Chapter 24: Heavy Is The Head

James had experienced some interesting starts to the school year in his time at Hogwarts. There was fourth year, when they'd managed to mess with the Slytherin dungeons password enough that the wall flatly (as, in fairness, walls often were) refused to let anyone through who didn't have the letter X in their first name. Fine for Xavier Yaxley—that stupid sod had an X in both names, perhaps to make up for his lack of discernable braincells—but not for the rest of the student population. Then there was first year, when the Black heir being sorted into Gryffindor had resulted in an extremely angry, frightened-but-pretending-not-to-be Sirius informing his brand new dorm mates that he didn't much care what they thought of him or his family, an anxious Peter squeaking in reply, "why, who are your family?", and Sirius accidentally setting the wardrobe on fire in response.

That was all ancient history, of course. And besides, seventh year had those beat, even if there was a lack of arson or pranks all around.

The note Lily had received still lingering in his mind, he hadn't been in much of a cheerful mood when they'd all trooped into the Great Hall for the welcoming feast, and that mood hadn't much improved when Dumbledore announced who the new Heads were, making them stand up and everything, and James got to enjoy the heartening sensation of what felt like roughly half of the school staring over at him in open disbelief, confusion and/or derision. He'd forced up a tight smile and sat down again as soon as it was polite.

Later, after he and Lily had helped the first years get settled, he brought up the subject in the dorm, but his mates weren't having any of it.

"It was not half the school," Sirius told him, lounging on his bed, not having yet changed out of his uniform. "It was maybe the Slytherins, but who fucking cares what they think anyway?"

"And Cadence's mates," Peter added, not quite as helpfully as he probably intended. "But that's about solidarity, isn't it."

Merlin, he hadn't even noticed his ex-girlfriend's cronies glaring at him: something else to look forward to. "Right…"

"You're overthinking it," Remus piped up from where he was steadily, neatly, unpacking his trunk. "You're the right choice for Head Boy. Don't let anyone get in your head about it."

Never one to be told what to do (depending, of course, on who was doing the telling), James spent what felt like most of the night awake, staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster and wondering whether there'd ever been a Head Boy removed from post during their tenure, and whether he would be the first to be bestowed such an honour, and how disappointed his parents would feel when it happened.

True, when thought about in comparison to fire and angry Slytherins, it didn't sound like much. But sometimes that was the way of things, wasn't it? "A bee may be small," his grandmother would say, wisely, "but its sting will still hurt."

(He wasn't sure if that was relevant to his situation, but then again, he was very tired.)

He'd struggled through breakfast and then dove into the first day of classes, which at least gave him the chance to be thoroughly distracted. Distracted by the near constant talk of NEWTs from their teachers; distracted by his mates, who had decided to try to cheer him up by telling a series of increasingly nonsensical knock-knock jokes; distracted by Lily and, well, her mere existence.

And her mere existence was there most of the day, for they shared Charms, Herbology and Transfiguration, and only parted at three o'clock for the last lesson of the day—her off to Arithmancy, him off to Divination. It was at the end of Divination, in fact, as they packed away their belongings, that he was reminded of his other current concern.

"—meeting on the lawn," he overheard Iris say to her friend Barbara, who looked as scandalised as Iris did. "I couldn't believe it when I saw the flyer on the train! What is wrong with people?"

"Oh, don't get me started," Barbara replied darkly, which James took as good a time as any to get away before she did get started.

He made his way briskly down the silver stepladder, along the winding corridor and to the stairs, knowing—as surely as he knew that the sky was blue and the grass was green—that Sirius would already be out there, and probably angling to cause trouble. It wasn't that James didn't think this particular group deserved trouble, but Sirius was on thin ice enough as it was after everything that had happened last year, and riling up and/or engaging in duels with a group that technically hadn't done anything wrong (yet, his brain added) would probably not help his situation.

As predicted, he found his best mate sprawled out on the grass, no more than twenty feet away from a cluster of people he assumed to be the Society for the Preservation of Whatever the Fuck Terms They Couched Their Hatred In. Calliope Greengrass and Augustus Carrow seemed to be in charge, each clutching a notebook and looking far too smug and pleased with themselves. The group were getting a fair bit of attention, not just from Sirius and his palpable sense of anger; other students had decided to 'take the air' today too, gathered in small groups and watching on with open interest.

This was going to be a challenge.

He crossed the lawn, coming to a stop next to his friend. "Sirius."

The boy didn't even bother looking up. "James," he replied, as if they were greeting each other at afternoon tea. "Long time no see."

James shoved his hands in his pockets. "Fancy a fly?"

"At this hour?" Sirius asked. "Sun's too low, Prongs, it'd be carnage."

Another quick glance at the group nearby; Calliope had noticed him there, and was watching him with a cold, almost challenging expression. "Chess in the common room, then? No fear of the low sun there."

"And waste the precious daylight hours?" Sirius smiled pleasantly. "I could never."

"Look," James started, but wasn't sure where to go next. It wasn't as if Sirius was actually going to listen to what he had to say: when his best mate got a bee in his bonnet, it was very difficult to talk him out of it. Sirius said it was a sign of his strong principles; James thought it was more a sign of his pig-headed stubbornness. "You can't just sit here and watch them all afternoon."

Sirius tilted his head, eyebrow raised. "Well, I can," he replied. "This grass is as much mine as it is yours as it is theirs, Prongs."

He couldn't hold back his heavy sigh. "I meant, don't you have more interesting things to do?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Sirius lounged back, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked the picture of louche nonchalance. "Sit down or bugger off, mate, you're blocking my sun."

With the heavy sigh of someone who knew he had lost, James sank onto the grass next to him. He didn't intend to stay out there long—Merlin knew he had better things to be doing with his time—but he could spare a few minutes to keep Sirius in line. Or close to the line. In the general vicinity of the line.

"Sef Selwyn." Sirius watched the seventh year Slytherin approach the group, greeting them with her typical level of energy. She wasn't one for displays of emotion. "Should've known."

James raised an eyebrow. "I thought she was 'one of the half-decent ones'," he said. "Isn't that the reasoning you used when you were snogging her in fifth year?"

"A lot can change in two years," Sirius replied. "And I was largely in it to piss off my dear mother."

Most mothers wouldn't have been all that bothered by a pairing with Persephone 'Sef' Selwyn, by all accounts a hard-working student and at least not openly awful about blood purity. But evidently Walburga had taken against the Selwyn matriarch for some reason or another—Sirius had explained it at the time with great relish, but James had trouble concentrating when it came to Sacred Twenty-Eight drama and hadn't taken in any of the finer details—and so sticking his tongue down Seffy's throat, the daughter of that 'awful woman', was another way for Sirius to exercise some rebellion.

They both watched as the girl smoothed her long, dark hair over one shoulder and gracefully sat down alongside Alexander Travers. "Shame," Sirius said, not sounding particularly bothered. "She used to keep her head below the parapet."

