Chapter 23: Heard it Through the Grapevine
Four Interludes On The Train, or: Start As We Mean To Go On
i. Lily
King's Cross was as busy as ever on the cool but bright morning of 1st September: busy enough for Anthony Evans to stick his hazard lights on, haul Lily's trunk out of the boot, give his daughter a tight hug before clambering back into his car and disappearing into the London traffic with a wave. Lily didn't blame him—he usually did this seeing-her-off routine with his wife, and she knew they both felt that absence quite acutely this morning.
She also felt a touch relieved, if she were honest. If her dad had seen her on to the platform, she might've succumbed to her emotions, shed a few tears, and she didn't want to broadcast any kind of entertainment for her fellow students. Far better to be stoic and cool, if at all possible.
Luckily, she didn't have to be stoic and cool alone: she bumped into Mary almost immediately, her friend flinging her arms around her with a joyful grin. "It's my favourite head girl!" Mary crowed. "Ready for our final year?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Lily couldn't help but laugh.
After standing around by the departures board for five minutes (Mary having a lot to share about what she'd been up to the last week of the holidays), they decided they should probably try to make their way through the melee. Easier said than done, with the frustrating combination of their luggage and the sheer volume of people in the station.
"Surely," Mary was saying as they made their way around a bickering family, "the fact that there's a platform nine and three quarters implies there's a nine and a half, and a nine and one quarter…"
Lily was only half listening. ("Hmm, yeah, suppose so…" had been her insightful reply.) Yes, a part of her was more focused on not falling over someone's suitcase than on what her friend was talking about…but, if she were truthful, she could admit to herself that she was preoccupied with something else, too; she could only pray that Mary hadn't picked up on it, because she was bound to ask lots of questions as to why—questions Lily wasn't sure she could answer.
The other reason for her distraction? The scrap of parchment that had arrived bright and early that morning, a stately owl tapping at her windowpane just after seven. The missive had only been a few lines long, but somehow it had taken up residence in her brain to the point where she couldn't even pay attention to her surroundings as they navigated King's Cross. It was pathetic, Lily knew, to clutch onto a piece of parchment in her jacket pocket. It would be even more pathetic if she let it be the reason she tripped over a commuter.
The message had been simple, really. It was more about who the message was from.
L — congrats! Not that it's a surprise to anyone with a brain. (unlike my appointment…) See you in the prefects' carriage a few mins before our first big meeting? — J
He wanted to meet her before their meeting on the train—maybe he wanted to congratulate her in person. Maybe he wanted to ask for his jacket back (which would be tough luck for him, because she'd left it hanging on the back of her desk chair in her bedroom at home, maybe just slightly on purpose so she didn't have to give it back to him yet). Maybe he wanted her to know that he'd been thinking about her as much as she'd been thinking about him. Maybe…maybe he just wanted to find out what on earth actually happened at prefect meetings.
She was definitely reading far too much into the note.
"And then does that mean that all the other platforms have hidden quarter platforms too? Or do the fractions vary? Is there a platform three and two thirds?" Mary was cheerfully continuing, having led them successfully to the right section of wall between platforms nine and ten; they had to wait a few moments behind a cluster of nervous looking first years and their parents, loaded down with trunks and owls and one particularly slimy looking toad. "Maybe I'll write to the Transport department, demand some answers."
"You do that, Mare," Lily nodded, glancing around them. She wasn't looking out for anyone specific, of course. It was just interesting to see who was around, that was all.
"I will," Mary nodded too, looking pleased with herself. "And by the way, head girl, don't think I haven't noticed that you're barely listening to a word I'm saying."
"I'm listening!" Lily protested; they moved forward, finally at the front of the queue for the barrier, and cast a quick glance around themselves before sidling through. She waited until they were through the familiar billow of steam before she continued. "You were wondering about platform fractions."
"I hope you're not worrying about your new role," Mary told her. They side-stepped a group of gossiping sixth years who seemed unwilling to stand anywhere but right in the middle of the concourse. "You know you'll be brilliant at it. The cleverest, kindest, most beautiful head girl Hogwarts has ever seen."
She rolled her eyes, but felt that familiar surge of affection and warmth at her friend's words anyway. Even when Lily didn't have faith in herself, she knew she could rely on Mary to believe in her. "I'm not sure my beauty has much to do with it," she replied, giving Mary's arm a fond squeeze. "But thank you."
"I agree that you don't have to be beautiful to be a good head girl," Mary allowed with a nod. "You just happen to be beautiful too, it's an added bonus, isn't it?" She caught sight of something. "Oh, look! Marl's found us a compartment!"
Mary just about gave Lily a second to see what she had spotted too—Marlene through a nearby carriage window, waving and making some choice obscene gestures—before she yanked her through the crowd towards the carriage doors. Although Mary was petite, looking rather sweet and tiny and as if butter wouldn't melt, she was actually much stronger and fiercer than she seemed; she elbowed her way through the crowd, parting a group of second years with ease ("sorry, sorry," Lily told them as she was pulled along in Mary's wake, ever the people-pleaser), and hauled them both, trunks and all, onto the train.
Marlene stood up to greet them, pulling them both into a group hug. "At last! I was beginning to wonder if you two had decided to drop out."
"As if," Mary smirked, falling into the nearest seat. "Lil's got a school to run."
"I rather think that's Dumbledore's job, don't you?" Lily asked.
"He's getting old, it's time for him to pass the torch—"
"Oh, speaking of our illustrious head students," Marlene interrupted with a grin, flopping into her seat on the other side of the compartment; Lily sat down opposite her. "I came through the barrier behind Lucy and Lambeth, stood in the queue waiting right behind them, they didn't even notice I was there, self-absorbed cows—anyway, you'll never guess what they were talking about."
"You're right," Mary agreed, "we'll never guess."
"Lucy was bitching and moaning about how miserable and boring Cadence has been—" and at this point, Marlene leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "—ever since Potter dumped her."
