Chapter 21: Running Barefoot and Feeling Free

Sometimes, the English weather could be relied upon to be utterly unreliable. After the heatwave of the last summer, this one had been wildly unpredictable: stormy one day, cloudy the next. It didn't much matter, in the great scheme of things (or at least, that was what James' mother told him, trying to fend off any complaints from her son), as most activities could be adjusted for the weather with a bit of ingenuity and a can-do attitude.

But as June turned to July, the Gryffindors first get-together approached, and if the sun didn't shine, it would pretty well ruin things. Sure, they could probably just pile indoors and play games instead of swimming, but…that didn't seem like a decent enough compromise.

"Why?" Sirius had asked, a few days before the event. He had arranged his face to seem as neutral as possible, but James recognised the hint of a smirk that threatened to tug at his lips; he recognised the glint of mischief in his friend's eyes. "Why does it matter if we don't get to swim?"

James was aware of what Sirius was hinting at, and he'd be damned if he was going to acknowledge it, because that would only give the bastard more ammunition. Besides, it wasn't true: he didn't want to swim just because it meant they'd all be in their swimming costumes. In, maybe, bikinis. For example.

No, he wasn't that depraved—he wished his friend would give him more credit than that. It would just be nice, wouldn't it, for the sun to shine on their day together? Life was hard enough at the moment without the weather ruining things too.

James woke with the birds on the day of their gathering, and took a cautious look out of his window, relief settling over him. The sky was a clear, bright blue, the sun already catching every ripple of the river that meandered lazily past the end of the garden. Malmsmead was, he had to admit, beautiful in the sunshine, even if it was about as boring as villages got. Hell, it wasn't even really a village; a scattering of houses, a single pub, and a bridge did not a village make. If you wanted anything to happen, you had to go a bit further afield. But that was okay: James had always been able to make things interesting himself.

There was no point in going back to sleep now—he was too wired, ready to get started on the day. Unsurprisingly, the house was quiet as he made his way downstairs; there was no one yet in the kitchen to stop him from making himself three rounds of toast and marmalade, or to make him clear away the butter knife or wipe up the crumbs; there was no one outside as he ventured out onto the lawn, making his way over to the shed that housed their brooms. It was perfect flying weather, and as long as he remembered a disillusionment charm, he could go where he liked. Burn off some of this strange energy that was pulsing through him.

Devon spread out below him as he soared higher, the air cool, crisp up there in a way it hadn't been on the ground. If he swerved in one direction, he could find himself over Exmoor; in the other, he could see the Bristol Channel as it stretched out to the sea, waves catching the early morning light. There was a restlessness in him, a sense of anticipation for the day ahead of him, that left him not even able to commit to a direction to fly in. In the end, he looped around aimlessly for nearly an hour, not doing much but still enjoying the wind in his hair.

By the time he made his way back into the house, his parents were in the kitchen: Fleamont, whistling as he fried up some bacon; Euphemia, flipping through a stack of post with a look of mild irritation. That irritation only seemed to grow when she caught sight of her son. "You know, my dearest boy," she said, brandishing an envelope in his direction (Fleamont caught his eye briefly, trying to hide his smile), "I would so love it if you could leave a note when you go swanning off on your own—"

"Mum—" he sighed.

"So I don't find an empty bed and no sign of you anywhere," she carried on. "Imagining you dead in a ditch somewhere, or worse, fallen off your broom and with every bone broken somewhere in the middle of Exmoor…"

"Fallen off my broom," he repeated with a snort; he moved to sit at the table next to her. "As if I've ever fallen off a broom in my life."

"There's a first time for everything, James," Euphemia pointed out, trying to stay stern. It was clearly harder than she had anticipated. "It takes a matter of minutes to leave a note. Less, if you do it magically."

"Alright, fine," he held his hands up in supplication—just in time for Fleamont to deliver a plate of bacon and eggs. "If it'll stop your worrying, I'll leave a note from now on."

"Good boy," she patted his cheek fondly. "Sirius is still in bed, I did try to tempt him down with the promise of bacon but he chose to ignore me."

Sirius had not yet got used to the relatively early starts in the Potter household, and James wondered if he ever would. Euphemia couldn't understand wanting to sleep past nine, probably in part because James never had—there was always something more interesting to be doing. He could sleep when he was dead.

Sirius, on the other hand, didn't believe in getting up before lunchtime in the holidays, and probably wouldn't have done at all today if it weren't for the fact that all their friends would be turning up mid-morning. It had been an on-going battle of wills since the start of the holidays, Sirius' deep-set stubbornness proving to be a fine match for Euphemia's strong will and determination to see things done her way. Fleamont and James had enjoyed listening in on the efforts of the matriarch each morning from the breakfast table, but she was on a losing streak and she knew it. She'd only managed to drag him out of bed before lunch once so far, and that was through rather more devious means than just offering him fried food: she had arranged for every poster in his room to start singing simultaneously, loudly and completely off-key, something which had been a nifty piece of magic, but which Fleamont had told her was taking her cause a step too far. (Hard to deny when the noise had sent Sirius, shrieking swear words, out into the hallway in nothing but his pants, frightening the house elf half to death.)

"He'll get up when he's ready," Fleamont told his wife, joining them at the table with his own plate. "Let the boy sleep if he wants to."

"Honestly," Euphemia tsked, a familiar refrain. "Why anyone would want to waste such a beautiful day as this is beyond me…"

"When are your friends arriving?" Fleamont asked.

"Any time from eleven," James replied through a mouthful of eggs (which earned him a look of disapproval from his mum, of course). "I should think most of them will come through the Floo. Mary and Lily are apparating in, I think."

"Well, we'll be heading off to your aunt's not long after that," Euphemia said. Her sister lived a few hours away, on the coast, and normally James would've happily joined them for a visit: his Aunt Isolde could always be relied on for entertaining anecdotes and a flawless carrot cake. But it didn't hurt that his parents were clearing out for the day—less chance of one of them saying something embarrassing to someone he'd rather not be embarrassed in front of. "Make sure you don't just get drunk and splash about all day. Eat some food and line your stomachs. There's plenty in the fridge and the larder."

James smirked. "So we can still get drunk?"

Euphemia rolled her eyes. "My darling boy, I am not so naive as to think you won't be cracking into the liquor cabinet as soon as we've left the house."

"Just don't touch the expensive stuff," Fleamont requested amiably. "You can have your run of the rest of it."

"As long as it's in moderation," Euphemia added quickly, with a pointed look at her husband.

