The Price We Pay

by possessingtheproperspirit

As the summer before their sixth year comes to an end, Sirius, Remus, Lily and James consider how things may be different on their return to Hogwarts. When Sirius finally breaks free from his toxic home, it should be a fresh start - but unfortunately, it's the start of a spiral that will threaten the foundations of friendship, and change their lives irrevocably.

22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Keeping All My Secrets Safe Tonight

---

Tuesday 19th July 1977

He tapped the glass case thoughtfully. "It's tricky."

Inside Fortescue's, it was possible not to be aware of the climate outside: behind the counter, a young witch bedecked in pastel pinstripes shivered while she watched, with evident resentment, the discussion that was unfolding on the other side of the glass. James had thought she seemed a miserable sort as soon as he and Lily—sent ahead to scout the flavours while Sirius and Mary claimed a table outside, waiting for the others to join them—stepped into the shop. The witch had watched them with an air of suspicion and deep mistrust, a mood which James couldn't help but feel was at odds with her role in customer service. Somehow, he sensed she wouldn't welcome that feedback.

Still, it didn't matter. What mattered was that Lily Evans was there with him; that Lily Evans had met them at their meeting point outside the Leaky Cauldron, seeming a bit subdued and weary, but within five minutes of their foursome strolling down Diagon, Sirius chatting merrily about his grand plans to buy a muggle motorbike, her smile had emerged—it was as if the old Lily was back, able to step out of her grief for a while. It soothed his heart, to see that glimpse of happiness on her face again.

As it would've done for any of his friends, of course.

Lily shot him a glance—he could see her reflected in the cabinet, trying not to smile. The sort of expression that he had to try not to let twist his stomach up in knots. "What's tricky?"

"How to formulate our plan of attack," he replied. It wasn't weird to look at the person you were talking to; it wasn't strange for his gaze to be drawn back to hers. All perfectly above board. "There are so many options…"

Lily raised her eyebrows. "For…eating ice cream?" she asked. "Surely we just dive in and see what happens."

"Absolutely, if chaos is your flavour of choice," he waved a hand airily. "We could work our way through the cabinets left to right. Or in a pincer movement, one from each end until we meet in the middle. Then there's the alphabetical approach, although that leaves arguably the most boring flavour until the end."

She smirked. "You don't like vanilla?"

"It's fine," he shrugged, looking back at the display case. "But it's no 'Caramel Chocolate Carnage', is it?"

"Trust you to like a flavour with the word 'carnage' in the name," she teased.

He winked. "Have to stick to my brand, Evans."

"Are you going to order?" the witch behind the counter interrupted testily. "It's not an art gallery, you know."

"No, really?" James shot her a pleasant smile. "Gosh, don't I feel foolish."

"We'll come back to order in a few minutes," Lily interjected, presumably before he could annoy the witch any further, not that he cared, really, because she had rested her hand on his arm as she spoke to the woman, just for a moment—a calming gesture, a silent don't start. Whatever it meant, it shouldn't have sent such shivers down his spine. "Thanks."

She grabbed his sleeve and tugged him back towards the door, out into the muggy summer's day. Sirius and Mary had found a big enough table under the canopy, so at least there was shade, not that it seemed to help take the edge off the oppressive heat. There wasn't even a breeze to lift things. They'd definitely need this ice cream.

"James has already upset the staff," Lily told their friends as they moved to sit down. "We'd better watch her to make sure she doesn't spit in our food in retaliation."

James hmphed in displeasure. "All we were doing was browsing," he pointed out. "You'd think she'd be used to people doing that."

"James Potter, making friends everywhere he goes," Mary teased. "Don't ruin the ice cream for us, okay? Marlene would never forgive you."

"If she ever turns up." Lily glanced at her watch. "We did say two, right?"

"How else do you think we all came at two?" Sirius asked. "Apparently only us four care about punctuality."

"We are a beacon," James sighed. "A light to guide our wayward peers to better habits."

"Well, some of us are, anyway," Mary agreed. She paused. "I'm going to nip over to Primpernelle's, apparently she's got a new face lotion that makes you look radiant. Want to come, Lil?"

James knew it was a bit pathetic to be disappointed as Lily stood with a nod. They were going to be spending plenty of time together today: surely he didn't begrudge her a wander round Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions, if she wanted to go. Not that she needed a jar of something to make her look radiant—surely she knew that? Probably best not to point that out for now, though.

Lily tucked her chair neatly back under the table, moving to link arms with Mary. "Marl said it makes her skin look 'dewy'."

Sirius scrunched up his nose. "And that's a good thing?"

The girls cast him a look of mild disdain before heading off into the sunshine together. James watched them go, then returned his attention to the table—the table where Sirius was staring at him, eyebrow raised. He raised an eyebrow in return. "...what?"

Sirius lounged back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair for a moment. When James did that, he ended up looking like he'd been in an electrical storm; Sirius just looked rakishly handsome. The git. "When did we abandon the pretence that we aren't obsessed with Evans?"

James rolled his eyes. "When did we start speaking in the third person?"

"Probably around the same time we decided not to hide the fact that we want to watch every move Evans makes."

"Fuck's sake, Pads," James sighed, glancing around them—luckily, the girls hadn't reappeared. "Give it a rest. I'm not watching her every move."

"Every other move?"

"I'm serious," James said, and held his hand up quickly as Sirius opened his mouth to interject. "No, no, don't you fucking dare—"

"You left yourself open to that one, mate," Sirius pointed out. "But fine."

James paused, again looking over in the direction that Lily and Mary had wandered. "Nothing's changed, really."

Sirius frowned. "You mean, apart from the fact that her mum died, and you dumped Cadence?" he asked. "You're right, that's nothing."

'Dumped' was a brutal word, but probably, James thought, quite accurate. He'd tried his best, in the weeks since, not to think too much about the look on Cadence's face when he had told her he wanted to end their relationship, the way her eyes had filled with tears; he tried not to feel guilty thinking of the way she had asked, quietly, if it was something she did wrong, what she could do to make things right. He could hardly tell her that the only thing that would help would be if she could change who she was, could he? He'd just said something empty, meaningless, about always being her friend, and caring about her, and wanting the best for her. It was all true, but it didn't do a fucking thing to ease the hurt on her face, or to ease the guilt he felt in his gut.

Still. These things needed to be done.

He still hadn't found a way to tell Lily (or any of the other girls, but they were less important, in this instance). There didn't seem to be a way to bring it up without it seeming like he was trying to make a statement with this break up. She'd even asked him, as they'd wandered down Diagon towards Fortescue's, whether Cadence was joining them today. Surely that had been the ideal opportunity to say something: as easy as, 'no, because we're not together anymore'.

And yet those words had dried up in his throat, and he was aware that Mary was listening in, so the only thing that he managed to say was, "no, she couldn't make it".

He did seem to have a bit of a habit for making a mess of these things.

Sirius' voice broke him from his reverie again. "I'm just saying, Prongs…maybe it's time to be honest with yourself."

James was quiet for a moment. "Like you said…her mum just died," he said at last. "She's grieving. She doesn't need…all that, too."

His friend just frowned. "Mate—"

"Really, Pads." He shook his head. "Just leave it. We're going to spend a few hours eating our body weight in ice cream, hopefully distract our friend from the horrible pain she's in, and then we'll go home and you can berate me all you like."

Sirius pursed his lips. "Pretty sure I can berate you wherever and whenever I like," he replied, although his voice was lighter, like he was forcing himself to brighten the duller mood that had settled over the table.

James allowed him a nod. "Maybe so," he said; he caught sight of a group approaching them in the sunshine. "Here come the others—drop this for now, okay?" He glanced over to catch and hold Sirius' eyes, doing his best to look pleading. "Be a mate?"

Sirius heaved a sigh. "Fine, fine," he waved a hand. "Calm down, I won't let everyone know you're agonising over your feelings yet again for—" He broke off as Remus, Pete, Marlene and Dorcas reached the table. "You made it! Took your fucking time!"

"Hello to you, too, Black," Dorcas rolled her eyes, shifting into the seat next to him. "Far be it for any of us to make you wait a measly extra few minutes for ice cream."

"A few minutes? The brass balls on this one!" Sirius turned to James for support. "Waltzes in here forty minutes past our agreed meeting time…"

There was something comforting about the bickering. Even with other things changing, one thing could always be relied on: when he needed Sirius to cause a diversion—be it for a prank, an escape, or to cover wayward feelings—his friend would always come through.

He just needed to pull himself together, or it would be a very long summer.

---

Sunday 31st July 1977

The sun was high in the sky, a fearsome level of heat given that Sirius was wearing his leather jacket. It had seemed like the right move back in Malmsmead, where it had been a bit overcast, the hint of rain to come hanging in the air. Euphemia often lectured the boys about not catching pneumonia, as if it were an illness that would leap upon them if they so much as shed a layer at just the wrong moment. It was usually easier to just go along with what she wanted ("save the arguments for when it really matters," James had advised sagely).

Here in the wilds of Herefordshire, though, the day was much brighter, actually looking like the summer it was supposed to be. He had apparated to a spot on the lane that wound its way up the hill, only about a fifteen minute walk from Remus' house—they often apparated to the woods behind the house, but that was when they were expected, and he was very much not expected today—and within four minutes of the walk, he was shrugging off his jacket and squinting in the sunlight.

Arriving a bit further away gave him some time to think, too. It had been quite spur of the moment, the decision to visit his friend; James didn't even know he'd gone, having been busy helping his dad with something in the garden. But Sirius had slept poorly, woken early, and knew there was only one thing that was going to soothe the worries that had taken root in his mind.

It was no secret that Remus' transformations in the summer holidays were harder going than the ones at Hogwarts. His parents had to make do with the set-up they had always used: a dark, dank cellar that could not be unlocked from the inside. Remus didn't like to talk about it very much, unsurprisingly, but he had let slip, one post-moon morning when he was exhausted and addled with painkilling potions, that he was often chained up for the full moons at home. "Safer, that way," he had mumbled, and Sirius and Pete had shared an anxious glance at the thought.

And so Sirius had spent yesterday feeling particularly antsy, watching as the sun made its slow trek across the sky and sank below the horizon; as the full moon found its place in the blackened sky, he had sat on the kitchen step, stomach in knots as he smoked his way through two packs of cigarettes. In the end, he'd gone up to bed, but it had been difficult to switch his brain off—too busy thinking about Remus, about him being chained up in the dark on his own, about how scared and lonely and monstrous he must have felt. When he did sleep, it was with dreams of long, dark corridors, searching for someone but never quite finding them, no matter how many corners he turned.