Lily's head snapped up from where she'd been idling through the contents of her bag, the reaction quite out of her control. Dumped?!
"Wait, what?" Mary's eyes widened dramatically. "When did that happen?"
"Right at the start of the hols." Marlene looked over at Lily, clearly expecting a reaction; trouble was, Lily was too busy feeling shell-shocked to do any reacting. She felt as if a strong breeze might knock her down. The start of the holidays…? That meant… "Our boy Potter has been single all summer."
He'd been single…single when they'd been swimming; single at the pub; single at the cinema. Single when he'd walked her home and she'd thought she'd felt a strange electricity in the air between them. And yet…
"Why didn't he say anything?" Mary wondered with a frown. "Or any of the other lads. It's not like them to keep their mouths shut…"
He didn't say anything, Lily thought, and swallowed, hard. Because he doesn't care if you know or not.
"Lil?" Marlene's voice cut through the fog, and she refocused her attention on her friend. Both her companions looked concerned. "You okay? I thought this would be…y'know, good news…"
Lily tried to push down the burgeoning feeling of embarrassment that was blooming inside her; embarrassment at being seen and understood so completely, embarrassment at the obvious truth of the matter. Maybe this would've been good news—if he thought of her as anything other than a friend. "I'm fine," she dismissed. "What difference does it make to us, anyway?"
She didn't fail to notice the look Mary and Marlene shared, not that they were trying particularly strenuously to hide it from her. "Where's Dor?" she asked instead; yes, it was a blatant change of subject, but that was better than leaving room for them to question her further. "We didn't see her on the platform."
Marlene pursed her lips, but sighed, apparently giving in to the redirection of their conversation. "She was in here when I arrived but she went off about five minutes ago with a copy of The Daily Prophet and muttering something about teachers…"
"How very mysterious of her," Mary remarked.
"Terribly," Marlene agreed. "She'll return eventually, you know what she's like—she's probably got distracted talking to someone from Runes Club."
Lily nodded, sinking back into her seat as Mary changed the subject again to—well, Lily didn't know, because she had once again stopped listening. Her mind was whirring now, raking over every interaction she'd shared with James since the end of sixth year, as if she could pinpoint the time when he'd gone from attached and unobtainable to single and…apparently still unobtainable.
What was worse was how much she cared. God, a mere year ago she would not have given two hoots if James Potter was single, dating or had joined a monastery in the Himalayas. Somehow, without quite meaning to, she'd become his friend over the past twelve months, had seen a side of him she never expected to see. He'd changed a bit, it was true, but at some point she'd realised that maybe she'd not been looking at him fairly, that she'd been viewing him through a biased lens—whatever the opposite of rose-tinted glasses were. When she had stripped that all away, she found herself left with a boy who was, yes, infuriating and rash and sometimes a bit of an idiot, but who was also kind, and thoughtful, and funny; a boy who had been there all along, only she'd been too busy hating him to notice.
Well, she'd finally noticed—noticed a lot, if she were honest—and he no longer noticed her. If he'd still thought of her as he had back in fifth year, then he would've told her he'd split up with Cadence; he would've brought it up on one of the many, many occasions when the opportunity arose. Hell, she'd asked about Cadence a few times over the summer (in that self-flagellating way, trying to be nonchalant) and he'd not said a word.
Sometimes silence could speak volumes.
Dorcas returned as the train started to move, and Lily stood with greater reluctance than she'd expected to feel. "Right, well," she said, and the others looked up at her, Mary and Marlene a bit too knowing. "Off I go to the prefects' meeting. See you all in a bit."
"Good luck, not that you need it," Dorcas smiled, squeezing Lily's hand as she passed by. "Show those prefects who's boss."
"You!" Mary piped up in a stage whisper. "You're boss!"
Lily couldn't hold back a laugh, despite the strange mix of nerves and dread percolating in her stomach. "Thanks for the reminder," she replied.
The corridor was still busy, students finding their friends or a free compartment; she weaved her way down the train towards the front, where a section was always set aside for the prefects' meeting. She was nearly there—could see a shadow behind the glass door—when she stepped aside to let someone pass and found herself face to face with Cadence Dearborn.
The girl just stared at Lily for a moment, as if she had been about to say something but it had dropped from her head at the sight of her. Then she blinked, and forced up something like a smile. "Hi, Lily."
There was no reason for this to be weird. No reason at all. "Hi," she echoed, managing a small smile of her own. "Here we are again…"
Cadence let out a soft sound, one that might've been a laugh. "Indeed," she said. "Good summer?"
"Um…" Lily glanced off towards the prefects' carriage again. "Well—"
"Oh, shit, sorry," Cadence cringed; she looked genuinely embarrassed. "Sorry, I—I forgot about—um, just ignore me, yeah?" She sighed. "My head's a bit…all over the place."
"It's fine," Lily promised her softly. "No harm done." She hesitated. "How was…your summer?"
"Terrible," Cadence replied, and met her gaze again. "I suppose you heard about—"
"Cady!" A voice cut through their conversation, and they both looked to their left where Lambeth had appeared, looking irritated. "Are you coming or not?"
Cadence rolled her eyes, shooting Lily another faint smile. "Apparently I'm needed," she said. "See you later…"
Lily watched as the other girl slipped away towards her friend, truthfully a bit relieved that they had been interrupted. She didn't know why she had felt so nervous just to see Cadence—it wasn't like she had done anything wrong. She'd only just found out about the break-up; she could hardly be accused of anything untoward. But she also knew that she'd spent far longer than she cared to admit hoping for exactly this outcome.
She could only pray that no one else had picked up on that, least of all Cadence.
She shook off that thought, turning back towards the prefects' carriage: she couldn't put it off any longer. She squeezed past a few chatting students, reached for the door handle and drew in a steadying breath.