"Maybe she feels emboldened," James considered, "now that her, what, great-uncle or whatever is working here?"

The Slytherins had seemed worryingly smug when the new Defence professor was announced at the feast last night: James was of the opinion that anyone who met with the approval of that lot probably wasn't someone he wanted to know. Although Eliphas Selwyn had not yet arrived (some vague excuse from Dumbledore about 'prior commitments'), the man was already proving to be a topic of conversation for most of the student body as they speculated about what he would be like.

"Maybe," Sirius agreed. There was a hint of a shadow to his words. "Which probably isn't a good sign, is it?"

"No..." James looked away, back towards his friend. "How was Muggle Studies? Shale still worshipping the ground you walk on?"

"Naturally." Sirius sent him a smirk. "Can you blame him?"

"He's only human," James agreed.

"Smaller class, though." Sirius' grin had faded, and his gaze drifted back towards the group nearby. "Seems like a few people didn't come back this year…"

James nodded glumly. "Denise Loughton wasn't in Divination," he said. "Fenwick said she sent a postcard over the holidays, saying her parents think it's safer for her not to come back to school."

Sirius let out a grunt, his stare hardening. "And yet these fuckers swan around as safe as you like."

James pushed a hand through his hair, trying not to look too concerned. The more obvious he was, the more Sirius would push back against him. And it was going to be hard enough as it was—he wasn't exactly used to exerting power over his best mate. Not officially, anyway. "Look, I know it's—it's bloody awful, we all know that, but technically they haven't done anything wrong—"

"Yet," Sirius interrupted with an ominous glint in his eye.

"Yet," James allowed. "So you can't just sit here glaring at them, trying to intimidate them."

"Can't I?" Sirius glanced his way. "It's a free country, isn't it?"

"Padfoot—"

"Well," came a familiar voice, and a shadow fell over him as he looked up to see Lily: she was standing there in front of him, the sun distant and bright behind her, the light pooling in a way that made her look angelic and heavenly, like she was glowing, and all sorts of things he thought were probably inappropriate for him to think and feel. Tricky to remember, when she was smiling that lovely soft smile of hers, and gazing down at him. "You two look relaxed."

"At least one of us is relaxed," Sirius replied. "The other has a stick up his arse about not being seen to be 'intimidating other students'."

Lily shot Sirius a quick glance, eyebrows raised, before returning that smile to James again; he felt the stress of the previous conversation already starting to ebb, as if he was calmer just being in her presence. Merlin, he was a mess. "He's right, you know," she told Sirius without looking at him. "Not that you seem particularly intimidating, if I'm honest."

"Hurtful, Evans," Sirius sniffed. "Hurtful and untrue. I'm terrifying."

"But perhaps not for the reasons you think," she replied brightly, and shifted her bag onto her other shoulder. Her focus was still on James. "We should go, McGonagall—"

"Right, yes," James hopped up, brushing grass from his trousers. "Can't be late for Minnie."

Sirius stayed where he was, looking up at them with an expression of bored indifference—one James knew he was faking, it was probably killing him not to be in on something that had potential to be interesting. "You two off to perform your blood pact? Is it two drops or three these days?"

"Oh, Sirius," Lily sighed patiently, giving him a smile. "The blood pact has to be at midnight or it won't work, will it?"

"Minnie's showing us the Heads' Office," James told his friend. "No time for it yesterday after the feast."

"Well, try not to have too much fun," he replied, an eyebrow raised. "Contain yourselves if you can."

James rolled his eyes, but nodded, pausing to glance back towards the gathered Society members. "Why don't you come in with us, Remus and Pete will be knocking about somewhere—"

"They're in the hall," Lily confirmed. "Remus was talking about finding a pre-dinner snack."

"See?" James said, aware that he sounded as if he were trying to cajole a toddler into eating his vegetables. "Why don't you join them, get yourself a lovely snack, too?"

"Hmm," Sirius said. "In a bit."

"Padfoot—"

Now it was Sirius' turn to roll his eyes, and he waved a dismissive hand. "I'll behave myself, I swear," he told them. "Now piss off before you get in trouble with Minnie."

Lily and James exchanged a glance; James nodded reluctantly, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Alright. See you later, mate."

"Ta-ta for now," was Sirius' vague reply, his attention already back on the cluster of pupils nearby.

James fell into step besides Lily as they made their way back across the short expanse of lawn and up the stone steps. "Hopefully he doesn't do anything daft…"

Lily threw a glance back over her shoulder, not that they could see their friend by now. "I'm sure he won't," she said, although she didn't sound entirely convinced. "He knows it won't help matters."

The trouble was, Sirius knew lots of things; that didn't mean he always made the right choice. True, he was getting much better at not acting on his temper, but James knew how this subject area was a particular pressure point for his best friend.

Thank fuck Regulus hadn't shown his face with that group. Hadn't yet, anyway. That would be adding fuel to the fire.

"You're a good friend to care so much," she said, and he glanced over in mild surprise. Not that she hadn't complimented him before—there was just something soft in the way she'd said it, something delicate that gave him a moment's pause. "But I really think he'll be fine."

He nodded, managing a small, slightly embarrassed smile in return. "My mum says I can be a bit of a mother hen sometimes."

Lily laughed; a glorious, tinkling sound. "There are worse things to be."

"I suppose…"

They finally rounded the corner on the third floor, finding McGonagall in the exact spot she'd said she would be (although she hadn't said she'd also be telling off a pair of fourth years who looked in turns mortified and irritated, but even McGonagall didn't have the Sight, so James could let her off that one). "Ah, good," the teacher broke off mid-scolding, giving them a brief nod before she returned her focus to the fourth years. "I am quite sure we will not need to have this conversation again, have I made myself clear?"

With a mumbled (slightly mutinous-sounding) assent, she sent the troublemakers on their way, and turned her focus back to the two seventh years. "Shouting and swearing in the corridors," McGonagall shook her head. "And the gall to tell me I must have misheard."

James held back a grin—that was pretty brazen—and merely nodded sympathetically. "The youth of today…"

She shot him a suspicious look. "Well, quite, Potter." She took out her wand and beckoned for them to follow her as she moved further down the corridor. "The Heads' Office only reappeared this morning, otherwise we would have done this tour yesterday," she explained, coming to a halt in front of a large, imposing oil painting. The canvas was filled with tall grass, buffeted slightly in an invisible breeze, and amongst the grass stood a woman draped in white robes. It was hard to tell what she looked like, or even how old she was: the painting was clearly ancient, worn in places, and the woman had her head craned as if peering behind herself. James didn't need to wonder why he hadn't noticed this painting before—it wasn't a particularly interesting one. "Here we are."

Sure enough, now that he looked, he noticed that there was a tiny brass plaque at the bottom of the frame which read, in tight, curling script, Office of the Head Students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Crikey. James suddenly had a strange sensation, a 'this is now entirely and bafflingly real' feeling that swept over him; he looked over at Lily and, judging by the expression on her face, guessed that she was feeling the same way.