An easy decision, then, to bolt down a quick slice of toast and tell Euphemia he was just "nipping out for a bit". He just needed to make sure that Remus was okay.

That was a perfectly normal, friendly thing to do, he thought. The fact that he hadn't told James had just been about striking while the iron was hot. That was all.

Eventually, he crested the hill, sweat starting to gather at the nape of his neck and across his forehead. He knew it didn't matter, that he'd probably still look a darn sight better than Moony would, but he paused anyway in the shade of an apple tree to dab at his face with his sleeve. From there, he could see the Lupin's front gate and the tall hedges that blocked the house from view on either side. Being a Sunday, he knew it was likely that both Remus' parents would be home. He'd always liked Hope, so very much like her son, if not even quieter, but with the same wicked sense of humour. Lyall was a different story, and Sirius wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but he had always tried to steer clear of the man if he could. Remus' father had obviously heard plenty of stories about the Black family before he met his son's new friend at the end of their first year at Hogwarts, judging by the mistrustful look he had cast his way, and nothing Sirius did seemed to sway him from his opinions. He could only hope that Remus hadn't told his father the full truth of what had happened back in October; it would hardly have mended his reputation in Lyall's eyes. He probably hadn't said anything, though—they didn't have that sort of relationship, from what Sirius could gather.

Feeling about as put together as he thought was possible in the circumstances, he stepped out of the shade and walked the last stretch of the lane to his friend's front gate. It opened with a rusty creaaaaaak, and Sirius thought he spotted movement through the net curtains in the window, a twitch of fabric as someone perhaps peered out to look. Sure enough, moments later, the front door swung open, and Hope Lupin stepped into the light.

She looked exhausted, he thought, even behind the warm smile she offered him as he walked up the path. Remus was tall, taller than Sirius, but that all clearly came from his dad's genes, because Hope was a tiny slip of a thing, buried in a thick woollen cardigan even in the summer heat. Even with the height advantage of standing on the front step, she still only came up to his shoulders. "Sirius! What a lovely surprise!"

"Hi, Mrs L," he replied, coming to a halt in front of her. "I hope it's okay I just turned up…"

"Of course, you're always welcome," she assured him, patting his arm before moving back so he could step into the cool of the house. The old stone walls clearly did a decent job of keeping the heat out. "Remus is—well, a little under the weather—"

"Yes," he nodded quickly. "That's why I came. Just wanted to see how he was feeling."

"You're a good friend," she smiled softly. "He's upstairs, go on up."

Sirius slipped past her, down the narrow corridor towards the stairs. As he passed the living room door, he glanced in: Lyall Lupin sat in an armchair by the unlit fire, a newspaper in his hands. The man stared back at him, his face shuttered of emotion—uncomfortable enough that Sirius just gave him a quick nod before hurrying on and up the stairs.

He'd been in the house enough times to know the layout well, not that it was exactly labyrinthine. It rather made the Potter home look like a mansion in that regard. The floorboards squeaked as they always did, and he paused outside the door at the end of the hall—the door with a small, wooden name plate, carved carefully with 'RJL', crafted by his maternal grandfather, if Sirius recalled the story correctly—drawing in a fortifying breath before he knocked.

A pause, and then a mumbled, "come in", and he opened the door, stepping inside.

The room was quiet and cool, the curtains drawn so that it was largely dark apart from a sliver of sunlight which had crept through a gap on the far left side of the window. This was enough light to allow Sirius a good view of the space: of the typically tidy desk, the neat stack of books on the bedside table—and, of course, his friend, bundled up under the covers.

Remus' eyes were still closed, and as Sirius moved closer, he could see his skin was pale, the bags under his eyes showing in particular contrast. A bruise bloomed out from his temple, curling around his right eye in vicious purple; his wrists, from what he could see sticking out of the duvet, were red-raw, like scarlet bracelets. Sirius swallowed, hard, suddenly wondering if this had been such a good idea.

That ship had sailed, though, as Remus blearily opened his eyes—and started in surprise at the sight of him. "Pads," he said, struggling into a sitting position. "Sorry, I—I thought you were my mum…"

Sirius offered him a faint grin. "Easy mistake to make," he replied. "I take it as a compliment."

Remus blinked, pausing to wipe the sleep from his eyes—taking extra care, naturally, around the bruise—before he flopped back against the headboard. "You're…here."

"Yes." Sirius hesitated; might as well just commit, at this point, right? He grabbed the desk chair and swung it around to sit facing the bed, depositing his leather jacket on the floor. "Hope that's okay. I—I wanted to make sure you were alright. After…you know. The moon and all that."

Remus was quiet a moment, studying him carefully; it was very difficult to read his expression, to work out whether he was pleased to see his friend or not. Usually the exhaustion of being post-moon made him easier to read, less cautious with his emotions. Maybe being at home changed all that… "Thanks," he said at last, voice still scratchy and worn; he cleared his throat and reached for a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. "That's—really nice of you, Pads."

Sirius shrugged, finding himself now suddenly unwilling to accept such praise. This was just a normal, friendly thing to do. That was all. "How was it?" he asked. "Do you…remember much?"

Remus shook his head, watching the ripples that chased across his glass at the movement. "Not really," he replied. "Dad had to set some bones this morning, but otherwise…could've been worse."

Sirius tried not to outwardly wince: Remus never made broken bones seem like more than a paper cut, but they all knew how painful they were, and resetting them was no picnic, either. Still, he knew it had been far worse in the past. That had to count for something. "Nice shiner," he nodded to the bruise; Remus' hand moved to it instinctually, fingertips brushing the edge of the purple almost without thinking. "Didn't want to use any balm on it?"

"We save the small stuff till later," Remus shrugged. "Just deal with the big issues, then get some sleep. Bruises can wait." As if willed into being by the mention of sleep, he paused to fight a huge yawn. "Where's Prongs today?"

He had no reason to feel awkward. That was what he told himself, anyway. "Working on a garden project with Fleamont," he replied. "They're never happier than when doing something practical, the Potters."

Remus smirked, a faint, tired thing, but a smirk nonetheless. "That shocks me," he said. "James is normally such a quiet, shy and retiring type."

Sirius snorted. "He's already making plans for our group trip to the pub, and to the cinema," he added. "Never thought I'd see the day when he became an event planner."

"I think he likes having things to do," Remus considered. "And…he wants to keep Lily occupied, too. As much as possible."

That was putting it mildly. Exactly what James wanted for Lily, with Lily, was not particularly clear—the boy didn't want to talk about it, which was frankly galling after five years of near non-stop chatter about all things Evans—but she did seem to factor into most of his considerations lately. Just the other day, as James had sat at the kitchen table, scouring through a muggle newspaper for the film listings, he had muttered about what movie choice might be least upsetting for Lily, whether something with a bit of action might be suitably diverting. Euphemia had said nothing, but raised her eyebrows in Sirius' direction; he had merely shrugged in return. When James was ready to talk about it, he would talk about it.

"Have you heard much from her?" Sirius asked. "I owled her last week, just saying hi, and she never wrote back."

"I had a letter…Monday, I think," Remus replied. His eyes had drifted shut, and it seemed he wasn't even aware of that fact as he kept talking. "She was upset, her sister had made some comment about her clothes and that if their mum could see her she'd think she was 'looking at some common slut'."

Sirius let out a low whistle. "Merlin. She's a piece of work."

Remus nodded grimly. "Bad enough to say that about her clothes, but to bring their mum into it too…" He sighed. "Anyway. I think she's been laying low since then."

"Can't say I blame her, if that's what she's dealing with," Sirius shook his head. "Hopefully she'll still come along to our various outings. Sounds like she could do with getting away."

Remus opened his eyes again. "I'm sure Mary'll convince her to come." He paused, and at first Sirius couldn't work out the expression that drifted across his face. At least, not until he spoke again. "Things okay with you two still? Since…the break up?"

Right. The break up. "Yeah, fine," he shrugged. "It wasn't like it was anything serious."

Remus nodded, looking down at the glass of water again. "Right. Good."

"Onwards and upwards," Sirius said, desperately wanting to change the subject. He glanced at the stack of books that nearly towered over the lamp on his bedside table. "I'm worried you haven't got enough to read, Moony."

Remus huffed a laugh, following his gaze. "I'm not reading them all at once."

"No, of course, because that would be patently insane," Sirius agreed, leaning forward to pick the top one off the pile. "Maurice. Odd title for a book." He flipped the book to read the back. "I remember you reading a Forster book last year—something to do with Howard?"

"Howards End," Remus replied; when Sirius glanced up at him, he noticed his cheeks had tinged just slightly pink. He reached for the next book on the pile and held it out. "This one's good too."

Sirius raised his eyebrows, accepting the book. "This is clearly for children, Moony."

"Yes," Remus replied patiently. "But no less excellent for it. My cousin Ang read it at school and said I'd enjoy it."

Sirius nodded, pausing to read the blurb for Fantastic Mr Fox; when he looked back up again, Remus' eyes were closed once more. "I can go, you know—"

"No, it's okay," Remus murmured, and paused. His voice was even softer when he spoke again. "It's…nice to have company."

Sirius hesitated, but accepted it with a nod. "Alright. If you're sure…" He looked back down at the book. "Well, you keep your eyes closed, and I'll read you some of this, shall I?"

Remus snorted quietly. "You don't have to—"

"Nonsense," Sirius dismissed. "Everyone likes having stories read to them." He paused, and cleared his throat. "Down in the valley there were three farms. The owners of these farms had done well. They were rich men. They were also nasty men…"

And by the time he got to the end of the second chapter, Remus was asleep.

---

Thursday 4th August 1977

It was hot, barely a breeze to take the edge off the sun set high in the azure sky. That morning, Remus' mum had suggested—gently, knowing it was pointless—that he could wear a t-shirt, that he didn't need to hide behind long sleeves, that his cousins wouldn't ask about his scars. He knew that they probably wouldn't (forewarned, he would guess, by his aunt and under threat of a right telling off if they mentioned anything), but that didn't mean he was comfortable with the idea anyway. Even if no one said anything, he'd be hyper-aware of every passing glance. It was more stress than it was worth; if he had to slowly roast in the Welsh sunshine, then so be it. Better that than the alternative.