"Of course," he agreed. "I thought that was implied."

"It was," James assured him with a grin.

"Good," his mother nodded. "Alright. Eat up, and then you can try to raise Sirius from his slumber."

That familiar, horrible compression feeling, and in a flash, the two girls found themselves in a winding country lane. Mary nodded, satisfied, and linked her arm through Lily's as they started to walk. It was noticeably warmer here in Devon than it had been back in Cokeworth; it had been sunny, true, but the air didn't have the same sticky quality to it, a warning that the day was only going to get hotter as time ticked by. "You know, I think I'm starting to get used to it," Mary was saying, squinting in the sunshine. Her sunglasses, huge things which she had chosen because, she said, she'd seen a picture of Olivia Newton-John wearing a similar pair, sat ignored on the top of her head. "I haven't been sick after apparating for months."

Lily smiled faintly. "I still don't like it."

"Well, surely no one likes it," Mary considered; they rounded a corner, and the tall hedgerows gave way to a set of open gates. A long stretch of cobblestoned path led the way up to the Potter house; she'd only been once before, for James' birthday, but it already seemed familiar. "But it's a necessary evil, isn't it? Since we aren't on the Floo network."

In a way, Lily was glad to be talking about something as mundane as the transportation options open to them as muggleborn witches. It made life seem so normal, so utterly average, when it was clearly anything but. It also distracted her from the strange, slightly nervous sensation she felt as they got closer to the front door. She had no reason to be nervous. She was happy, to see her friends, to get away from the quiet sadness of the Evans home, a place which felt empty without her mother there. A place so full of reminders, everywhere she turned, that sometimes it hurt just to be there at all.

This was better. Being out and about. She wasn't nervous.

"Maybe I should transfigure my swimwear into a one-piece," she said; she could see Mary turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye, one eyebrow raised. It was easier to keep her own gaze straight ahead, at the quickly-approaching front door, painted a classic, postbox-red—a colour she so readily associated with James. Best not to overthink why that was, she decided. "It can't be that difficult, can it? And it would be…you know…it would be more comfortable."

"I have no idea how you'd even go about that," Mary replied, and gave her arm a squeeze. "But of course you can, if you want to. Ask James, I bet he knows how."

Somehow that idea was even worse than the thought of just wearing the bikini she had on under her clothes. She wasn't sure why. Again, it seemed better not to overthink why. "I'll leave it. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"It will," Mary agreed; they came to a stop outside the front door, and Mary turned fully to face her. "I'm so glad you decided to come after all, Lil. You know we all love you and we're here for whatever you need."

She did know that: her friends had been nothing short of wonderful. Marlene had visited the week before, sitting with Lily in the garden of her tiny Cokeworth house as she cried over some old photos she'd found. Remus had been writing to her every day, gentle, nonsensical stuff about what he'd been up to, or a new variety of chocolate bar he'd discovered—each letter was like a breath of fresh air, a distraction from the darkness in her heart. Sirius was less prolific, but had sent her a worn, well-loved copy of Le Petit Prince, with a note saying how soothing he found it. Dorcas and Mary had taken turns phoning her, keeping her on the line for hours on end if she needed it, swapping jokes and telling diverting stories from their summers so far, like how Dor's father was insistent that she do some work experience with him at the Ministry, and how he had been the epitome of unimpressed when she'd launched into a rant about all the corruption in their current government.

And then there was James. After she'd written to him, saying she would be joining them in their summer plans after all, he had taken a few days to reply—long enough that Lily had started to doubt whether her note had ever arrived at all. It had been mortifying, really, the level of relief she'd felt when an owl had swooped in through the kitchen window (startling Petunia—a happy bonus) to deliver his reply. After that, they'd written back and forth, rarely going a day without some kind of communication. Nothing of consequence, not really: James talked about the flying conditions that day, or something his mother had been scolding him over, or the absolute cheek of Professor Merryton giving them so much reading for the holidays; Lily talking about anything, really, that wasn't connected to her mum. She kept each of his letters, bundled up in the top drawer of her bedside table, and she didn't think it was just because she fancied him. Fancying someone was about how they looked, wasn't it? About their smile, or their eyes, or their incredibly-toned arms that looked distractingly good when their shirt sleeves were rolled up.

This was more. This was comfort, a warmth and a safety that she couldn't explain away. It wasn't as simple as friendship, or as base as a crush. It was a complicated, tangled up thing that wrapped itself around her heart and wouldn't let go, even if she wanted it to. It was something in the sloping scrawl of his handwriting, the way it seemed so familiar; it was in the feeling she got, when she finished each missive, that feeling like all the emotions inside her wanted to come spilling out, something about him that made her feel split apart, but in the best, most insane possible way.

She had hated him, barely a year ago. And now, here she was. Holding onto his letters as if they might save her from drowning.

But this was lunacy, and she knew it. She found herself often having to repeat the reasons to herself, a mantra that needed to stick in her head lest she truly lose herself in all of this.

One, he was her friend. They had only become friends at all relatively recently. It was a tenuous enough situation without her complicating it all with these unbidden feelings.

Two, he saw her as a friend, and had done so for a long time now. Any tiny, passing crush he'd had on her in the past was long gone.

Three, he was in a relationship, and happily so, as far as she knew. Marlene liked to make little comments about Cadence being on borrowed time, but Lily was reluctant to get her hopes up. Those two had been together since Christmas, a long-term relationship by most of her peers' standards, and especially so for James, who'd never had more than a string of dates before. He and Cadence were the picture-perfect pureblood couple, both gorgeous and kind and popular. She was a Dearborn, for Merlin's sake. Practically Hogwarts royalty. Next year she'd probably be Head Girl, following in her brother's footsteps, and with James as quidditch captain, they'd be the golden couple of Hogwarts.

Not that she held any bitterness, of course. It was just the bald truth of it.

And she could be friends. She could parcel up these feelings of hers, tuck them away and let them slowly fade away, back into the nothingness they had sprung from. She didn't want to ruin anything. Not now, when there was something too lovely to be ruined.

She conjured up a smile for her friend's benefit, and tugged her into a brief but heartfelt hug. "Thanks, Mare," she said. "Come on. Let's have some fun."

After Euphemia had wandered in talking about bacon (he'd been mainly asleep, still, and so that word was the only one that had filtered through the haze), Sirius had fully intended to sleep just a little while longer and then get up. Just half an hour, he reasoned to himself, burying his head deeper into his pillowy cocoon; half an hour, then he would shower and show his face downstairs.

