A/N: All of the normal warnings; as always, please read with care. This chapter has a little more injury/danger/references to death than the average.

Also, a shoutout to all the reviewers, especially TuggingMyEarWhenever09 and CBMareep, whose reviews I've only just seen! Yes, Mary is struggling with some body image issues. And yes, this is turning into a Sirius/Remus. I decided to give Peter the nickname 'Wormy' a bit earlier - based not on his Animagus form but on an incident where he ended up with worms in his bed. Which eventually turns into Wormtail of course. And no haha, Sirius wasn't joking about the ear piercing. Thank you so much for all your reviews and thank you for staying up! It means so much to me. I'm trying to update this fic every three weeks - so after this update, I'm hoping the next chapter will be out 14 May. It's a little long but it's because the chapters are mostly over 10k these days and have a lot of editing as well as writing.

Without further ado, your scheduled chapter!


March 15th, 1976

Classroom 2E hummed with nervous energy. Professor Flitwick let them in twenty minutes early to sort out the last details of their assignments, which were due at five precisely. The fifth-years barely fit inside; all four houses were present, and by the time Lily arrived, panting, most of the seats had been taken. Rolls of parchment hung off desks, someone shook their wand at a mess of spilled blue ink, and a harried Hufflepuff hyperventilated in the doorway, splitting the milling crowd into two streams. Lily had been delayed by an anxious trip to the loo, and it had cost her. She stood on tiptoe and searched the sea of students for Marlene, or better yet, Remus. Fear gnawed at her stomach. He'd been sick today. Completely coincidentally, she told herself, he had been sick today. As he had been a month ago, when they had been given the assignment.

She bit her lip. Lily had spent half the day looking for him. In Transfiguration, his absence glared between Potter and Peter. In History of Magic, nobody pretended to scribble notes when Lily looked at them; they only shifted their heads on their folded arms or blinked their glazed eyes. In Potions, Potter and Peter partnered each other, and the other half of their bench sat bare. For Black was gone too. If she hadn't known better, she might've thought they'd snuck off to Hogsmeade or to the spot behind the greenhouses for the day. But the rain had not eased and nobody dared leave the castle. A boy had raced into the Great Hall at breakfast screaming, for a branch from the Whomping Willow had been blown off but retained its sentience, and had chased him up the stairs and through the Entrance Hall, whacking him ferociously over the head. An unnatural chill seeped through the walls. A fire burned low between the staircases on the far side of the room, and bluebell flames danced in glass jars on every second desk, but Lily shivered all the same, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck.

"Lily." It was no more than a whisper, but she heard it, suddenly attuned. Her eyes followed the source of the noise. Her heart dropped. Severus. She only glimpsed him between shoulders and adjusted satchels, and then he was pushing and she was pulling away, backing through the crowd, hurrying out apologies. A cool wind blew down her spine. Severus had been trying to make eye contact all day, trying to talk to her. She couldn't stand it. Logically, Lily knew it would only be about the latest scrap of gossip – apparently some Slytherins and Gryffindors had been caught in a duel in Hogsmeade on the weekend. It grew larger in every telling, and a little girl had assured them at lunch that they'd had Voldemort with them and had been chased by no less than ten Aurors, while some Ravenclaw boy said he'd been the one to catch them and handed them over to the Ministry for questioning. Regardless, the hourglasses in the Entrance Hall had lost no more than a sprinkling of stones, and Lily suspected aiding and abetting a mass murderer would be punished at least as harshly as getting caught in a compromising position in a broom cupboard, so the story was as real as James Potter's modesty. Nevertheless, she found herself praying Remus and Black had escorted Voldemort on prancing pink ponies and that was the reason neither of them deigned to come to their lessons.

She had an easier time slipping past people than Severus did, and soon she emerged into the clearing by the windows, finally able to breathe. The crowd closed into a solid wall behind her, mercifully blocking him. This was the coolest part of the room, the glass on the tall arched windows fogging with condensation, and she hugged herself, looking out. Her skin prickled. She wasn't especially happy about having to submit their assignment alone, but if Remus was sick…normal sick, that was… But why would Sirius be skiving, too? Though more often than not he did miss lessons… A nasty headache welled in her temples. The last thing she wanted was Sev dogging her about whatever insane theory he'd come up with now.

"Evans! Evans!" Potter's head bobbed through the crowd, waving his arms above his head, and to her great surprise she sagged with relief. He'd know where Remus was. He would have a perfectly normal answer, and she could put her mind at ease. More to the point, Severus would crack it and refuse to come near. Fine. He could do whatever he pleased at this particular moment. She thrust her hand into the air, and Potter whooped and pushed through.

"Potter," she said coolly, when he emerged from the chaos. Peter was right on his heels, red-faced. His hunched shoulders and squinted eyes gave the impression he'd been squashed. Potter ruffled his hair, smiling lopsidedly, though today it didn't quite meet his eyes. Lily's teeth wondered at her lower lip.

"Evans," he said, only shining at half-wattage. His eyes flicked to the window. "Ah, where's Macdonald? I brought the assignment, but I reckoned she might want to look over it. Don't know what she did with Vane." Enfield had professed himself frightened of Potter after he claimed he ended up covered in spiders after a session working together, and so Flitwick had permitted them to switch. Glen had volunteered himself, though Mary was possibly more frightened than Potter than Enfield was. But as far as Lily knew, he hadn't treated her poorly throughout the process. Though for much of it she and Mary hadn't been speaking. Potter distractedly ruffled his hair again, making it stick up in every direction. It was so stupid. It looked better lying flat, but the way he treated it, you'd think he'd be cursed if he left it alone for more than a minute.

Lily waved her hand vaguely to the northern side of the classroom. "She was with Meadowes, that Ravenclaw prefect." Potter nodded slowly, and looked out the window again. Peter did the same, face taught with anxiety. Lily narrowed her eyes. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Hm? Oh, all the better for talking to you, Evans," Potter grinned. Peter weakly imitated. Potter stepped closer to the window and ducked, looking straight up into the sky. Curiosity got the better of her. Lily did the same.

"What is it?" she asked. Potter pulled away.

"Nah," he said, drumming his fingers against his leg. "Wonder if it'll storm later." The clouds shrouding the castle's turrets grew blacker with every passing moment, and the rain spurred down harder, drops the size of cricket balls splattering against the glass.

"I think so," she said, touching a finger to the window. It was icy against her skin. When she drew back, her fingerprint alone left a clear view to the courtyard below. Potter blew threw his lips, face taut and shoulders strangely encumbered. Lily pressed her lips together.

"Is Remus ill?" she asked hesitantly. Potter's face darkened for a moment, and then he shrugged, grabbing a handful of his hair and sliding his grasp to his scalp.