But the door opened before she had the chance to do anything, and she found herself face to face with James. He looked no different (unsurprisingly) than he had when she'd last seen him just a few weeks ago; the main difference, as far as she could tell, was that he'd had a bit of a hair cut—something which had done nothing to calm the wildness of his tresses. He wore a slightly nervy grin, his hazel eyes bright behind those familiar specs, and he looked at her as if he half expected her to shout at him. "Alright, Evans?"
She wasn't going to shout at him. It was all she could do not to fling herself into his arms. "Alright, Potter," she beamed in return, a smile she couldn't quash despite it all. "Ready to rule the school?"
His laughter warmed her right down to her toes. "Never been more ready."
This was fine. It would all be fine.
ii. Remus
The journey to London had felt particularly long today.
Hope Lupin had spent, by Remus' count, at least half of the trip along the M4 asking what could only be taken as leading questions. They'd set off in good time, as they always did, their battered car somehow still holding on despite the fact that half the chassis was rusting off. Lyall had turned on the radio, finding some inoffensive station to fill any silences that usually descended on journeys such as this—but Hope, for whatever reason, had decided that silence wasn't on the cards today.
It had started innocently enough: what was he looking forward to, did seventh years get any perks that others didn't. But it hadn't been long before his mum started talking about the Howell cousins, and Bethan specifically. "Her mum's just a bit worried about her, is all," Hope said, angling her body so she could turn around and look her son in the eye; Remus did his best not to look like he had something to hide. "And I know you two get on, she looks up to you…"
Acutely aware of his father's attention in the rear view mirror, Remus had just adopted an expression of polite befuddlement (something he'd perfected over the years when confronted by a teacher about the Marauders' antics). "She seemed fine to me," he replied, and felt a twinge of guilt as his mum nodded in disappointment, turning herself back to face the road.
Poor Bethan. She was obviously not coping with whatever she was going through as well as she thought, if the Hope-Faith worry line had opened up.
Still, after that, the rest of the journey went by peacefully, and it wasn't long before he was hauling his trunk onto the train.
It was odd, Remus thought; odd, and a bit melancholy, that this was the last September he would board the Hogwarts Express, the last September that he would share the long and slightly awkward drive up to London with his parents. The last September that he would hug them goodbye on the platform.
But it didn't do to be melancholy, he decided, as he waved them goodbye from the train door. There was a lot to look forward to; plenty to be happy about. Seeing his friends again, for one, even if they'd only seen each other a few weeks ago at most.
"Lupin!"
Remus turned, narrowly avoiding elbowing a third-year in the face as he did so; these carriages were not built for sudden movements. He'd been on his way to the Marauders' usual compartment—Sirius, for all his rebellious tendencies, certainly liked consistency more than most would suspect—trying to keep his head down and steer clear of too many interactions. Evidently that had been unsuccessful.
Dorcas Meadowes was squeezing through the crowded train corridor, pushing her way to his side with a look of determination on her face that he was all too familiar with. She looked something like she had when given a particularly tricky Runes translation block, or mid-contest during the scavenger hunt. He couldn't help but feel that didn't bode well.
"Alright?" he asked as she reached his side; they weren't exactly best friends, so it was something of a surprise that she was seeking him out, but maybe the summer of interactions had endeared him to her. "Here we are again, eh…"
"Yes," she agreed, somewhat impatiently, and raised her hand—her hand, which was clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Have you seen this?"
He blinked. "The paper? Um, not today's—my dad likes to read it with his porridge in the morning—"
Dorcas thrust the newspaper into his hands, and he suppressed a sigh, stepping back as much as he could to let others go by. Evidently she was not going to rest until she had made him read today's edition, even if it was in the middle of the pre-eleven-am rush. "Page seven."
Remus raised an eyebrow, but dutifully opened the paper, flipping through until he found the page in question. "Okay…"
SPATE OF DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUES — DMLE IN DISARRAY
Officials at the Ministry have admitted that a prominent pro-Muggle teacher has gone missing, the tenth missing persons case in the past two months alone. Although a spokeswitch told the Daily Prophet that "it is standard practice not to widely publicise such cases", many feel that the cover-up is yet further evidence of a government in chaos, with sources at the Ministry saying that the overstretched DMLE has "no clue what is going on or why".
Serena Merryton, Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and widow of renowned Auror Cassius Merryton, was reported missing from her home in Ipswich a month ago, but the disappearance has been kept under wraps: according to sources inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, those working the case have been given strict instructions to keep the disappearances quiet. "It's come straight from the top," said one source, a worker in the Auror Office who wished to remain anonymous; "Minchum is embarrassed that these high-profile wixen vanish and nobody's got any idea where they've gone."
Bartemius Crouch, head of the DMLE, stated that this was "another in a series of disappearances under suspicious circumstances" that the department is actively investigating. Merryton has been a vocal opponent to the renewed focus on blood purity in politics, however, Crouch refused to draw a connection between her outspoken views and her disappearance: "there is no evidence to suggest anything of the sort."
Meanwhile, in Carmarthenshire, a new investigation has begun into…
His stomach had dropped so much it might have hit the tracks. "Fucking hell…"
"My sentiments exactly," Dorcas agreed darkly; she took the paper back, folding it carefully. "I mean, I know that people joke about the DADA job curse, but this is something else…"
He thought of Merryton, of her fierce competence, her lightning-quick reflexes. For someone to have got the better of her… "She was involved with that resistance group, the Order of the Phoenix," he told her, lowering his voice; no one around them seemed interested in what they were saying, beyond a basic irritation that they were in the way, but it seemed important to not attract any further attention. "I wonder if…"
Meadowes paused, holding his gaze with a frown of her own, before nodding. "Shit." She tucked the paper under her arm. "I hate feeling helpless like this. If even our hard-as-bloody-nails teacher gets snatched out from under Dumbledore…"
"Yeah," he agreed with a heavy sigh.
She patted him on the shoulder, a gesture which was well-meant if not still incredibly awkward. "Well," she said. "The revolution starts here, eh?"
