Chapter 19: A Crack in the Sky
The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air.
Remus was prepared. If anything, he was over prepared: Defence Against the Dark Arts was easily his best subject, and so revising for this exam wasn't a bind…if anything, it was something he actually enjoyed. He'd always made thorough notes, and took great pleasure—to the ridicule of his friends—in revisiting them.
It didn't even put him off that Merryton watched over them all with a face reminiscent of an arctic tundra. Within minutes of them having sat down, one of his fellow students had crumpled under the pressure and ran out of the room sobbing. Their professor had just watched on, expressionless and entirely unimpressed with such a show of emotion and human frailty.
Luckily, Remus had spent enough of the year on the receiving end of her cold ire to be undeterred. He was damned if he was going to let Merryton intimidate him into doing anything less than his best.
To his left, he could see James bent over his parchment, scribbling intensely, as he had been since the exam started. Since seeing Pomfrey to ease his shoulder, and since Cadence had collared Remus, Sirius and Peter to make sure he got to bed at a decent time each night, James had seemed much more like his old self. It had been a relief to see the sparks of his usual ways: he'd been laughing and joking in lessons, plotting pranks with Sirius, and keeping spirits high in the common room when studying got a bit much. It felt like they had their friend back again, something Remus certainly wasn't taking for granted.
On James' other side, Peter was intermittently scrawling answers and staring down at the page with an air of vague bemusement, as if this were his first experience in the subject at all. Pete had eschewed the full revision schedule in favour of taking Iris off to a spare classroom, and as he explained it, he found the whole experience "entirely worth failing". Remus wasn't so sure Pete would still feel that way when Merryton handed their exams back, but he admired the sentiment.
Sirius, a few rows away and sat next to Lily, had been writing intently and now seemed to have decided to stop. He tipped back on his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face that could not be chased away even when Merryton stared at him for a solid two minutes. Sirius knew, as Remus did, that he'd cruise through this exam even with minimal effort. Annoying, but true.
But Remus was prepared. Distracted, yes, but prepared.
As easy as it would be to sit and watch Sirius for a while longer—and it would be possibly too easy—he forced himself to turn his attention back to the parchment in front of him. The changes in his friendship with Sirius lately had been more of a blessing than he'd expected, and, he knew, came in no small part due to his friend's overtures with Owain. It felt like Sirius was making an effort, something he didn't usually appear to do: he had grown up so effortlessly aristocratic, so effortlessly nonchalant and funny and clever, that it was a bit baffling to see him actually put the work in. And Remus knew, of course he did, that there were plenty of things his friend worked at (this year, controlling his temper was one of them, although that came from his weekly detentions/meetings with McGonagall). It was just that all of that usually sat below the surface, hidden away behind layers of placid, unruffled cool that Remus had always been envious of. Remus never could manage anything like that: he knew he could—he did—hide things beneath the surface, but he did so in a way that made it clear there was something else there. He might not let everyone in, but they also knew he was holding back.
To see Sirius Black, arguably the person in sixth year with the least need to actively make friends, chat and bond with Remus' boyfriend did something strange to him. It was a warm feeling, a sort of glow; but it also felt like a twisting, a clenching that he couldn't relax away.
It meant he didn't have an excuse not to be around him. To avoid spending time with him.
But he didn't want to avoid him. Did he?
It was this helpful sort of circular thinking that meant he wrote only a few more inches before the exam was over; luckily, he'd already covered most of what he felt needed saying. He'd have to think carefully about where he sat for future exams, if this was the potential level of distraction he was in for. He shared most of his subjects with Sirius—he couldn't afford to get so preoccupied over the way Sirius tilted on his chair, or the way he frowned just a little bit as he wrote, that he didn't focus on his own work.
The same went for revising: from that point on, he declared that he would only study by himself. James took this in with a nod and a look of slight suspicion, but, for once, no comment, not even when Sirius said he was going to take the same approach. Remus guessed that they all had bigger things to concern themselves over, for now.
Like the odd behaviour of Sirius' brother, for example.
The two of them had been keeping an eye on Regulus ever since their conversation at the quidditch party a few weeks ago. This had involved following him for a while around Hogsmeade ("you wouldn't think that someone so embroiled in evil would be so fucking dull," Sirius had lamented at one point as they watched Regulus compare two near-identical pairs of leather gloves); utilising the invisibility cloak to lurk around the dungeons or to follow him on one of his many walks around the grounds; and employing various spells to attempt to eavesdrop on conversation at the Slytherin table. All the latter had told them was that someone sitting near Regulus chewed with their mouth open. Disgusting, but not exactly reportable.
Still. There was something off about everything they saw him do; Sirius had described him as being "a shifty looking bastard", and although Remus might not have used the same terminology, he didn't disagree with the sentiment. And it wasn't just Regulus, either: there were a few of the older Slytherins who constantly looked like they were about to do something reprehensible.
And yet, nothing had happened since the SWEN swap shop. Not even a hexing in the corridors. True, the prefects' rota had been bulked up considerably, and the heads of houses were often patrolling too, but even so, it was actually a bit unsettling that it all seemed so settled. It made Remus fear that something was lurking, just around the corner, something so much worse than anything they'd experienced so far.
It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon when they next saw anything of interest, and even then, it happened by accident.