So here he was. A chargrilled Remus Lupin, in long sleeves and his mind feeling not unlike some kind of treacle, something which he couldn't blame entirely on the heat. The truth of the matter was that he was absolutely bloody exhausted. Not even a week out from the full, and he still felt like he was in recovery mode. He'd slept like a log on the Sunday—the day Sirius had visited—but for whatever reason, since then, he hadn't been able to settle. Fulls at home were always harder to recover from, anyway, and he'd felt as if his brain was still muddled, churned up by the spinning wheel of his thoughts, never quite landing on anything long enough for it to make sense.

Much easier to try not to think at all; to just steadily bake in the sun, and wait for his body to catch up with itself.

"You alright, Re?"

He forced his eyes open, glancing up from where he was sprawled out on the grass, blinking in the sunlight. His cousin stood over him, giving some relief from the brightness with her shadow, her hands on her hips. "Hmm?"

"You alright?" Bethan repeated. "You look bloody exhausted—no offence."

Good to know that he looked about as rough as he felt. Hope had tried to rearrange their holiday to Wales, their annual visit to the Howell family, seeing what a state he was still in, but between her work commitments and the Howell's much anticipated trip to France for most of the month of August, there wasn't really another time that would work. And he knew how much his mum loved these weeks with her sister—he wasn't about to let a bit of exhaustion and some creaking muscles get in the way of that.

All this meant that his cousin, staring down at him now with a look of concern, was seeing a side of him he usually managed to keep carefully under wraps from the extended family.

"No offence taken," he replied, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "I just…wasn't very well, last week. It's taking a while to shift."

Bethan raised an eyebrow, pausing before flopping onto the grass next to him. "You should've said," she chided him. "Maybe we could've avoided this whole excursion entirely."

He allowed a smirk at that, glancing behind them at the remains of Llantrisant Castle. "And break Uncle Meirion's heart? I wouldn't dream of it."

She twisted around to catch sight of her father, stood with Angharad and gazing up at the ruins in quiet awe. "I don't understand his obsession," she sighed. "It's not like it's even a whole castle anymore."

Remus shrugged. "He likes the history of it."

"I 'spose." She rolled her eyes. "I don't think you were down at breakfast yet when he was talking about castles again. That Wales has more castles than any other country." She snorted. "You'd think he built the bloody things."

Remus glanced over at his uncle; it was hard to view the man with anything other than fondness, really. Meirion had always been unfailingly kind, a firm but fair figure in his life; given Remus' strained relations with his own father, he'd often watched with a distant sense of envy his uncle's interactions with his daughters. Bethan had no idea how lucky she was, that liking castles was the only quirk her dad had.

"Maybe he did," he suggested lightly. "Maybe he's a time traveller."

Bethan raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Now there's a thought," she said. "He does get baffled by technology…"

"And he thinks chips are 'new fangled'," Remus added.

"God, I can't believe I never noticed until now," she breathed with a bright grin; she always was good at playing along, at seeing the fun in things. "He's from olden times!"

"Fair play to him," Remus nodded. "No wonder he likes castles so much."

"Because he used to live in one," she laughed. "Now it all makes sense!"

"It all falls into place," he agreed with a smirk.

Silence fell, but only for a few moments; Bethan had never been very good at staying quiet for long. "Re…can I…" She hesitated. "Can I ask you a question?"

'You just did,' leapt into his mind, unbidden—the sort of thing Sirius would say. Judging by the expression that flickered across Bethan's face, and by the fact that they rarely talked about things that could be considered particularly personal, he decided not to say that, though. "'Course you can," he replied, the benevolent older cousin; surely the fact he was two years and four months older than her meant he had some kind of wisdom to offer. "What's on?"

Bethan was lounged back, propped up on her elbows and trying to look nonchalant, an effort which wasn't quite working somehow. "I was wondering," she said, and there was an edge of strain to her voice, a kind of forced casualness that hid something larger. "And…obviously you don't have to tell me—"

"Tell you what?" he prompted.

She sighed softly. "Just…do you have a girlfriend?"

His gaze flickered over to his cousin—she had focused her attention on scraping a bit of nail varnish off the skin around her thumb: it seemed like it was important to her. "No," he replied. "No girlfriend."

She paused, meeting his eyes for just a flash before she looked back over to her dad and sister. "...a boyfriend?" she asked, voice even quieter now.

A moment of hesitation, and Remus wasn't sure why. He didn't talk about Owain with anyone outside of Hogwarts, apart from his mum, and even that was only surface level, Hope never wanting to pry or force him to talk about things that made him uncomfortable. He knew, knew all too well, that he kept most of his feelings, his highs and lows and dizzying, persistent desires, locked away; that only a few people even got a glimpse of them, and that no one knew the depths of it all. Sometimes he thought he would rather lose every friend he had than open himself up in that way—to be so vulnerable, to crack open his chest and declare "this is me", nothing to protect himself with.

But that was a lonely place to be. And, watching his cousin now, he hated the thought that she might be feeling that level of loneliness too.

"Yeah," he said, and cleared his throat; tried to sound steadier. Tried to sound like his brain wasn't a mangled mess still trying to recover from the after-effects of the full moon a few days prior. "Owain."

Bethan seemed to have to force herself to look at him again; she was biting her lip. "Was it…" She paused. Swallowed, hard enough that he could hear it. "Were you frightened? To, um…like another boy?"

Remus sat up, raking his hand briefly through his hair. This seemed too important to be laying down on the grass for. "I was," he confirmed quietly. "Or—not frightened, for me, exactly. But for…what others would think."

Bethan nodded, sitting up too; she tugged at the sun-scorched grass in front of her. "You said 'was'," and she cast him a quick glance. Her blue eyes seemed suddenly more vivid amongst their bleached surroundings. She seemed so much younger, and so much older, all at once. "You're not anymore?"

He paused. "Not as much," he admitted. "It gets…easier. And anyone worth being friends with doesn't care."

She nodded again; chewed on her lower lip, again. A pause, as she glanced back towards her father. "Do your parents know?"

"Mum does," he replied. "Dad…doesn't."

A faint smile, something like sad understanding, tugged at her lips. "Aunty Hope is the best."

"Your mum is too," he pointed out, gently. "And your dad. They love you."

Her eyes widened with something like panic. "Oh, I'm—I wasn't—"

"Beth." He tried to sound as reassuring as he could. "I wasn't saying anything. Just…that your family is supportive, you know…if and when you need them to be."

If she chewed any harder on her lip, she was bound to draw blood. He'd never seen his normally-relaxed cousin look so anxious before. "Right, well," she leapt up, brushing her shorts free of grass. "Anyway. Sorry to have—you know. Pried." She couldn't meet his gaze, couldn't seem to still herself. "I reckon it's time to find ice cream, don't you?"

She had already headed for her dad before Remus could even haul himself from the ground, his joints aching in protest at the movement. He stood there a moment, watching Bethan as she painted on a bright smile, as she playfully nudged her sister and gestured wildly with her hands. It was as if the quiet, cautious girl who'd just been sitting next to him had vanished, leaving the old Beth in her wake.

"C'mon, then, Re," Ang shouted over. "Time to cool off!"

"Okay!" he called back.

There was nothing else to do, for now.

---

Saturday 13th August 1977

It was Marlene who had suggested The Troll's Burden as the venue for their pub night. "It's not full of old people like the Leaky," she had said, her tone making it crystal clear what she thought of that prospect. "And we go to the 'Sticks all ruddy year. Let's live a little!"

Sirius had seconded the motion, and the rest of them had no strong opinions either way (the only other place Lily knew even remotely well was her dad's local in Cokeworth, The King's Arms, which Petunia disdainfully called 'an old man's boozer' and which was far too muggle for the likes of her friends besides), and so they gathered at a bustling pub in Richmond, right by the river. The proprietors had put up enough charms to make it look dilapidated and abandoned to any passing muggles—and maybe they wondered to themselves why such a prime piece of real estate hadn't been snatched up by now—but once through the wards, it was a bustling, welcoming place. Lily, Mary, Dorcas and Remus arrived together, picking their way through the tables and out into the busy beer garden that looked out over the Thames. It didn't take long to spot their friends, already at least one drink in and having commandeered a picnic table near the water: Sirius' voice carried, telling some raucous story or other as they crossed the lawn to join them.

"At last!" Marlene called, standing to fling her arms around Lily, being the one in easy reach. "These three have been talking nothing but boy nonsense, I feared I would drown in testosterone before you lot could get here!"

"Bullshit," Sirius insisted. "You told us a fifteen minute story about your first time shopping for bras."

Mary laughed. "That is a good story."

They all squeezed onto the benches; Lily found herself opposite James, who gave her a friendly grin. "Alright, Evans?"

She smiled in return and nodded. It was easier just to do that, rather than get into the truth of the matter—surely none of them had come to the pub to listen to her talk about how sad and exhausting it was, existing in her family home without her mother; how painful it felt, watching her dad try to put on a front, to pretend he was coping when he really, really wasn't. For whatever reason, she had found it difficult to get out of bed the past few days: yesterday, it had been after lunch before she made it downstairs, her dad making a weak joke about teenagers and their sleeping habits, as if they didn't both know that she never slept so late in the holidays, preferring to make the most of her free time. She had only really got herself up and ready today because she knew she was going out for the evening—a chance to get away, not just from her father and his cloaked grief, or from the shadow of her mother which lingered in every inch of that house, but from herself. To get out, and have a few drinks, and be someone else for a while—a Lily who wasn't mourning, who wasn't broken and struggling to put herself together again.

She knew it was probably not a healthy solution, but she just wanted to get pissed and enjoy the time with her friends.

"Alright, Potter," she replied. "Not drunk yet? Poor effort, don't you think?"

He laughed. "Sorry to have let you down."

A drink was placed in front of her, and she took a long gulp, aware that James was watching her, a tiny furrow in his brow. She was glad that he didn't have the chance to ask her any follow-up questions: they were soon drawn into a conversation about the drawbacks of owl post—"it flew right through a tiny window," Pete said to gasping laughter from his audience, "made my gran drop her mug of Bovril in shock!"; "See, you don't get those kinds of surprises from the muggle postman," Mary pointed out. After the topic changed many more times, and she'd drained the pint of Gorgon's Best cider that Dorcas had procured for her, and the second pint and chaser of firewhiskey that Sirius had bought, and a shot of something strong and sweet that Pete had got in for them all, she heaved herself up (legs feeling only slightly unsteady) and declared, "my round—what's everyone having?"