Best laid plans, though. Half an hour slipped by all too easily, and he next came to consciousness aware of two things.

One: someone had opened the curtains, and bright sunshine was now spilling across his face.

Two: someone (probably the same someone) was sitting at the bottom of his bed—sitting, in fact, on his left foot, which was why he was starting to lose sensation in it.

Without opening his eyes, he heaved a put-upon sigh and muttered, "Bugger off, Prongs, I will get up when I'm good and ready."

A voice, one he wasn't expecting, replied. "I think he's given you up for dead." Now his eyes flew open, and he saw Mary, smiling back at him. In shorts and a strappy top, she looked more tanned than he'd ever seen her. Then again, he'd never seen her in the holidays before. "So I offered to come up here and rouse you from your coma."

Sirius couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, smirk ever ready. "Oh did you—"

"Rouse, Black," she interrupted, although with a grin of her own. "Not arouse."

"Shame." He pulled his foot out from under her and himself into a sitting position, slouching back against the headboard with a lazy yawn. "You're early. Keen to swim?"

"Early?" she repeated, with a roll of her eyes. "It's almost half eleven, Sleeping Beauty."

"Oh." Well, these things happened. He'd obviously needed his sleep. "Is everyone here?"

"Lily and I came together," she replied. "Peter's here, and Marl and Dor. Just Remus to go and then we've got the set."

That made sense: when it came to anything outside of his schooling commitments, Moony was usually either ridiculously early, or embarrassingly late. He seemed to work in his own little time zone (in fact, James had decided in fourth year that was the case, and named it Central Moony Time) and, frankly, it was a miracle he was ever on time for his lessons. And it wasn't even as if he wanted to make a dramatic entrance, as Sirius sometimes did: Remus wasn't exactly one for drawing attention to himself. He just got distracted doing other things, or lost track of the time, or read the clock wrong in a quick glance and assumed it was an hour later than it actually was. One of the many endearing qualities in their friend.

It only then occurred to Sirius that Remus might bring Owain, and it sank away any sense of happiness he had felt thinking about his friend. They hadn't discussed it; James hadn't invited Cadence, as far as he knew, but that didn't mean it wasn't an option. It wouldn't be unreasonable, for Owain to come along; they all got on well with the Ravenclaw, and he was his boyfriend.

And it wasn't as if he minded, one way or another. He just felt stupid for not realising it was a possibility. He would've liked to have had a bit more time to prepare himself.

Swallowing down these thoughts, and all the accompanying emotion, he swung his legs off the side of the bed. "I 'spose I should get dressed, then."

"Good idea," Mary agreed, hopping off the bed and sending him a wink. "Make yourself pretty for us, Black. See you down there."

A bracing shower, then, and a change of clothes, something suitable for what looked to be swiftly turning into a sweltering day. It had been strange, at first, to think that the Marauders would be willingly spending time with the Gryffindor girls—their relationships had been so up and down, changing with the swing of a pendulum, for so long that if anyone had asked him even a year ago, he would've said he was more likely to hang out with Filch for the holidays.

Actually, that wasn't entirely fair. They all knew that it was the James and Lily of it all that had kept them apart until now.

It was fascinating to watch them change, slowly bloom from something she would have probably claimed was close to hatred (denial was a powerful tool) into whatever they had going on at the moment. Sirius had observed them after the funeral, quiet gestures and words and touches that might have been innocuous, if it hadn't been the two of them. James said he was over her, that he had long moved on from his 'crush', as he called it, or his 'lovesick obsession' as Sirius called it. Well, James was a dab hand at convincing himself that the sky was green and the grass was blue, and as far as he could tell, Lily wasn't much better.

She'd never said as much to him, but Sirius wasn't thick. He'd noticed when the way Lily looked at James started to change—and the way she hadn't looked at him. Most frustrating of all, of course, was that neither of them seemed to realise what the other was feeling.

Honestly. People could be so dense.

By the time he made it downstairs, the group had already spilled out of the kitchen, leaving the door ajar and a tell-tale trail of crumbs from the half-demolished chocolate flapjacks that Euphemia had left on the kitchen table for "if you get peckish". He followed the sound of laughter and chatter outside, down the steps and onto the lawn. He paused, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight with his hand to watch his friends: James and Peter, sprawled out on the sloping banks of the river, grinning over some shared amusement; Marlene and Dorcas, already having waded in up to their shins and having what looked like a heated debate; and Lily and Mary, still standing, just a little way off from the others and murmuring—they had the look of a pair who didn't want to be overheard.

The sentimental part of him, the part he usually kept squashed down so that only a few people ever saw it, reared up inside his chest.

Yeah, it was a change, them all together. But he could admit it was a good one.

His mother was officially fussing over him. Hope clucked her tongue, rifling through the larder cupboard. "I know it's in here somewhere—"

"Mum," Remus said, no hint of exasperation in his voice. It was difficult to be irritated when she just wanted him to enjoy himself. "Don't worry. There'll be food there."

"Oh now, Re, I can't send you to the Potters empty-handed!" Her expression cleared and she pulled her bounty out: a battered tin, lid fastened tight. "Ah ha! There you go, love. Welsh cakes, and I only made them yesterday."

He accepted the tin with a smirk. "If you only made them yesterday, why were they so well hidden?"

Hope fixed him with a look which was probably supposed to be a reprimand. "You know very well why, Remus John Lupin—"

"You don't have to hide them from me," he laughed, and paused to step closer, to dot a kiss to her cheek. "Can I go now? I'm already late…"

"'Course you can, love," she patted his cheek fondly. "Give my love to your friends. Think you'll be back for supper?"

Remus stuffed the tin of cakes into the canvas bag his mum had already weighed him down with (sun cream, a flask with some water, a spare t-shirt—honestly, he felt like a five year old being carted off for a day trip, it was a miracle she hadn't included a sandwich and an apple). "Not sure."

"Well, I'll save you some, and you can always have it tomorrow for lunch if you don't need it today." She turned back to the table, where the newspaper sat, open to the crossword. "Off with you, then. Have fun!"

With a wave, he trooped out of the backdoor into the warmth of the morning. There were wards set up around their house—his dad's paranoia at work—and so he had to head out through the garden gate and into the thick copse of trees that edged their property before he was far enough away to apparate.