They'd just finished a gruelling two hours in the greenhouses, Professor Sprout proselytising at length about the medicinal benefits of various vicious plants, and the crowd of sixth years spilled out from the heavy humidity with a collective sense of relief. Outside, the sun was making its way to the west, starting to dip in the sky, and the air felt cooler for it. James and Pete had already started back up the slope towards the castle, James having spent the final thirty minutes of their lesson muttering about how hungry he was, but Sirius grabbed Remus' elbow before he could make to follow them and nodded towards the edge of the forbidden forest in the other direction.
Following his gaze, Remus saw the tall, slender figure that was unmistakably Sirius' brother—he held himself in much the same way that Sirius did, although Remus knew that his friend would despise the comparison. Regulus was walking alongside a shorter, stockier figure, and together they disappeared into the trees.
"Fancy a stroll?" Sirius suggested.
One look at his face told Remus that, even if he didn't want to, they'd be going anyway. Sirius was helpless to stop himself when it came to his brother. "Alright," Remus agreed.
The forest was, of course, more than familiar to them both, and they moved quietly, keeping to the shadows where possible as they continued to follow the pair of Slytherins. Every now and then, they caught snatches of conversation, but never enough to truly understand what they were talking about. Just when Remus was thinking that this was a waste of time, that they were just tailing Regulus Black while he went for the most boring afternoon stroll of all time, he collided with Sirius' outstretched arm, his effort to stop him in his tracks highly successful.
Remus glanced quickly over at his friend, who held his finger up to his lips and nodded a little way ahead. From their vantage point behind a cluster of menacing-looking bushes and a rotting tree stump, they could only just see Regulus and his companion—Alfred Avery, a seventh year who took great pleasure in making muggleborns lives as miserable as he could. Although they couldn't see them well, though, they could hear them perfectly fine, their low voices carrying in the still, cold quiet of the forest.
"—before the end of the year." Regulus sounded as he often did: a bit bored, as if he were speaking about the weather, or what was for dinner. "It would be impractical."
"The Dark Lord doesn't care about impractical," Avery hissed in reply. "He wants our message out, loud and clear—"
"It is," Regulus replied. Remus caught Sirius' gaze a moment, and had to fight back the urge to reach out to him at the look on his face. "We have already brought more people to our cause."
"What, Snape?" Avery sounded as disgusted as Sirius did whenever he said the same name. "And Mulciber? I'm not sure what those cretins—"
"Mulciber has more than proven himself recently," Regulus interrupted again. "Don't you think?"
A silence, and then a sigh, so heavy they could hear it as if Avery were right in front of them. "Fine. I will contact Malfoy and explain, but—I'm not sure that he'll be very impressed."
Sirius looked as if he were trying to hold back a response—probably, knowing him, a snort of derision. Lucius Malfoy had been a few years above them, and, Remus recalled, recently engaged to Sirius' cousin. Another reminder of what their friend had torn himself away from: a hate-filled, dark arts-obsessed family who would apparently stop at nothing to further their agenda.
"He'll be fine." Regulus' voice started to get quieter again, and was joined by the rustling of leaves: his footsteps, heading off further into the forest. "And I think he'll be pleased when he hears…"
The rest was lost, the two boys already vanished from view, and the two Marauders having made no move to follow. Remus watched his friend closely, not sure what to say at first. He knew that this, a fairly obvious sign that Regulus was wrapped up in Lord Voldemort's group, had to be a blow to Sirius. He'd suspected already, of course, but it was different to have it all but confirmed.
"Pads…" he murmured, and paused before he reached out, giving his hand a squeeze.
Sirius stared down at their hands, clasped together at his side, and for a moment Remus wasn't sure how he would respond. There must have been so many emotions flying through him: anger, sadness, confusion, disappointment, betrayal… And Sirius wasn't exactly known for his emotional capabilities. Remus himself had been the victim of that shortcoming before.
But that moment passed, and Sirius gave his hand a squeeze in return before letting go, raking his fingers through his hair as if he needed something to do. Remus tried not to feel empty at the movement, his own hand moving pointlessly back to his side.
"Yeah," Sirius sighed, and glanced briefly over his shoulder before he shook his head, apparently making a decision. "Let's go back. We…we should tell Merryton."
Remus nodded, falling into step with him again as they made their way back in the direction of the castle. It was strange, the two of them in the forest: so quiet, almost dark as the canopy of trees blocked out most of the remaining daylight. A place they had spent so much time as a four; a place that had helped cement their bond. Why did it feel, this time, that they wouldn't ever return…?
He shook his head, trying to shake off that feeling. It made no sense, to feel this way. And he certainly wasn't about to open it up to Sirius, to ask if he felt the same way—why change the habit of a lifetime, after all?
They were climbing up the castle steps before either of them spoke again. "You should tell her on your own." Sirius had stuck his hands firmly in his pockets, and stared resolutely down at the stone as he walked. "She doesn't like me, anyway."
"I'd hardly say she likes me," Remus pointed out.
Sirius managed a faint, half-smile. "Well, she likes you more, at least." He stopped as they reached the entrance hall, his gaze flickering against his will—tellingly—towards the dungeons. "See you at dinner."
Remus realised, as he watched him go, that he hadn't even found the words to reply.
The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air.
James glanced over the questions again, wondering if he had time to squeeze an extra one in. Technically, they only had to answer three of the questions—in copious detail, of course—in order to potentially pass the Transfiguration exam. McGonagall had spent many lessons discussing the complicated theory behind the spell work they had covered that year, advising on approaches to the essay portions of their exams (the practical side having already been undertaken the week before), and she had impressed upon them all that three of the five possible questions should be their focus.