McGonagall cleared her throat, tapping the frame of the portrait three times in quick succession. "The password is a simple one to start off with," she said, before speaking, crisply and directly to the portrait woman: "Non ducor, duco."

James and Lily exchanged glances as the portrait swung open, revealing a large walkway that opened out into a wood-panelled room. Lily led the way, looking around them in clear awe. "Wow…"

Wow was right. It was larger than James had expected it to be, probably at least twice the size of one of the dorm rooms, with a large, stained glass window at the far end letting light spill across the flagstone floor. To their right stood two oak desks, side by side, neatly organised with lamps, inkwells and a sealed piece of parchment, one each with their name on. To their left was a huge stone fireplace, already lit with a roaring fire, flanked by two armchairs and a small sofa.

Despite the size of the room, it felt cosy, still, and—judging by the red and gold themed decor—personalised to them. He turned back to face McGonagall, who looked as if whole rooms sprouted out of the walls around her every day: entirely nonplussed. Maybe they did.

"This is…it's like it knows we're heads," he said, ever so slightly dazed.

McGonagall merely raised an eyebrow. "The Head students' office re-sites and reforms itself each year depending on the pupils in question," she replied, as if this were perfectly normal. "You don't think they made Dearborn sit amongst Gryffindor colours last year, do you?"

The thought was a delicious one, even if he knew it wasn't the case. "Right."

"The password will need changing once a term," she continued, looking over at Lily, who was standing by the fire looking about as overwhelmed as James felt. "The portrait will help you there. And need I point out that the password should not under any circumstances be shared with the likes of—"

"Don't share it with Sirius," James nodded. "Got it."

McGonagall nodded, too, and cast a quick glance around; finding it to her liking, she turned to make her way back to the entrance. "I will leave you to get acquainted with the space," she said, and paused by the portrait. "I am very proud to have two of my house as head students this year. It is not an easy task."

James raised his eyebrows, glancing over at Lily. She seemed to still be struck silent. "Oh—yeah—thanks…"

McGonagall held his gaze for a moment, then added, quietly but crisply, "I'm sure you will not let me down."

And with that oddly ominous statement, she swept out of the room.

"Did that…" He turned back towards Lily, his hand moving instinctually to rake through his hair. "Did that seem like a threat, a bit?"

At last, some kind of a reaction—she cracked a smile, meeting his gaze. "Yeah," she agreed, letting out something between a laugh and a sigh. "A bit. We'd better not cross her, eh?"

"Best not to," James agreed.

Lily wandered over to the desks, her fingers skating along the polished wood. "This is…" She paused. "It's strange, isn't it? Surreal."

"Very," James nodded, glancing at the books nearest to him—some looked like they were as old as the castle itself, but there was also a copy of Quidditch Tricks and Tactics 1976, which James had been meaning to buy for a while now. Huh. "I suppose we'll get used to it eventually."

"I suppose so," Lily agreed. She picked up the parchment with her name on, but made no move to open it; she just stared down at it, lost in thought.

Quite why James' brain decided that was the moment to blurt out the thing he'd been dying to tell her for, well, months now, he wasn't sure. Nonetheless: "Cadence and I broke up."

Her head jerked up, meeting his gaze, and he wasn't sure he quite understood her expression. There was a moment where neither of them said anything, and he was starting to wonder if he should see whether it was possible to throw himself out of that window—how high up could it really be, anyway—when she finally spoke up. "Yes, I heard," she replied. "I'm sorry…"

She'd heard? Shit. He'd wanted it to come from him, but this was obviously his punishment for chickening out for so bloody long. "Don't be," he shrugged. "I…it was time. Past time, really." He winced. "She didn't quite agree there, but…sometimes that's the way it goes."

Lily looked back down at the parchment in her hands, quiet a moment before she caught his gaze again. "So you're single and loving your freedom now, then?" she asked.

He laughed, soft and a little awkward. "Single, at least," he allowed. "And determined to…focus on what's important. Who's important."

She gifted him with a small, but genuine smile. "And I know what you're like when you're determined."

"Exactly," he smiled back. He felt like his heart was trying to thud its way out of his chest. "Relentless in my pursuit."

"Well," she breathed, and set down her parchment; she started to walk back towards the door, pausing to glance back at him, "you have my whole-hearted support, whatever it is you decide to pursue."

He watched her leave; stood there, amongst the books and the portraits and the grandeur of the room that was theirs, for the year, at least. And maybe he should've been a bit ashamed that it took him at least five minutes to be able to move, to be able to walk out of the office and make his way down to dinner, to join his friends, to join her, sat there on the other side of the table from him, smiling that warm smile at him, her eyes sparkling.

It should've been embarrassing. But it just wasn't.

Sirius was tired. Not a surprise, particularly, given his late-night crisis on Wednesday, but a bit inconvenient. He was back at school now—he didn't want to waste precious time yawning, or worse, sleeping.

Lounging on the grass in the sun probably wasn't helping, especially once James disappeared with Lily; talking had been keeping him awake, and, he had to admit, there was only so much time he could spend watching a group of arseholes sit around and make polite conversation just out of earshot.

(He did, of course, make a mental note of all their names. But that was just common sense.)

He was just considering getting up, going to find Pete and Remus, when another shadow fell over him, and he turned to find Cadence Dearborn standing, somewhat nervously, at his side. "Oh," he said, eyebrows raised. "Hi."

Cadence looked much the same as ever, although even Sirius noticed that she looked a bit paler, and no easy smile playing on her lips like it usually did. She glanced awkwardly around before sighing, and sitting down on the grass next to him. "Hi," she echoed. "Good summer?"

Blimey, were they about to have a proper conversation? He'd known her to chat idly with before she and James had got together, but not anything much beyond that, and even once she was dating his best friend, he hadn't exactly bonded with her. Not that he didn't think she was nice, or anything; in truth, she seemed perfectly friendly. Sirius just wasn't all that interested in getting to know her better, and besides, Cadence had been occupied enough in getting to know James' tonsils, so she clearly hadn't minded, either.

"Erm, yeah," he replied. "You know. The usual." He hesitated; they both knew what he had to ask now, the demands of polite conversation known even to a reprobate like him, and they both knew what that would open up for her to talk about. He tried his best to withhold a sigh. "You?"

She gave him a small, sad smile, like she was the brave main character in a play, desperately trying to keep her emotions in place. "Oh, well," she replied, "not really. After…with James…"

"Right," he agreed awkwardly. He was really starting to regret not going inside when James had suggested it. "Yeah. Break-ups are never easy, eh?"

She nodded, her pretty face glum and drawn. "I just don't understand it," she sighed. "We were—I thought things were going so well, and then just out of nowhere he wants to talk, and suddenly it's all over…"

Sirius thought briefly back over the end of sixth year; if that was what Cadence considered to be 'going so well', he wondered how she would ever cope with a relationship. He had seen two people, with chemistry, it was true, but two people who just didn't quite work. He had seen his best friend struggling to keep at something which his heart clearly wasn't in, try as he might. Evidently, Cadence viewed things through a slightly more deluded lens.