Orders memorised, she made her way back into the pub. It was still busy, so she leaned against the bar to wait for the barman to make all their drinks, glancing around as she did so. Marl had been right: it was a much younger crowd than typically frequented the Leaky Cauldron. In fact, there were a few faces that she thought she recognised from years past at school. And wasn't that—?

It was. Ama Okaeme was sitting at a table by the window, chatting animatedly with her companions. Lily hadn't seen the Ravenclaw since before the end of the school year—she had missed the seventh years' last days, of course, being home for the funeral—and it was a bit jarring to see her out of school like this. How was it fair that someone could look so effortlessly gorgeous both in stuffy school uniform and elegant casualwear?

It only occurred to her, a moment too late, that Ama was not alone, and that Lily recognised some of the others at the table, and that meant that it was possible that…

A soft clearing of the throat, and she turned around to find Rafe Thicknesse, leaning nonchalantly against the bar. "Fancy seeing you here…"

She had stopped hating Rafe a long time ago. Within days, really. The overriding feeling, after discovering that she had just been used to make his ex jealous and to ensnare her back into his arms, had been humiliation, and even that had faded after too long. Yes, she had kept hold of the opinion that he was a bastard, but she didn't despise him. That was growth, wasn't it?

"Hello," she greeted him evenly. The barman slid Pete's shot of Elvish Liquor in front of her and she didn't think before picking it up and downing it in one. She gave herself a moment for her head to stop swirling, like a ship tossed on the waves of a stormy sea. "How are you?"

Rafe let his gaze coast down her body (she had chosen her outfit knowing, in the back of her mind, that she'd be in close proximity to James, going for a pair of almost criminally-tiny denim shorts and a loose blouse that she had unbuttoned one lower than she would at home—something she sort of hated herself for, because he had a girlfriend for goodness' sake); there was interest there in his eyes, and he wasn't even bothering to hide it. "Great, thanks," he replied. "You…are looking very well."

She rolled her eyes, catching the eye of the barman again and nodding to the shot glass. "I suppose you are, too." It was, annoyingly, true: he had always been far too good looking. Perhaps that should have been her first warning, that anyone as effortlessly handsome as him would be interested in her. Interested in anyone other than himself.

"You're too kind." He finally allowed his gaze to reach hers again. "Looking forward to your last year at Hogwarts?"

"Of course," she replied, and reached for another drink. This was going to be expensive, at this rate. "Top of the school."

He smirked. "Your rightful place."

A sigh, and she watched him over the rim of what would have been Marlene's Gillywater. "How's Aoife?"

He gave a playful sort of cringe, looking briefly away before his eyes found hers again. "Back in Belfast, I should think."

It was fun to dig the knife in a little. Took the edge off her own discomfort. "You're not keeping in touch?"

"Lily," he tsked fondly, "were you always this feisty?"

"Yes," she replied. "You just didn't notice because you were too busy watching your ex's reactions."

At that, he laughed, edging a little closer. "We always did have fun, though, didn't we?"

She shrugged, draining her glass. The buzz was delicious, just what she needed. "I suppose we did."

Rafe grinned. "You know, we could have fun now."

If she hadn't already been at best, tipsy, and at worst, well on her way to drunk, she knew there was no way on earth she would've even considered the proposition. He was a prick, he'd hurt her and embarrassed her. She certainly didn't have feelings for him, unless disdain counted. But…she knew he was a reliably great kisser, and maybe to lose herself in a good old-fashioned snogging would be just as good a distraction from her grief as alcohol was.

She found herself reaching to pat his chest—as if that was something she did, as if she didn't know the message it sent. "Could we?"

"Lily the Legs!" A voice cut across the conversation, like a bucket of cold water, and they both looked over, finding Sirius, hands in pockets and eyebrow arched, watching on from a few steps away. "Wondered where you'd got to…"

"Lily the Legs," she repeated, ignoring his pointed stare. "Since when was that my nickname?"

"Since you got those pins out all summer," Sirius replied, switching his focus to Rafe. "Thicknesse."

"Black," Rafe nodded, no change to his expression.

"What a treat for us to bump into you here," Sirius said, voice light as a feather. "Lucky us."

"It's a small world," Rafe agreed evenly.

"Need help with the drinks?" Sirius asked Lily, eyeing the empty glasses that now sat alongside the full ones.

She gestured to what was there. "Take those, I'll just wait for the replacements."

"Don't worry, Black," Rafe smiled. "I'll keep her company."

Lily stopped herself from rolling her eyes, but she also avoided catching Sirius' gaze as he leaned past her to grab the drinks that were ready. She didn't need Rafe doing whatever he was doing, but she also didn't need her friend to act the white knight. It was exhausting enough looking after herself, let alone trying to manage other people's expectations.

"Right, well…" Sirius paused, expertly cradling five full glasses in his hands. "Shout if you need me, Evans."

She finally glanced over at him; he had the hint of something in his eyes, a question unasked that warmed her heart just a little. It was, admittedly, nice to be reminded that people cared—even if she didn't need him to. "Will do."

Sirius left, clearly reluctant to do so, and Rafe gestured to the barman to refill the empty glasses. "Where were we…?" he asked, reaching now to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Christ, this was a mess. It would be so easy to take that last little step that would have her pressed against him, to let him kiss her until her mind was blank and her heart numb. Too easy, probably. But now she was thinking about the fact that Sirius had gone back to the table, and was probably telling the others what he had witnessed…

It was that thought that made her force up a smile. "You were going to pay for my round, as an act of contrition," she replied, "and then I was going to rejoin my friends."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his stupidly attractive face, but still fished out the requisite galleons to cover the costs. "I'll help you carry them," he offered.

"No need," she assured him, deftly picking up the remaining drinks. "Thanks, Rafe. Maybe I'll see you later."

His gaze dropped to her lips a moment. "Maybe you will."

Back outside, the air was a little cooler than it had been inside the stifling pub, and she paused a moment on the steps to gather her thoughts. This was daft, wasn't it? Opening up an old wound that should have just been ignored. And what, in the name of oblivion? Was it even worth it?

With a sigh, she pressed on across the lawn, back to her friends; she was all too aware of their watchful gazes as she reached the table and handed out the last few drinks. "Sorry for the delay," she said, sliding back onto the bench. "Bit mad in there."

Dorcas gave her a searching look. "Black said—"

"It's fine, Dor," Lily interrupted. She didn't like how James watched her now, concern and something harder to parse on his face. "Honestly. I made him pay for our drinks, so…"

Dorcas just snorted. "The fucking least he could do," she pointed out. "Entitled bellend."

Lily shot Sirius an exasperated look. "Why did you bring it up?" she asked, as brightly as she could. "Dor will be on one now for at least the next ten minutes."

"Maybe I enjoy winding Meadowes up and watching her eviscerate someone who isn't me for a change," Sirius replied airily. "And, you know. I was looking out for my friend."

"I don't need protection from Rafe Thicknesse," Lily insisted. She held her glass tight, tight enough for her knuckles to go white, and took a quick gulp. "Thanks ever so."

"Maybe not protection from him," Sirius responded, and his voice had taken on that blunt edge that came when he was losing patience. "But protection from yourse—"

"Alright, enough," James interjected quickly. Lily felt her heart thud painfully in her chest, and she looked away, down at the scratches on the surface of the table as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. "Let's change the subject, shall we? To something less…contentious?"

"Good idea," Mary agreed, lacing her arm through Lily's. Lily drew in a shuddering breath, suddenly feeling like she might cry. Fuck, she really didn't want to do that. "What film are we going to see? Surely this is something we should have a loud and pointless debate over."

It was a blessing, really, for the conversation to turn to film choices: it gave her cover to regain her composure, blinking away the urge to break down with every sip of her drink. At one point, she glanced up, and caught Sirius' eye—he was watching her, remorse clear in his gaze. He mouthed the word 'sorry', something so simple that almost set her back to tears again, but she forced up a small smile and a shrug, something to show it was all fine, that it meant nothing.

She was stronger than all this; she had to be.

By the end of the evening, a film had been chosen, a rather merry Pete had had to be stopped from wading into the river, and Lily had managed to avoid any bad decisions. Well, apart from continuing to drink, but that surely didn't count. At one point, maybe an hour or so after their interaction at the bar, Rafe and his friends had wandered outside; they'd sat a few tables away, and she had been aware of his gaze drifting back over to her, and just as aware of her friends all noticing it, too. But he hadn't approached her, and she had stayed firmly in her seat, even after offering to pay for a round since she technically hadn't paid for anything at all. When she'd said that, James had leapt up, somehow galvanised to foot the bill himself. Perhaps he didn't want her going up to the bar again. Perhaps that was just the sort of friend he was.

Rafe and his mates were gone by the time the Gryffindors staggered out of the pub, far too drunk to apparate. The Knight Bus was a blessing and a curse, a decidedly unsmooth ride for someone like Lily who felt certain she was about to vomit every second they were on board. When it reached Cokeworth, and she staggered palely to her feet, James stood up, too. "I'll walk you back to yours," he said, and she just blinked at him dimly, not noticing the looks exchanged by their friends behind them.

James, it turned out, was far less drunk than any of them—he barely seemed tipsy, in fact. Out in the cool night air, he walked alongside her without saying a word, down the silent high street and along the circuitous route that would have led them to Spinner's End, if they kept walking past her own home.

"Snape lives around here," she said, her voice faint in the quiet; the night air was cooling her, sending her mood spiralling back down again, back down where she desperately didn't want it to go. She wasn't sure why she had even brought Snape up. The words had just tumbled out.

James looked over at her, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked surprised. "I didn't realise you were from the same town."

"Yeah." She tried to fight a shiver, something he noticed, as he moved to drape his own jacket over her shoulders. It didn't help, did it, when he was so bloody thoughtful. "We knew each other before Hogwarts."

"I didn't realise," he said again, quietly. James glanced around, as if expecting the boy in question to come looming out of the shadows. "Do you…bump into him?"