The thing was, James had answered four of them already. He didn't think it was showing off to admit that he just got Transfiguration, that it came as easily to him as flying did; Merlin, it wasn't bragging, it was simply knowing his own strengths. He'd soared through the requisite three questions in record time, no less thorough for his speed, and then had become bored at the thought of doing nothing for the remaining thirty minutes, and so had turned his focus to the remaining questions that he had ignored so far. He had a feeling that Sirius was in the same boat, although he wasn't as confident that his friend would have bothered doing any extra work. In fact, he looked up from his parchment and over to his right, and sure enough, Sirius seemed to be focusing his innate talents on doodling a basilisk in the corner of his essays. He was sweetly predictable like that.
Maybe he could allow himself a break, too. The last question was a bit of a thumper all about the legal limitations of Conjuration, something James—of course—understood and could explain, but frankly, didn't want to. Far better to turn his mind to the other exams to come.
He wasn't especially worried about any of them, although Charms wasn't exactly his strongest area. He knew he could get by in that subject, but it probably wouldn't hurt to cram in a bit of extra revision before the exam in a few days' time. Aside from his own needs, he also felt hyper-aware of the needs of those around him. He knew that Pete wanted a bit of guidance for Herbology, which he was happy to give: it wasn't his favourite subject, but his mum was enough of a plant nut (not that he would call her that to her face) for some of it to have stuck over the years. Remus and Sirius didn't need his help (at least, not when it came to exams), and anyway, he knew that those two both preferred to study on their own.
And then there was Cadence. Things seemed to have settled between them again after the post-quidditch drama, but…well, they'd settled a bit too much. He didn't feel a desperate need to seek her out, to spend time with her, and he would never admit it, not even to his best friends, but her constantly appearing in the library or the Great Hall during their study sessions were getting a bit wearing. He knew it was beyond uncharitable to feel that way about his own girlfriend; that he really ought to do something, instead of just letting stasis kick in. Easier said than done, though.
Did this all mean that he should break up with her? Maybe this was just how relationships were, once things had calmed from the first flush of romance. James had never had a proper girlfriend before; a few dates here and there, of course, but when one was head over heels (and not at all subtle about it) for another girl, dates didn't tend to come flooding in. Perhaps all relationships petered out into a dull hum. Perhaps this was just the way he was supposed to feel about Cadence, about spending time with her. Perhaps any relationship would feel this way. The grass wasn't always greener on the other side, as his grandma used to say. She had meant it as a joke, of course—being the potioneer behind a popular grass-revitalising remedy that revolutionised the gardens of Britain back in the day—but the saying could still work. He could make it work.
He shook his head, returning his focus to his parchment. If his mind wanted to take a rest by churning over his relationship issues, he'd rather answer the last exam question. Surely that was a better use of his brain power.
It was this force of denial and avoidance, not normally something he put such energy into, that found him in the school library the next morning. Sirius was still in bed; Remus had settled into a corner of the common room with his Arithmancy textbooks and an air of weary acceptance; Pete had gone off to find Iris and "help her with her revision", which James took to be code for "feel her up in a broom cupboard". With no lessons that morning, and no exams that day, James had been tempted to use the time for more relaxing pursuits. It was a bright, clear morning, the sky a delicate blue that stretched as far as the eye could see without a single cloud to mar it: perfect flying conditions. A jaunt on his broom would be good for his mind. But he didn't give it much consideration; something told him he should focus his efforts on studying. After all, he had a whole summer to fly around to his heart's content.
Madam Pince followed his progress through the library doors and past her desk with a steely glare, probably not helped by James' cheerful, "morning, Irma!" as he passed. She was just too easy a target. He wound his way round clusters of tables, already filling up with students, heading towards the rear of the library where his preferred work area was. It was quieter back there, and, having access to some windows, too, one of the few parts of the library with any natural light. James liked to know what time of day it was. Too much candlelight could be maddening.
He rounded one of the stacks and found himself confronted with an unexpected, but welcome, sight: Lily was sitting at a table in front of the window, sunlight streaming in to catch the red of her hair, making it look more like a flame than ever. Apt, that was, as he felt helplessly drawn forwards, towards her.
She glanced up, and a smile bloomed across her face, almost as if she didn't mean to react that way. "Hi, Potter," she greeted him, and he couldn't help but smile back. "Don't tell me you're actually going to do some work?"
He laughed, shifting his school bag from one shoulder to another. "It seemed like the right thing to do," he replied. "Mind if I join you?"
She gestured to the empty chairs, an implicit invitation, and he sat down, rooting around for his parchment and quill. "Not accompanied by your merry men this morning?"
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Merry men?"
Lily sighed, rather dramatically, he thought, although he enjoyed it nonetheless. "Ask Remus to tell you about Robin Hood."
James made a mental note to do just that. "I assume it's not a bird."
She giggled—a soft, lyrical sound, and one he wanted to hear more of, if he could—and shook her head. "He was a vigilante. Robbed from the rich to give to the poor. And he had a band of merry men who followed him around and…well, helped, I suppose."
He considered this thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, you're right, I am terribly wonderful and inspiring," he replied. "And I do have my loyal followers."