"Yes, well," he said, glancing around as if someone might appear and rescue him from the conversation. No such luck. "Sometimes these things just don't work out."

She looked up at him, frowning a little, worry and something like desperation etched into her brow. "Did he tell you why?" she asked. "Did he… is there someone else?"

Christ. Someone else? As far as Sirius was concerned, Cadence had been the someone else, but he was hardly about to tell her that. "Look, Cady," he said, sitting up from his almost horizontal position. "I'm not going to tell you what James has said—that's not fair on him, is it? But he wasn't doing anything behind your back, if that's what you're asking." He paused, before adding, a touch scathingly, "which you would know, if you knew James at all. That's not who he is."

(Being in denial about being in love with Lily Evans didn't count as behind Cadence's back, did it? He hoped not. He quite enjoyed having the moral high ground.)

Cadence had the grace to look a bit ashamed. "No, I know. I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I just—I really miss him, and…"

She trailed off, and for a moment, Sirius wondered if he'd been a bit harsh with his initial judgement of her. He'd thought the sadness was an act, a part to play for sympathy and attention. But now she seemed genuinely downhearted about it.

Still. That wasn't his problem, was it?

"If you want to find out more about why, I suggest you talk to James," Sirius said, hauling himself up into a standing position; Cadence tilted her head to peer up at him, lips pursed, and nodded. "I'd best be off. See you later, Cady."

If she replied, he didn't hear it, already striding across the grass and through the stone archway that led back up to the school. There was a lesson to be learned here, wasn't there—something about listening to his mates when they were trying to help him. He was sure he'd internalise it eventually.

He found Remus and Pete in the Great Hall, Remus focused on devouring a slab of chocolate cake similar in size to his own head, and Sirius sank gratefully onto the bench across from them. "Well, lads, it's begun," he said. "The great break-up dissection of 1977."

Peter raised a confused eyebrow. "Eh?"

"Cadence cornered me outside," he explained with a world-weary sigh. "Wanted to understand why their great love couldn't last."

Remus cringed in sympathy, unaware of the smudge of chocolate icing that sat at the corner of his mouth. Sirius considered sitting on his own hands to stop himself from reaching out, brushing it away with his thumb. "Sounds bloody uncomfortable."

"That it was, Moony, that it was," Sirius confirmed. "Be on the lookout yourselves, chaps, in case she tries to pin you down too."

Pete looked positively alarmed. "Merlin, she won't, will she? What if I say the wrong thing?"

"Like what?" Remus asked with a grin. "It's not like you could make them break up again."

"I suppose," Pete considered, although he didn't look particularly comforted.

"I told her to take her questions to James, anyway," Sirius added with a shrug. "We'll see if she's got the balls to actually do that or not, of course, but it should be him fielding awkward questions, not us."

"Healthy communication is the cornerstone of a good relationship," Pete nodded wisely. "That's what Iris says, anyway."

Sirius glanced over at Remus, glad to see the barely-withheld smile there, too. "She's a real sage, that Iris."

"Isn't she?" Pete agreed. "Where's Prongs, anyway? I thought he was outside with you."

"Had to go off with Evans," Sirius replied, reaching for a swipe of cake—Remus gave him a playful (he hoped) glare for his efforts. "They're terribly busy and important, you know."

"Ah, don't worry, Padfoot," Remus told him, his voice dangerously sweet and gentle. "I'm sure they'll let us in on all the big Head secrets too so we don't feel left out."

Sirius couldn't help a laugh, and a flick of his middle finger for good measure. "Piss off."

"Isn't it good to be back?" Pete sighed happily, looking up at the pale blue of the enchanted ceiling. "Our last year of school…"

Sirius grinned, and couldn't help letting his gaze drift over to Remus again; Remus, who was smiling, too, his cheeks a little pink, and that smudge of chocolate still at the corner of his mouth.

"It really is," he agreed.

It was a bit strange, starting a new school year at the end of a week, but at least it meant only one day of lessons before the weekend opened up before them all, a chance to let their brains and bodies acclimate to being back at Hogwarts. Of course, even though it had only been one day of lessons, the seventh years somehow found themselves already with reading to get through, essays to write, notes to take. "This is cruelty," Mary sighed as she glanced glumly out the windows to the clear, sunny day, the clear, sunny day that they wouldn't get to enjoy, having parked themselves in front of the fire to get started on work.

Still, Lily thought it could have been a lot worse, not least because it wasn't very long before the boys joined them too, which somehow made wading through her Arithmancy notes less of a daunting task. She knew that something had shifted again between her and James, not that she could quite put her finger on what it was that had changed; she just found herself lighting up in his presence, wondering where he was when he wasn't there, holding his gaze for longer than she should've. And he seemed to be similarly afflicted: more than a few times as they studied, she looked up to find him watching her, and rather than looking embarrassed or pretending he hadn't been, he just smiled at her, a warmth there that she felt through every part of her.

At one point, Marlene sank onto the sofa next to her, leaned in and murmured in her ear, "Merlin's nobbly nips, Lil, when are you two going to get a room?"

Lily's reply was short and not that sweet. "Shut," she hissed, her cheeks flushing a deep pink, "up, McKinnon."

"Last named!" Marlene wasn't trying to keep her voice down anymore; she was also grinning, unrepentant and apparently enjoying the fact that she was drawing James' attention back over to them. "She last named me! She's cold, that Head Girl—"

Sirius glanced up from his essay. "Christ, what did you do to deserve that?" he smirked.

Marlene's grin strengthened, and she looked back at Lily, taking a breath to reply—

"She's just being a twat," Lily interrupted cheerfully. "Aren't you, Marl?"

Marlene blew her a kiss, and reached for her Care of Magical Creatures textbook once more. "Fine, fine, I'll leave you alone," she said, chin tilted up in a decent attempt at appearing hurt by Lily's words. "...for now."

Marlene kept her promise, for the most part, saving most of her taunts for when they were safely back in the dormitory, where Dorcas and Mary could enjoy them, too. She was generous like that. Sunday followed much the same pattern, with the only difference coming mid-afternoon when James declared that they all needed a break, and led them in an intense, hotly-contested game of Exploding Snap before they went back to their work.

The NEWT students carrying on with Defence Against the Dark Arts were all a-twitter at nine o'clock on the first Monday of term, a day and time which usually had most pupils yawning and sighing and wishing it were lunch already. But the seventh years were the first class to meet the new DADA professor and most of them had an opinion to offer as they waited for his arrival.

Lily wasn't one of the opinionated ones; she knew the surname, of course, knew 'Pretentious Persy' as Marlene enjoyed calling her, and she'd been at Hogwarts long enough to know that the Selwyns were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, which naturally meant that they felt everyone else should worship the ground upon which they deigned to tread.