"Yeah," he said. "It's the weather, I reckon. Sorry, Evans. Do you need anything from him? He's only holed up in our dorm, I can get him if you like. Or his notes or anything." His voice softened in a way that made Lily shift; she hadn't known he could speak so gently. But no, that wasn't true – his tone had been much the same that night by the fire, his eyes (hazel, not brown, hazel) changing like the embers, his lips delicately cupping the filter of the cigarette.

"No," she said firmly, looking to the students instead of him. "No, I don't need anything, thank you. I just wanted to see if he was alright."

James nodded slowly. "Yeah. He'll be alright." Impulsively, a question welled in her about Black, but she shoved it aside.

"Right," she said briskly. "Thanks, Potter. Peter." Peter waved at her and then dropped his hand, blushing. She cast her eyes over the crowd. Severus was gone, thank God, so she trudged up the stairs to where Mary sat with Dorcas Meadowes, and then swore silently. She'd just pointed Potter this way, and now they'd have to run into each other again. Her goodwill for him didn't extend to two civil conversations in ten minutes. Why had Glen thrown Mary into Potter's way? He stood on the opposite side of the classroom, laughing good-naturedly with Enfield, and a flush of annoyance rose in Lily's cheeks.

Mary had saved a seat for her, so she put her bag on the desk and raked through the essay once more. She was engrossed in it enough – or feigning it well enough, more likely – that when Potter showed, he didn't say a word to her. He was polite to Mary, though, which Lily begrudgingly gave him a mental point for. All too soon, Marlene burst through the crowd and convinced Mary to share her chair, and Meadowes gently plugged her ears and shut her eyes, and Flitwick bustled in, squeaking and calling for silence.

In their pairs, Professor Flitwick called them up, and once called they were free to leave. She shortly followed Enfield and Glen, both of whom looked supremely satisfied. Severus' black gaze bore into the back of her head, but she managed a small smile as she handed the scroll over.

"A shame Mr Lupin is not here with you," Professor Flitwick said, genially taking her assignment and filing it with a flick of his wand.

"He's sick, sir."

"Unfortunate. All the same, I look forward to reading your work. Thank you, Miss Evans."

"Thank you, sir."

Outside, girls huddled close to the walls, pulling their scarves over their mouths and tucking their hands inside their cloaks. A freezing wind howled through the corridor. It was chillier than half of winter had been, and even Lily felt it. She tugged down her jumper beneath her robes and stood by the door, waiting for Mary and Marlene. A group of first-years struggled by in a tight-knit pack, wands brandished and heads continually turning over their shoulders. Not everyone had brushed off the rumours so easily.

"Excuse me," said one of the smallest girls suddenly, fixated on her badge. Lily thumbed the red pin that read 'Prefect'.

"What's the matter?" Lily asked kindly, pushing Severus and Remus and Voldemort from her thoughts. The girl was a Hufflepuff, as were most of her friends.

"We were wondering if maybe you could please take us to our common room?" Her voice grew higher with every word, and then she blushed. "But you have to look away when we go in so you don't figure it out."

"Of course," Lily agreed. Mary and Marlene would have each other. She followed the first-years down to the basement, where they asked her to face the walls with their eyes closed while they did whatever it was Hufflepuffs did to get into their common room. Given that they hadn't asked her to block her ears, she figured it wasn't a password.

"Thank you!" waved the girl, passing through the big door into the buttercup room beyond. Lily waved back.

"Bye, McMullen." The door swung shut, leaving Lily alone in the passage. Burrowed beneath the earth, there was naught to hear but silence, the sounds from the common room vanquished by thick, ancient enchantments. Torches cast orange shadows across the stones, but she lit her wand anyway, feeling more than a little foolish. Why had she felt better with the first-years with her? They weren't likely to save her from anything, unless she used them as human shields, and that seemed a bit slack when they'd come to her for help.

Despite herself, she was relieved when she made it to the Entrance Hall; there was an abundance of people. Her brows furrowed. An abundance of people, when dinner was still three-quarters of an hour away. They crowded around something by the door, heads bobbing, the whites of their eyes showing when they looked back. Someone was crying.

Lily hurried forward, pushing through the students – "sorry, sorry, I'm a prefect, excuse me," – and found two bedraggled boys shivering, squeaking out a high-pitched story. They fell silent. Their teeth chattered furiously, and thin, pointy icicles hung from their nostrils and the tips of their ears, like crystal piercings. Their uniforms and cloaks bloated with water, and they stood in no less than four inches of water, which rose higher at every moment, seeping under the shut front doors of the castle and crept into Lily's grey socks.

"Nobody's thought to cast a Warming Charm?" she muttered rhetorically, before pointing her wand at each of the boys and murmuring the incantation. But if anything, they shivered even more, cheeks burnt and eyes watery. They were Gryffindors, third-years, and neither muggle-born as far as she knew. It was the sort of thing one had to keep on top of, these days.

"Magic makes it worse," said the taller of the two, a black boy called Mark Jordan, whose father was Head Auror at the Ministry and had featured prominently in the papers recently. "He c-cast a c-couple of d-d-different enchantments, I d-didn't know what they were."

"You've been hexed?" The pale boy next to him – Robley, maybe? – nodded. Jordan hesitated.

"I d-don't know if it was a hex or a c-curse. Or maybe just charms." Lily turned on her heel and started shooing people.

"There's nothing to see. Go on."

"I'm his cousin," said one bespectacled girl, jabbing her finger at Robley. "I'm not going." Lily bit her lip.

"Hanning, isn't it?" The girl was in her year, a Hufflepuff.

"Marion, yes."

"Great. Look, I need a teacher, and I need something to warm them up. Do you have any dry cloaks – not enchanted – that you could grab, or normal towels, jumpers, anything?" Marion nodded hesitantly. "Excellent. If you want to help -"

"David," Marion supplied.

"David," Lily repeated, "that'd be the best way. Please?"

"I'll get his sister, too."

That dealt with, Lily turned back to the boys. "What happened? I need to know everything." They looked at each other. "You're not going to get in trouble from me unless you've hurt someone. I'll figure out what you need to tell McGonagall without losing points. Alright? Gryffindor's honour." She put her wand over her heart. Robley slapped his own hand. Lily blinked.

"I can't feel my fingers," he wailed, and held his gloved appendage up like Lily might be able to fix it with a look. Unfortunately, she was not Madam Pomfrey. Who she really ought to take them to, come to think of it. She hadn't imagined getting saturated would really do any harm.

"You'll be alright. Marion will be back soon. Please just tell me what happened."