In a flash, he was no longer amongst the shade of the familiar oak trees but in an equally familiar country lane. He set off, not wanting to linger out here in the unrelenting heat—the tall hedges which loomed over him from either side of the road didn't offer any relief, not quite tall enough to do anything but leave him feeling slightly claustrophobic. That hadn't changed since the first time he'd apparated to James' house, although that had been side-along with his father, which probably had contributed to the feeling a bit.

It didn't take long before he was unlatching the side gate (the front door had gone unanswered, not that he was particularly surprised, given how late he was) and ambling around the house, following the distant sound of laughter. It had taken him a while to feel like he belonged at Hogwarts—always waiting for his secret to come out, to be abandoned and shut out, and although that was still a possibility (and, realistically, always would be, no matter where he was), he had finally found his place with the Marauders. That sense of camaraderie, of genuine friendship—of brotherhood—was something that made it easier to open himself up to other things, too. To being friends with Lily, to not having to keep everyone else at arm's length. To Owain.

Although…that was a complicated subject in itself.

He was pulled from that train of thought by an exuberant call from the bottom of the garden. "Moony!" James' face was lit up with a grin, and he was waving with a slight air of the maniacal, as if he worried that Remus wouldn't be able to see them. "Nice of you to join us!"

"My apologies," he called back, crossing the lawn with long strides. They had all turned to look at him, something which, a few years ago, he would've found entirely intimidating. He didn't love being the focus of attention now, but he could cope with it better. Hanging around with James and Sirius, who lived their lives naturally in the spotlight, he had to get used to it eventually. "Mum wouldn't let me leave without half the house and some Welsh cakes."

Pete leapt up from his reclined position on the grass. "Mrs Lupin, you absolute belter," he grinned, moving closer to selflessly take the canvas bag from Remus' shoulder. "I think we can forgive you, Moony."

"And all it took was something covered with sugar," James winked. "Easy crowd."

Sirius had watched his approach, just like the others, but remained stationed between Mary and Lily, his hands in his pockets. Evidently, he felt he should say something. "No Ollerton today?"

Again…a complicated subject. Remus focused on kicking off his shoes and socks. "He's gone to Norfolk for the week with his family," he replied. "Then they're going to France."

"Iris is in Norfolk too!" Pete said, already prising open the cake tin. "But we're Flooing every night. She misses me too much otherwise."

"Every night?" Dorcas repeated, a look close to disgust on her face. "That's…"

"Very sweet," Lily interjected. "That's very sweet."

"Yes, very sweet," Sirius agreed. "Are we swimming, then? I'm starting to sweat out of my eyeballs over here."

Nobody seemed to disagree, and clothes were flung aside in short order. Remus hung back: he didn't like to bring more attention to himself, but if he took his t-shirt off, the girls would definitely have some follow-up questions. Quite aside from the scars that littered his torso and arms from transformations before his friends' success becoming Animagi, there was also his original bite scar—a vicious, raised thing that wrapped around his left side, bracketing his ribs, a constant reminder of the night that changed his life, a reminder that could not be soothed away with any number of healing spells or creams or potions. It wasn't the kind of thing he could easily explain away: it was so obviously a bite mark, the ridges from sharp teeth, the way it curved across his skin.

It would give everything away. So, he had to hope that no one would ask him why he kept his top on.

James sidled over, already stripped down to his trunks. Another reason to prefer to keep his shirt on—Remus didn't have the same quidditch-honed body that his friend had. Even Sirius, who, as far as he knew, did little to no exercise if he could avoid it, was toned, like he'd been carved from granite. Remus didn't like to invite the comparisons if he didn't have to.

"Don't worry, mate." Of course James would understand: he should've seen that one coming. The boy had a sixth sense for his friend's discomfort. "If anyone says anything, I'll create a distraction."

Remus couldn't help his smile. "Yeah? What, you'll drown yourself?"

"Or just enough for someone to rescue me," he grinned, casting his gaze around casually—and stopping, abruptly.

Remus followed his gaze to where Lily had peeled off her t-shirt and shorts; she seemed self-conscious in her green bikini, although judging by James' reaction alone, she had no reason to be. She stood still, statue-like, tense, as Mary rubbed copious amounts of sun cream into her pale back and shoulders. "Um…Prongs…?"

It took a clear of his throat before James remembered himself, looking back around guiltily. "Hmm?"

Remus raised a pointed eyebrow. "Cadence not coming today?"

James frowned, and raked his hand through his hair sheepishly. "Oh," he replied. "No. We broke up."

That was not what he had expected. "Wait…really?"

A shrug, as if the news was of little consequence. "Well, I broke up. She's…a bit pissed off about it all, to be honest."

"Bloody hell…" Remus frowned, studying his friend's face. "I didn't realise—"

"No, well," James let his gaze wander, back over to their friends: Lily was now rubbing sun cream into her chest, and he quickly tore his eyes away again, back to Remus. "I haven't made a big thing about it. Haven't even told Pads yet."

Remus paused. "You haven't told Sirius?" he asked. Given that the pair now lived under the same roof all year round, and given Sirius' prodigious skill at getting information out of his friends, it was nothing short of bizarre that he didn't know James' news. "Why not?"

James tried to shrug it off, even as he seemed to realise within seconds that that response wouldn't be enough. "He'll…have his comments to make about why," he replied, and sighed. "I thought I'd save myself the irritation for a while longer."

"About…why?" Remus repeated, and this time it was his gaze that moved to Lily. "...ah."

James shook his head. "Let's not," he said, an unusual tension in his voice. "Not today, yeah?"

"Right," Remus agreed, and offered his friend a small, reassuring smile. If he could be relied upon for anything, surely it was keeping quiet. "C'mon, then. I can tell you're dying to swing off the branch into the river before Sirius gets the chance to do it first."

"That git," James nodded quite cheerfully. "Acts like he wasn't scared shitless to do it that first time."

"Yes, yes," Remus nudged him as they set off down the slope. "You're terribly brave and impressive."

"Piss off, Moony." His friend shot him a grin, something like gratitude in his eyes. "But you're right, I am."

Lily watched as sunlight danced across the tumbling surface of the water, tickling her legs. It was cold, bordering on icy, but it made for a refreshing opposition to the sun, now high in the sky and showing no sign of relenting. It was peaceful here—would be more so, of course, without their group of rowdy teenagers—and it felt like you could go for miles before you would meet another soul. She was so used to the constant hum of living in a busy town, where she had to venture quite a long way from home before finding a patch of green larger than a postage stamp. In fact, the stretch by the river they had all trooped to after the funeral the other week was about the only countryside-adjacent area she'd ever visited around her hometown, unless you counted the run-down, weed-filled play area around the corner from her house, which she did not. She'd always wanted to live in the countryside—her imagination spurred on by Enid Blyton and Swallows and Amazons—and used to beg her parents to move them all away, to let them lead that perfect bucolic life.