(Not all of the Twenty-Eight were like that, of course, but, in Lily's experience, most of them were.)

The fact that their new professor was from such a lineage, as well as a long-standing member of the Wizengamot, according to Lucy Miller (loudly making her thoughts known from the front row of the classroom), made Lily feel a little uneasy. But she knew she shouldn't jump to conclusions; 'don't judge a book by its cover', her mum had always said.

She sat up a bit straighter as the door at the top of the little spiral staircase opened, and out stepped a man clad in thick, navy blue robes. As he made his way down the steps, Lily tried to work out how old he was: sometimes it was rather hard to tell, especially in the wizarding world, where people seemed to reach frankly ridiculous ages. Selwyn held himself with the classic upright posture of a man of his type, not yet bent with age, although his hair was grey and thinning on top, an attempt having been made to hide this fact with the way he'd combed it over. He took his place at the front of the classroom, his fingers steepled in front of him, and she noted the wrinkles that littered his skin; and yet, his dark eyes seemed shrewd, lively almost.

So who bloody knows, then, was her thought as quiet fell across the classroom. Not as old as Dumbledore, not as young as Merryton. That left rather a wide range to choose from.

"Good morning, children." As he spoke, his gaze moved from face to face, which meant he probably noticed the displeasure most of the cohort experienced at being called children. If he noticed, he didn't seem to care. "What an honour to start my tenure here at Hogwarts with the seventh years, and a skilled group, if the notes from my predecessor are to be believed."

Lily tried not to frown; something in his voice made it seem as if he didn't put much stock in what Merryton had to say about them.

"Today we will stay in the realm of the theoretical," he said. "Do not despair, we shall of course move on to practical lessons before long, but first we must ensure we have the theory secure, for without the theory, the practical soon falls apart."

Somewhere to her left, she heard a barely-suppressed sigh. If she had to guess who it had come from, she'd have guessed Sirius. He'd never been very good at hiding his distaste.

"Non-verbal defence and attack will be a primary focus this term," he continued. "There are a great many adults who prefer not to use such an approach, finding non-verbal magic too challenging, so do not get disheartened if it does not come easily to you. Those with…" He paused delicately. "...different backgrounds tend not to have the internalised magical power necessary to succeed at these tasks."

Lily swallowed against the lump in her throat and tried not to look to her side, knowing that Mary was trying to catch her eye.

Marlene had sat forward, a frown on her face. "What do you mean by—"

"Ah." He held up a single finger, his gaze settling on Marlene blankly. "I do not subscribe to the nonsense of the Socratic method of teaching. I do not wish you all to probe deeply into every word that passes my lips. If you wish to speak, you should raise your hand, but be aware that you are not guaranteed to be given that opportunity. That will be at my discretion." He moved to the blackboard, picking up the chalk as if to start writing, but paused there, still looking over at Marlene. "I was, after all, appointed to this position as an expert in my field. You can be assured that what I say is simple fact, and if you wish to cross-examine these facts, you should feel free to do that in your own time."

It felt rather as if things were slotting into place: the way Selwyn looked at the pureblood students, skipping over anyone else entirely as if they weren't even there; the way some pupils—many of them ones who had joined that awful Society, according to Sirius—sat a little straighter, prouder, already an air of superiority that seeped from their every pore.

This was how it would be, she realised. It wasn't all shouting slurs and trying to cast curses in the corridors; this was more insidious, a quiet, creeping sort of prejudice, the acceptable face of people that hated her and anyone like her, saying things that could be explained away, brushed aside as if it were all just a misunderstanding; small hurts that soon stacked up into something very difficult to fight back against.

She finally allowed her gaze to move away from the teacher, darting nervously to her side to gauge others' reactions. Sirius sat next to Marlene, and had a stony expression on his face; to his right was James, pale and silent but brow drawn, as if he were trying to puzzle through what was in front of him. Between Lily and James was Mary, biting her lip and staring resolutely down at the desk. Lily paused to look at what her friend was scribbling on the parchment in front of her, but it was just a series of sharp-lined doodles, her stress obviously spilling out of her in a different form.

Well. She supposed she should be grateful that she wasn't just imagining things.

She had hoped, perhaps naively, that it would be a one-off, that their next DADA lesson would be better, but that hope proved in vain as a similar, depressing experience repeated itself on Wednesday, and again on Thursday, too, which was particularly painful for being a double session.

That evening, she set off on rounds with Remus, and they'd barely made it to the end of the corridor from the Fat Lady's portrait before she mentioned it all. "What do you think of our new professor?" she asked, as lightly as she could.

Remus shot her a glance, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "What, the one who barely looks twice at anyone who isn't a pureblood?" he asked in return. "Oh, yes, I'm a huge fan."

Lily couldn't help a smile at the heavy sarcasm in his voice. "From what Marl has been saying in our dorm, I don't think it'll be much longer before she snaps and starts shouting at him."

"Could be entertaining." They rounded a corner and hopped on to the stairs just as they passed them by. "What I don't understand is why Dumbledore hired him…"

"Well, they had to hire someone, with Merryton suddenly gone."

"Yes, but…him?" Remus shook his head. "I can't imagine he and Dumbledore have all that much in common."

Lily had to admit that she'd wondered the same thing herself, but she had at least taken the time—yesterday, during a pleasant catch-up over a pot of tea and some ginger biscuits—to ask McGonagall, in as roundabout a way as she could, how this particular hire had come to be. "Apparently hiring is not entirely at the discretion of the headmaster," Lily told Remus as they hopped off the stairs again onto the fourth floor. "McGonagall intimated that the board of governors were involved…"

"Hmm." They moved in sync down the corridor, glancing now and then into the empty classrooms they passed. At least it was a quiet one tonight. "I dunno how we're all going to last a year with him."

Lily shrugged. "Another thing to add to the list."

Determined not to spend the entire patrol feeling miserable, she shifted the conversation to music, telling him about a record she'd bought towards the end of the holidays. By the time they reached the library, they were deep in discussion about Joan Armatrading and didn't notice Owain and his mates until they'd almost walked into them.

"Rem!" Owain's face lit up with a smile, and he leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips. Lily, not sure what to do, glanced awkwardly at the Ravenclaws who stood next to Remus' boyfriend; she didn't really know Phil Towersey or Tom Nott very well, although they were both in Arithmancy with her as well as Ancient Runes. Nott didn't acknowledge her, but Towersey gave her a nod and a sheepish smile.

"You two doing your rounds?" Owain asked, falling back into place next to his friends.

"Yep," Remus replied; Lily looked over at him, wondering if Owain could see the strain there as well as she could, the discomfort that lingered around his eyes. He was, in fairness to him, putting on a decent show of it. "Not terribly exciting so far."

"Probably best that way," Towersey offered with a laugh.

"Probably," Lily agreed. Nott still hadn't looked her way. Strange. "You lot been burning the midnight oil?"