Jordan did, with all the precision and evaluation she'd expect from someone whose dad was basically a policeman. Robley had met him after Ancient Runes, and given that they were warned to stay inside because of the weather, they'd decided to go outside and see it for themselves. The Whomping Willow thrashed madly in the wind, volleying debris back into the Forbidden Forest, and they'd gone closer, planning to throw rocks at it to see what would happen. An older boy had come out of the shadows, wand brandished, and shouted at them for being there. He'd listed several names of people Robley and Jordan only knew in passing, and when they said as much, he'd cast a Full Body-Bind on them, performed several charms, and then used the general counter-spell and stormed off. They'd run inside, chased by a moving puddle, and that had caused the commotion.

"What were the names?" Lily asked, dread stalking up her spine and thickening her veins. Jordan screwed up his face.

"I can't say for sure."

Stay calm. "What do you think? This isn't for McGonagall. I just want to know."

"It was Potter," Robley spoke up, and made two circles with his frozen fingers and pressed them to his eyes.

"Potter hexed you?"

"No," Jordan said slowly. "That was who he was after. Potter – Black? I don't know which one – erm…"

"Your other prefect," supplied Robley, apparently impressed by his own memory. "Lupin! And P-something. He said it was the chubby one that hangs around them."

"Pettigrew," Lily said breathlessly. No. No. Fuck. He wouldn't be that stupid. He wouldn't do it. No matter how clever he thought he was, no matter how much research he did – he wouldn't be that stupid.

"That was it," Jordan said. Lily opened and closed her hands, trying to breathe, a heat washing over her in spite of the unnatural cold.

"The boy who asked you," she forced out, shutting her eyes. "Did he give his name?"

"No," said Jordan. "But I can describe him." She nodded for him to go on. "Dark hair, it fell a bit below his chin, he was in uniform – Slytherin…"

Sev, Lily thought desperately. What are you doing?

March 15th, 1976

He had known Sirius wouldn't come.

There was no reason for Remus' chest to be aching. None at all.

They hadn't spoken since the fateful night Sirius had swaggered off, leaving them frantic, running up and down the corridors, casting ghostly wandlight over the top of the Astronomy Tower, uncertain if they were looking for boy or a body. He wouldn't, James insisted, face senseless with frenzied mania. He wouldn't. Remus had checked the cupboards anyway. Sirius could lock himself in a dark hole to die as easily as he could make a spectacle out of it. He stood, body pressed against the parapet, pointing his wand into the darkness below, looking for a shape nearly six feet long.

He hadn't checked the Clock Tower. That was the part that stole sleep from him, that left him sweating and sightless and grasping at the window, pulling it up for some brush of fresh air. It wasn't that he wanted to have caught them at it, either, though his deranged mind conjured scenes where Sirius stopped before it happened, brushed his hair behind his ears, staggered towards him and blinked furiously to hold the tears back. As if Sirius would cry. In the worst dreams, Sirius hoarsely whispered a confession against his year. At Halloween. I was asking you. But that only ended in humiliation when he woke, madly convinced for a moment that that was the truth of it. It had been a miscommunication, that was all. One that chased him through the turn of months, yes, while Sirius had probably forgotten it, but a miscommunication nevertheless. A misunderstanding.

Remus honestly, honestly didn't care that he hadn't walked in on Sirius and Striding doing – whatever they had done, in whatever way they had done it, he didn't care. No. What he cared about was that he hadn't checked the Clock Tower, and if Sirius had strung himself from the railing or downed a cacophony of potions, Remus wouldn't have found him. Remus wouldn't have saved him. He hadn't known that Sirius was alive when he ran up the stairs to the dormitory, tears gouging out his eyes, lungs screaming. For all he knew, Sirius' face could've been blackening behind the clock face, a fourth hand to tell the time: finished.

For the first week it had not really happened. Sirius and James had fought and Remus kept his head down and Sirius and James had fought because Sirius didn't go to his match, and that was it. His birthday passed in a numb haze, laughing at the worst of Peter's jokes and pushing his head into schoolbooks when Sirius came by. He was forgetting, or had forgotten, or would forget, and that was that. He didn't need to forgive if he had forgotten. And so he would drown it in explanations of boggarts and Biological Spells. 'Black, Sirius' was only another index card, and he had reviewed it years ago, really.

The second week dawned darker than the first. 'Black, Sky', and it came right after him. But it didn't matter. Today, nothing mattered; not the colour of the sky, not the assignment which he had abandoned to Lily's care, not the mush of plain bread he ate at lunch, not staring at the ceiling in the hospital wing, waiting, waiting, waiting. Not that Sirius didn't come. James and Peter did, in the lull between their lessons and trudging off to hand in their essays. But not Sirius. But Remus was the Reasonable One, and he had known that all along, and never expected anything different, and when James and Peter wished him luck and shared a little look he couldn't read and scurried away, he didn't feel lonely, not at all, not a little bit, because he was Remus Lupin and he was a werewolf and he had been since he was four, and regardless of what anyone else said, he knew his lot in life.

He gained nothing from not being able to breathe, anyway. It wasn't so great a habit that he got unconsciousness out of it.

Now, disillusioned, he crept behind Madam Pomfrey as she strode through the halls, careful to keep to the edges and not run into anyone. His head was oddly light, and his limbs oddly heavy, though any first-year with a moon chart and a rudimentary knowledge of wizarding folklore would be able to suggest why, if they knew the truth. The truth-knowing was the only part that kept him safe. And even then.

The Entrance Hall was flooded, and he skimmed Lily, where she stood with two cloak-clad boys and Professor McGonagall, pointing out the door. He felt sick. He had left her to hand in their assignment alone, he had left her to attend to their prefect duties alone. If she wasn't Saint Lily, she would've loathed him, and rightly so. She got it worse than James and Peter did; at least they had an exciting little secret to squirrel away. Lily had nothing from him but the questions in her eyes when they stalked the corridors on Sunday evenings. No answers.

Whomping Willow.

Remus froze, even as Madam Pomfrey moved on, crossing the threshold and starting down the short set of stairs. Lily had said it. Whomping Willow. It was her voice, unmistakably. She gestured outside again, and McGonagall frowned, and the boys nodded. Panic screamed. How could they know? How had they discovered it? No, they couldn't know – they couldn't know – someone would have rushed up to tell him, to tell Madam Pomfrey, to stop this. How could they know? They hadn't been watching him. He didn't even know their names. Why had Lily said it? Why was she pointing? McGonagall knew – she wouldn't come out to the Willow now, would she? She couldn't. Not with students in tow. If something happened – if something happened –

"You'd best stay well away from the Whomping Willow," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "Foolish, to go tonight. A point each lost. And this boy – is he still out there?"

Boy? Remus thought wildly. Who? Who would be out there?

"I don't know," said the taller one.

"And what did he look like?"

"He had dark hair, a bit longer than how most wear it, and he was in uniform…"

Sirius.

