5 September 1977

He sulked through the dim-lit corridors, returning from the last of that seemingly infinite Monday's schedule. The books in his bag punched his thigh with every step he took, and no matter how tight he kept his posture, it always found its way back into an apathetic curve. His eyes stung, glazed over, and his vision foggy while his wrist ached with the remnants of Flitwick's fast-paced speech patterns.

It didn't matter.

All he could think of was his body sinking, imprinting itself into a mattress.

Had it always been this difficult? Regulus Black felt as if someone had put him on a hexed broom and said giddy-on-up, cowboy. There was no control, no way to hit the breaks. What breaks? The summer had turned his entire life up by several notches. Everything moved at incomprehensible speeds around him: days, weeks, months. What had it been? Five days since he had returned to school? And yet, it seemed as if he couldn't keep anything together. Quidditch captain, prefect, only child— fitted onto an endless bill, overflowing the plate. He spent more time listing out his afternoons than he did listening to his lectures, and still, he was losing them. Everything dematerialized by the time he cared enough to reach out and grab it.

Precisely as that moment: the person tailing him had already jumped by the time he had noticed.

"Evan," Regulus exclaimed as his stalker, in one swift movement, yanked him by his collar and threw him against the adjacent wall.

"Little cousin," Evan replied in a less-than-loving tone. With his hand still on Regulus's collar, he forced him forward. "Walk," he ordered, pushing his index finger into his cousin's shoulder blade and guiding him down a dead-end.

"What's with you?" Regulus asked, attempting to look over his shoulder at Evan. "What's this all about?" The only response he received was Evan's whole hand smacking his head straight again.

Forced to observe the corridor in front of him, he noticed it was darker than the rest. The candlelight that uniformly lined the dungeons became sparse, only glowing every couple of feet. The end was so black that he couldn't distinguish a single formation within it. An ache grew, static in his fingertips as they twinged for his wand. Before he could devise a plan, Evan spun him around, shoving him again against a stone wall. The back of Regulus's head crashed into it, a ringing pain blasting up his skull and across his forehead. He let out a low groan, eyes shut tight as he took in the force with clenched teeth.

"What the fuck!?" He ripped against his cousin's pull like a trapped hound. "Get off me! Have you gone mad!?"

"Have I gone mad?" Evan asked in a low voice. "Me? Have I gone mad? What about you? What're you waiting for!? Have you gone mad!?"

"What!?"

"Listen here, you pithless prat." Evan stepped forward, and a finger jabbed into Regulus's chest. "I vouched for you, remember!? I said you could do it... Are you going to do it?" Regulus's brows pushed together as his gaze searched for some sort of sanity within his cousin's eyes. "What're you waiting for?"

His head leaned forward. "Is this... this is about the—"

"You know what this is about," Evan hissed, his nostrils flaring. "You're stalling— why are you stalling!? You were supposed to have done it before school, then you said you would do it with Avery… But I've spoken to Avery— and he said you've been too busy? What is this too busy?"

"Merlin's beard, Evan," Regulus cried. "At least have a better reason to break my skull next time?"

"Better reason!?" Evan repeated, his entire face lighting up. A chuckle bubbled up and escaped his lips. It rang and rang and rang through the darkness, both filling up the silence and taunting Regulus at the same time. "Better reason," he repeated. "You fucking idiot." Regulus's eyes widened as Evan's hand pulled back and ripped across his face. He cupped his cheek, the impressions of Evan's silver rings slowly developing on his skin. The next few seconds happened quickly. Before Evan could blink, Regulus had shoved his hand into his pocket, pulled out his wand, and shoved it into his jaw. Evan didn't move, a grin plastered on his mouth as he stood still; his breath staggered as Regulus twisted the sharp end into his jugular. "What-what're you doing, little cousin? You're humiliating yourself. And over what? You shame yourself. What of our family?"

"What of it?" Regulus snorted. "I've been busy."

"Bollocks," Evan shouted, the grin on his face dropping, seemingly forgetting the wand shoved into his neck. "Bollocks! You're one of us now." He stepped closer, the wand digging deeper into his skin. "You will do as you're told— you don't pick and choose when, how, or why."