Lily rolled her eyes, unable to keep back her smile. "Christ, I didn't intend to inflate the ego any further, Potter."
"You may not have intended to," he winked. "And yet…" He nodded to her books. "What are you working on?"
She showed him the front cover—All in the Mind: Advanced Charms Through Non-Verbal Spells by L T Thornbury—and sighed. "I just have a feeling the Charms exam is going to be a stinker."
"Flitwick can be a sneaky one," James nodded. "But you're ace at Charms, what are you worried about?"
She glanced down at the book, giving him the opportunity to admire the gentle pink flush of her cheeks for a moment without fear of being caught out. "Well, thanks," she replied. "I just…I feel like my mind's been all over the place lately, that I've probably missed out on loads of stuff without even realising it."
His smile dimmed; now he just felt guilty. What sort of a friend was he that he'd as good as forgotten everything she was going through with her mum's illness? Too caught up in his own drama to notice that things weren't getting any easier for her. And now, too busy thinking about how pretty she looked in the soft morning light to consider that there was more to it than just a bit of exam anxiety.
"I'm sure you haven't," he told her. "Evans, you run rings around us all in Charms even on an off day." She looked back up at him, her expression quietly disbelieving, and he didn't give her a chance to argue with him before he spoke again. "Why don't we have a look through this stuff together? I think you'll be more help than I will, to be honest, but if you don't mind doing the heavy lifting…"
She pursed her lips, studying him a moment. "You didn't come here to revise Charms, though, did you?"
He shrugged. "It was on my list. And if that means I can put off Ancient Runes for a bit longer, then all the better."
A pause, and then, a sigh. "Alright. Thanks," she said. "If you're sure…"
"Never been more sure, Evans," he promised her. "Why don't I go and find that book Flitwick was talking about the other day, the one about intent in non-verbals, and we can start there?"
"Okay," she agreed, seeming a little brighter now. "Good idea."
He stood up with a scrape of his chair, giving her a quick grin before he wandered off into the stacks. As much as anything, a few minutes away from the table might help him resettle himself. Time with Lily always left him feeling off-kilter in some way—not always unpleasantly so, but in a way that was very difficult to ignore. And given the fact that she'd only recently stopped avoiding him, having assumed, it seemed, that he still fancied her, he didn't want to give her the impression that he was starting all that up again. She needed friends, not someone who was going to moon over the way her pale skin pinkened delicately at his words.
Merlin. This was a slippery slope.
He found the book easily enough, and had turned to head back to the table when he found Cadence there, suddenly. He'd been so in his own head that he hadn't even heard her approach; she was clutching a few books of her own, and looked equally surprised to see him. "Hi."
James felt a stab of guilt that his initial reaction was one of annoyance, that he couldn't just head straight back to the table and slip back into easy conversation with Lily. "Hi," he echoed. "Thought you said you guys were studying in your common room today?"
Cadence tilted her head to the side a little, the glossy golden curtain of hair rippling in the dappled sunlight that made it through the piles of books around them. "We are," she confirmed. "But we needed a few extra texts. Luce is panicking about Potions again."
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He'd felt fairly ambivalent about Lucy Miller, Cadence's best friend and, it seemed, permanent shadow, only really thinking that she seemed a bit intense. That feeling had changed once Sirius had told him what he'd overheard Lucy saying about Lily, the gossip and bile she had spouted that had made Lily avoid his company for several weeks. "Is there anything she doesn't panic about?"
Cadence frowned just a little. "What do you mean—"
He shrugged it off, and moved forward, pausing to drop a kiss to her cheek. He felt like he should make some kind of show of affection; it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? "Only joking," he said, a lie so blatant that he was sure she was as aware of it as he was. "Better get back to work. Charms doesn't revise itself."
She turned to follow him, a step or two behind. "You and Sirius finally decide you should put some effort in?" she asked, a joke which didn't have much energy behind it.
"Sirius is only putting effort into having a lie-in," he replied. They reached the end of the aisle, from which point they could see across the quiet study area to where Lily sat, engrossed in her book. At his side, he could sense the precise moment that Cadence spotted who was there, the moment she joined up Lily's presence, his bag on a nearby chair, his favourite quill discarded on the table. She took it all in, he knew, but didn't say anything. And he didn't think that was because he didn't give her the chance to. Maybe she'd got over her previous worries about Lily; maybe she'd decided to stay quiet until she did. "See you at lunch?"
Cadence paused; across the room, he saw Lily lift her head, catch sight of them; and then his girlfriend stepped into his line of vision, her hand sliding up his chest as she stood on tiptoes to press a long, lingering kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, she had an odd sort of look on her face, one he couldn't parse. "See you at lunch," she confirmed, then turned on her heel and walked away.
Back at the table, he wasn't sure who was more uncomfortable: him or Lily. He placed the book down between them, shifting into his chair. She didn't seem quite able to meet his gaze at first, and he wasn't sure he blamed her. "Right," he said, and hesitated. She finally looked up; he wished he knew what to say. How to undo this strange, strained atmosphere that now settled between them. "Intent…"
"Intent," Lily echoed, and they both forced their gazes down to the work at hand.
The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air.
Explain, with examples, the role of organised religion in muggle society, from the day to day lives of ordinary citizens to its place in government and the monarchy.
Excellent. Sirius had thoroughly enjoyed that series of lessons last term, and not just because it had so wonderfully widened his swear vocabulary. (His personal favourite? "Jesus H Christ and all his carpenter friends", something which had earned him a stern telling off from McGonagall when he'd dropped it in her class once.)