He thought of Alastor Moody, sitting across the table from him at the Hog's Head; at his talk of difficult times, but of fighting back, of standing up for what was right... "Too right, Meadowes," he agreed.
Dorcas glanced at her watch. "We're about to leave. Sorry, I just had to talk to someone about this, and—I know she had a weird bond with you, or something…"
'Weird bond' seemed like an apt, if uncomfortable way of putting it. "No, it's fine," he replied. "Thanks for…letting me know."
"You're welcome?" she smirked. "Enjoy the prefects' meeting—is Potter pissing his pants in fear?"
"I haven't seen him yet," he admitted. "But I doubt it."
They parted ways, Dorcas heading back to where her friends had gathered and Remus making his way onwards to their usual compartment. Most of the crowd had dissipated, students having found somewhere to pass the long journey by now, which meant that he no longer had the kind of cover he needed.
The embarrassing fact was that he was trying not to bump into his boyfriend.
Owain had written to him a few times in the past week, always sweet, asking how he was, what he had been up to. Each letter seemed to bring with it a mountain of guilt; ever since his conversation with Lily the other week, he'd been steeling himself to have a difficult conversation.
Because what could he say, really, as a decent excuse for breaking up? It wasn't as if they fought like cats and dogs; it was hardly like Owain was cruel, or a cheater, or thoughtless. Remus wasn't about to say "we have to break up because actually, I'm a werewolf", which was ultimately the truth of the matter.
He'd tried playing out the conversation in his head several times over the past few days, usually when he was trying (and failing) to get to sleep. Platitudes like 'it's not you, it's me' just seemed empty. If he didn't give any reason, that would surely invite more questions, more focus, focus that he could not afford to draw on himself. Frankly, it was a miracle that Owain hadn't yet cottoned on to the truth of Remus' lycanthropy: he didn't need his soon-to-be ex and his brainbox Ravenclaw friends picking apart his life, trying to work out why this had happened and inevitably stumbling across the truth in the process.
But it wasn't as if they could stay together. There was only so long he could drag out the pretence that he was normal, that he was just like other boys. And if Owain found out—
Well. It was a thought that cowed him; that scared him far more than he cared to admit.
He was probably too far in his own thoughts, in his worry about what if's and could be's: that was why he didn't notice the figure striding towards him—didn't notice until James was right in front of him, waving his hand in front of his face. "Oh! Hi!"
"Blimey, Moony," James grinned, leaning against the nearest compartment door in a way that was effortlessly casual, something Remus often struggled to be. "Is this how you greet one of your best friends? Pretending he doesn't exist?"
Remus rolled his eyes. "I was just distracted, that's all," he replied. "You have my sincerest apologies."
"Sounds like your most sarcastic apologies, but fine," James smirked. "Everything okay? Something on my Moony's mind?"
That all seemed too big a subject to unravel here in the middle of the corridor, not least because James seemed to be on his way somewhere—hardly available for a long, detailed chat about the quiet disaster that was Remus' love life. "No, no, all fine," he assured him. "Where you off to? Fed up with Sirius already?"
James laughed, glancing over his shoulder. "No, he hasn't been too egregious so far," he replied. "I said I'd meet Evans a few minutes before the prefects' meeting—you know, get the lay of the land…"
"...find out what you actually have to do?" Remus teased fondly. "Sounds very sensible, Prongs."
"I have my moments," James admitted; he paused, and Remus watched as his friend drew in a breath, clearly considering whether to say what he was about to say. "You're not…annoyed about that, are you? Me being head boy, I mean…"
Remus blinked in surprise—he hadn't been expecting that, of all things. It hadn't even occurred to him to be annoyed, or jealous, or whatever else James was worried about him feeling. Should he have been? "Eh?"
"Well, you know," James said, his expression painfully earnest, "you've actually been a prefect, and you are definitely in McGonagall's top three list of sensible Gryffindor boys—of course, she doesn't know you like we do, but still—" He broke off, and sighed. "I just…wouldn't blame you if you thought it should've been you."
Remus let out a laugh, something which managed to ease the stress that seemed to be painted across his friend's face. "That's—honestly, very nice of you to say, but really," he said firmly, "don't worry about it."
James twisted his face into something, a cross between a frown, a grimace and a smile. "Sure? Because—"
"I'm sure," Remus assured him. "I never expected to be head boy. I never wanted to be head boy." He paused; gave his friend a grin. "Not sure I can think of many things worse, actually."
James allowed him a smile, letting out an apparently long-held sigh. "Okay. Fair enough."
"You ready for your first meeting?" Remus asked, keen to shift the focus on to something less awkward. "Assert your dominance and so on? Have you been practising looking powerful?"
That brought on a smirk, the truest sign that James had let go of the previous subject. "Mate, I'm a living example of power—no need to practise," he replied, then shrugged. "I know I'm a bit behind on how these things work, but…it'll be fine. Evans'll lead the way while I learn the way of it."
"Ah, yes," Remus smiled, that smile only growing as James rolled his eyes. "You two, both single, huddled together in the heads' office—"
"Merlin, your imagination, Moony," James cut him off, cuffing his head quite gently, all things considered. "Have you been at your mum's romance novels again? They're a bad influence, I tell you."
Now it was Remus' turn to roll his eyes. "If you say so, Prongs."
James grinned, and turned to walk off again—but paused. "We're definitely okay?"
He gave his friend's shoulder a squeeze. "We're fine, mate." He nodded down the corridor. "I'll see you in there."
A smirk, and that familiar twinkle in his eyes. "I expect you front and centre, Lupin," he told him, his voice faux-prim. "And not a minute late."
"Yes, sir," Remus laughed, giving James a shove as he started off down the carriage again. Only a few more doors to pass, and then he found—
"Remus Lupin, as I live and breathe!" Sirius declared from his position, slouched nonchalantly across one of the compartment benches. Remus didn't think he was reading too much into the clear delight on his friend's face. "I was starting to wonder if you'd picked up some new mates for your final year."