Maybe her mum wouldn't have got ill if they'd lived in a country cottage, away from the smog, the pollution of Cokeworth. Or maybe, even if she had become unwell, the treatment would've taken better, in a home away from the noise and stresses of the city. Maybe there would've been more they could have done; maybe a better quality of life would've given her body something to fight for.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

That seemed to be all she'd been doing for the past fortnight—the 'what if's just cycled round and round her head, all the ways she could have possibly stopped this from happening. And then there were the even more torturous thoughts, the ones with jagged edges like broken glass: the ways she could have been there more… if she hadn't been away at school for so much of the year… if she had made the effort to go home for every holiday, instead of hiding away from Petunia and her pointed disdain… if McGonagall had found her even five minutes earlier…

She could have said goodbye. Could have hugged her mum, one more time.

She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, a swift, sharp movement. God, crying again. She was starting to wonder if the tears would ever dry up, if she was just locked, now, in this pattern of breaking down and getting by, over and over.

"You know what the problem is, don't you?"

Lily looked around from her spot, hoping she didn't look too much like she'd been about to sink into another bout of tears. Marlene, resplendent in a salmon-pink and white bikini, was in the process of tying her thick curls back from her face, squinting in the bright sunlight. "What's that, Marl?"

"Well," Marlene said, wading in until she was level with Lily; she tried to suppress a shiver, "even if the temperature is high today, it's still England, isn't it?"

Lily paused. "Um…yes?"

"And the water is bloody freezing," Marlene added. Lily followed her friend's gaze, over to where the boys were already splashing about up to their shoulders. "I didn't realise that today would be the day that Pettigrew would see my nips."

Lily couldn't help a laugh at that. "I don't think any of us realised that—"

"Through my top, obviously," Marlene grinned, looking back at Lily. "I'm not advocating for skinny dipping."

"Thank Christ for that," Lily replied. "You'd frighten poor Peter to death, I think."

"Obviously, Sirius has seen my tits," Marlene continued, stretching her arms above her head—she brought to mind a cat, preening in the sunshine. "And I don't know why, but I feel like Potter and Lupin don't much care about my nipples. Pettigrew, though…"

Lily reached over to lace her fingers through Marlene's, guiding them a few steps forward; the water now skimmed past their hips. "You've given this a lot of thought, Marl," she said. "What makes you think the other two aren't interested?"

Marlene shot her a dubious look. "Are you joking?"

Lily wasn't sure why she felt mildly alarmed at her friend's expression; she thought they were just having an idle, friendly conversation. "No…?"

Marlene sighed dramatically. "Lupin isn't interested in women, is he," she pointed out. "And James…"

Lily paused. Swallowed. "...has a girlfriend."

Marlene gave her hand a squeeze. "Wasn't what I was going to say," she offered. "But okay."

"Why are you talking about your nipples, McKinnon?" Sirius' dulcet tones cut through the quiet around them; he had floated over towards them, a grin ready on his face.

Marlene just shrugged; she'd never been the type to be easily embarrassed. "Passes the time."

Mary waded closer, shivering a little despite the sun. "Typical that you two would be talking about tits."

"I resent that," Sirius replied, although his voice sounded far from resentful.

"Don't be jealous, Mac," James interjected. If Lily was more paranoid, she might have thought he was avoiding looking in her direction. "I'm sure he'll talk about your tits, too, if you'd like."

"Why should I be jealous?" Mary asked idly. "We broke up."

A short silence followed, as the group of friends took this news in: Lily allowed herself a moment to meet Sirius' eyes, to raise her eyebrows just slightly. He gave her a shrug and a grin in return.

"When?" James demanded, hands on his hips. The sun caught on the droplets of water that trickled down his chest, and it wasn't at all distracting, nor did it make Lily want to move closer to him, to feel the contrast of the warmth of the sun and the cool of the water on his skin. Not at all. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It wasn't a big to-do," Sirius shrugged; he seemed to be trying not to look over at Remus, who had stilled on James' other side, and was carefully watching as the water seeped higher up his t-shirt. "We didn't want to make it a thing."

Mary nodded her agreement. "Back to just friends, and all the happier for it."

Marlene smirked, flicking some water at Sirius. "So you're half way through the Gryffindor girls, then, Black."

Sirius' smile broadened. "Good point, McKinnon." He cast his gaze around to find Dorcas. "What do you say, Meadowes? Get me to seventy-five percent?"

Dorcas didn't lift her head from where she was floating in the shallows. "Even if I was interested in cocks, I wouldn't choose yours," she replied. "Thanks all the same."

"Rude," Sirius tutted. "Take pity—I won't ever get the full one hundred percent—"

Although Lily did not disagree, she felt she should interject. "You won't? Why not?"

She didn't think she imagined that his gaze flickered, just for a second, over to James. "Oh, well, I don't shag people who once called me a raging narcissist with smugness you could see from space."

"Pretty sure I called you that once," Marlene pointed out.

"Okay, I don't shag more than one person who's called me that." Lily laughed as he shot her a wink. "No offence, Evans."

"None taken," she assured him easily. "I'm not looking to shag you, either."

"You tapped out at fifty percent," Peter patted Sirius on the shoulder. "There's no shame in that, Pads."

Dorcas had floated closer, and now straightened up. "As fun as it is, discussing Black's pathological need to lose himself in someone's—"

"Alright," Sirius held up his hands in supplication. "Thanks, Meadowes."

"—when are we going to race?" Dor's eyes glinted, that familiar look that had taken over her at the scavenger hunt once more turning her from reasonable teen to rapacious competitor. "One of us needs to show Potter that just because he's got shoulders like a marble statue, doesn't mean he's the most athletic."

There was a splutter of laughter from Remus, one Lily almost missed as her gaze drifted over to the shoulders in question. It was an objective truth, that was all. Even the now-fading scars that littered his back and crept up over his shoulder on the left side were appealing, in a rugged, battle-worn sort of way.

She should've realised that coming here today would not help her in the 'moving on' stakes. She forced her gaze away just as quickly as it had landed on him. "What kind of races are you thinking, Dor?"