Although he had stuck with Muggle Studies initially to piss off his parents—it was such an easy win, after all—he had found over the years that he had something of a knack for it. True, he had a knack for just about everything, but something about the subject really caught his interest. It made him wonder all the more why people like his parents were so viciously against muggles: how could you hate people who invented microwaves? It didn't make any sense.
So not only did Muggle Studies at NEWT level really infuriate his parents, but it also made him into a better, more well-rounded person, and that could only be a good thing. Especially given how, after all the ways he had fucked up that year (and, he could admit, before), being a better person was a personal focus of his.
Being a better person had led him into offering to help a frantic-looking fifth year in the library the other day, a Hufflepuff boy who couldn't seem to get his head round the OWL syllabus for Charms. He usually left the helping and general do-goodery to the likes of James and Evans, but even Sirius could stretch to setting aside an hour or so to explain a few key concepts. And no one could accuse him of doing it for the praise, either, since everyone else had been revising in the common room.
Being a better person had also led him into this strange friendship with Ollerton. He could admit now that, yes, he had liked Owain before he'd shown an interest in Remus, that he'd found him to be funny and generally good company (for a Ravenclaw swot, of course). And he could admit—to himself, he wasn't that far along in his journey of self-discovery—that it was only Ollerton's relationship with Remus that had changed how Sirius felt for the boy. It didn't sit well with him that he had become the kind of person who held a grudge against someone, someone who was, as far as he could tell, a genuinely nice bloke, just because he was allowed to kiss and hold and cosy up to—
Well. Anyway. He didn't like being that person, and he didn't like the distance that lingered between himself and Remus, and so he'd set his issues aside and made an effort. That effort hadn't gone unnoticed, thank Merlin, and things with Moony were so much more normal again now that he could have planted a kiss on Ollerton's lips in thanks, if the idea didn't make him feel a bit altogether uncomfortable. As if that situation wasn't complicated enough without adding that whole dimension into it.
It was because of all this effort, because of his Better Person-ing, that he found himself an hour later wandering out of his Muggle Studies exam, falling into step with Owain and trying not to look distinctly alarmed when the boy said, quite abruptly, "Is Remus okay?"
Shifting his bag onto his other shoulder, Sirius shot Owain a baffled look. "Um…I think so? Why?"
Owain sighed, glancing around them—evidently, no one seemed to be listening in. "He's been a bit…distant, lately," he replied. He sounded so worried that Sirius stopped walking, nodding towards a stone bench tucked against the wall. "I wasn't sure if…well, if it's something I've done, or…"
Was this what being a better person entailed? Counselling his best friend's boyfriend instead of yelping with glee and throwing in something that would inevitably make the situation worse? Someone out there was really testing his resolve. "Have you done something?" he wondered.
"That's just it," Owain sat down, dumping his bag by his feet. "I don't think so, but—I'm not sure why else it could be happening."
Sirius sat down too, considering his options. He and Remus had talked a lot, lately, although nothing about his relationship with Ollerton: they were not at that stage yet. He'd been so busy enjoying the fact that his friend was talking to him again, that they were teasing and laughing and messing around like they used to, that he hadn't wanted to push it anyway. But he could hardly say that to Owain, could he? 'He seems perfectly fine when he's with me' wasn't exactly the most helpful thing to say. "He hasn't said anything to me about it," he offered. "If you're that worried—"
"Talk to him?" Owain sighed again. "I tried, yesterday. He got all weird, then distracted me by putting his hand down my trousers—"
"Okay, well," Sirius cut off that sentence before it got any further. There was a limit to what he was willing to listen to, in the name of being a good person. "Keep trying. I'm sure it's nothing, though. Maybe just exam stress?"
"Maybe," Owain allowed, but he still looked worried. He stared across at the opposite wall, lost in thought for a moment. "Sorry, I know this puts you in an awkward position. I just…" He hesitated, and glanced round to meet Sirius' eye. "I really like him."
Sirius swallowed. Such simple words. Surely they shouldn't hurt that much. "It's okay," he replied. "Wish I could be more help, mate. But really, I'd just try to talk to him again. I know that…" He drew in a steadying breath, and hoped it wasn't as obvious as it felt how difficult the following words were for him to say. "I know that he really likes you, too."
Owain managed a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Sirius." He gave him a pat on the shoulder, an awkward move which almost made him laugh—might have done, if the whole situation weren't quite so wretchedly painful. "You're a good friend."
Now, he did laugh. "I try." He stood up again. "Come on, we deserve a hearty lunch after that exam. Organised religion and the role of monarchy in governance? Felt more like a seventh-year paper than a sixth."
Owain stood up too, nodding his agreement as he gathered his things. "I'm starting to wonder if Professor Shales doesn't hate us all, a little bit."
Down in the Great Hall, the usual hustle and bustle of the lunch crowd left the room noisy enough to make much more conversation pointless. Halfway down the Gryffindor table, Sirius could see the other Marauders in deep discussion over their sandwiches. He glanced over at Owain, knowing what the good thing to do was. "Want to sit amongst the brave at heart today, Ollerton?"