"Well, the late-night oil, at least," Owain said. "That set Sindha gave us is brutal, isn't it? Have you two had a bash at it yet?"

Remus didn't seem to have the wherewithal to reply, so Lily stepped in. "Not yet, we're saving that treat for another time," she smiled. God, this was strange—time to put a stop to it, surely? "Well, not to be that person, but you three should head back to your Tower—it's nearly curfew."

That seemed to wake Nott up, who looked her way with an expression of barely-hidden distaste. "Ah, well, if the Head Girl says so…"

It was almost impressive to be able to put so much disdain into so few words. Owain and Towersey both looked uncomfortable, the latter even giving his friend a sharp elbow to the ribs, but Lily just gave a placid smile in return. "She does."

"Right you are," Owain said quickly, and reached to give Remus' hand a quick squeeze. "See you tomorrow…"

The three Ravenclaws turned and made their way back in the direction of their dorms, heads bent close together as they went in apparent fervent conversation. Lily held back a sigh, instead shooting a look over at her friend; he was watching them go, a strange expression on his face. "You alright?" she asked gently.

Remus looked back at her with some surprise. "Me?" he asked. "Are you? I'm sorry, I didn't realise Nott was such a—"

She shrugged it off; that was usually the best way of coping. To think about any of it too hard would be more than she felt her heart could cope with at the moment. "It's fine," she said, as if it were true. She hesitated. "I see you and Owain are still together…?"

They started walking again, Remus shoving his hands into his pockets. Lily wondered if she'd overstepped, pushed a bit too far, given his sudden silence; but, perhaps he was just churning it all over in his mind, because by the time they reached the staircases again, he had found his reply. "There just…never seems to be a right time to talk," he said, sounding defeated. "And—it's not because he's horrible, is it? He's always so sweet to me, and obviously he's gorgeous, and he—he likes me so much, and I just—I feel like an arsehole, honestly…"

"You're not an arsehole," she replied firmly. "You are allowed to be with him if you want to be, Remus. You don't have to break up with him."

Remus didn't look so sure. "Lily, I—"

"Don't rush into anything, at least," she suggested, before he could build up a head of steam. She had a feeling there was plenty more self-hatred lingering under the surface. "No need to hurry things. Make sure you're okay with your decision."

He heaved a sigh. "Yeah. I suppose that makes sense."

"I have my moments," she teased gently.

He soon changed the subject, and they finished their patrol chatting idly about schoolwork, or music again, or what they were reading in their limited downtime. It felt, to Lily, as if there were more things they'd rather avoid discussing than things they could talk about. Maybe that was just the way this year would be: yet more stings to slot away, file and try to forget. She'd thought that being made Head Girl would change things; evidently, from their interaction with Nott that evening alone, she'd been wrong to hope.

Still. She had to remain optimistic, didn't she? And there were still good elements to her life at school this term. Good elements that boosted her smile as she said goodnight to Remus at the bottom of the dormitory staircases; that tipped into her daydreams as she brushed her teeth; that followed her into sleep, in a way that would make her blush in the morning.

To be honest, with that on her mind, it was much easier to feel positive.

"The trouble is," Sirius started with a sigh, and Remus sighed too, turning his head to look over at his friend. They'd all settled down in the dorm that evening, promising each other an hour of quiet to tackle various essays and assignments that needed finishing before they devolved into their usual pattern of chatter and madness. That had been a mere fifteen minutes ago, and Remus knew that they all could have predicted who would've been the one to break first.

James scratched his chin idly, not looking up from his Ancient Runes notes. When he spoke, he sounded not a little irritated. "What is the trouble, Padfoot?"

"I was getting to it," Sirius replied defensively.

"Get there quicker."

"That's our Head Boy there," Sirius turned to Pete, who had stopped his frantic note-taking to give his full attention. "The one being rude. I thought Hogwarts had higher standards—"

"Sirius—" James finally looked up, with his sternest expression. It was quite sweet, Remus thought, that James thought it would work.

"—but evidently not," Sirius continued blithely. "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, the trouble is, we've nothing to look forward to."

Remus and James exchanged a glance, and Remus sighed again, abandoning all hope of finishing his Arithmancy set that night. "What do you mean?" he asked, quite politely, he thought.

Sirius waved his quill demonstratively around the dorm. "It's been nearly two weeks of term already and all we have is studying. Quidditch doesn't start up for a month, the full is ages away, Hogsmeade isn't until October." He affected a look of deep disdain. "We might as well give it all up and hop to the nearest nunnery."

Pete scrunched up his nose. "Aren't nuns, well…ladies?"

"I'm not saying it won't present its own problems, Wormtail," Sirius said. "But my point remains. Life is but a desolate road stretching out before us, nothing but textbooks lining the way, all…desolate, and stuff."

"Poetic," James remarked.

"So you want something to look forward to," Remus noted, slumping back against his pillows. "I'm sure you've had an idea, Pads, so why not save us all time and tell us?"

Sirius once more turned to Peter. "Rudeness and a lack of civility, everywhere I turn. What, I ask you, is my crime but merely striving for more for us all—"

"You could tell us," Peter suggested. "Teach them a lesson."

Sirius frowned. "How does that—? No, never mind." He turned back to address the group at large. "I think we should have a party."

A pause as they all took this in; James finally set his notes to one side. "A party to celebrate what, exactly?"

"A new year dawning?" Sirius shrugged. "Gryffindor having two Head students? I'm sure if we consult a calendar it'll be the anniversary of something, or maybe the Saints day for some poor sod."

Peter grinned. "What, the patron saint of random parties?"

"One never knows, Wormy," Sirius lifted his chin airily.

"Saint Partius," Remus agreed. "Martyred wearing a jaunty hat and covered in streamers."

James shot him a grin. "Merlin, don't encourage him, Moony—"

"See? We owe it to—whoever Moony said—a party, in his honour!" Sirius leapt up from his prone position on his bed, pacing the length of the dormitory. "Come on, you know you want to."

Remus looked back at James; so, in fact, did Peter and Sirius, too. Even before he'd been made Head Boy, he'd been the de facto leader of their little group, relied upon to make decisions and guide where needed. Now that he was in a more official position of power, they needed him on-side even more than before. James could make or break this party idea, and, judging by the slightly smug smirk on his face as he held Sirius' stare, he was well aware of this fact.

"Hmm," James said. "Tricky…"

"Come on, Prongs." Sirius' expression was one of plaintive need, now, as if this decision could be the deciding factor in his very future happiness. He'd always been melodramatic that way. "A few drinks, some dancing, some games—a bit of carefree fun!" He paused, and his eyes took on a distinctly mischievous glint that Remus always found concerning. "Maybe Evans will wear one of her little dresses, you two could find a way to celebrate your power over the school…"

At this, James rolled his eyes; Remus couldn't help but wonder how much that suggestion, however much his friend appeared to protest, would sway things. "You sound like a Class A pervert saying that, Padfoot."