Remus bounded through the doors, lungs contracting, pain forgotten. Sirius had come. It was too late, and Remus wouldn't be able to talk to him – Sirius would know that, of course, Sirius knew that as the sunsets got later and the weather got warmer Madam Pomfrey tended to turn him into a chameleon – but he had come to see him off all the same. Even knowing that Remus had been the one to tell James that he had skipped the match, even knowing that Remus was angry with him. He had come. He was standing out in the wind and the rain and the distant crash of thunder in the hopes that Remus might glimpse him, or that he might glimpse Remus.

I could forgive him anything for that.

A stupid, reckless thought, to be deliberated on in the morning, but for now Remus felt it and it soothed the pacing beast inside him that grew antsier as each bloodied smear of sky faded to bruised black. Thick air enveloped him as he rushed after Madam Pomfrey, fraught with the sizzle of an oncoming storm. He pulled his hood down. Professor Sprout and a handful of seventh-years raced in and out of the greenhouses, cloaks fluttering madly, carrying in plants that had been in the gardens. Sixth-years huddled together casting protective enchantments over those that couldn't be moved. There was a gaping hole of dark mist where the top of the Astronomy Tower had been, and the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers were becoming little more than smatters of stones in the sky. The gamekeeper, Hagrid, splashed mud as high as Remus' shoulders, his dog skittering behind him, barking at the rage of nature bearing down on them. Light spring leaves hurled like javelins, slapping his cheeks. The trees in the Forbidden Forest shook, and an earth-shattering crack saw one of them fall onto the castle's neat lawn. Madam Pomfrey gasped a little shriek.

"Remus?" she called, throwing caution to the tumultuous winds, and he shot forward to keep up with her.

"Here," he breathed. She puffed out relief.

The Whomping Willow stretched as tall and terrifying as ever, wrathfully swinging at the litter of twigs and leaves that peppered it. Remus dared look for a sign of Sirius, but the sloping green was bare, save for the spilling brown mud. That was fine, he told himself, veins in his wrist tingling. It was pouring. He had come, and when he'd seen the two boys, he'd probably been frightened of getting in trouble and snuck back inside. That was enough.

(Sirius was not frightened of getting in trouble. Sirius was frightened of his mother and sobriety. But that was another morning thought, when new lines crisscrossed his skin and he lay in the Infirmary, knitting himself back together.)

Remus endeavoured to keep his heart even with deep, careful breaths as Madam Pomfrey expertly tossed a stone at the small knot at the base of the tree. Ordinarily, the willow would fall quiet. Tonight it was all nature. Above his head, its long green tendrils cracked through the air like whips, urged by the winds as they rose to a never-ending scream, making it impossible for him to hear anything save for the beat in his chest. Madam Pomfrey looked around and gestured to him. He ran. Thunder growled on the horizon, the heavens slavering like a starving bloodhound. Mist raced across the grounds, a thick grey wall rapidly approaching, swallowing up the forest and its depths. His hairs stood on end. It was stupid to be afraid of a bit of weather, but –

Something was wrong. His instincts howled. Go back to the castle, the coward in him pleaded. But that wasn't an option on a night like this. He had no haven but the one at the end of the tunnel.

"Be safe," Madam Pomfrey whispered, pale, as he bent down. This time, the thunder roared.

"Take care," Remus replied, eyeing the way back. The castle was lost in the storm. All that existed was the willow and him and Madam Pomfrey and the thought of Sirius burning through him like wildfire. He came. He came. He came. And he had gone back, hadn't he? He wasn't still out here. Unless he'd borrowed James' cloak. But he wouldn't have, not when James was this angry with him. Would he have? It was Sirius. He'd do it just to see if James cared enough to hex him.

"I'll be here at sunrise." Sometimes she would take him to the shack, but she was already standing. It would be a freezing walk through the tunnel alone. And it was Remus' condition and Remus' fault. She didn't need to do penance for it.

Remus crawled down. Above him, the opening sealed itself. This was it. It didn't take long for the cold to pierce his shoes and poke through the holes of his threadbare socks, and then it crept up his legs, gripping his thighs like iron cuffs, and once it reached his stomach he was doomed to tremors as he tried not to think of anything at all. A cool night with this might mean reprieve – a night huddled in the corner. He might be hypothermic when he woke, but it probably wouldn't kill him. The alternative was that the wolf would rage to keep its blood pumping, which would steal another day or two from Remus. It was like Sirius in that way. Changeable. Unpredictable.

All his thoughts led back to Sirius.

He hadn't seen him there, but he knew what it had looked like; Sirius in his fine velvet cloak, probably hooded, dark hair chafing his bony face in the turmoil, eyes smoky mirrors. Watching. For him. Remus had destroyed his friendship with James out of – anger? Frustration? Fear? Jealousy? Not jealousy. He envied Sirius nothing but the money and the humanity, the latter of which he envied of everyone. But he had torn to ribbons Sirius' lifeline and Sirius came anyways.

Remus really was a fucking monster.

But that would come later. For now, he walked.

March 15th, 1976

The sky screamed in agony, and James cast another warming charm, trembling under his Invisibility Cloak. He and Peter had given up any pretence of shame and huddled, arms around each other, knees curled up to their chests and knocking, their arses well and truly numb on the wet ground. The wooden box which held their potions – their months of hard work, their years of research – was tucked behind James' heels, directly under the bend of his legs. As night overwhelmed, they chanted, potentially for the last time.

"Amato Animo Animato Animagus."

It was the first proper storm of the year, and the thunder promised lightning, even if it stayed behind the mountains for now. It was only a matter of staying warm and staying awake. Peter had read somewhere that if you fell asleep while you were cold you'd never wake up, and while James thought it was rubbish, the red nothing creeping through his fingers and the fogginess of his brain inclined him to do whatever Pete thought would keep them alive.

"Clarke," James said firmly. "She's fit and clever and muggle-born."

"Would you date someone just because they're muggle-born?" Peter asked, rubbing behind his ear. James cocked his head.

"Not 'just because'," he said. "But I wouldn't date someone from the upper echelons of society. And if she's muggle-born, she's not likely to be part of society."

"Evans is in the Slug Club," Peter said, wriggling his feet. The Whomping Willow hurled its branches through the fog. They were only on top of the hill, close to the castle walls, but it disappeared into mist except when it moved.

"The Slug Club's not society. It's Sluggy's attempt at schmoozing. He doesn't care how old your family is as long as you'll give him good returns. He's investing." James pulled up a blade of grass, which was much more difficult in thick gloves and no feeling in his fingers. "What about you, Pete?"