Owain looked down the table too, watching Remus for a moment—Moony hadn't looked up, although Sirius got the impression that he had sensed them looking over at him—before he managed a half-hearted smile. "Maybe later," he replied, gesturing to his best friends over on the Ravenclaw table. "Need to catch up with Phil and Tom, or they'll accuse me of neglecting them." He patted Sirius on the shoulder again, a move that seemed less uncomfortable this time around. "Thanks for listening."
With a nod, Sirius and Owain parted ways, and Sirius trailed a little way down the hall until he reached the empty spot on the bench next to Peter. He plonked himself down, already reaching for a roast chicken sandwich. "Alright, lads?"
"Alright Pads," Pete grinned, waving a crisp at him. "How was Muggle Studies?"
"Piece of piss, mate," Sirius replied with an easy shrug; he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Remus glance back towards his boyfriend's table. "Shales is going to wet himself with delight when he reads my essay answers."
"Good to see your modesty hasn't taken a knock," James smirked opposite him.
"As if it could," he winked in reply. "How was Ancient Runes?"
"Awful," James sighed, at the same time Remus said, "Average."
Pete laughed. "Iris said it could've been worse."
"And Magical Creatures?" Sirius raised an enquiring eyebrow at Wormtail. "Get bitten by any bowtruckles?"
Peter held out his hands indicatively. "Not a single nip."
"Nice work, Wormy."
It wasn't too long before the platters of sandwiches held nothing but crumbs, the crisp bowl depleted—nothing left but a few disregarded apples, in fact. Examinations were hungry work. Sirius felt he could even squeeze in a few chocolate frogs, if only he had time to get back up to the dormitory before their double Potions lesson that afternoon. Something sweet would've gone down well, faced as they were with three hours of painstaking revision with Slughorn. Never mind—they'd be all the sweeter later.
Down in the dungeons, he settled into his usual bench alongside James and Remus—Lily sat at the one in front, talking quietly with Mary and Dorcas. Across the room, he could see Cadence looking over at them, a look of quiet discontent on her face. Great: yet another disgruntled partner. He hoped desperately that Cady didn't intend to bend his ear about James too. Surely he'd fulfilled his role as Listening Friend for the day. The week, even.
James, for his part, seemed not to have noticed the attention he was getting, too engrossed in the chapter Slughorn had suggested they read. Remus, though, was as perceptive as ever. "Alright, Pads?" he murmured.
Sirius cringed, briefly uncomfortable. He really didn't want to have this conversation. But if he didn't, then…well, what did that say about him? He didn't want to know. "Ollerton's worried that he's pissed you off," he said, quietly, simply.
Remus looked surprised. "…what?!"
Sirius shrugged, staring down at his textbook. "Says you're being a bit off with him. Doesn't understand why."
The silence that followed felt heavy, laden with many things unsaid, aspects of their relationship left firmly unexplored. Sirius didn't need to look up to guess at what Remus' face would look like—his brow would be creased, he'd be biting his lower lip, he'd be avoiding eye contact if at all possible. That was why it was not cowardly for Sirius to continue to stare at the desk, but rather a grand act of generosity, surely.
He could get behind that reasoning, as long as he didn't think about it too hard.
"Oh," Remus said at last, and Sirius chanced a quick glance over at him; he'd been right. Remus looked deeply awkward, like he was considering the likelihood that the ground might swallow him up and save him from saying anything else on the matter. "Right…"
"I said I didn't think there was, but that he should talk to you if he's worried about it." Sirius was aware, now, that James had started listening in; his friend caught his gaze briefly from the other end of the desk, eyebrow raised an infinitesimal amount in an unspoken question. Sirius shook his head, just barely, in reply. "So…prepare yourself for that, Moony."
"Right," Remus said again, his frown deepening. He looked over to where Ollerton sat on the other side of the dungeon, deep in conversation with his two best friends. "Thanks."
James, apparently, had decided now was the time to abandon the pretence that he wasn't eavesdropping. "Are you pissed off at him?"
Remus' cheeks flushed a rather becoming shade of pink. "No. Of course not."
Sirius decided it was best to look away. "I said maybe it's just exam stress."
James chuckled. "Wouldn't be the only one suffering, Moons."
"I'll talk to him," Remus said quietly. Sirius wished it was more reassuring than it was. "Sort things out."
Sirius let the subject go—of course he did, it wasn't like he was keen to dissect his friend's relationship woes—but of course, James didn't seem quite so eager to forget it all. After Potions, as Remus disappeared off into the crowd heading to dinner with Lily and the other girls at his side, James slung his arm around Sirius' shoulders. "You alright, mate?"
Sirius cast him a scathing glance, one that made absolutely no difference. James was a determined bugger when he wanted to be. "I'm fine," he replied. "Long day."
James nodded in understanding. "Can't have been easy," he said. "Ollerton talking to you about him and Moony…"
Sirius shrugged his friend's arm away, rolling his eyes. "He's my mate too," he pointed out. "No skin off my nose what he wants to talk about."
"Pads—"
"I said it's fine," he interrupted, and James stopped (causing the people walking behind them to sigh and tut in displeasure). "Just let it go, Prongs."
James frowned back at him, but nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Fine," he replied. "But one day you're going to actually need to talk about all this shit, you know that, right?"
He knew it. He knew it very well. Mary reminded him regularly that he couldn't keep things bottled up; Lily was constantly asking him how he was, asking if he wanted to talk. He knew that he had a myriad of options, as and when he wanted to open up: he was not short on people ready and willing to listen. But it just seemed so…pointless. What good would it do, spilling his guts to James or anyone else? It wouldn't change anything; it wouldn't change how he felt; it wouldn't change how…others felt about him. It would only hurt, and he wasn't sure how much more pain he could face this year.
