied—just one of the many reasons Sirius despised it down there. The fact that it was home to the Slytherins was another, as well as the place where he had to sit through tedious Potions lessons with Slughorn trying not to cream himself over Sirius' family name. If he could, he'd stay away from that area of the castle entirely.

Which was why it was probably a bit strange that he found himself down in the dungeons, willingly, as curfew ticked ever closer. Outside it had been a seasonably warm day, and the majority of the castle had reflected that warmth. Down here, though, it was as cool and damp as ever. Maybe fire would be the only way to bring any heat down those dark stone corridors. Sirius would be the first to volunteer to spark that flame.

Cleansing fire aside (for now), he moved with purpose through the winding hallways; past Sluggy's office, past the sixth-years' Potions room, where the last of their project brews still simmered; past, even, the expanse of wall that he knew hid the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Eventually, he reached a dead end, the only door a heavy, rotting wooden thing that stood just slightly ajar. With a glance over his shoulder, he paused only a moment before pushing said door open further and stepping inside.

It was a small room, probably an old, disused office that no one could force themselves to use anymore. A small window of thick glass looked out into the depths of the lake, casting a strange, green glow across the flagstone floor. The few lamps on the walls had been lit, and flickered peaceably, bringing the figure in the chair in the corner into gentle relief.

"Reg," he said, hands in his pockets.

His brother stared back at him, his hand resting on his leg—on his wand, he noticed, as if he thought Sirius might hex him into oblivion. Not a completely incorrect assumption, in fairness, and Sirius could respect a certain level of preparedness. "Sirius," Regulus replied, every syllable tightly drawn, controlled. "I didn't expect to be called here, of all places, and by you, of all people."

Sirius tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it," he told him, glancing around them with open distaste. "It's like a mermaid's brothel down here."

"I'm sure I wouldn't know what any kind of brothel looks like," Regulus replied primly, which earned him a snort of derision from his brother. "You wanted to discuss something?"

"I did," Sirius confirmed, returning his gaze to Regulus. "I remembered something you said, the last time we spoke."

If Regulus had any idea where this was going, his face gave no indication. "Oh?"

"You warned me to stay out of the SWEN stuff." Sirius was unrelenting in his stare. "That was about a week before someone imperius'ed Charlie Swift into maiming half of Hogwarts."

Again, Regulus' expression did not change. "They're going with the imperius excuse, are they? How original."

Most probably wouldn't have picked up on the slight tightness of his voice, or the flicker of a muscle at his jaw; but Sirius had grown up with the boy, had learned to read micro-expressions, to pick up even the smallest change of inflection—after all, these things were vital self-defence when you lived in a house with parents who were by turns maniacal, mercurial. He could read his brother like a book.

"I have to assume you knew what was going to happen," he continued, his voice cold. "You were trying, in your own pathetic, roundabout way, to stop me from getting injured."

Regulus looked away briefly, an act of submission he wouldn't normally have done: the Blacks were firm believers in intensive eye contact. "Make all the assumptions you wish, brother."

"Which means you know who was behind it," Sirius added. "I thought I'd give you the opportunity to come clean. To make things right."

A heavy sigh, and Regulus looked utterly bored of their conversation. "How wonderful it must be, Sirius, to be so righteous—"

Sirius pushed forwards, frustration filling his veins. "I was in the infirmary for three days, Reg," he bit out; his brother paled just slightly. "James almost died!"

At that, Regulus' expression shifted, resentment like a wave across his face. "Ah, well, Merlin forbid your precious Potter get a few cuts."

He was trying to rile Sirius, he knew that, and yet he rose to the bait, predictable to the last. "A few cuts? He was in St Mungo's for two weeks, you twat—he almost bled to death!"

Regulus took this in with the same blank, unimpressed look. "Well," he said, after a short pause. "It's a relief for us all, then, that the perpetrator was expelled so quickly."