"Top of my class at everything," Sirius shot Remus a wink; he couldn't help but grin in return. "Can't help being brilliant, can I?"

"It would be fun to let off steam," Pete piped up.

"Shouldn't this be the sort of thing I put a stop to?" James wondered. "It's not very Head Boy-ish to condone underage drinking."

"Maybe you know nothing about it until it's already happening," Sirius suggested, adopting an innocent expression. "And by that point, it would be churlish of you to stop it, wouldn't it?"

James sighed. "I suppose…"

"We'll need supplies," Remus pointed out. "All we've got in the stash is a solitary bottle of butterbeer."

"So a little jaunt to Hogsmeade this week," Sirius nodded. "Not James, obviously, he would never dream of sneaking off the school grounds to buy booze—"

Pete gave a supportive snort of laughter.

"—and I probably shouldn't go, either, given Minnie's insistence on keeping a close eye on me." For a moment, Sirius looked a bit uncomfortable; he didn't usually like to acknowledge the fine line he had been treading for the past year. In fairness, Remus didn't like to acknowledge it either. "So it's up to you two to take on this challenge."

Remus nodded, and across the room, Peter did too. "Aye aye, captain."

"Perhaps you should talk to Evans," Sirius turned to James. "Clear the idea of a hypothetical party, just in case…"

Remus didn't think James needed many excuses to talk to Lily, or that she would have much of a problem with the idea. She was a lot more fun than some people gave her credit for. "I will," James agreed, as if this were some monumental sacrifice.

"We're on, then," Sirius grinned; surely he'd known he would get his way? He often did. "Friday, a gentle, easy-going bacchanalia in which we can, you know…"

"Get pissed and dance with our trousers off?" Pete suggested. "That's what you usually do, isn't it Pads?"

"Et tu, Brute?" Peter looked nonplussed; Sirius turned back to the others. "Start spreading the word."

It didn't take long for word to travel around Gryffindor and to the select few 'outsiders' who'd be invited along, and soon the tower was buzzing with anticipation. Remus couldn't help feeling a bit excited, too; they had been working hard, and a chance to let loose, even just for a night, was appealing. He hadn't yet worked out how to handle the conversation with Owain about it—he could hardly get away with not inviting him, but it also wasn't like he could just hide in cupboards for the rest of the week to avoid him either: they shared too many classes for that to work, even before you considered meals and just general wanderings around the castle. But he'd deal with that eventually.

Friday afternoon soon rolled around, the last lesson come and gone—one benefit of the stressful workload at the moment was that time seemed to move at breakneck pace—and Remus and Pete gathered the cloak and the Map, listening as Sirius rattled through a series of instructions.

"—and don't forget some mead, and some redcurrant rum, then we can make that weird cocktail thing we invented last time—"

"Yes, alright," Remus said, as patiently as he could; they'd been standing there for at least five minutes by that point. "We should actually get going, though, or it'll be Sunday before we get there."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Moony," Sirius replied, but held his hands up in supplication nonetheless. "But fine. See you in a bit, then."

"I'm not touching that redcurrant rum stuff again," Peter told Remus, voice low, as they made their way down the stairs. "I never want to see that colour vomit again for as long as I live."

"It wasn't pretty," Remus agreed. They made their way through the common room and out into the corridor, and before long they'd got far enough from the Tower, and with no one else about, that Peter could transform into his rat form and be stowed safely in Remus' pocket. It made fitting under the invisibility cloak far simpler when there was only one person to make space for, rather than two.

Once the cloak was secured over him, he glanced down, noticing his rather bony ankles and already worn-out shoes sticking out from under the bottom of the cloak. Why was it always such a surprise to him to find that they'd all grown? It didn't feel like all that long ago that all four of them could fit under the cloak, fully covered and with room to elbow each other in the ribs as needed. Now he was going to need to hunch over unless he wanted to draw any passing person's attention to a bodiless pair of feet in, he realised with some regret, bright red socks.

Adjusting Wormtail in his robe pocket—to drop him at this point would be a bit cruel, really—he did his best to curtail his own height, bending his knees and hunching over in the manner of a witch from a fairytale. "I hope this is worth it," he whispered to Pete, knowing he couldn't reply. "Because it's going to really fuck up my knees."

A small squeak of (he hoped) sympathy came from his pocket, and Remus nodded, heaving a weary sigh before he started to move once more.

He was just starting to think that the corridors were unusually quiet, blissfully so, and maybe he could give his knees a rest for a few minutes, when Lily and Mary came wandering around the corner. He quickly flattened himself against the wall as they idled closer; Lily was carrying several large books, presumably returning from a trip to the library, whereas Mary was picking through a small box of Every Flavour Beans.

"—the absolute cheek of it! I told him where he could shove his little request." Mary shook her head. "Honestly, we dated for several months, did he think I'd be up for a no-strings-attached type of thing?"

Lily reached over to nab a bean (and pulled an amusing face, one Remus was sure James would still find bewitching, as she started to chew). "Maybe he thought, after what you had with Sirius—"

Remus found himself frowning already, a truly pointless act under an invisibility cloak. But he couldn't help it, it was an automatic reaction, like when he'd been a small child and had felt compelled to point and say "horse!" every time he saw…well, a horse.

"Yes, well," Mary rolled her eyes; the two girls ambled right past him, and he held his breath, just in case. "That wasn't actually anything at all, was it? We were pretending to be shagging, it isn't quite the same thing."

"I think it's the pretence that everyone else thinks is real, though, Mare," Lily replied as they drifted further down the corridor. "But I can still sneakily hex McMillan's balls off, if you like?"

"Would you?" Mary's voice sounded relaxed, amused, as they rounded a corner and out of sight. "You're too kind…"

Even though they were gone, voices fading as quickly as they had appeared, Remus stood very still, pressed against the cold stone of the wall. He wondered, distantly, if he even could move: it felt a bit like his legs had frozen in place. But, no, there was the movement of one leg, then another, again and again until he'd reached the mirror, and muttered the incantation that made it swing away from the wall, and stepped quickly and quietly into the dark passage beyond.

He must have taken Wormtail out of his pocket; hell, he must have taken the cloak off, although he didn't remember doing it. He found himself face to face with an anxious-looking Peter, lit by the faint blue light of his own wand, and blinked. "Hmm?"

"I said shall we get going?" Peter frowned, glancing back towards the tunnel entrance. "Are you…are you okay? I heard what—"

He shook his head, just once, about all he could manage. "We need to get moving," he said, bundling the cloak up into his bag. "Drinks to buy."

"Right," Peter agreed haltingly, but he knew as well as Remus did that they were on a tight schedule, and to return with no booze would rather ruin the party atmosphere. "Let's get going, then."