"Not really," she replied. She tipped her head back as she walked, taking in the clear night sky above them. "He helped me understand my magic," she murmured. "It was—I didn't know why I was different, and my sister…" She drew in a shuddering breath; had to return her focus to the path in front of her, her head feeling light. "He's the only reason I knew anything about Hogwarts, about the world I was going into."

He was silent for a moment, taking in what she had said. "I'm sorry," he said at last, and his voice sounded strained, sad. She looked over at him, a confused frown on her face. "For what happened by the lake last year—"

"James," her frown deepened. "I've accepted your apology, you don't need to—"

"I know I hastened the end of a friendship you cared about," he shook his head. He couldn't seem to look over at her, as if he wasn't sure what he would find there. "By being a thoughtless prick—"

"Stop." She halted in her tracks, and he had to, too, finally making himself meet her gaze. She hoped he saw the truth in her eyes. "Maybe you…didn't handle it well. But he—" Her breath caught a moment, and she smiled, a bleak, pale smile that took up more energy than it should have. "He was lost to me long before that day. I just…wouldn't face up to it."

He nodded, looking like he was trying to force the meaning of her words to sink in. "Still. I'm sorry."

She held his gaze for a long moment. "I know you are," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

It was James that started walking again, and she fell into step with him once more, wondering what exactly she could say now. Her mind still felt muddied by the alcohol, as well as by the fact that she was alone with him. It was pathetic, how much he seemed to overwhelm her senses—this foolish crush, sweeping her away from herself, from her logic and understanding of right and wrong. It was just hard to focus, this close to him. Even his jacket, draped around her, protecting her from the bite of the night air, smelled like him; it was distracting. Distracting enough that she almost didn't notice that they'd reached her house. "Oh. This is mine..."

He stopped, looking up at the house. She wasn't sure what to make of the look on his face. "Right," he nodded, then met her gaze again. "Well…sleep well. Drink plenty of water."

She smiled slightly, rolling her eyes. "Yes, alright." She paused. "How are you getting home now…?"

"I can apparate," he shrugged. "I stopped drinking a while before the rest of you lushes."

Lily gasped in theatrical offence, poking him in the bicep for good measure. "How dare you…"

"When the cap fits, Evans," he winked. There was a pause, a silence falling between them that felt strangely charged; he stared down at her as if he was about to say something, do something, and was convincing himself to just go ahead and do it. She held her breath as well as his gaze, feeling as if he could surely hear the way her pulse thundered in her ears, every shallow breath she took.

But whatever it was, the moment passed, and he gave her a small smile. "Night, Lily," he said, stepping back. She managed to not look as disappointed, or confused, or desolate as she felt. "See you at the cinema?"

"Right," she agreed haltingly. She turned to head into the house. "Night…"

She heard his footsteps fade, but didn't watch him go. She didn't understand why she felt the way she did, but besides, her head felt heavy with alcohol and tiredness, and it was probably for the best that she didn't linger on the doorstep like some desperate fool.

No, instead she made her way upstairs, only realising she was still wearing his jacket as she went to take it off, and if her thoughts were where they shouldn't be as she drifted off to sleep, well…there wasn't much she could do about that.

---

Friday 19th August 1977

Outside had been another sweltering summer day, the sort that seemed to be begging for hours spent by the sea or a pool so one could cool off at a moment's notice. Remus had not been particularly looking forward to spending over two hours in a cinema in Streatham, instead of lounging and bathing to take the edge off the heat, no matter how keen he was to see the film in question.

However, they'd filed into an empty theatre—everyone else clearly too sensible, or, more likely, working, to be out watching films in the middle of the day—and James had cast a quick glance around before muttering a few swift cooling charms. After that, the whole experience became a lot more tolerable.

Of course, Lily, Mary and Remus were seasoned cinema-goers, but Marlene and Dorcas had never been before. Pete, James and Sirius had gone for the first time over a year ago, accompanied by Remus to ensure they didn't freak out any muggles; as far as he could tell, the excitement and awe of the experience hadn't worn off for any of them yet. As soon as the lights went down, James—a boy who had never met a silence he hadn't wanted to fill—fell quiet, slumping in his seat as he dug into his popcorn. Remus tried not to sneak too many glances at Sirius in the seat next to his, his face tilted up and bathed in the glow of the cinema screen, a sweet sort of innocence that was so unusual for his friend these days: an innocence in the wideness of his eyes, the way he was lit up with delight with each image that passed before him. Every now and then, he would nudge Remus with a sharp elbow, not tearing his eyes from the screen but muttering, "Moony, look!", as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

It was surprisingly endearing, and entirely distracting—Remus caught maybe half of the film. He thought, all things considered, that was pretty good going.

"Fuck me that was cool," was Sirius' review as they emerged from the darkened theatre and back out into the sunshine a few hours later. "Forget curse breaking—I want to be James Bond when I grow up."

"If you grow up," Marlene teased, linking her arm through his. "But in fairness, Black, you'd look great in the tuxedo."

"My first name is James," James pointed out, unnecessarily. "I'm already halfway there. If anyone should be Bond, it should be me."

"Potter," Mary called out teasingly from where she walked alongside Lily. "James Potter. Licence to twat about."

"I've found you don't need a licence for such things, actually, Mac," he responded cheerfully.

"And that song," Sirius continued, as if no one else had said a thing. "D'you reckon there's a record shop around here? I need to own that song."

"I think we passed one on the way here," Dorcas replied, glancing up and down the high street.

"My mum was obsessed with You're So Vain when it came out," Mary noted. "I don't think I heard anything else all summer after first year."

Sirius swung himself across the pavement, an imaginary microphone held to his lips as he crooned. "Noooobody does it betterrrrrrr…"

"—a point that could be argued, I reckon, Pads," James piped up.

Remus had to swallow down his own response. That here, in the sunshine, the heat rippling around them, the sky blue—his hair pulled back, for once, presumably to counteract the warmth, his dark grey t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, that glint in his eye—

Well. Nobody could do it better, could they?

"Can you shop another time?" Marlene asked. "It's too hot, I already feel like I'm sweating out my elbows here—"

"Attractive," Sirius halted his performance (shame, Remus thought idly) to shoot Marlene a smirk.

"Oh, because my very mission in life is to be attractive for you," she shot back, but with the sort of knowing grin that made Remus look away; the sort of grin that he'd seen them share before, back in fifth year. "But my point remains, it's boiling."

"Back to mine?" James suggested. "My parents won't mind, we can splash about for a bit."

"None of us have our swimming things, Potter," Dorcas pointed out. "And I am not going skinny dipping with you perverts."

"Are we not capable wixen a mere year from finishing school?" James retorted with a grin. "Are we not highly proficient—nay, skilled—in drying charms by now? Problem solved!"

It seemed easier to just agree—as tempting as it was to stand there on the pavement in the baking sun and watch Dorcas, James and Sirius bicker—and they set off en masse to an apparition point nearby. Remus hung back, letting the others go first, not least because he had noticed that Lily was hanging back, too.

She'd been so up and down this summer—unsurprisingly, of course. Sometimes she seemed like her usual self, joking and laughing and chatting freely like the seventeen year old she was. Other times it was as if she retreated into herself, pasted on a smile to keep people happy when she was clearly anything but. Today, she seemed somewhere in the middle—not quite cheerful, not quite sad. Like she was unsure of how to feel from moment to moment.

Remus could identify with that sensation.

As another pop of apparition sounded—Pete, bringing Dorcas along with him—Remus glanced over at Lily. They'd found an alleyway, somewhere tucked away from passing muggles, where, if the worst came to the worst and they were seen, they'd just look like a cluster of ne'er-do-well teens hanging around and talking. It was narrow, with red-brick buildings looming on either side of the path, casting much-needed shadows. And in that dim light, he thought his friend looked like she was in another world.

"Lily," he said, and she started, turning to look at him. She didn't seem to have noticed that everyone else had gone ahead by then, that it was just the two of them remaining. "You okay?"

"Oh," she said, and nodded. "Sorry, I was…lost in thought."

He raised an eyebrow, offering her a small smile. "The good kind?"

"The 'could be worse' kind," she replied, matching his smile. She paused. "I know I'm not great company lately…"

He held out his hand to her; she took it, sidling closer as he gave her a squeeze. "That's not true, and if it were, it would be perfectly understandable."

Lily looked up at him, something held back in her green eyes—like she was considering her words too carefully. "I was sort of wondering," she admitted, quietly, glancing away, "if anyone would notice if I just…went home."

Remus squeezed her hand again. "They would definitely notice." James, he thought, would notice in a heartbeat. His friend was probably already wondering where they were. "But if you want to go home…I can tell the others."

She shrugged. "I do and I don't." She made herself lift her chin, meet his eyes again. "C'mon. We can't stand here all day, somebody will think we're about to shag." She paused, considering their surroundings. "Or do drugs, perhaps."

He wasn't entirely convinced that she wanted to rejoin their friends, but nodded nonetheless, shifting her hand so it rested in the crook of his arm. "Alright. Allow me…"

That now-familiar tug behind his navel, the world contracting and then expanding, and they landed at a stumble in bright sunshine, just along the lane from James' house. They exchanged a smile, a shared relief and understanding, before they started to walk, her arm still tucked in his.

"Doesn't feel as hot here," Remus remarked, more to have something to say than because it was worth saying. It was true, though: a breeze lifted the leaves on the towering hedges on either side of the lane, and the sun didn't seem quite as intense as it had back in London. Plus, being British, he knew very well how reliable a topic of conversation the weather could be.

"I'm sure that hasn't stopped Sirius from stripping down to his undies and flinging himself into the river," Lily replied, and he felt aware, then, of her gaze on him. "Good thing he's nice to look at, eh?"

Remus shot her a half-hearted glare, unwilling to acknowledge the flush that he could feel creeping up his neck. "Tempted to join the Black harem, Lil?" he asked, as lightly as he could.

She rolled her eyes. "Not even the slightest amount," she replied. There was a curious, almost defensive stance to her, an edge to her voice that intrigued him. "I think I'm better off steering clear of any boy for the time being."

"Oh?" he prompted as they moved through the wards around the Potter house; already, in the distance, he could hear the laughter and shrieks of their friends. "Swearing off blokes for the summer?"

Lily smiled, something wistful and sad, almost. "Some things are just…more hassle than they're worth."

They stopped at the side of the house, in the shade provided by the building itself, as if a silent agreement had passed between them to not yet rejoin their mates. "You don't seem all that convinced," he pointed out.