"Nicholson," Peter said, and looked away. They had the cloak propped so that they could see each other, while remaining hidden from the rest of the world. Peter's legs jiggled. "Sirius snogged her. At the party. I heard her talking about it in Herbology." That name twisted through James' guts like a blade. His absence was an ache. There were three potions, and room enough for three of them seated, but he had thrown it away. And for what? To sleep, to get drunk, to fuck some girl he didn't even like? James knew him and knew he'd never shown a blink of interest in her. Marlene he would've understood. Fucking hell, James might've been less cross with him if he'd fucked Lily Evans herself, if only because they'd at least exchanged words in their lifetime. And the next day word had spread that Striding's father had been murdered, and James put it together. He'd nearly been sick. It hurt to look at him, it hurt to hear him breathing, to see him slip into the back of a lesson, to smell whisky in the dorm, to hear the shower running, to see his cloak draped over the back of a chair. It filled James with a nameless, indescribable rage he'd never known.

It scared him. He hated Snape and he hated Voldemort and he hated pureblood high society, but he hated none of them the way he hated Sirius Black. The quidditch match was the least of it, but it was the only thing he could put into words. So he let the others think it was petty. He even let them think he was getting sleep. But the half-second between each beat of his heart was filled with a disgust so full he felt contaminated. Wherever the other boy had been going, it wasn't on the few floors they'd mapped, and James forced himself to be content with that. To see his name on the parchment would only be another wound.

"She was probably drunk out of her mind," James said, eyes fixed on his trainers. "She'll regret it. If you like her, Pete -"

"I don't," Peter said quickly. "I was only picking for the game."

The rain grew heavier, and the boys grew closer, discarding any notions of shyness or shame. They wrapped their arms around each other and shivered. Droplets as fat as thumbs pounded the cloak and rolled to the ground, creating a stream that trickled down the slope towards the Whomping Willow. They bartered answers back and forth, about girls and lessons and quidditch teams and foods and whatever else they could think of as their teeth clattered together. James fingered a tiny vial of whisky he had tucked in his robes. This was too important to be drunk for, but a mouthful might warm them. But there was precious little available about the taking of the potion, and they'd sat through a lecture only the other day where Slughorn explained that some combinations of ingredients and spirits could lead to incapacitation or death. He didn't fancy explaining to his parents or McGonagall that he'd paralysed himself attempting to become an illegal Animagus so he could help his unregistered werewolf friend. He had an inkling they wouldn't entirely approve.

"We're going to die," Peter squeaked eventually, his hands squirming against James' in the gloves they had decided to share, in the interests of pooling body heat. And he said that without the whisky. James set that idea well and truly aside.

"Nah," James said. "We're wizards. We won't die from a bit of rain."

A dazzling, white-hot flash lit the sky. Peter hollered and clapped his hands over his mouth. Crack. Thunder deafened them, rolling endlessly, shaking the ground underneath. James' head snapped to Peter.

Lightning. Lightning had come to Hogwarts.

James scrabbled at the wooden box, heart pounding. He was too excited, too nervous to make a sound. His fingers pulled insistently at the latch. It opened – he flipped up the lid – moved the tray – three phials nestled in the bottom, contents blood red.

"Holy shit," Peter whispered. Numb, James picked up the one marked with his initials. It was warm under his fingers, and seemed to pulse like a beating heart.

"Fuck," he said softly. "Pete. We did it." Peter inched forward, and James retrieved his phial, passing it over. Peter held it aloft, eyes sparkling. James swallowed. One phial remained. 'S.B' marked the scrap of parchment stuck to it in a neat black hand.

Another strike of lightning dazzled the sky, lighting Hogwarts like some gothic fortress. Something caught James' eye. In the split second that the world turned white, a dark silhouette darted across the grounds. James' breath caught. And then it was dark and the boy was gone.

"We're going to turn into Animagus," Peter babbled, turning the phial in his grasp. "We've done it! Do you think we could go to Moony tonight, James, d'you think-?"

"-Sh." James threw a finger to his lips, peering through his glasses and the cloak in the direction of the figure. He listened closely, but the rain fell in sheets and drowned everything but the race of his heart and Peter's confused exclamation.

"JAMES! JAMES!"

James fumbled for his wand and whirled around, clambering awkwardly to his feet. The cloak flopped onto Peter. Water splattered his glasses, making it nearly impossible to see, but the shouting had definitely come from the opposite direction – the direction of the forest, not Hagrid's hut. How? He hadn't seen anyone go around them, unless they'd slipped behind. But –

"James! James, please!" The last of it was swallowed by a lash of lightning and the subsequent quake of thunder. Rain flattened James' hair and slipped under his robes, icy trickles running across his bare skin. He knew that voice, and it was the last person he wanted here. It was the only other person who had a right to be here.

"You have to help me!" Sirius shouted into the darkness, voice bouncing off the ancient castle walls. "I fucked up! I know you're here, we agreed on this spot!" James gripped his wand tighter. Sirius' voice drew nearer. "It's about Moony! Fucksakes, James, please, it's for Moony, please, please, please, I need you, fuck!" The voice cracked. A jet of orange light shot from the mist and bounced harmlessly off Hogwarts' inner wards. Peter whimpered. James' robes hung heavy around his neck and on his shoulders, and a waterfall tumbled from his sleeves. All his clothes were imbued with the best enchantments money could buy – warming, cooling, enduring – and yet he shivered so hard he thought his legs might give out.

"It's about Moony," Sirius repeated hoarsely, and he stumbled into a pool of moonglow. James pulled off his glasses, watching through slits and waterlogged lashes. Sirius was waxen in the sickly light, eyes hollow sockets, cheeks empty. It was such that James could see him, but he couldn't see James. For that much, he was thankful.

What have you done? James thought, one foot lifting but refusing to step. Something tugged at his core, pulling him down to the box where Sirius' phial lay. Whatever had happened, Sirius had put in the work – and they had no use for his potion anyway. It wasn't as though they could drink it if theirs fucked up. And then, on impulse, James swung his own phial to his lips and uncorked it with his teeth, spitting it onto the grass. The potion thrummed in his hand, brimming with life – or death, if he'd fucked it, possibly death. Sirius turned his face to the sky, hair curling as buckets of water poured over him. The cold kiss of crystal lips shuddered through him, and he swallowed the thick, bloody mixture into the deepest chambers of his soul.

It scorched his insides. He spluttered, bending double. The phial and his wand alike fell to the ground. Fire seared through his veins, turning them to ash. James screamed voicelessly. Flame consumed him from the inside out; let me die, he begged desperately. The pounding of hooves echoed in his ears. His chest almost split open; a comet hammered against his chest. Tears streamed down his cheeks but brought no cool relief. His knees hit the grass. Two hearts exploded against his ribs, and he rasped, tasting iron. He shut his eyes – let it end, let it end, let it –

An afterimage seared into his eyelids, and James Potter fell into oblivion.