Remus sank into a seat opposite, next to Pete, who was thumbing idly through a quidditch magazine. "I considered it, but it didn't seem worth the effort," he replied, before giving Peter a nudge. "Alright Wormtail? Have you been tanning?"
Pete set down the magazine with a pleased smile, holding out his bronzed arms indicatively. "Not on purpose, Moony, but I think it lends me a certain something, don't you?"
"Far more attractive than your usual pasty pallor," was Sirius' input.
"He's just jealous," Remus told Pete with a grin, "because his skin always verges on vampiric."
Sirius sniffed, tilting his chin up in what could only be described as a move of great haughtiness. "I'll pretend you didn't say that hurtful thing," he said. "If only because James has already ditched us to be a bloody square and now we're down to three."
Remus winced slightly, glancing at his watch. "I'll have to go and be a bloody square too, in a few."
"Half the Marauders, neutered by responsibility," Sirius sighed, shooting Pete a baleful look. "Seems like it's just you and me carrying the heavy burden of wallying about, Peter my old chum."
Pete rested his hand solemnly over his heart. "As Helga is my witness."
"Well, you two seem to be off to a good start this year," Remus remarked with a smirk, fishing a few items out of his bag—it seemed unlikely that he would need to take notes in this meeting, but you never knew. "Will you two be alright until I get back? Not too much wallying?"
"We make no such promises," Sirius said, hauling himself into a sitting position. "Go on, sod off to your big meeting. Tell Prongs to deduct ten house points from every Slytherin who even looks his way."
"I think he'll consider that a bit at odds with his new role," Remus replied as he stood up. "But I'll suggest it."
He picked his way across Sirius and Pete's outstretched legs, pausing in the doorway to look back at his friends. He felt a surge of fondness, affection for these boys: yes, things were changing. Yes, there was plenty to worry about. But he could always rely on his brothers in arms, that much he could be sure of.
"Right," he said, before he could succumb to any more soppiness. "See you two later. Don't have too much fun without me."
Sirius' call of "as if we could!" followed him down the corridor, and Remus found he couldn't wipe the smile from his face.
iii. James
There weren't many people who believed a good day could start at five in the morning, and depending on his mood, James was only sometimes one of them. He'd enjoyed a fair few lazy starts over the holidays, making the most of the opportunities while he had them, but usually he woke up with the birds and found it too difficult to switch his brain off in order to go back to sleep.
The dawning of 1st September had been no exception: he'd leapt out of bed while the rest of the house slumbered around him, took a quick, rousing shower, and spent a mildly embarrassing twenty minutes in front of his wardrobe, trying to find an outfit that seemed head-ly. Admittedly, most of that time was spent berating himself for caring so much, but still. It was far longer than he'd ever spent on such an endeavour before, and far longer than he ever wished to spend in the future. Thank fuck Sirius was still asleep at that point, or he'd have ripped the piss out of him with absolutely no mercy, and honestly, James would've deserved it.
Just before the clock ticked over to seven, he got the bright idea to send a message to Lily. Something casual, he thought; a perfectly normal thing to do with one's fellow head student. Never mind the fact that if, in some bizarre alternate universe that didn't bear thinking about, he had been head boy but someone else had been head girl, he'd have been highly unlikely to send anything at all—best not to dwell on that. She was his friend; he'd put off sending her congratulations for this long; surely it would just be weird if he didn't send anything at all, right? And his window of time for such a task was rapidly closing.
Of course, this meant that he spent most of the intervening time—and between seven and eleven was more than enough intervening time, thank you—thinking about whether he should've just left it, or said something slightly different, or—
Overthinking was a skill: one that by now, James felt, he had perfected.
Sirius was frustratingly good at reading his best friend, which meant that most of the rest of the morning was a test of endurance, trying not to let himself get too riled up or provoked into a reaction. At one point, as they stood around waiting for Fleamont to finish chatting with an old colleague in The Leaky Cauldron, Euphemia had cast a beady eye on the pair of them, James being in the process of trying to jab Sirius in the ribs with his elbow. "You two are in your last year of school," she had said, voice stern and clearly trying not to smile. "I wonder when you will act like it?"
(James' response of "he started it" did not help matters.)
It wasn't long before they reached the station, bade a fond farewell to their parents, and managed to snatch their usual compartment out from the grasps of some foolish Hufflepuffs. It was nice to catch up with Pete, and with Remus, who he bumped into in the corridor, but James found it difficult to truly focus on much more other than his watch ticking ever closer to the time when he was due to meet up with Lily.
He knew that it was complicated, the way he felt this morning: a mixture of nerves about seeing her again; happiness at seeing his mates, at starting a new year; apprehension at starting his final year. But the thing that seemed to weigh the heaviest, the thing he had talked about the least, was his worry about being head boy.
'Worry' maybe wasn't quite the right word for it. As far as he understood the job, James felt sure he was capable of doing it—schedules, detentions, bossing people around and giving out wise, sage advice where necessary. Easy enough, even in spite of his years at Hogwarts taking a more relaxed approach to the rules.
It was more about everything else that came with the role; for most, the head students were a role model, setting the tone for how the rest of the pupils carried themselves. And with the way of the world around them all, a maelstrom of blood prejudice, fear, hatred and anger that tried to hide itself behind a presentable facade…the fact that nervous, impressionable students might look to him for guidance…
Well, it felt like a lot of pressure. He wondered if Lily felt it, too. If asking her wouldn't just make her think he wasn't ready for the job.
Again, he really did have overthinking down to a fine art.
They only had a few minutes to catch up (if you could call it that) before prefects started arriving—Remus parked himself right in the middle of the bench opposite, arms folded neatly across his chest and what James knew was his most smug attentive expression on his face, the supportive git—and then the meeting itself was something of a blur. He definitely said some things, although if pushed, he wasn't sure he'd be able to remember what they were. He knew that most of the gathered crowd had seemed to appreciate his thoughts, Slytherins aside, so it can't have been too bad.