As Dorcas, Pete and Mary quickly fell into a debate about the best way to compete, Lily let herself sink lower into the water; the creeping cold was a shock, but a relief at the same time—it broke her from these unhelpful thoughts, from what could surely spiral into something embarrassing. In fact, with one last look around her—everyone focused on whether a straight swimming race was fair, or whether something more imaginative was required—she drew in a deep breath and plunged fully under the surface.

Sound deadened, stilled around her; the rays of sunshine filtering through the slight murkiness made even her friends' legs, so close by, harder to see clearly. She let herself sink down, down, until her bum hit the stones of the riverbed, her fingers raking through the silt and algae, stirring the water further around her.

She used to love doing this, as a child, when they went swimming as a family. It fascinated her, the whole world melting away, the power of the burning that grew in her lungs the longer she could hold her breath, the sting of chlorine in her eyes and her nose until she finally would push, gasping, for the surface.

Alone, even surrounded by people she loved.

She waited again, a haze of red hair spreading around her, for that familiar pressure, for the moment when she would have to force herself up, back into the real world, back into her life. It probably wasn't very long, her time down there; they were still arguing about how to compete, their focus away from her and her moment to herself under the water.

But as she surfaced, gulping in fresh air, brushing rivulets of water from her eyes, she realised that, actually, not everyone was focused away from her.

James had been watching the spot where she broke the surface; his gaze caught hers, and for a moment, he didn't look away.

When he did, she felt breathless, and she wasn't sure why.

After a bout of racing (which James, of course, won, although Remus came a close second and surprised just about everyone), the girls climbed out of the water, moving a little way up the bank to lay out on the grass. "What do girls so love about sunbathing?" Pete asked, bobbing in the water next to Sirius. "It's just lying very still and cooking yourself, surely."

Sirius followed his friend's gaze. "Well, the warmth feels nice, doesn't it," he offered. "Not often we get that in this country."

James seemed determined to keep his focus solely on his task, skimming pebbles across the river's surface. "And some people don't mind staying still."

"I suppose a tan can be nice," Pete considered thoughtfully. "Though it must be annoying to get the strap marks, I suppose."

Remus grinned. "Dare you to go and say that to Marlene."

James finally looked around, some of the strange tension in his shoulders easing as he laughed. "Moony, that's unkind," he said. "I don't want to witness a drowning today."

"What's been on, then?" Pete asked, tearing his attention away from the four sunbathers. "Done anything interesting?"

"What, in the eight days since we last saw each other?" Sirius wondered. "Can't say I have."

"Sirius has mainly been asleep," James told the other two.

"Well, apparently you had enough time to break up with Macdonald," Pete noted. "You're alright, aren't you?"

Sirius took a moment to form an expression, one he hoped hit the right notes of wistful melancholy and stoic acceptance. "I'm okay. She was right, we're better as friends."

Pete shook his head, giving Sirius a comforting pat on the back. "For a moment there, we were all in a relationship," he sighed. "Three out of four isn't bad, I 'spose."

Sirius didn't have to spend too long analysing the look Remus gave James, a fleeting glance which seemed to say a lot, because James let out a long-held breath and added, "Two out of four."

Sirius frowned, as did Pete; Remus shifted in the water, letting the current ripple past his fingers. "What?"

James glanced back towards the riverbank, something that looked instinctual rather than a choice. "I broke up with Cadence."

It wasn't a shock, so much—Sirius had thought, frankly, that it was a long time coming. He'd sensed his friend was growing unhappy, uncomfortable almost, in his coupling even back before the SWEN attack. It was only Cadence's resilient nature and unwillingness to see things for how they were that they had held on for so long. Well, that, and James' reticence to be honest with himself.

But although the break-up itself wasn't a surprise, it was surprising that James hadn't mentioned anything. He had slipped off through the Floo to the Dearborn's house last week, a few days after Lily's mum's funeral, and at the time Sirius had thought his friend had seemed a bit more subdued than he usually did. But he'd returned, told them at dinner that he'd had a pleasant enough afternoon, and that was all he had said on the subject.

James had dumped Cadence that day, and said nothing.

It was possible that James could sense where Sirius' thoughts were treading—he had a knack for it, after all, they both did; they might as well share a brain at this point. His expression twisted into a grimace, something apologetic and embarrassed. "I…didn't really want to talk about it," he explained. "No offence, mate…"

But Remus obviously had known, judging by the look on his face. So it wasn't that James hadn't wanted to talk about it: he hadn't wanted to talk to Sirius about it. And that was hard not to take personally. "Right," he agreed, voice a little clipped, just a touch shorter than it normally would be.

James sighed, shoving his hand into the mess of his hair. "I just…it was a last minute decision, really, and I didn't want to get into the why of it all—"

At that, Sirius snorted a humourless laugh. "Oh, I think we all know why, Prongs—"

Pete's gaze darted anxiously between James and Sirius; he never liked it when the two of them were even slightly at odds. James, meanwhile, had raised his eyes to the clear blue sky above them, as if seeking patience he did not currently possess. "This is exactly what I wanted to avoid."

"You don't have to rake it all over," Remus said, his voice soothing, ever the peacemaker. "It's fine, we understand."

"Does Cady know why?" Sirius asked; maybe not the kindest question, but something about this whole situation made him want to draw a little blood. "Although I suppose she's had her suspicions, hasn't she—"

James' interruption was heated, and yet cold, as cold as the water surrounding them. "Shut up, Padfoot," he hissed. "Merlin's balls, just let it go for one fucking afternoon, would you? You can take the piss out of me and whatever else you want to do later."

He didn't say exactly what he was trying to keep it all quiet now for, but he didn't have to, either: his gaze flickered nervously towards the girls, towards one girl in particular. Ugh, it was exhausting.

"Sort yourself out, yeah, James?" Sirius said, sinking back into the water; he let himself start to drift away from his friends. "You're a mess, mate."

It wasn't until he had swum lazily to the opposite bank, to where the riverbed started to rise again, that he noticed Remus had followed him. He cast a gaze in his direction, eyebrow raised. "I'm not going to apologise."

Remus just sighed, the roll of his eyes the only signal that he cared one way or the other. "I wasn't about to tell you to," he replied. "Can't a bloke swim across a river without an ulterior motive?"

Sirius snorted, brushing a damp lock of hair out of his face. "You have your 'I have to intervene in the nonsense of my emotionally-constipated friends' look."

"Surely that's always my look."

A more genuine smile, this time. "Smart-arse."