A moment later he woke, though he could not remember sleeping. The world shimmered in shades of green and blue and black, sparkling with water, newly born. The full moon took up half the sky, silver and elegant. Rain streamed down his face. A dark figure stood on the fog's edge, looking at him. He toed the ground. His sense of smell was obscured by the thunderstorm, and there was something he was forgetting.

"James?" said the boy, holding his flat palm out. That meant something. He approached, the earth soft beneath him. "James," breathed the boy. His voice was high-pitched for one close to manhood, and startlingly soft. "You – you took the potion. James, I -" his words became unknowable, tangled and sopping.

"Shit." He turned his head, looking back, and a roundish boy with light hair stood. "Holy shit." He squeaked like a rat. "Sirius, what if he's stuck? What if he can't turn back? What if he's dead?" The last word came out as a kind of scream, and the boy barrelled towards him. He leapt aside, racing down the hill, sniffing hard. A rat – a rabbit - a new scent on his mind. He knew this one, too, and it stoked an anger. He followed it towards the tree. It was treacherous underfoot, but he knew no fear. This was the scent of prey.

"James!" yelled the darker boy, and the sky burnt white with the father of fire. It lit a third human-bird, black wings billowing from his arms, tailfeathers flapping in the gale. It tossed something towards the great tree and its branches slowed. An unearthly scream met thunder. "Snape! SNAPE! SNAPE!" The boy-bird dove under the stout trunk, slipping into a burrow. He chased, legs pumping. The tree shook itself and swayed, stirring, but he would be quicker. He was always quicker.

"JAMES!"

One more bound and he would make it; the burrow was closing itself quickly, filling with dirt

"NO!"

Something tugged at his antlers. For a moment, he soared, a beast of the sky. Then, with a shattering crack, he landed.

There was a pool here. His rump lay in water.

"James!" It was the only cry they knew, it seemed. They knelt beside him, touching him so that he kicked his legs, spasming with pain. They whispered it over and over, and then the lighter pulled a stick on the darker.

"You did this!" he said, voice swelling. "He drank it because you showed up! I saw it!"

"Wormy -"

"I saw all of it! He's going to die and – why did you come, anyway? We don't want you!" he hissed. "You fucked everything up! What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you, Sirius?"

"He's not going to die," said the other, ashen, but his hair still black as rot. "Don't say that."

"He is," said the other, trembling. "He is. He's-"

"If you ever fucking say that again, you'll be the dead one, Pettigrew!" The dark-haired one shoved the round one into the ground, now holding his stick to his throat. "He's going to die if you keep blabbering on! Be useful for once in your life and shut the fuck up!" They blurred before him. His eyes grew very heavy; his run had been so tiring.

"James," said the dark-haired, moving the stick over him. "James, if you can hear me, you need to turn back. I can't heal an animal. I need you to turn back." The boy grabbed his leg. He kicked weakly, turning his head and crying out, pain shooting through him. He needed rest. "James, please, fuck you, please. I know you're furious with me. Tell Dumbledore and get me expelled, I don't care, but you need to turn back. You need to turn back. Please, fuck, James, please." Salt joined the rain beating on his neck. The round one propped himself up.

"For your mum," he said. "For your mum and dad and for me and Moony and for Lisbete." The dark-haired snorted.

"For Evans," he said, leaning close. The world was getting darker now. "For Lily."

Lily.

A faint noise pulsed in his ears. Foreign, but familiar. Lily. He knew her scent too. Vanilla and cinnamon and –

James' eyes opened, and the first thing he registered was Sirius, eyes shining like guiding stars above him and streaming tears. The second thing he registered was a pain beyond all else. He swore, and Sirius held him gently.

"Stay still," Sirius whispered. James' glasses were gone, and the sky swayed above him. Sirius and Peter had their wands out and soon Sirius' hands were on his robes. "We need to take them off," he said, hands shaking. James squinted.

"That your line on Striding?" he managed. Sirius' face seized, and then he tugged James' robes off as he yelped and groaned. Peter pressed ice against his chest. It was so cold it burned, but it pulled things back into focus. His heart thumped. Holy shit. Memory flooded back to him – the potion, the – he'd –

"Glasses," Peter said, fumbling to catch them as they were summoned. He slipped them onto James' face. Between that and the ice, he resembled himself a bit more. They watched him curiously, but James took the seconds to draw in deep, water-speckled gulps of cold air. Blood tingled in his fingers and his thoughts jumbled into something coherent. Realisation flashed through him.

"I did it!" James threw himself upwards and immediately regretted it when the pain winded him, but Sirius and Peter propped him up and it eased. Peter smiled nervously, but Sirius' approximation was worse. Anxiety on him cramped James' stomach. "What?" He was still missing something. He'd – he'd transformed, he was an Animagus, fucking hell, he was an Animagus, he was a – something with antlers? – and he had chased – his brows furrowed as he tried to reconcile scent and face, animal and human.

Peter's face darkened as his eyes flickered to Sirius, but then he smiled at James again. "You did it," he said eagerly. "Bloody hell, James, you – you must be the youngest person ever – you're an – I can't believe it! I can't believe it! I thought you were dead!"

"Cheers," James said vaguely, fixing on Sirius. He had shown up. His hands on James' skin suddenly prickled, and a wave of anger rolled over him. You show up now to play the part of a mate and become an Animagus? You make a promise to me and break it and don't have the guts to tell me yourself, but lie about it, and then you go off and fuck some poor girl you don't know when her dad's body's not cold? And then you act like you're hard done by and go gallivanting about missing lessons and drinking in the corridors and sulking whenever you get near, and now you want to be best mates again? In one part, James was thankful he was here – for the ice, for the physical support – but it wasn't good enough. It wasn't good enough to be there for the exciting bits and bugger off when it got boring. But worse than that, the part that made James blink furiously and closed his throat, was that Sirius hadn't talked to him. If he'd only said –

If he couldn't make it to the match, if he'd told James that, James would gladly have burnt his broom on a pyre to climb into his bed like they had when they were kids and eat sweets until they were sick, and once their bodies crashed from the sugar and it was all they could do to keep their eyes open, James would lay there and let Sirius tell him anything. He'd thought that much had been bloody clear.

How much would it have saved?

Snape.

James jarred back to reality.

"What did you do?" he demanded, grabbing Sirius' robes. "You said you needed help. You fucked up. What the fuck else did you do, Sirius?" Sirius paled and pulled back, but James used all his strength to hold on, gnashing his teeth together.

The boy-bird dove under the stout trunk, slipping into a burrow.

"You told SNAPE?" James' body screamed in protest as he threw Sirius to the ground and used Peter to climb to his feet, already panting hard. Sirius lay in the dirt, hair stuck to his face.