Truthfully, there weren't many better ways to spend time than watching someone clever, passionate and articulate in their absolute element: it was like watching the best Seeker in the league catch the snitch, or Dumbledore perform complex, dangerous magic as if he were doing something that any three-year-old could do.
James decided that, even if he didn't…feel the way he felt, he'd still have been impressed watching Lily in that meeting. Merlin, she knew her way with a crowd; she sounded like she'd been head girl for years, like she'd slipped into a second skin. And yes, fine, she got the sweetest earnest look on her face when she explained the rota system, and a little crease in her brow—one he wanted to reach out and brush carefully with his thumb—when she pointedly reminded the group that points could not be deducted just because a pupil was a bit irritating.
(Something James would be sure to remind himself of when he was interacting with particular swathes of the school population.)
He could think she was beautiful; that didn't change the fact that he also thought she was some level of genius, as well as being a bit terrifying (in a nice way) and kinder than most of their peers would ever imagine.
As long as he kept it all to himself, it was fine, anyway.
The meeting came to an end—there was only so much to say, after all, before the year had even properly begun—and the compartment began to empty. Remus, the last prefect left behind and helpfulness personified, shot him a smirk before sidling off too, issuing a, "see you later, Lily!" over his shoulder.
And then there were two.
"Well," he turned to her, hands stuck firmly in his pockets for fear of raking them through his hair and reminding her of his past persona. "I suppose I should reinstate those fifty points I took off Crouch Jr on my way through the station earlier."
Lily faltered for only a moment before she laughed, rolling her eyes. "You barely know who Crouch Jr is."
"True," he admitted. "I've been saving my first points-off for someone who really deserves it, anyway."
She held his gaze easily; he tried not to get too distracted in the twinkle of her eyes. "So Sirius, then?"
"Exactly," he smirked, pausing for a moment. "Sorry I didn't—you know, contribute much today. I'll catch up quickly, I promise."
Lily actually looked a bit surprised. "Don't worry about it," she told him. "I thought you did well."
He offered her a smile, feeling more relieved than he had expected. "I'm not sure I did much of anything," he replied. "But thanks."
"You weren't a prefect before," she reminded him; she had that tone of voice, again, the one that was sweetly caring, the one that made him want to stay in her presence for as long as he could get away with. "You'll soon get used to the way things run."
"I will," he agreed, watching her as she tore her eyes from his, suddenly finding her fingernails remarkably interesting. There was something in her eyes that he couldn't quite decipher. It was like she was holding something back, but he was damned if he knew what it was—surely not enough time had passed since the start of the school year for him to have fucked up already. "And like I said…I promise I won't make you do all the heavy lifting for too long."
Lily gave him a smile; held his gaze, across the compartment. "I know you won't," she assured him. "Seriously, James—you're doing fine."
It was as if her using his first name was a catalyst for him: he moved forward, closing the gap between them; he drew in a deep, calming breath; he rocked, almost nervously, on his heels. "Lily," he started. "I, um—I've been meaning to talk to you about something—"
The sound that cut him off was relatively quiet, a gentle thud, really; not something that should have caused them both to look around in alarm. But they did, both heads turning towards the glass in the compartment door. There was a piece of parchment there, on the other side, held against the pane as if by an invisible hand. They both stepped forward to get close enough to read it; his shoulder brushed hers as they took the words in, silently, as if as one.
Go home, filthy MUDBLOOD!
No mudblood whore is OUR head girl!
He could tell, to the millisecond, when Lily had taken in the words: her whole body was tense next to him, suddenly, unsettlingly still. He heard her draw in a slow, steadying breath; watched as she set her shoulders; blinked; turned to face him. "Well," she said, as if she had to say something. "That's original."
That strange stillness was gone in an instant, James moving to wrench the door open, but whatever spell had made the parchment appear made it disappear just as swiftly. The corridor was empty. Silent, but for the sound of the train on the tracks below them. "Cowardly little shits," he muttered, turning back to her.
He wanted to reach for her hand, to tell her it was okay, but somehow, he couldn't seem to move, pinned in place by her blank expression, a look which seemed to say 'this is nothing new'. That she might have become used to this shit was devastating in itself, and he felt an intense urge to make it okay, to ease that burden from her shoulders if he possibly could. "Lily, you—you can't give it the space in your head—they're not worth even a square inch of you," he told her, stepping closer again. He hoped she couldn't hear the edge of desperation in his voice. "I'm sorry…"
She looked up at him, as if she'd only just remembered he was there, and for a moment, he wasn't sure how she'd respond; it seemed like it could go either way. Bend, or break. All he knew was that it was horrible standing there, helpless and useless in his anger, too busy wondering if it was okay to hug her—whether that would be overdoing it—to ever just get on with the action and step closer.
He watched as she took in another, deeper breath, and forced up a smile—it was wavering, and unconvincing, but it was a smile. "I've been called worse," she said, and glanced away towards the door as his frown dipped further into concern. "It's fine."
"Lily—"
"Really," she said, and met his gaze again. She seemed suddenly tired, like the experience had drained her of all that mesmerising kinetic energy he'd so enjoyed lighting up the room barely ten minutes ago. "I'll—I'll show it to Professor McGonagall, if it'll make you feel better, but…"
James felt absolutely no better for her words. "...but?" he asked, somehow knowing, anyway, what was coming.
She smiled, something entirely without humour. "But it won't make any difference," she finished, and he nodded heavily. She paused, then reached out to briefly press her hand to his—a passing movement, something which shouldn't have felt so much like all the best non-verbal, wandless magic in the world bundled up into a few square inches of skin. They both looked down at where their hands met, and it seemed as if she was as surprised at the action as he was. "Seriously, James. You did well," she added, her smile starting to resemble something genuine, at least. "Better get back to the girls. See you later…"
And as he watched her walk away, steadying herself against the sway of the train's perambulations onwards to Scotland, he wondered how many times he would do this very thing—watch her leave, and try to unpick all the things he wished he had said.
iv. Sirius
The start of their seventh year, their final year, was not exactly as thrilling as Sirius had envisioned.