Besides, fifteen or so years at his mother's knee had taught him something. Keep things locked up tight, or face punishment, face pain.
"I know," he replied.
It was all he could say, for now.
The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the air.
Although many of her fellow students did not enjoy working in the dungeons—too cold, too damp, too altogether creepy—Lily had always found it to be an environment that suited her. There was something about it that felt tucked away from the rest of the world, a place where nothing mattered apart from the strength of the flame under your cauldron and the hue of the liquid within it.
Of course, the practical exams had already been completed—aced, according to Slughorn, who had not bothered to hide his delight when he'd seen her final Sleeping Draught—and so they were now less concerned with actual cauldrons and more concerned with the theory behind the brewing. Lily had always enjoyed the theoretical side as much as she had the practical, finding it endlessly fascination to delve deeper into why this particular ingredient was first utilised or how that particular brewing approach yielded better results. She didn't like to blow her own trumpet, but this was an exam that she could sail through with flying colours even if she'd been blindfolded and was standing on her head. It wasn't arrogance—just the truth.
And besides, she needed to feel like something was going to go her way. She hadn't felt like she'd had a good handle on how the other exams had gone, a feeling she was not used to but that which she knew was down to the turmoil in her head and in her heart at the moment. As Mary had put it, it was good enough that she was able to put one foot in front of the other. And sixth year exam results—although important—weren't the be all and end all. If she needed to make her marks up next year ahead of NEWTs, she could.
She just had to get through Potions (easily done) and Arithmancy (less easily done), and then she could relax. Or at least, she could forget about studying for a bit, even if she didn't relax fully.
In a few weeks, they'd be back on the train, heading south. She'd have the whole summer in front of her, a time she normally would devote to seeing friends, reading, spending time with her parents. She knew, though, that this summer would be different. There was no way it could be anything else.
Her last letter from her dad had said the usual things: mum was resting comfortably; she had energy, now and then, to read her favourite books. That Petunia had been visiting a few times each week, driven up by her attentive and (not her dad's descriptor) irritating boyfriend Vernon. Lily took this all in as she always did—comforted, in some small way, that things had not changed yet; guilty, that she couldn't be there to help, to keep her mum company, to look after her father who was probably so busy looking after his wife that he'd likely started to neglect himself.
At least those were things she could make up for, over the summer. She would be the most helpful, most thoughtful daughter she could be, even if it meant not seeing any of her friends.
The Gryffindors had taken to planning summer exploits as a way to break up the stress of studying for exams. Around the fireplace a few nights ago, Marlene and Sirius had come up with a convoluted plan for them all to go camping near the coast. One morning at breakfast, James and Remus had suggested that they all attempt to sample every flavour available at Fortescue's ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley, in order to come up with a definitive ranking. Even Dorcas had joined in, crafting a plan to introduce "these pathetic purebloods" to the "wonder of muggle cinema" (and ignoring both James and Sirius' appalled replies that they had already been to a cinema, thank you very much, and that she was a 'pathetic pureblood' too).
There was no doubt that they were all appealing ideas. Not even a full year ago, their two friendship groups had barely intersected, largely due to the animosity between Lily and James. Now, it warmed her heart to see the bonds that had formed and strengthened amongst them all, that they all just assumed they'd spend time together in the summer holidays, as if they never did anything different.
And it certainly wasn't that Lily didn't want to see any of them. She did. She really did. She was maybe a bit afraid of how it made her feel, to think of going several months without seeing…her friends.
But her mum had to come first. She was surely more important than friends she would see in September again anyway. More important than…
She glanced up from her exam paper, catching sight of James at the bench in front of hers. He was scribbling furiously, an expression of thoughtfulness etched on his face. If she let herself, she could watch him work for a while.
But she didn't let herself.
One of the reasons she didn't let herself popped up at the dinner table, after they'd handed in their parchment and crowded up to the Great Hall together, famished and tired.
"Alright, Cadence?" Sirius had spotted her before James did. "Potions treat you well?"
Cadence sighed, brushing her golden locks from her face. "I don't know, it was harder than I thought it would be," she replied, before turning to James. Lily looked away, not wanting to take in this interaction. "Want to join me at the Ravenclaw table tonight? I've missed you today…"
There was a pause, long enough that Lily let her gaze flick up briefly from her plate of chicken stew; James' expression was very hard to read. "Eh, I've already started eating, Cady," he told her, gesturing to his fork demonstratively. "I'll find you after pudding, yeah?"
Cadence looked disappointed, and, inexplicably, glanced over towards Lily for a moment. "Alright," she agreed, her tone short—shorter than Lily had ever heard her speak before. "See you later, then."
A brief silence fell as James' girlfriend walked away, before Sirius let out a heavy sigh. "That went well, didn't it?"
James bit out a terse, "piss off, Padfoot," before returning to his dinner.
Lily didn't know what to make of it—any of it, really—and tried her best to focus on eating, and conversation with Mary and Remus across from her instead. She definitely didn't notice or care when, after the treacle tart had been polished off, James stood and made his way over to the Ravenclaws, looping his arm around Cadence's tiny waist and murmuring something in her ear before they disappeared together, the blonde blushing and smiling broadly.