There was a pause; Sirius tipped his head back, watching a singular cloud make its way idly across the sky through the branches of the tree above them. When Remus spoke again, his voice was calm, as reasonable as ever. "You didn't tell Prongs about your break-up."

"That's different," Sirius argued with a frown. "That wasn't—"

Luckily, his friend cut him off before he could drop himself onto a landmine of his own making. "It's not different," Remus replied. "Obviously you both didn't really want to have the heart-to-heart that you knew would come, talking about it when it was just the two of you there. It's safer, isn't it, opening up about this stuff in a group?" Sirius shot him a look; Remus wasn't even looking at him, was just staring a little way up the river, his mind apparently elsewhere. "Less vulnerable."

"I suppose." He sighed. "Whatever. It's fine."

Remus finally looked at him, a small, sympathetic smile on his face. "You two'll make up," he said. "In fact, it'll happen annoyingly quickly, and with no real resolution at all."

Sirius couldn't help but grin. "That is our way, isn't it?"

"It is," Remus agreed. "'Emotionally-constipated', didn't you say?"

"Someone has to be the strong, silent type," he joked. "Unfortunately it comes with a wealth of debilitating emotional issues."

"Well," Remus said, and there was a hint of caution there, something which made Sirius turn his whole body to face his friend, to try and understand what had shifted. "I'm always here, if you want to talk."

And it was selfish of Sirius to want more, wasn't it? It hadn't been all that long ago that he had wondered if Remus would ever really talk to him again, would ever be able to look him in the eye and hold a meaningful conversation. He'd come so close to ruining everything. He didn't want to go through all that again. "I know," he said, and managed a smile. "Thanks, Moony."

Remus nodded, a short, tense movement; he looked away, back over to the others. James and Pete were climbing out of the water, pausing to cast drying charms over themselves. "Any time, Pads."

"Fuck's sake," James muttered, tossing a brown-paper wrapped loaf of bread over his shoulder; it didn't make finding anything in the chaotic larder cupboard any easier, but he felt better for it. He sometimes wondered if his mother made it this messy on purpose, to make sure he didn't eat everything in sight just because it was impossible to find a bloody thing. "Where the fuck—"

A small sound behind him, the clearing of a throat, made him still; he didn't need to turn around to somehow know exactly who it was. "I was sent in to help," Lily spoke up. "And not a moment too soon, apparently."

He turned around, gathering all the strength he could not to let his gaze wander away from her face. Normally, that wasn't difficult: she had, well, a lovely face. But then normally, he wasn't looking at her when she was also wearing a bikini. It felt like a Herculean challenge to keep his eyes on hers. "What makes you think I need help?" he asked, voice playfully prim.

"Well, you just threw a loaf of bread at me," she replied, holding up the offending parcel. "And you seem to be swearing at a cupboard."

"I'm trying to find my mum's stash of cake," he admitted. "The cupboard is interfering in the process."

Lily's smile could have powered the whole house—hell, the whole county. "Here," she passed him the bread and moved closer, turning to edge past him into the cupboard; her body brushed against his, warm, bare skin against warm, bare skin, and he held his breath, waiting for mercy. "Let me look. My mum always used to say that blokes never look for things properly."

He moved back a little, giving her more space, and she flashed him a grateful smile before she turned to face the chaos of the cupboard. "She said that? About a whole gender?"

"Yep," Lily confirmed, moving boxes and tins to the side as she set about on her task. "And she wasn't wrong." She didn't even give him the chance to argue the point, because she had already turned, a triumphant smile on her face as she held a large container aloft. "Is this what you were looking for?"

He couldn't even find the energy to feel disgruntled; it was hard to care, when she smiled the way she did, when her hair, curly from drying in the sun, fell across her eyes. "Alright, well, obviously I moved things around for you," he replied, reaching out for the cakes. "So, if you think about it, it was a team effort."

She gave a laugh, moving to squeeze past him again; this time, she gave his chest a sympathetic pat as she went, and it was all he could do not to loop his arm around her tiny waist, to finally get to experience how it might feel to have her pressed up against him with purpose. "Whatever your ego needs, James."

James. James. That still took some getting used to, and it was absurd, really, given that it was his name, but it was far more affecting than he ever let on.

Cadence saying his name never had that kind of impact. Perhaps that should've been his first clue that their relationship had an expiration date. Even if Lily wasn't interested in him—and he thought that, despite her friendliness, she probably wasn't, given their history—he couldn't settle for something that felt less than this.

"You're too kind," he winked, shutting the larder and moving to the table. "So, we have cakes…think people will want sandwiches, too?"

"Probably," she mused, looking around her. "Swimming is hungry work. Not that I've done much actual swimming."

"It's something about being in the water," he agreed; with a flick of his wand, a knife lifted from the table and started to slice the bread, while butter and cheese flew out of the fridge. "We shouldn't starve ourselves."

She laughed, looking up from where she was neatly arranging the cakes on a platter—without magic. Again, something that shouldn't have been as pure and lovely as it was. "You know, I think we'll survive."

"Probably," he agreed with a grin. As the sandwiches assembled themselves, he gathered glasses on a tray, poured out a jug of homemade (by his mum, of course) lemonade. "I'm glad you decided to come, Lil."

Was he imagining the hint of a blush at her cheeks? "Lil?" she asked, her voice light but her gaze kept firmly down. "That's a new one."

He was going to have to style this one out. "Would you prefer…Lilster?" he asked. "Lilibet? Lillifer?"

Now she looked up at him, trying and failing to hold back a laugh. "Piss off."

"Okay, Lils it is," he smiled, meeting her gaze. The way her eyes lit up when she laughed…it was distracting. "But I'll keep the others in my back pocket, in case you change your mind."

"Good of you," she rolled her eyes, looking back down at the table. "This looks like enough…are we taking it out there or getting them all in?"

He considered it a moment. "Out there," he decided. "At least there's a hint of a breeze. And then we can just roll Pads into the river when he's eaten too much cake."

It was a joint effort, levitating the trays of food and drink across the lawn and back to their friends, and more effort probably than usual for James since he found it challenging to concentrate when walking alongside Lily. At one point, her arm brushed against his and he almost sent the platter of sandwiches into a nearby rosebush. Pull yourself together, he chastised himself, and pointedly avoided Sirius' gaze as they reached their group again. "Grub's up, help yourselves…"

The only space left in the circle was facing the river, and they sat down together, knees bumping as they settled on the grass; Lily murmured a "sorry", cheeks looking pink again even in the setting sun. Gods, she had nothing to be sorry for. It was him who needed to sort out his train of thought—good thing none of them were any good at Legilimency, because they'd have called him out for the kind of thinking that was highly inappropriate when it came to someone who was supposed to be a friend.