There was a simple pleasure in gearing up for a party, Sirius thought. The atmosphere in the common room changed, excitement rippling through them as furniture was shuffled around, the wireless dragged out to a place of prominence. Even the younger students didn't seem to mind too much about being shunted up to their dorms, although an enterprising second year had attempted some light blackmail ("wouldn't it be a shame if someone told Professor McGonagall what was going on?" the boy had asked, eyes wide and innocent) and received three sickles, a bar of Honeydukes and a Fizzing Whizzbee for his trouble.

Sirius couldn't hold a grudge for that, really; he admired that level of commitment to mischief.

Given that it wasn't anyone's birthday, there were no banners to hang or streamers to stream, so once a space for dancing had been cleared, there wasn't much else to do but wait for the alcohol to arrive. He could admit (to himself) that he was a bit jealous not to get to go on the Hogsmeade run too: he'd always loved the thrill of sneaking under the cloak, the slightly eerie tunnels that they had to trample through; chatting up Rosmerta, or the miserable bloke in the Hog's Head, whoever they thought more likely to turn a blind eye to underage drinking on any given day. It made the whole party experience that much more exciting.

Still, he knew that for now, at least, it was the sensible thing to do, to stay back. And, whilst 'sensible' was not usually a word he enjoyed deploying, it was better than finding himself back in weekly detentions.

A short while later, Peter returned alone, oddly, weighed down with booze and only just managing it under the cloak as he tumbled through the portrait hole and into the common room. Sirius helped him unload the stash onto a nearby table. "Where's Moony?" he asked. "You didn't leave him in Hogsmeade, did you?"

Peter bundled the cloak up and shoved it into his bag, looking rather red of face and out of breath. "Oh, no," he replied easily. "He wanted to go and find Ollerton, said he'd be up in a bit."

Sirius tried not to let his surprise show. He knew that Remus hadn't broken up with the bloke yet, which was fair enough—these things couldn't be rushed, or so Sirius understood, anyway, from his limited experience in the area. But he'd also seemed to be doing his level best to avoid spending too much time with his boyfriend, presumably to make the break cleaner when it did come. Ditching Pete to run off and find him didn't quite fit with those plans.

He paused; brightened, a bit. Maybe Remus was dumping Ollerton now.

It was this thought, a bit mean-spirited to Owain though it may have been, that carried him through the rest of the party preparations, that buoyed him as he changed out of his uniform and into some jeans and a t-shirt; it kept his spirits high as he held court around the drinks table, mixing up some of his delicious redcurrant rum cocktails and not even minding the fact that the sixth year girls were flirting relentlessly with him. They were being friendly! What was to dislike about that?

Time seemed to move differently once alcohol started flowing, and Sirius danced, laughed, slung his arm easily around James' shoulders; he pulled Lily into a lairy card game that Meadowes was trying to teach him, and as he sat there, swaying slightly with the glow of rum pulsing through his veins, he felt truly, wonderfully happy.

It was only when one of the sixth year flirts swung past him, crying out, "it's nearly midnight!" like it was a battle cry, that Sirius realised he hadn't seen Remus all night. Had he sneaked into the party without him noticing? That seemed unlikely, even in Sirius' inebriated state; he made it his mission to notice his friends, especially one as quiet as Moony—sometimes, at a party, he needed drawing out of his shell or he'd just spend the entire time hiding in a corner.

But the corners were devoid of Lupins; the sofas, too. He made his way around the edge of the makeshift dance floor (far fewer people dancing by that point, of course—only the truly committed were left) to stagger up to James, who was, predictably enough, watching Lily and Mary dance with a starry-eyed look on his face, bottle of firewhiskey dangling from his hand.

"Prongs," he greeted his friend, helpfully taking the firewhiskey before he dropped it, and helpfully taking a long swig before he got too parched. "Have you seen Moony?"

James seemed unable to tear his gaze away, and Sirius looked over, too; the two girls looked like they were having a whale of a time, giggling and chatting and throwing themselves around with abandon. Lily had earlier tied her hair back in some complicated plait thing that Sirius imagined took hours to complete, but by now it had all tumbled loose, dark red waves spilling over her shoulders. That probably didn't help James' concentration levels: he'd always loved her hair. Among other things.

"Moony," Sirius repeated, when it became clear that James had either not heard his question, or had forgotten to answer. "Have you seen him?"

"Hmm? Oh, um, no," James replied, finally looking at his friend—noticing, too, that he had lost his drink, and grabbing the bottle back. "Haven't all night, actually."

Sirius frowned. "Strange…"

James' focus was back on the dance floor. This was a waste of time. "Yeah…really strange…"

"Forget it," Sirius sighed, giving James a gentle (but pointed) bump on the shoulder as he passed, making his way to the portrait hole. If no one else cared what had happened to their friend, then he would have to go it alone: bravely, boldly, out into the castle, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the—

His stirring internal monologue was cut off almost as soon as he was out in the corridor. "Oh!" he said with an easy grin, an ease borne not only of alcohol but also the pleasure at seeing one of his favourite people: Remus was walking towards him, hands in his pockets. "There you are! Crikey, Moons, I was starting to wonder if you'd been eaten by a passing hippogriff."

Remus came to a stop just in front of him, and Sirius paused, trying to understand the look on his face. It wasn't angry; didn't even seem like sadness, either. In fact, if he delved a bit deeper, beneath the alcohol and the buzz of the evening, he found he recognised it, that sort of numb emptiness. A blankness, that Remus had worn like a mask, last year when—

"Didn't feel like partying in the end," Remus replied. His voice was calm, steady. Nothing given away. So why, then, did Sirius feel like his stomach had dropped through the floor? "Spent the evening with Owain instead."

"Oh." Sirius didn't know what to say. Didn't know why he suddenly felt utterly, completely exhausted. "Right. Fair enough."

"I'm knackered," Remus said next, and stepped around him. "See you in the morning."

He wasn't sure how long he stood out there in the corridor; it was long enough for some of the chill of the night to sink into his bones, and that was when he decided another drink was in order. Something to warm him up, to maybe knock some of the strange, jagged sensation from where it sat low in his gut.

Mary found him at the drinks table; although she had a glassy look about her, indicative of how much alcohol she'd already had, she still had the presence of mind to wind her arm around his shoulders, to lean her head against his. "You alright, Black?" she asked, her voice quiet amongst the racket and chaos around them.

He shrugged, offering her a glass of his redcurrant concoction. "Me? I'm fine."

She took the glass, but watched him carefully over the rim. "This is fine, is it?"

What was he supposed to say to that? That actually, barely an hour ago, he'd been more than fine—that he'd been almost dizzy with contentment, with the way things seemed to be settling in their new year of school; how he'd started to let his hopes run too high, forgetting his usual rule of assuming the worst. That he felt somehow embarrassed, as if that made any sense, and wondering as he so often seemed to, lately, whether he'd messed something up beyond repair without even realising—done something, again, but had no idea what it was, or what he could do to make it right.

But he wasn't about to say that—any of that. Why change the habit of a lifetime?

"Fine, Mac," he said again, knowing that neither of them believed him. "Just fine."