"What are you getting out of this?" Sirius asked bluntly. "Are you really the same level of noxious cretin as those idiots you call friends? Happy to inflict pain and suffering on anyone who challenges their ridiculous, outdated views on blood purity?"

"It's been a delight to catch up, truly." Regulus stood, pausing to smooth the wrinkles from his robes. "I do love our chats."

As he passed him, Sirius grabbed his arm, not expecting the hiss of pain his brother let out in response. "What—why did that hurt?" he demanded, a strange sense of panic sinking over him. He tried to grab at Regulus' sleeve, but the boy wrenched his arm away, looking suddenly more alarmed, more scared…more anything than he had for the entirety of their conversation. "Reg, what the fuck have you—"

"It is not your concern anymore," Regulus shot back, his words aimed to hurt. "We are not family any longer, are we? You made sure of that."

And with a melodramatic sweep of his robes—a move so beloved by his fellow Slytherins—Regulus swept out of the room. Sirius stood there, alone, staring at the space his brother had just stood in, trying to process everything that had passed between them.

It was ten minutes before he felt he could move again.

It wasn't easy, avoiding someone. Especially when that someone was in the same house as you; when that someone was friends with all your friends; when that someone was in your bloody Potions project group, even.

And…yes…when that someone still managed to catch so much of your attention, even when you were trying desperately to stay away.

Lily hadn't told any of the girls about what she and Sirius had overheard in the library. She knew that they would leap to her defence, maybe even go and confront Lucy, if Dorcas was told when she was just in the wrong mood. That was the last thing she wanted. She knew that she hadn't done anything untoward, that she hadn't been angling after someone else's boyfriend come hell or high water; but even knowing this, she still felt herself raking over every interaction she'd had with Potter recently, breaking every conversation or exchange of glances or shared smile down to rubble in her effort to understand how someone could think it in the first place. And she knew, if the girls knew, that they would want her to stop doing that, to be angry instead of what she was: sad. Anxious. Unsettled.

She wasn't sure why it had thrown her so much. She didn't want to analyse that side of things too deeply—that seemed to be inviting trouble. And it was a depressing but expected fact that pureblood girls (and boys, too) tended to think of muggleborn girls as more…loose, in their morals. Lily hadn't been victim of that too much in her time at Hogwarts, at least not to her knowledge, but she'd seen it levelled at Mary, as well as many other students, almost exclusively with no reason other than blood status and, presumably, jealousy or a personal vendetta. Now that she found herself under that spotlight, she found herself surprised at how quickly she had started wondering if she really was at fault. If she had been sending signals out to James, somehow, without even realising it.

All of this, alongside the shadow cast over her life by her mum's illness, meant that she was struggling to sleep. She fell asleep just fine, out like a light when her head hit the pillow, but she would inevitably wake in the night and then struggle to get back to sleep. If she did manage to fall asleep again, the whole process would repeat itself until she just gave up and got out of bed at some ungodly hour.

That was how she found herself, on this mid-May morning, wandering through the grounds towards the lake. Being not long after six o'clock, the sun had not yet made an appearance, although the dark blue of the sky had begun to lighten. It wouldn't be long now, she thought.

There was something freeing about being outside, just her and the cool spring air, in a space normally so full of life. Knowing that the castle behind her slumbered on, that it would be at least an hour before most of the students were awake, that she didn't have to worry about how she would be seen or who she might have to interact with. It gave her time to think.

Not to obsess over her every conversation with Potter, because she couldn't cope with much more of that…but, admittedly, he was on her mind. She knew that things had shifted between them this year, the terrain of their relationship changing from rough and pocked with mines to something smoother, safer. Well, in theory safer, but she still couldn't help but feel that there was something inherently dangerous in their friendship. As if the spectre of something else hovered above them all the time, and she was only just noticing its presence.

She didn't want to notice it. She much preferred obliviousness.

As she reached the lake shore and set off along the path that tracked round it, she became aware of a figure in the distance, moving towards her. Great, she thought grumpily. Not as alone as I thought. In the gloomy morning light, and from the still significant distance, she couldn't make out who it was, and she gave turning around and finding somewhere else to walk serious consideration before she decided that she had as much right to be out here as they did.