Apparently, Marlene had noticed her not noticing or caring, because as soon as they reached the dorm—Mary and Dorcas still down in the common room, cracking the books for their last exam the next day—her friend shut the door firmly and turned to Lily with an expression that read: don't mess with me.
"Mar?" she frowned, watching with some concern as the other girl moved to sit, legs crossed, at the end of Lily's bed.
"Something's going on," Marlene stated. She reminded Lily of the barristers on the television dramas her mum liked to watch: calm and sure, ready to state her case. "With you and Potter."
Lily blanched, joining Marlene on the bed. "What? No, it's not."
"I don't mean that I think you're having it off with him behind Dearborn's back," Marlene clarified, an eyebrow raised when that statement caused Lily's cheeks to heat tellingly. "I mean that you're being…strange, around him."
Lily sighed, tucking her legs up under her as she leaned back against the headboard. "Am I?"
"You know you are." Marlene paused, reaching out to give her knee a reassuring pat. "For a while you ignored him, and now you're mates again but acting oddly, especially when Cadence comes around flicking her perfect hair over her shoulder…"
Lily pursed her lips, wondering how little she could get away with saying. She didn't like her chances.
"And that's not even considering how strangely Cadence is acting towards you," Marlene continued, apparently warming to the theme. "I thought you two were—well, not best friends, by any stretch, but friendly?"
"We are," Lily replied, pausing before correcting herself. "We…were. She thinks I'm after James."
It was a few seconds, at most, but felt like much longer, silence settling over the room; it forced her to lift her gaze, to meet Marlene's eyes. Her friend was watching her, a look of quiet sympathy on her face: a look which made Lily feel utterly ridiculous and utterly loved, all at the same time.
"You couldn't stand the sight of him barely five minutes ago," Marlene said, choosing her words carefully. "And now she thinks you fancy him?"
Now it was Lily's turn to fall quiet; she felt so weary, suddenly, like the weight of all the things she was keeping locked up inside was dragging her down, would sink her to the bottom of an endless ocean if she didn't do something to stop it.
"I think maybe I do," she said at last, her voice very soft, almost inaudible. She forced herself to hold Marlene's gaze. "Fancy him…"
Lily expected many responses: derision, sarcastic laughter, scorn. What she didn't expect was the gentle, fond smile that lit up Marlene's face. "You do?"
She sighed, shifting position, fiddling with the end of her jumper sleeve. "I don't want to," she defended herself. "Trust me, I've been trying not to…"
"Lil." Marlene leaned forward, taking Lily's hands in her own. Her touch was warm, a comfort she hadn't realised she needed. "I can't tell you how relieved I am that you're finally admitting it."
Lily raised her eyebrows, blinked, trying to let her friend's words sink in. "Admitting—?"
"My love, you've been battling with something like this for bloody ages," Marlene replied, squeezing her hand. "I thought that it was either you fancy him, or you've been very slowly plotting his murder."
Lily couldn't help a laugh, then, something like relief—that at least someone else knew, that she wasn't alone with this feeling anymore—sinking over her. "Sometimes it's both, Mar."
"Well, that's only natural when it comes to Potter," Marlene agreed fondly. "When are you going to tell him?"
"Tell him?" Lily repeated, aghast; even the thought filled her with horror. "Are you joking?"
She raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Deadly serious, babe."
"I can't tell him!" Lily said, shaking her head. "He—he has a girlfriend! He hasn't fancied me in ages!"
Marlene let out an undignified snort. "He has a girlfriend who he doesn't seem to enjoy spending time with," she pointed out. "Don't tell me you haven't seen the way Dearborn is getting increasingly desperate to keep her claws in him?"
Lily hadn't noticed anything of the sort, probably because she tried not to watch them together if she could avoid it. "I can't tell him," she said again. "It's just—it's a passing thing. I'll get over it, and he'll carry on dating his lovely blonde girlfriend, and—"
"Anyone with eyes and a brain knows that he fancies you back, Lil," Marlene frowned. "He's never stopped."
She shook her head again. "I just…can't," she sighed, closing her eyes a moment. "Please don't tell Mary or Dor. I think—I'll have the summer to get past all this, and then we can start fresh in September." She wasn't even aware of how sad she sounded when she spoke again. "We're better off as friends."
Marlene closed the gap between them, drawing her into a hug. "I won't say anything," she promised, her voice muffled against Lily's hair. "But I don't think you should dismiss it all so easily…"
Marlene's words lingered in her mind throughout the evening, and throughout an uneasy, restless night of sleep: in fact, she was still thinking about them as she waited outside the Arithmancy classroom the next day, wondering if maybe her friend was right. She'd spent so much of her life dismissing or minimising her own feelings, to make others more comfortable: making herself smaller, less magical, less muggle, for whoever her audience was. Maybe it was okay for her to be upfront about how she felt. Maybe it was okay that she felt the way she did.
She'd just decided that she would find James later, try to talk to him—a thought which, though exciting, also filled her with a kind of terror she hadn't felt in a long time—when she became aware of hurried footsteps approaching. The gathered sixth years turned almost as one, watching as Professor McGonagall neared, her face pale and drawn. Her gaze found Lily's; a moment of hesitation so uncharacteristic that to see it felt like the world being tipped on its axis. And somehow, without her even having said anything yet, Lily knew what was coming.
She knew, now, that everything had changed.