"I fucked up," he whispered. "James, please -"

"You fucked up?" James shouted, apoplectic with rage. "You fucked up? He went down the fucking tunnel, Sirius! When he gets to the other end, Remus is going to kill him! And do you know what the Ministry will do then?" He stood over Sirius, who shut his eyes, quivering. "Do you know? Come on, you fucking pureblood prince, do you know what they'll fucking do to him? SAY IT!" Something hard pressed into his hand, and Peter was at his back, giving him his wand. James took it, still clinging to Peter to stand.

"They'll kill him," Sirius said, quietly, devasted. "They'll kill Moony."

"Yeah," James said. "And it'll be your fault."

A smash of lightning sent him stumbling back, blinded by the light, weight on Peter. He had to concentrate. What mattered was Remus. And Snape. James hated him, but – fuck. He was a snivelly little greasepot who would make James cheer if he got kicked out for creeping around in his little gang of would-be Death Eaters, but Merlin's fucking balls.

Tenderly, he rolled his shoulder. Pain shot through his collarbone – fractured, he reckoned, but nothing worse. And his arms seemed alright. Pomfrey could stitch it up when it was all over, now that some of the pain was subsiding. He'd landed on his left side and was right-handed, so it would work fine. It would have to work fine.

"Peter," he said, straining to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, and the shouts of every nerve in his body to break Sirius' face. Peter jumped to attention almost comically, like a little lieutenant. James might have laughed had there not been every possibility their best friend was becoming a killer and signing his own death warrant as they stood there. "Go to Dumbledore and to Pomfrey. You have to bring them down here. Whatever it takes." Peter nodded, eyes widening. James balled his fists so tight he thought his bones might snap, but somehow he kept from screaming, from running, from tearing Sirius apart. "Take the potion or not, it doesn't matter right now, we can deal with it later. Just get them. If Snape's -" the thought nearly choked him. "Just fucking run."

"I will," Peter said, and he ran, bolting through the endless rain towards the castle. James' eyes swivelled to Sirius. He looked worse than dead. Dementor-kissed. James nearly cried. Nearest thing I had to a brother, he thought, and you've thrown it all in. For a drink? For a girl? For your fucking pride? Were you too arrogant to talk to me? Sirius flinched like a child when the sky split open. Too scared.

"James." Sirius' voice cracked. James twisted away. He was wasting time.

"If Moony kills me and Snape both," he said, "I'll fucking kill you. I don't want to share a memorial service with that thing." His hands scrabbled at a stone and he aimed blearily. By some fortune it hit the knot of the tree and the mouth of the tunnel revealed itself. Before Sirius could manage another word James ran, ran as he had as an animal, powering through the mud and flinging himself down the hole.

The landing terrified him, shouting out as he rolled to protect his left side, but after a moment of heavy breathing he assessed that no more damage had been done. Bruises, of course, but nothing that would stop him. In the darkness, he felt his way to his feet and lit the end of his wand, raising it so he could see the path ahead. No sign of Snape. No screaming. But that could mean anything. James' heart relocated to his gut, slamming against his navel. Snape could be walking still. Snape could be gone already, no more than shreds of skin. Or he could be being attacked as James stood thinking, and James was just too far away to hear it. What the hell good did thinking ever do?

After a while, he got so used to the pain that jolt through his collar with every step that it melted away to nothing. All that mattered was reaching the other end. He thought of it like quidditch; Snape the quaffle, Remus a Slytherin chaser. If he had his broom… he didn't have the time to stop and wait for it, he didn't have the breath to cast a spell. He could only run. Please. Please. Please. Please.

It stretched on forever. He and Sirius had figured out how to get under the Willow years ago, when they'd first started following Remus to see where he went, and a handful of times – while Remus lay in the hospital wing recovering, usually, or when he was sequestered in the library or on prefect duties – they had ventured down and made it to the other end, where they'd found a beaten, dilapidated shack and quietly cleaned it, subtly enough that Remus wouldn't notice, but just something to make it homier. That had stopped this year. Revision for O. , Sirius' sneaking off, Lisbete…Lisbete. That nearly halted him. He flung his arm out to steady himself and paid for it, but he kept on. If he let himself stop, his legs would grow heavy and he'd be close to giving up. Giving up wasn't an option.

Finally, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel.

He didn't believe it at first. He thought there was a corner he'd forgotten and the light of his wand was bouncing off the cavern wall. But he remained, growing brighter with each moment, and the light never turned. What he thought was a scorch or a shape in the stones, and then the darkness beyond whatever the light source was, grew larger and larger until he realised.

"Snape!"

The figure turned, and at once the light winked out. James' own charm shimmered off the rippling air of a Shield Charm. While ever he was occupied with James, he wasn't getting closer to Moony. James slowed his pace as not to drive the fucker off.

At ten feet, the Shield Charm dissipated, and Snape's wand lit again. His face was shadowed and his robes shoddily dried – crunchy. James was only in his trousers – thank Merlin he'd got cold and slipped them on – and a thin long-sleeved undershirt, both damp but not soaked like his robes had been.

"What are you doing here?" Snape sneered, but his stance shifted uncertainly. "Did Black change his mind? Couldn't stand to see the truth get out?" James' throat throbbed with life.

"You idiot," he said, trying to sound casually exasperated. "D'you really think he'd tell you that? I thought you were meant to be something above stupid. That's what Lily always says, but I s'pose she's wrong." Snape flinched.

"Don't say her name," he hissed, stepping back. James snorted, as if the syllables leaving his mouth hadn't struck him like lightning.

"Grow up, Sniv," he said. "Do you really think you're going to get what you want at the other end? I promise we haven't got her bound up and waiting for you. Bugger off."

Snape's light went out and he ran out of James', further down the tunnel. James swore and gave chase. But as long as Snape could see him coming, it wasn't going to work. He muttered the incantation and the world went dark.

March 15th, 1976

Stillness. Then pounding feet.

The other boy crashed through the blackness, tumbling over tree roots, half-bent as the passage grew smaller. His breaths rang in Severus' ears. The Supersensory Charm outlined him more by heat than anything else, a swirl of warmth and movement. Severus let him get close before forcing power through his wand, shooting light to the tip in a blinding flash. Potter staggered towards the earthen wall and leaned on one shoulder, throwing his arm over his eyes. Severus advanced on him, heart pounding. It was a trick, he knew it, but -

"He's not at the end?" he demanded, stepping closer still. Potter dropped his arm and panted, cheeks red.

"Who?" he puffed, squinting. Severus brought his wand closer, and he winced from the light. "Sirius is." He stood himself up straight and ruffled his hair in what Severus suspected was deliberate casualness. As if he would fall for that. Potter was as stupid as he was arrogant, and both would be his downfall. He only looked at him, and Potter held his palm close to his face, apparently inspecting a splinter. "On a scale of…hm…fluffy puppies to fascism, how much d'you like Stinksap?" Was that his idea of wit? Severus chuckled.