Luckily, they were all too busy tucking into what felt like a well-earned meal to notice that his heart was racing from the slightest touch. Marlene only spoke once she was dusting crumbs from her hands. "Thanks for inviting us over, Potter," she smiled. "This summer might not actually be a waste of time."

"Ah, McKinnon," he winked, "you say the nicest things."

"What's next?" Dorcas asked. "Ice cream tasting, or pub?"

"Why not both?" Pete suggested. "If we'll be at Fortescue's anyway…"

They spent a happy five minutes discussing which day would be best for their ice cream gorging session, having to fit around Mary's dentist appointment, Marlene's dad's birthday and a Potter family gathering, but eventually they found a day they could all do. "Next Thursday, then," James nodded. "Don't eat too big a breakfast, because we don't leave Fortescue's until every flavour has been sampled."

"Christ," Lily smiled faintly. "I'll bring my sick bucket."

"That's not the right fighting spirit, Lils," he pointed out with a grin. "It's mind over matter. You'll be fine."

If any of them picked up on the new nickname, no one commented on it. He thought he caught Marlene and Mary exchanging a smile, but it was gone the next second, so he shook it off. Friends gave friends nicknames, anyway, so what did it matter? It was no big deal.

For whatever reason, he was first to venture back into the river after the food had all gone. He just needed to cool off. That was all.

The sun had disappeared completely, stars taking its place in the inky sky, by the time they started to disperse. Marlene and Dorcas headed off first, soon followed by Pete, whose mother gave him quite a strict curfew even in the holidays. Next, Lily and Mary said their goodbyes, shorts and t-shirts back on over their damp swimming costumes; Remus watched, trying not to feel too amused, as Lily and James said an awkward farewell, looking like they were almost—but not quite—ready to hug each other.

Once they had gone, the three remaining boys made their way inside; James cast some cooling charms in the living room and they collapsed onto the sofas. "A pretty good day, I'd say," he said, gazing up at the ceiling.

"I wonder what you liked best about it, Prongs," Sirius replied, a smirk playing on his lips. Predictably enough, the two of them seemed to have got past their earlier tiff without even really dealing with it properly. It was infuriating, but it seemed to work for them. "I can't think of a reason…"

James didn't rise to the bait. "Mum and dad'll be back soon," he said. "They usually bring fish and chips with them. Shall I Floo them, ask them to bring you a portion, Moony?"

The thought was an appealing one, even though they'd eaten barely an hour or two ago. But… "I should get back too," he sighed. "Mum set aside some dinner for me, anyway."

"Mrs Lupin's cooking," Sirius nodded in understanding. "Fair."

It took him several minutes to even pull himself off the sofa. "I'll see you next Thursday, then?"

Sirius sat up, too, then stood up. "I'll walk with you to the lane," he offered. Remus blinked, surprised. "It's dark out there, Moony," he explained patiently. "Don't want you getting mauled by a passing sheep."

James snorted, but didn't shift from his prone position spread out across the cushions. "They can be vicious blighters."

"Alright," Remus agreed, nodding towards the door. "See you, Prongs."

James' call of "bye, Moony-mine!" followed them out of the living room and towards the front door; they headed out into the darkness, falling easily into step with one another. Malmsmead wasn't unlike Remus' home, so cut off from civilisation that as soon as the sun went down, you could barely see a few inches in front of you. He cast a quiet lumos, letting the dim light of his wand help them navigate the cobblestone path that led down to the place he could apparate from. The silence between them was remarkably comfortable, something he didn't take for granted with Sirius, not anymore. He glanced his way briefly, taking in the shadowed contours of his friend's face. "Kind of you to walk me."

"Well," Sirius said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "What can I say? I'm kind."

Remus wasn't sure what to say. There seemed to be so much he could say, and all of it overwhelming, even out here in the dark where secrets shared could just sink into the night that surrounded them. "You and Prongs have made up, then."

Sirius smirked. "Didn't you catch it?" he asked lightly. "I grunted a sorry, he grunted a sorry, done and dusted."

"Ah," he smiled, a faint thing, like the new moon that hung in the sky. "Of course. Very healthy."

Sirius just shrugged, looking over at him. "Gets the job done."

"Right." They reached the gate, moving out of the apparition wards; he was so used to the minute waves and shimmers of the magic surrounding the Potter house, he sometimes didn't even notice the change, back out into the real world. He stopped: in the dark, it didn't matter if he just apparated from there. "Well. See you next week…"

Sirius watched him in the near-pitch black, a strange sort of look on his face. It was one that Remus both did and really didn't want to analyse. "Yeah. Next week," he agreed quietly.

The twist in his stomach came from more than just apparating away: it followed him back to that familiar copse of trees behind his house, up the path through the back garden, in through the back door and into the dimly-lit kitchen.

His father sat at the table, newspaper open in front of him, but clearly not paying the slightest attention to a word of it. Remus swallowed, closing the door behind him—quiet, still, and not just so he didn't disturb his mum, probably already in bed.

Lyall Lupin cast an appraising gaze over him. "I hear you've been swimming." His voice was soft, unassuming. "Did you—"

Remus didn't need to hear the rest of the sentence to know where this was going. "I kept my t-shirt on," he said, placing his canvas bag on the table. "I'm not daft, dad."

A sigh, weary and worn, and his father stood up. "I never said you were." Lyall fussed tucking his chair in, tidying the newspaper into a neater pile; he didn't look up, didn't meet his son's eyes. "Well. Good night."

He wasn't sure why such a short conversation could carry such a sting. This was the most his father had said to him all holidays, after all. Shouldn't he be glad for that? "Good night," he echoed.

Almost free, and then Lyall paused in the doorway. "Oh, an owl came for you," he said, still not quite able to look him in the eye. "From the Ollertons."

Ah. Remus was suddenly quite grateful for the lack of eye contact. "Okay. Thanks."

Lyall gave a short nod, before slipping out of the door; Remus stayed still, listening to the sound of those familiar footsteps up the stairs, the quiet click of his parents' bedroom door. He turned, then, to the kitchen table again, soon spotting an envelope with his name scrawled across it, the familiar tilt of Owain's handwriting.

He paused. Drew in a breath.

He'd read it tomorrow.