She bobbed her head in acknowledgement. "Maybe not."

He watched her, taking in the way she fiddled with the loose thread at the hem of her shirt. "Did you see Rafe again?" he asked, trying not to sound too accusatory. Frankly, Remus thought the bloke had been lucky not to get pushed into the river, and he hadn't even seen it all play out by the bar like Sirius had. True, Sirius was an impressive storyteller, but he didn't usually veer too far from the truth of a situation, and especially not when it was about something as serious as their friend's honour, or whatever he had said at the time. So Sirius' description was probably accurate, and that alone was a sign that Lily wasn't quite herself this summer, if she was letting Rafe get as close to her as that.

She was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the cluster of bodies by the river. "No," she said, and it sounded resigned. "Not since the pub."

"Good." She looked up at him then, and a small smile cracked through at the tone of his voice. "He's an arse, Lily. You deserve better than him."

"I know," she sighed, and at his raised eyebrows, added, "I do know that. I just…sometimes a distraction sounds rather nice, that's all."

"There are better distractions to have out there," Remus reminded her. "Nicer distractions, ones who didn't treat you like shit."

"Yes, alright," she agreed with a huff of a laugh. "I get the picture."

"Good." He slung his arm around her shoulder. "I'll keep reminding you, if you need me to."

"Thanks," she said, a small smile to match his; she fell quiet, and he was just about to suggest they join their friends when she spoke again. "How are things with Owain?" He blinked at the change of subject. "You haven't mentioned him much this summer…"

That was true. They hadn't seen each other at all since just before the end of term, when Remus had left early to attend Lily's mum's funeral; Owain had written a few times, inviting him to Aberystwyth, or suggesting they meet up at Diagon. Each time it just hadn't worked out, other plans or the full moon making it impossible for their diaries to match up. At least, that was what he told himself.

"I…don't know," he admitted, and realised how true it was. "I think—it's becoming clearer to me, that…"

"That what?" she prompted gently, when he hadn't spoken again for a few moments.

He forced up a smile, something strained and a bit sad. "That there's an end date to our relationship."

She frowned. "What? Why?"

He glanced around them, just to be sure—the others were still at the bottom of the garden, well out of earshot. "Either I tell him about…" Even though she knew, he still didn't want to say the words out loud. He swallowed, hard. "And I don't know how he'll react. Or…I break up with him."

"Oh, Re," she breathed, and reached for his hand. "You don't think he'd…take it well?"

"Would you? If the bloke you'd been seeing for months, turned around and told you he'd been lying to you, that he was a—" He cut himself off, surprised to find his voice hoarse, his eyes stinging a little. "It's a risk, telling him—if he doesn't take it well, he could tell everyone—I could be kicked out of school, or—"

She frowned. "But that's not his personality," she pointed out. "He's not that kind of person."

She was right: Owain wasn't malicious, wasn't reactionary, wasn't brutal. And in a way, he wished it was as simple as only being about his boyfriend's potential response to the news of his lycanthropy. "I just…I think it will be easier, for both of us," he said at last. He knew she could hear the finality in his voice; her frown deepened. "To just…draw a line under it. Move on."

"Remus, that's—"

"Oi!" Sirius' voice cut through the air, and they both turned to look towards the river; the boy in question was standing on the bank, hands on his hips (and, yes, stripped down to his shorts) and staring in their direction. "Are you two quite finished arranging your secret affair?"

Lily's frown faded, and she rolled her eyes before shouting back, "Just a few more details to iron out, Black!" She turned back to Remus, surveying him thoughtfully. "Is this all—is it about more than just—"

Now really didn't seem like the time to talk about that, and especially not now that Sirius had successfully brought the others' attention to them as well. He could see James, hands in pockets and clearly trying not to look too interested; knowing his friend, he'd probably leap on Remus as soon as he joined them, trying to find out what they'd been talking about.

"Another time," he cut her off, and started walking across the lawn; she fell into step beside him. "Let's just…cool off, shall we?"

She didn't have the opportunity to press him further: everyone's focus was drawn by Marlene giving James a hearty shove so that he toppled into the shallows, emerging spluttering and drenched and ready for vengeance. It was under cover of the chaos that Lily moved off to help her friend in the impromptu water fight, and Remus kicked off his shoes, glancing up to see that Sirius had sidled over to him.

"Alright, Moony?" Sirius asked. His tone seemed light, airy, but there was something in his eyes that Remus couldn't quite figure out.

Something else he couldn't wrap his mind around. He just nodded, and smiled. "Yep. All fine."

It was mostly true.

---

Thursday 25th August 1977

"Aurelia Wiggins?" Everyone in the waiting area glanced up, over at the exhausted-looking healer clutching a clipboard by the clinic door. Quite why they had to wear lime green robes—a colour which suited almost nobody and managed to bring out the tiredness in every wearer—was beyond James. He had asked his mum once, a long time ago (it might've been the time he'd tried to master the power of flight without a broomstick, aged eight, throwing himself majestically off of the garden room roof. He hadn't mastered the power of flight but he had broken his arm in two places). Anyway, his mum had answered with some niche bit of history about Mungo himself which had not been the sort of exciting story young James had been looking for.

"Aurelia—" the healer started again, and finally an old woman sitting a few seats away from him hauled herself to her feet. Well, he thought, glancing briefly at his mother reading the newspaper at his side, maybe the woman was about her age. Which he didn't like to think of as old.

"Alright, alright, I heard you the first time," the older witch muttered, and followed the healer through the doors.

James tipped his head back against the wall and heaved a sigh. There were no windows in this room, but he knew without a shadow of doubt that the sun was blazing outside, a slight breeze to take the edge off—perfect flying conditions. When he'd been free to fly yesterday, it had been cloudy and cool. Bloody typical.

The healers had wanted to see him again, to check the wounds on his back and run a few tests. "Standard follow-up," the letter had said. Why these things fell in the holidays instead of during school time, when a day in the hospital would be a pleasant break from studying, was typical of his luck. When he'd shown his parents the letter, Euphemia had insisted she go with him, as if seventeen was far too young to be doing such things alone. "You're my little boy," she had said, quite matter of factly. "That won't change no matter how old you are, dear."

Well, now that he had sat there in the waiting room for a blisteringly tedious forty minutes, he was rather glad for the company. Of course, his mum had no time for claims of boredom ("didn't you bring a book?" "I will pretend you didn't ask me that, mother") but at least it was someone to talk to whenever he felt like his brain was about to calcify. He'd suggested to Sirius that he come along; the response he'd received was one he would never repeat in polite company.

He sighed again, and at his side, Euphemia tutted softly. "What?" he asked, sotto voce. He didn't want every ruddy wix in the room to eavesdrop. "Why are you tutting?"

"Why are you sighing?" she replied, not looking up from the paper. "You sound like a deflating balloon, darling."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm—" He paused. If he said the word bored, she'd have no mercy. "I'm…tired. Of waiting."

"Yes, well," she turned the page of the paper neatly, "that is rather the way these things go."

"But the letter said noon," he frowned. "Don't say a time if it's not going to be that time."

"Welcome to non-emergency healthcare, dear." This time, she glanced up at him; he could tell she was fighting a smile. "Think of it as character building."

"My character is fine." He shifted in his seat again. "This is pointless. My back's been okay, the pain is all gone, I'm not a grumpy sod anymore—"

"Oh?" Euphemia interrupted.

"This doesn't count," James insisted. "They're just going to say I'm fine, which we already know, and I'll have lost precious hours of my life to this windowless tomb."

The wizard sat opposite them looked up with some alarm—evidently James' volume control had taken a turn. His mother gave the man a polite smile before looking back at her son. "Darling, I'm sure in the great scheme of things, a few hours here will be but the merest blip in a long and productive life."

He sighed again and slumped down in his chair. "Hmm."

A silence fell, and he occupied himself with once more counting the ceiling tiles, when Euphemia tutted again. He looked over with some irritation. "I didn't sigh!"

She shook her head, holding the newspaper at a slight angle so he could see the headline: 'WEREWOLF REGISTRATION ACT PASSES WIZENGAMOT WITH LANDSLIDE VOTE'. He swallowed, sitting up straighter. "These people," his mother murmured, frowning. "The things they don't realise…"

James tried not to let his concern paint too vividly across his face. His parents didn't know about Remus' furry little problem—he thought they probably wouldn't be unkind, or want him to not be friends with Remus, but it didn't feel right, sharing a secret that wasn't his. "I thought…I thought it'd been voted down ages ago." He remembered Moony coming back from Hogsmeade, Valentine's weekend, sharing everything Moody and Merryton had said to him; how it was possible he'd soon have an even more difficult time getting a job, having any kind of life outside school. Moody had seemed dismissive of it going through, and James had looked out for any news of it in the Prophet for the next month or so. He'd assumed, naively, that the silence on the matter meant it was all done and dusted, written off as a bad idea. "How did it…"

Euphemia continued to read. "Evidently the little opposition it had in the first round wasn't enough to hold it back any longer. I know Dumbledore was against it, I imagine he was one of the—" She paused to check, and sighed. "Five nay votes. Gracious. This will only serve to marginalise lycanthropes further, nobody will want to register…"

James chewed on his lower lip, thinking of his friend, quietly living his life off in Herefordshire. In a way, he hoped that Remus hadn't seen the news yet, although he knew it was unlikely. Mr Lupin seemed to make a point of bringing any werewolf-related news to his son, as if he thought he might forget his condition. "It's bullshit," he murmured.

Normally, any drift into swearing was swiftly chastised by his mum; she was quite old-fashioned, in that regard. This time, though, she just nodded with a grim expression, and turned the page of the newspaper. "Ah, now, the Minister wants to up the funding for the DMLE—about time, frankly…"

Something James was less interested in. He shifted his focus back to the ceiling tiles, his mind wandering once more. Perhaps he should write to Moony, see if he fancied a visitor. He was fairly sure that Sirius would want to join him. Perhaps Pete would be free too. Spending time with the girls was great, obviously—more than great, if he was honest—but it would be good to have some Marauder time, too.

They ended up waiting just over an hour for what ended up being a fifteen minute appointment: as James had predicted, Healer Robbins declared that he was healing well, that the cursed glass didn't seem to have had any lasting effect. He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and just said a polite 'thank you' before his mum hurried him out the door, down the stairs and back into the main entrance hall of the hospital. "Right," Euphemia nodded, checking the time on the elegant silver watch that braceleted her wrist. "Straight back home? Or do you need anything from Diagon while we're here?"