"You could be more convincing," he said. "Suppose it's Stinksap. Why would you be chasing after me?" Severus smiled triumphantly. He'd known it all along; the Sirius ruse was a lie. He'd heard Black screaming for Potter, and Pettigrew's whimpering from somewhere in the darkness. Severus had been lying in wait since before dusk, keeping his way clear. Nothing would stop him tonight. Not the dastardly animals that had spilled from the Forbidden Forest onto the grounds and given chase – what on earth brought a stag to school grounds in a storm? – and certainly not Potter. With any luck, Potter would be thrown and killed just as that beast had.

"I forgot you're a hermit," Potter said, still with his feigned, forced devil-may-care attitude. It was a tired insult, and Severus only raised his eyebrows in disappointment. Do better. "It's been all over the school. Sirius is about two detentions away from expulsion. I don't reckon he should waste his whole life on covering you in Stinksap, but I figured you're easier to round up than he is. Truth be told, though, he's almost asking to get kicked, between this and the Animagus potion -"

"Animagus potion?" The words tumbled from Severus' mouth before he could think. Potter hitched his breath.

"Shit," he said, pulling his fingers through his hair. "Shit, shit, shit, no, I didn't – just forget it, honestly -" But it couldn't be true. Potter and his hare-brained gang of idiots couldn't make something like that. It was renowned for its difficulty, and Pettigrew was lucky to dice rats' tails without cutting his fingers off in their lessons.

"You couldn't make an Animagus potion," Severus said, calling it. "You're transparent, Potter. Stalling. I'm going to find out the truth about Lupin." Go on. Tell me that's some jest of Black's. Potter raised his head slowly, black brows meeting.

"What are you talking about?" he frowned. Obviously put-on. It was all Severus could do not to roll his eyes.

"If Black pours Stinksap on me, I should gladly be his downfall and see him expelled," Severus said briskly. "Good night, Potter." Severus ran.

It was a lie. Of course it was a lie. Black hadn't the brains to go on as he had last night to mislead him. And Lupin had to be at the end. The tree had frozen earlier, and a piece of earth had revealed itself and sealed after a time. Black could not have done that. Lupin was at the end, and Severus would see him and he would tell the world the truth. Lupin was a monster and Potter and Black and Pettigrew were harbouring a dark creature. There would be no excuse, no lie that could save them from their fates now, with an eye-witness. He would give his memories over to a Pensieve and the matter would be done. Hogwarts would be saved from their reign of terror. Potter outed as a hypocrite – to hate the Slytherins for fighting to preserve their culture while he himself dabbled in dark magic, risking every student in the school for his flights of fancy. Lily would see that Severus had been right. The Headmaster would see. The other Slytherins would understand; it would be as a turning key, and they would realise what he has been all along. A sorcerer of skill. A hunter of truth.

And who would Lord Voldemort desire for his followers but someone who could catch a werewolf at sixteen?

"SNAPE!" Potter screamed, with a horror that couldn't be faked. That wasn't over a bit of Stinksap. The closest his lie had gotten to truth was that he didn't want Black expelled over something to do with Severus.

Lupin would be dreaming of expulsion.

They would get what they deserved. All of them. With each print his shoes left in the dirt, he was closer to victory, closer to finally, finally having the power they wielded so effortlessly. He didn't need popularity or admirers or his naked hand to hold their fates in his palms. He was above all of it.

Severus Snape only needed truth to take them down. He had seen through them for so long.

Now everyone would.

Potter's shouting garbled, but the tunnel lit with spellfire. Severus extinguished the light at the end of his wand. Incantations echoed – body-binds, stunners, even a Jelly-Legs – but Severus was quicker. He wanted it more. He had wanted it for five years. Potter had only wanted it for half a night.

The ground beneath his feet sloped upwards.

"NO!"

The cord wasn't hidden. It wasn't even out of reach. Severus strolled up to it, took it in hand, and turned back to face Potter. Potter held his shoulder, wand loose between his fingers, shouting, but Severus could only hear his heartbeat. Potter and his gang were done. This was it. The culmination. All because Black couldn't hold his liquor (he'd reeked like Tobias) and had thought it fun to taunt.

Severus' palm rung where he'd slapped him.

You look so much like your father.

He tugged.

The silence deafened. Potter staggered backwards, hands clamped over his mouth. Severus looked up. A mould-eaten wooden roof sagged, and he glimpsed battered furniture, shredded scraps of fabric littering the room. It reeked of rain and wet dog. He laughed. It bubbled out of him, spurting madly from his chest, and he laughed and laughed and laughed. He'd done it. All Potter could do was stare. This was it. He'd done it! He brushed his hair from his eyes, throwing his head back. All decorum lost. Every injustice, every joke, every hex had brought him to this. They'd thought for so long that they were so clever, but –

A low growl reverberated through the trapdoor. Severus froze. Something shifted in the darkness above, and a pair of glowing yellow eyes peered from the black.

"Snape," Potter whispered. Werewolf. Severus had never seen one in real life. He had known this was waiting for him at the end, but to see it with his own two eyes was something different. How to get the proof? He had to be certain. If he could disillusion himself and get in there – gather a tuft of fur, something that could be tested, or better, a blood sample – but how to do it? He would have to mask his scent. If –

The beast growled again. Severus raised his wand. Most spells merely bounced of the hide of a werewolf, but a Shield Charm could hold, under some circumstances. He wasn't afraid. Perhaps that was folly, but he couldn't be afraid when this was his crown jewel. Proof would secure everything.

It growled again, approaching the trapdoor. It sniffed low and deep. Its head swung over the trapdoor, and in the dim light from Potter's wand, he could see the monster's features. Its eyes glittered. It ticked every box on the checklist they'd been taught in third year. It was too easy.

"Lupin," he smiled. "How good of you to come."

"NO!"

The werewolf leapt.

"Accio!"

Severus flew through the air like a ragdoll, head spinning, and the werewolf landed where he'd been standing. Out of control, he slammed into Potter, knocking them both to the floor, and Potter gave a strangled cry so horrific Severus almost felt worry. But then he was up, an arm around Severus' neck, and Severus fumbled for his wand – where was his wand – he had had it with him – his wand -? He thrashed, but Potter's grip tightened as he dragged them back, down the tunnel, and the werewolf put its nose to the ground.

Potter was going to feed him to Lupin.

The werewolf's eyes locked on him. It had his scent.

Potter was going to kill him.

"STUPEFY."

The world disappeared.


A/N: Just popping up to say how much I love Did you know that there's a tunnel under Ocean Blvd. And thank you for all of your support. For more fics and behind-the-scenes, please pop on over to my tumblr ( ohmygodshesinsane)