He'd pictured laughter, carousing, catching up with the lads, chatting with the girls, the countryside flying past as they all reflected on how terribly grown up and mature they all were now. Lofty ideas, true, but it could've happened.
What happened instead was James disappearing before the train had even left King's Cross, murmuring something about a pre-meeting meeting, Remus tucking himself in at the window and looking nervously at the door every few minutes, and Pete explaining, as London crept past the windows, how his mum had found one of Iris' letters to him and the traumatising conversation about birth control that had followed.
"She said things," Pete intoned, voice flat and eyes staring emptily into the distance. "Things I'll never be able to forget, no matter how long I live."
Not quite the auspicious start he had expected, but what could be done?
It wasn't long after that when Remus headed off for his prefects' meeting, and Sirius and Pete settled in for a game of Exploding Snap. Technically the game had been banned from the train at the end of fifth year by McGonagall—not impressed at being called down to Hogsmeade station to extinguish several small fires before they'd even managed to leave for the summer—but Sirius decided that needs must. Surely she would've forgotten about that by now, anyway, and besides, they were terribly sensible seventh years now. What was the worst that could happen?
"Think this year will be strange?" Peter asked, surveying his cards.
"Strange how?" Sirius asked in reply.
"Well…Prongs in a position of power," Pete considered. "Us all having to buckle down for our exams. Gearing up for everything to change again…"
Sirius didn't particularly want to think about that element. "Plenty'll be the same, though," he pointed out. "As sure as the sun rises in the east, there'll be a weird hat song at the feast tonight, we'll trounce Slytherin at quidditch and Moony will manage to blow up his cauldron in Potions."
"I hope so," Pete murmured, and for a moment, Sirius thought he hadn't seen his friend look quite so vulnerable before. It was unsettling. "I don't like change."
"Well, no one does, mate," Sirius offered, as if he himself hadn't been having an existential crisis about the future less than twelve hours ago. "But it'll be okay—we're together. That's all that matters, eh?"
Pete seemed reassured by these rather empty words, and apparently his moment of vulnerability had distracted him sufficiently that Sirius was able to win the game easily in only four more moves. They settled in for a rematch, the conversation moving on to less emotional fare.
Just on the other side of Cambridge, Pete having disappeared a while ago to find Iris, Remus only just back from the prefect meeting and no sign of James, Sirius declared himself "bored beyond measure" and suggested they go in search of the trolley witch. He wasn't actually all that hungry; just fed up, after sitting on his own, with his own thoughts, for the best part of twenty minutes.
"Alright," Remus agreed, amiably enough. "I am in want of train chocolate."
Sirius led the way out into the corridor, stepping round a cluster of sixth years gossiping about something or other. "You can't have finished your stash already…?"
Remus shrugged. "We got to King's Cross early. What was I supposed to do?"
Sirius shook his head. "Poor Moony. It's not easy, is it?" They stepped to one side to let a nervous looking first year go by, clutching on to his owl cage as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. "How was the meeting?" Sirius asked as they started walking again. "Did Prongs look like he was going to shit himself?"
Remus shot him a disapproving look. "Not at all," he replied. "He was his usual calm self. Born for that sort of role, really, wasn't he?"
"Hmm." Sirius wasn't fully on board with his best friend becoming a member of the establishment, although he could admit that having rule enforcement on his side could prove handy… "Did he manage to get through the meeting without staring at Evans the whole time?"
"He did," Remus nodded; they reached the back of a queue of students, waiting to place their order with the trolley witch. Sirius could already tell that his friend's mind was on other things: probably whether there were enough chocolate frogs available. "He was the picture of restraint."
"Shame," Sirius grinned, "but I suppose there's plenty of time for that to change."
That was when two things happened in quick succession: he noticed Remus' eyes alight on something in the distance down the corridor, and mere moments later, Remus had shoved him unceremoniously in through the nearest door, squeezing himself in and pulling said door shut behind him.
"Erm—" Sirius frowned, glancing first at his friend, then around them at the cramped surroundings. "Say, Moony, why are we in the loo…?"
Remus still had Sirius' t-shirt clutched in his fist; he didn't seem to have noticed. Instead, his gaze was fixed firmly on the door as if he expected it to come flying open any moment. "Pads," was his simple response, voice low; it had more of an effect on Sirius than he was willing to confront. "Be quiet."
Sirius paused, trying to decide whether he should feel aggrieved, but ultimately found he couldn't be bothered. It was hard to feel much of anything else when he was crammed into a space about half the size of the standard broom closet, with Remus' hand still bunched at his chest. He could feel every breath that Remus took. It was distracting.
At least a minute passed before Remus seemed to notice what he was doing: his grip on Sirius' shirt loosened, his hand dropping to his side and an expression crossing his face that was a wonderfully intriguing mixture of embarrassment and something warmer. "Sorry," he said, his voice still at a whisper. "For, um…manhandling you."
Sirius shrugged, giving his friend an easy smile. "Can't say I'm not a bit confused, Moony," he replied, "but I also can't say this is the strangest thing that's happened to me on the train, so…"
Remus nodded, his gaze shifting to the closed door again. "I saw Owain," he said. "Coming out of a compartment."
Sirius paused, trying to understand the look on his friend's face now. If only he was as easy to read as James, who was an open book; if Remus was a book, he was a closed one, and half the pages were written in a language Sirius didn't understand. "Owain," Sirius repeated, as gently as he could. "Your…boyfriend, Owain?"
Remus did at least have the decency to look a bit ashamed. He cleared his throat, pushed his fingers through his hair: top notch delaying tactics, Sirius thought. "Yes, well…"
"Have you had a falling out?" Sirius wondered. Nobody had said anything about such a thing the last time they'd all been together, the day of the cinema trip, but then it was possible that Remus had turned to someone more emotionally-cogent than Sirius for advice. "He hasn't hurt you, has he? Do I need to introduce him to my fist?"