It was tempting to suggest a quick visit to Quality Quidditch Supplies (his mum could usually be convinced to drop a few galleons), but, for whatever reason, he just wanted to go home. Even if it was just to go wading into the river with Sirius, or sneak in a quick fly before dinner. "Home," he said. "Make sure dad hasn't eaten all of that lemon drizzle cake you made."

"Ever the optimist," she said fondly, patting his arm. She nodded to the queue for the Floo. "Let's go."

A short wait, and then they were tumbling through the fireplace into the living room, the house eerily silent. "I've always suspected the worst when it's quiet," Euphemia told James as she dusted off her robes. "Especially when it comes to you."

"Charming," James replied, albeit with a smirk. He nodded towards the back of the house. "They're probably outside."

Sure enough, they descended the kitchen steps into the garden to find Fleamont sitting with his eyes closed in the shade of the apple trees, newspaper discarded in his lap and glasses balanced rather precariously on the end of his nose. Nearby, Sirius was lounging on the grass, the pale skin of his chest bared to the heat of the afternoon sun. Perhaps he thought he might get a tan—James thought it unlikely. He'd never seen his best mate anything other than a borderline-ghostly, pasty white.

"Here you are!" Euphemia smiled, and her husband's eyes opened, his own smile already matching hers. It was very sweet, the way they lit up when they were around each other, James could admit now (although only a few years ago, it had felt utterly mortifying). "Gentlemen of leisure, are we?"

"So it would seem," Fleamont agreed, tilting his face up to receive his wife's kiss hello. He looked over at James. "They didn't need to cart you off to the Ward for Mysterious Magical Ailments, then?"

James dropped to the grass next to Sirius. "Not this time, anyway."

Euphemia, with a wordless wave of her wand, conjured a chair to sit alongside her husband. "He put up with the wait about as well as you might expect."

James frowned. "Hey—"

"He does take after you in that respect, dear," Euphemia continued; Fleamont shot his son a wink. "But it's all fine, and that's what matters."

"Good," his dad nodded, and paused, something of a strangely knowing smile on his face. "Well, while you were gone…"

At this, Sirius sat up, suddenly grinning. "Ooh, yes, Monty—the anticipation's been killing me."

James glanced between them, baffled, eyebrows raised. "Oh, Merlin…what have you done now…?"

"Nothing," Sirius insisted, eyes twinkling. "Hogwarts letters came."

"Right," James nodded, still not sure what was happening. "Great. Any exciting additions to the reading list?"

"Dunno, haven't looked," Sirius replied cheerily.

He could only sigh. "What—"

His father took pity on him, pulling a thick envelope from his pocket. "Yours…is a little heavier than Sirius' was."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Euphemia; James looked at her briefly, then back to his dad, who held out the envelope with an expectant grin. "Okay…?"

Sirius leaned forward, classically impatient, to snatch the letter and toss it into James' lap. "For Merlin's sake, Prongs, just open the damn thing."

It was true, the envelope was heavier than the usual missive. He wondered, as he carefully opened the parchment, whether they had redesigned the quidditch captain badge—he hoped not, the other one was his pride and joy.

The letter unfurled, and there, instead of McGonagall's usual, careful cursive, was a different handwriting altogether. He blinked, not really taking in the words just yet, but rather, the name at the bottom.

Albus Dumbledore.

It was only then that he realised that whatever had been weighing the envelope down had now fallen into the grass, and he paused, reaching down to retrieve it.

"...what," was all he managed to murmur, staring down at the badge in absolute bewilderment.

"Oh, James," Euphemia was up and out of her seat, moving towards him; she crouched to fling her arms around him in a strange sort of sideways hug. He could tell she was trying not to cry. "I'm so proud of you—my darling boy—"

Fleamont stayed sitting, but was beaming, joy in every line and pore of his face. James looked up at him, the badge still clutched in his hand, the letter—unread, ignored—in his lap, and tried to understand what was happening. "A very fine choice indeed," his dad agreed, emotion tugging at each word. "Dumbledore is an excellent judge of character."

"Bloody hell, Prongs." James looked to his right, now, taking in Sirius' grin, the slightly awed look in his eyes. "Head Boy…?"

Something about those words made him look back down at the letter, blinking still, dumbfounded. "Is it possible," he asked distantly, "that they sent the owl to the wrong house…?"

"Ohh James," his mother tutted, pulling out of her hug to press a kiss to his temple. She extended a finger, pointing to the top of the parchment. "Look—James Fleamont Potter. That's you."

He tried his best to take in the words that followed. Something about courage, about leadership skills, about maturity…it wasn't really sinking in. That was, until…

"Does it say who the Head Girl is?" Sirius asked, edging closer to peer over his shoulder.

They both scanned through the letter, and found the information at the same time—James knew that was the case, because Sirius' grin practically radiated off of him, his laughter shaking his whole body as he flopped back against the grass. "Oh, this is brilliant…"

Fleamont raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Someone you don't like?"

"Quite the opposite," Sirius replied, before James could even jump-start his brain into forming words. He seemed to be enjoying himself far too much for James' liking.

"Well, go one then," Euphemia said, hands on her hips. "Who is it?"

James finally looked up, from Sirius, to his dad, to his mum. He wasn't sure why his mouth had gone dry.

"It's Lily."

---

Wednesday 31st August 1977

Just under twenty-four hours until the Hogwarts Express would be leaving King's Cross, and Lily hadn't even opened her trunk.

It wasn't like her to be so disorganised. She liked to get things done in good time, in case a small crisis occurred that delayed her: she was notorious amongst her friends for always aiming to finish her essays at least two days before they were due (something which, to her, only made sense—how else would she have enough time to thoroughly edit and revise her work?). This time last year she had already packed, ticking each item methodically off the list she kept in a notebook in her bedside table for use each September. She had been able to spend the rest of the day lounging in the garden, chatting with her parents, reading and painting her nails—enjoying the last few hours of summer, basically.

This year, that wasn't happening. She was too distracted: distracted with worry for her father.

Anthony Evans was usually a broad-shouldered, wiry sort—a hangover from his days playing scrum-half for his school's rugby team. Lily couldn't remember a time in her life when he had looked anything other than healthy, vital, full of energy.

That had started slipping away when her mum became ill, and now, two months after her death, he was a shadow of the man he'd once been. He'd lost weight, his cheeks taking on a hollowed-out quality; he always looked deeply, deeply weary. Lily knew he didn't sleep well: she often heard him moving around downstairs during the night. Any time she tried to talk to him about it, he brushed it to the side, made an attempt at light-heartedness by saying it was his job to look after her, not the other way around. Petunia was clearly worried too, not that she said anything about it—always one to let things fester, especially if it didn't impact her too much.

It all meant that Lily was even more worried about going back to school than she might have otherwise been. Her being there, in that house, was the only semblance of control she still had; her presence might have been the only thing that kept her father eating regular meals, drinking water, at least trying to go to sleep, even if he didn't always succeed. Thinking about leaving him here on his own—with Lily hours and hours away, unable to help—made her feel sick with anxiety.

She had tried to broach the subject with him, back in July, tentatively suggesting she could study somewhere closer to home. She didn't want to do it, but she would—she felt, in her soul, in her guts, that she would do just about anything to keep her dad ticking along.

(And that was what it came down to, in the end: a very real, entrenched fear that she would lose him, too—that she would lose him, and be left behind with nothing, no one who loved her, who cared in the way that parents just did.)

Her father had pointed out that the schools local to Cokeworth could hardly help her with her "potioning", and that she'd already missed half the curriculum for A Levels, so it made no sense for her to leave Hogwarts. He'd said it all as if it was merely a joke, a gentle thing they shared because it was funny and not because she was terrified to step out of his line of sight.

Still, she had nodded, and smiled something half hearted, an attempt at their old playfulness which never seemed to come quite as easily lately. And she knew her dad was a grown man, capable of looking after himself; that maybe he didn't need his teenage daughter lurking in the background, crowding out his grief with her own all the time.

So she was going. Under duress, and with a hefty dose of apprehension.

None of this made her feel more inclined to pack. She just sat there on her bed, staring at her trunk on the floor, and trying to gather the energy to do something.

It wasn't like she didn't have plenty to look forward to. The seventh year syllabus was brutal but also, crucially, fascinating—she knew, just from skimming through the books recently purchased from Diagon Alley, that they would get to tackle a lot of interesting, challenging magic this year.

And then, of course, there was her shiny new badge, glinting at her out of the corner of her eye from atop the bedside table.

She had never assumed she would be made Head Girl: there were plenty of candidates among their year group, just as clever and focused as she was. She was hardly unique in that regard. But evidently, Dumbledore saw something in her that would make her 'ideally suited to the role'. She wasn't entirely sure what that was, but she looked forward to finding out.

She had felt a strange mixture of surprise and, conversely, total non-surprise at the sight of James' name on her letter from Dumbledore. Like the options for Head Girl, the field for Head Boy was not exactly sparse—she could list maybe ten lads in their year who could've fit the bill. She had hoped (but, she knew, pointlessly) that it would be Remus, and she had prayed that it wouldn't be Severus. She thought it unlikely, but he was a prefect, and Dumbledore could be unpredictable.

Lily had to admit to herself that James had not been on her mental list of candidates, but once she stopped to think about it, it made sense. He'd shown a lot of maturity and growth over the last year: he'd grown up, there was no denying it. And his leadership through SWEN had been a bright light amongst an awful lot of darkness, even if he wouldn't admit as much himself. It was odd, in a way, the things he could be humble about. She knew he wasn't perfect—-he still had a mouth on him; he could still be arrogant; he still took quidditch so seriously that it could ruin his mood for days. But then, she supposed, she was hardly perfect either: she was self-aware enough to recognise that she could be too proud, too closed-off; that she could hold a grudge like very few could. "There's no such thing as a perfect teenager," her dad had said when she'd aired these thoughts after the letter arrived. "Or a perfect person, really. All we can do is strive to do our best by ourselves and by the people around us." He'd wrapped his arm around her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. "I know I'm biased, but I think your Dumbledore made just the right choice for the job."

So she wasn't perfect, and neither was James. They could be imperfect together.