The figure stopped, and turned, as if they had heard something from within the nearby swathe of trees that marked the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. Then, the figure doubled over, and with a frown, she picked up her pace. It would be just her luck to bump into someone who needed help at the arse-crack of dawn; she had to swallow down her frustration at the potential interruption to her intended alone time.

With her quickened pace, it wasn't long before she was within calling distance of the person, and now she could see it was a boy: he had straightened up, and was tugging off his shirt, pausing to wipe at his face. Something about the movement stopped the words from spilling from her lips. It seemed…familiar.

Now she was close enough to see the broad expanse of back, impressively strong shoulders and well-muscled arms, shorts that hung low on his hips. All of this would have been very distracting—she was only human—if it wasn't also for the sight of dozens upon dozens of scars, picked out as if in silver thread against his pale skin, most only an inch or so long except for one, much longer, scar which curved round a shoulder blade and reached towards his spine. She wanted to reach out, to brush her fingers along it, to feel the raised ridge of skin, and she wanted all of this even though she knew, now, exactly who it was standing by the lake.

He turned around quickly, presumably at the sound of her footsteps, and blinked in surprise. "Evans…"

She swallowed. Tried not to let her gaze drift down, over what looked like abs chiselled from marble. "Potter," she replied. "Um, hi."

He stood there, staring back at her, his sweaty t-shirt clutched in his hand, quiet for an agonising moment. "Early morning stroll?"

She felt her cheeks flushing, quite against her will, and was glad that it was still relatively dark. "Yes. I couldn't get back to sleep, so…"

He nodded in understanding. "Same. Thought I'd try to run it out of my system." He gave her a sheepish smile. "Not sure it's worked, to be honest."

She matched his smile nervously. "Did you…I thought maybe you were hurt…?"

He frowned a little, before realising what she was talking about. "Oh! No, I just—heard some classic weird noises from the forest, and decided I needed a breather," he told her.

"Oh," she replied, her gaze drifting again to his bare chest before she forced it back up. "Well. Good."

He seemed to become aware only then that he was shirtless, and hurriedly pulled his t-shirt back on. She looked away, giving him some semblance of privacy, but found herself saying, "Your back…"

The realisation flashed in his eyes, realisation of what she must have seen before, and he nodded. "Sirius says I look like I had a fight with a cheese grater."

She smiled, reluctantly. "Aren't you lucky to have such an understanding friend?"

"The luckiest," he agreed, and paused. "It looks worse than it is, now. I'm alright."

She bit her lip, but nodded, and he took her silence as impetus to say more. "It's nice to talk to you." She looked up, and felt a squirm of guilt at the gentle, sad expression on his face. "I sort of feel like you're…avoiding me, lately."

Lily drew in a steadying breath. "Things have just been…strange," she replied, knowing as well as he did what a non-answer that was. "It's nothing personal."

James nodded, apparently willing to take her word for it—for now, at least. "You know I'm here for you," he offered. "If you need anything. That's—" He hesitated, the barest flicker of it on his face before it settled into something more neutral. "That's what friends are for."

She smiled, a stronger smile than before. "Thanks," she replied. "I appreciate it."

He nodded again—apparently all he was capable of doing—and glanced up at the lightening sky. "Want company for your walk?"

She found that she did: she really did. But she also thought of how it would look, her and James wandering back into the castle together, students going to breakfast pausing to note their wind-kissed cheeks and inevitable smiles; of how all that would look, if Cadence, or Lucy or Lambeth, was one of those students.

"No, it's okay," she replied. "Finish your run. I'll see you at breakfast."

He looked almost ready to argue with her, but forced up another small smile instead. "Yeah. See you at breakfast, Evans."

James set off at a light jog, back in the direction of the castle, and she allowed herself only a few moments watching him go before she turned around and started walking again.

She was in trouble.