"No, no," came Remus' swift reply. "Everything's…fine. We haven't seen each other since before Lily's mum's funeral, but…" Sirius watched as he swallowed, hard. "I need to break up with him and I don't want to do it on the train, and if we see each other I'll have to pretend everything's fine, and—"
This was a lot of information to take on board. And, of course, his interest in the subject matter was purely as a friend. His heartbeat wasn't thumping more erratically at hearing this news. "Oh," Sirius said, with great profundity. "Right. Well—shall I see if the coast is clear? Only I don't fancy spending the whole journey in the loo…"
Remus once more looked embarrassed, but nodded, a short, blunt movement, as if it would dispel the flush rising in his cheeks. "Yeah—thanks."
Manoeuvring so he could open the door wasn't straightforward (it involved rather more things brushing against other things than was probably decent), but he managed it, creaking it open and sticking his head out into the train corridor. The coast was clear—well, apart from a third-year Hufflepuff wandering past, who gave Sirius a confused glance before continuing on her way. "No sign of him," he reported, opening the door fully so they could both step out. "We should probably get back to our compartment before we get stuck in there again, though."
Remus followed him out, shutting the toilet door behind him; they fell into step together, heading back in the direction of their usual spot. "Thanks, Pads," he said eventually. "Not my finest moment of Gryffindor bravery, I 'spose…"
Sirius felt this moment, too heavy around them; there was no way he could peel these feelings open any more than they already were. Too complicated—too messy. "Maybe it's brave to hide in the loo," he offered, as lightly as he could. "Maybe we're setting a new standard for the new cohort."
Remus snorted, shaking his head. "Maybe."
James still wasn't back as they sloped back into their compartment, and neither was Pete, but a few loose pieces of parchment were placed—neatly, clearly determinedly—on the seats. Sirius frowned, stepping closer to pick one up and read the carefully-printed words.
Tired of too much change? Find yourself missing the way things used to be? Do you feel the stability of the wizarding world being steadily eroded from beneath your feet?
We have created the Society for the Preservation of Magical Ideals for just these reasons. If you're interested in joining us, in talking to like-minded individuals, you can find us after lessons on the lawn by the quidditch pitch on Friday 2nd September. We look forward to seeing you there!
"What," Sirius murmured, "the fuck?"
He glanced up to see Remus holding another of the fliers, a similarly concerned frown on his face. "The 'Society for the Preservation of Magical Ideals'...?"
"Seems like a long walk just to say 'purebloods only'." Sirius looked over towards the door, as if the person who had distributed the leaflets might be standing there. "This is—"
"Brazen," Remus said, with a shake of his head. His knuckles were white where he was holding onto the parchment still. "They're just…out in the open. How is this allowed…?"
Sirius sat down heavily, trying to get his head around all of it. It was all set out so calmly, so placidly, as if every word wasn't ringed with poison; as if the very idea behind it all wasn't jagged, designed to rip open the throat of anyone who dared not to conform with their view on 'magical ideals'. For him to feel so shaken by it…he could only imagine how it would feel for anyone muggleborn, or half-blood. Like the floor had just opened up beneath their feet.
Although, he considered grimly, they probably always felt like that.
Footsteps brought his attention up to the door, and moments later James appeared, looking weary. "Merlin, you won't believe what some absolute raging cu—" He stopped, frowning at the sight of his friends. "What's on?"
Remus didn't say anything, just held out the parchment, which James accepted warily. His frown only deepened as he read it. "What the…"
"Just what I said," Sirius agreed.
"Is this…can they actually do this?" Remus asked; it seemed to Sirius as if he knew the answer already, but wanted desperately to be told he was wrong. "It's blood warfare, right?"
"Well, yes, but… it's all very coded, isn't it," James sighed, raking his hand through his hair. He was reading it again, perhaps hoping for something that would make any of it make sense. "They're being very careful not to use any inflammatory language, anything that'll get them shut down."
"They make it sound like…like fucking SWEN!" Sirius muttered, crumpling his leaflet into a ball and lobbing it uselessly at the window.
James blanched at that comparison, but nodded slowly. "That's probably how they'll get around any complaints. Fair's fair, and all that."
Sirius didn't like the quiet response his best mate was having to this: where was his anger, his quick mind working at a plan to rip these twats to shreds? Another casualty of the head boy badge. "Well, I know what I'll be doing tomorrow after lessons," he decided. "Watching on and making a fucking list of any prick who—"
"Pads," James frowned. "You can't just sit there with a quill and jot down names. They'll be over to a teacher for harassment before you can put your ink away."
"I don't give a shit," Sirius shrugged his words off. "They want to be out in the open? There are fucking consequences."
"But there aren't, are there?" Remus' voice was quiet, but hard; both Sirius and James looked over at him, surprised to hear such a tone from their usually reasoned friend. "There never are. Look what happened to Charlie last year—no investigation, nothing done, the person who imperiused her is probably sitting on this train now, happy as Larry, planning the next attack that they'll inevitably get away with—"
"Moony," Sirius frowned. "We won't let them get away with—"
"We will, because that's what always happens." Remus turned to James. "You were already swearing up a storm when you came back a minute ago, something else happened, didn't it?"
James cast Sirius a glance, one that seemed to say, this isn't going to help matters. "Well…yeah," he admitted. "Some prick left a message for Lily, we don't know who…"
"A message?" Sirius leaned forward. "What message?"
A moment of quiet, James shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Let's just say there were words none of us would dream of using."
"So these people obviously feel they can do what they like, leave vile messages for—for the fucking head girl, and get away with it!" Remus moved to the door, wrenching it open again. "I'm going for a walk."
He was gone in a flash, and Sirius glanced back over at James, a heavy, uncomfortable feeling in his gut. "Well," he murmured, "this year's off to a good start, isn't it?"
James didn't have a reply for him.