That it would mean more time in close proximity with James was perhaps both a blessing and a curse. Her crush, the one she had been quietly trying to tamp down, to douse the flames before they became too intense, didn't seem to have gone anywhere this summer. If anything, it had only got stronger with every interaction. It was ridiculous, she knew; insanity, frankly, to feel this fluttery way about a boy who was her friend, a boy with a serious girlfriend and plenty of other things to deal with other than Lily and her strange feelings.

She could only hope that dealing with him as co-heads would just cement their friendship, wear away the newness and flickering heat of her crush on him until it was gone completely.

The sound of a cleared throat from the doorway drew her from her thoughts, and she looked up to find her dad standing there, watching her. He wore a small, almost sad smile, as if he knew the path her thoughts had trodden down. "You alright, Lil?"

She forced up a smile of her own. "Yeah," she replied. "Just…thinking about thinking about packing."

"A vital step in the process." He leaned against the door frame. "Need any help?"

She tried not to let that question sink her. Each year since she'd turned eleven, her mum had been the one to assist with packing—even in more recent times, when Lily had not needed the help. They'd chat as they folded clothes and arranged books so everything fit inside; Rose would ask questions, excited for her daughter and genuinely interested in the life that Lily led when she was at school. Doing this without her, now, was just another reason for her to feel like something that had been broken, beyond repair, but which someone had tried and tried and tried to fix anyway. Piece back together, even if shards were missing. Even if it meant the picture no longer resembled anything she recognised.

"No, it's okay," she promised. "I've got it down to a fine art by now."

He nodded, pausing a moment as if not quite sure what to do next. Sometimes, this summer, she could tell that he wanted to speak, to say something that might alleviate both their pain. Unsurprisingly, he couldn't find the words—nobody would be able to. It just didn't seem possible. "I was thinking bacon and egg baps for lunch," he said at last. "One last hurrah before you trundle off to the frozen north."

She swallowed, nodding too, suddenly finding herself feeling quite overwhelmed. "That sounds lovely," she agreed; her voice was hoarse, like she'd been shouting. "Need any help?"

"No, you pack, love," he said, pushing off the door frame to turn around, make his way back into the hallway. "I'll give you a shout when it's ready."

She found herself standing, picking her way past clothes and spell books in a sudden rush. "Dad—"

Anthony stopped; turned back to face her, his eyebrows raised in friendly inquisition. "Yes, love?"

Lily once again found herself without words, words that might cover how grateful she was to have him, how sad she was for how sad he was, how heartbroken she felt whenever she noticed the empty space in the house around them. Instead, she pushed herself forward, tucking her head under his chin as she wrapped her arms around his waist; he instinctively pulled her in closer, one hand rubbing gentle circles on her back as his chin rested on the top of her head.

Neither of them said anything. Moments passed, and then she felt her father tilt his head to press a soft kiss into her hair, like he always had done ever since she could remember. Her vision blurred for a moment, tears that she was determined not to shed, and she gave him a squeeze. A tightening of her embrace that she hoped said what she couldn't seem to say out loud: that she loved him, that she was sorry. For what, she wasn't sure; she just knew that she was.

Finally, she pulled back, giving him a small but genuine smile. "Thanks."

He smiled back at her, clear emotion on his face—she worked hard not to let that affect her, too. "You know I'm always here for a hug, my little Lilibet," he told her.

A stronger smile, then, at his favoured pet name for her, and she turned back to her room. "I promise to be half packed by the time you're finished burning the bacon."

Her father tsked fondly behind her, and she listened as his footsteps carried him down the hall, towards the stairs. "As if I have ever burned anything in my life…"

She stared down at her trunk for a moment longer, until she heard the clanging of pans in the kitchen, and then nodded.

Time to get ready.

---

Thursday 1st September 1977

Sirius couldn't sleep.

He had tried: really tried. He'd laid there in his bed, in the dark, forcing his eyes closed and trying to quiet the various thoughts that skittered, uninvited, through his head. But it seemed as if no time would pass at all before he realised that his eyes were open again, and he was just staring up at the ceiling as the minutes ticked by, closer and closer to the point where he'd have to get up.

It was absurd. It wasn't like he didn't want to go back to Hogwarts—of course he did. He was looking forward to kicking off their final year in style; looking forward to seeing his mates; looking forward to watching Prongs take on his new role. Fuck, he was even looking forward to lessons, in a strange sort of way.

He couldn't put his finger on why he felt like this. He just knew that he did.

In the end, he hauled back the covers and reached for his wand, casting a quiet lumos that gave his bedroom an eerie glow but that meant he didn't trip over the various discarded clothes or textbooks that still lay scattered on their way to his trunk. The door opened with its customary creak, but that was the only sound as he made his way along the hallway and down the stairs: the house around him was still, silent, everyone fast asleep.

Or so he thought.

"Oh," he said, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. Fleamont looked up from where was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of firewhisky in one hand and a tattered old paperback novel in the other. "Sorry, I—thought everyone was in bed."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Fleamont replied with a gentle smile, and nodded to the chair nearby. "Can't sleep either, eh?"

Sirius sank into the chair with a tired nod. "Not a wink."

Fleamont nodded, pausing to take a sip of his drink. "I've never been one who can fall straight to sleep," he said. "Not like Jamie. I'm envious of his skills."

Sirius managed a wan smile, something undefined and blurred. Something like how his head felt at that moment. "He's a lucky git."

The older man laughed softly. "True." He paused, fingers drumming idly on the table. "So you couldn't even drift off…?"

"Dunno why," Sirius sighed. "It's not for want of trying." He stared down at his hands, noticing again the scar that bisected the base of his thumb. He tried to ignore it, usually. Scars like that could easily be healed; there were enough potions and spells that would've done it. But it had been a curse from his mother, when he was nine and apparently not holding his cutlery in a way befitting a Black. She had no interest in healing the ridge of scar that had remained, an angry red, after the altercation. Walburga was of the opinion that a child who had a reminder of the punishment was less likely to commit such a crime again.

Never had worked with Sirius, though.

He hadn't even realised that he had traced his finger along the raised white line—it was a habit, at this point. "We had a nanny who used to tell us to count sheep when we couldn't sleep," he murmured, lost in that memory for a moment. "...of course, she was fired once Mother realised she said sheep and not hippogriffs." He looked up, embarrassed. "Don't know what made me think of that…"

Fleamont watched him, a look of quiet understanding on his face. He was quiet in general, Mr Potter, happy to let his wife and son fill up a room with noise and nonsense. Quiet, but warm, and perceptive as anything—Sirius had always felt that James' dad saw far more of him than any other adult ever had. It was both comforting and alarming at the same time.

"The night before the school year starts is always a strange one," Fleamont offered; he set his book down, and with a wave of his wand, another glass appeared, filling with just an inch of firewhisky, which he slid over to Sirius. "And this is different enough, isn't it?" At Sirius' slight look of confusion, Fleamont continued: "I know you were with us last year at the end of the summer, but…those were different circumstances. You were in a very dark place."

Sirius looked down at his glass, more to have somewhere else to look than anything else. When he thought back to that time, he felt a mixture of emotions, but one that stood out strongly—especially in regard to how he had been to the Potters, who had taken him in and made him part of the family—was shame. Shame that he had been so caught in his own anger, his own bitterness and pain, that he couldn't see the people around him who cared for him. "Yeah…"

He felt a hand on his, and he forced himself to look up. Fleamont held his gaze, steady and reassuring, a shelter in a storm. "As anyone would've been." He squeezed Sirius' hand. "This time, you're a fully-fledged part of the family," he added. "I'm afraid there's no getting rid of us now, my boy."

My boy. The words made his throat ache, a sudden onset of emotion that he didn't quite know what to do with. They could have just let him live in the spare room; they could have just been friendly but distant, the parents of a friend and nothing more. But they had immediately and without a second thought taken him on as if he were their second son—like he was a vital organ in the body of this family, as if they would not, could not, get by without him.

If he ever let himself think about it too much, it could easily break him down.

He swallowed against this flood of emotion. "It's…the last year of school."

Fleamont nodded, patient, again understanding so much more than was said. "True."

"And then I'm…I'll be an adult…"

A small smile; he looked so much like James at that moment. "Even adults need their family," he said, voice gentle, a balm to a bruise that Sirius hadn't even noticed was there. "School coming to an end doesn't change that."

He blinked fiercely, trying to hold himself together. "You and Phie—"

"Will always be here for you," Fleamont nodded. "As I said, Sirius: there's no getting rid of us." His smile strengthened. "You and James will be desperate to live your lives and be grown up, but I'm afraid you'll have no peace unless you regularly return to see us. You know how your mother is."

Sirius' gaze flashed up to meet Fleamont's; they both knew that he wasn't talking about Walburga. His eyes stung and he drew in a deep breath. "Don't worry," he said, because anything more serious felt as if it would destroy him completely. "We'll keep coming back, it's not like we can feed ourselves, is it?"

Fleamont laughed fondly, patting his hand before he went to pick up his glass again. "Remind me to teach you two some basic recipes over the holidays."

Sirius smirked in spite of the urge to just put his head down on the table and cry. "Think Phie will mind us burning the house down…?"

"My boy," Fleamont smiled, "that is what aguamenti is for."

They talked for a while, Fleamont recalling his school days with a grin, or telling stories of how he had fared when he had first moved out of his parents' home. Sirius listened, sipping his firewhisky and feeling a wash of contentment seep into every pore. The itchy, uncertain feeling that had felt as if it lingered under his skin previously was gone; he found himself suddenly ready to go to bed, to start his seventh year, to earn some of these experiences for himself.

"We'd better try to get some sleep, I think," Fleamont decided, glancing at the kitchen clock. "We have to be up and out in seven hours."

Sirius nodded, standing, hesitating as Fleamont stood, too. "Thanks…for, y'know."

The man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that familiar way, and he reached out to briefly cup his cheek, to hold his gaze a moment. "Any time," he assured him. "I mean it. Okay?"

Sirius could only nod, once more fighting back the emotions that could have brought him to his knees if he let them. "Okay," he agreed quietly.

Fleamont nodded towards the stairs. "Onwards to bed," he said. "You'll sleep okay?"

He knew he would, now. It felt inevitable; as inevitable as the sun rising, as inevitable as the world turning. As inevitable as the way he had been folded into this family, loved, one of their own.

"Yeah," he replied, and now he couldn't fight a smile, too. "I'll sleep okay."