"Watch it," Regulus said in a low voice. "The only reason your family is anything is because of us. You lot were the joke of the entire Wizarding World before Aunt Druella became a Black."

Evan snorted, "And you lot are headed for the same end as the Gaunts. Insan—"

"You are nothing without my family," Regulus cut him off. "The only reason he noticed you… The only reason he cares who you are is because of Bella. But the moment he realizes you can't give him what he wants— you'll be tossed to the side. But me? I'll be—" Regulus's words stopped mid-way in his throat as he felt Evan point his wand at his heart.

"Careful, little cousin. Don't want to be on my bad side, now, do we?"

"You're the one who attacked me. I didn't think we were on bad terms."

"I only want you to do as you're told."

"And I will."

"Good," Evan responded, lifting his chin before dropping his wand from Regulus's chest. "I'm not," he smiled, shaking his head as if they had been laughing. "I'm not against you, little cousin." He jabbed him in the chest lightheartedly, causing Regulus to flinch back in response. "We're on the same side, you and I."

"Are we?" Regulus wondered. Another pause followed, filled with bated breath as both boys stared at one another. Evan's face suddenly fell.

Because that was it— wasn't it? Each and every person would come to a moment when they would have to sit down with themselves and be brutally honest. Why were they doing what they were doing? Why was Evan in that hallway harassing him? Pride? Love? Glory? What was it?

"Do what you need to do," Evan said, beginning to back up. Neither one dropped their stare as the distance between them grew. Regulus didn't say anything; he barely even breathed, not until the last of the white from his cousin's hair disappeared into the shadows.

"Fucking mental," he finally muttered.

Regulus did not follow right away. Instead, he leaned back against the wall that had just violently bruised him, trying to pick apart the chaotic encounter. Though his blood pulsed, the wizard knew he had to heed his cousin's words— Evan was more right than wrong. He had a duty, one of which was of utmost priority. And Regulus could not fail, not with the spotlight on him. No, he had to do what had to be done.

And it would have to be sooner, much sooner, rather than later.

6 September 1977

Ugh, James thought to himself as he stopped short outside the classroom's door. He grimaced, hearing the voices rolling out from inside and into the dungeons— not recognizing a single one. He shot a final look down the hall before walking in, pausing at the entrance to search the room not once but thrice.

It wasn't necessary, for James saw precisely what he had expected.

After O.W.L.s, Potions had become disproportionately represented. It was a cult-like group of elite individuals hand-picked specifically by Horace Slughorn, not only for skill but for name. Whoever had made the cut gladly accepted, and whoever hadn't walked away with a curse on their tongue. It was an eaten-or-be-eaten kind of thing. And though James Potter hadn't necessarily made the cut, his head was infamously too big to allow for a surrender. There was a point to be made, and he had to make it.

He supposed that's how he ended up exactly where he was at that moment: alone in a room equally divided by Slytherins and everyone else. His options were non-existent: sit with Sykes and Palancher, sit alone, or sit next to Evans. All three prospects made him want to say fuck it and turn around and leave the good-for-nothing class to its own devices. But he was all too aware that in the back lurked a certain someone to whom he would absolutely not give any satisfaction of submission.

Great, he thought, and with a restrained sigh, walked over to the second-row table on the right. His bag dropped to the floor with a heavy smack, and he slid onto the edge of the dilapidated stool— his backside barely hanging on by a thread.

From beside him, Lily peered out of the corner of her eye. Her hair had fallen like a curtain over her face in some odd attempt to create distance between them. She had been watching since the moment he stepped into the doorway. She, too, had gambled his options, lying to herself that he would ultimately select to sit alone before he chose to sit next to her.

She figured how wrong she had been as her muscles tensed at the sound of wooden pegs screeching against a stone floor, the stool creaking under his weight.

Do I say something? She wondered, moving her gaze briefly from his arm to his face.

"Alone in the wild," Lily heard Edmund Nott mock before she could answer herself. Another, who she assumed to be Cedric Avery, made a howling sound. Her stare, already steady on James' face, witnessed his jaw flex, his hands turning into fists where they sat on his knees.

Instinct forced James to whip his head around, eyes narrowing on the table in the back. The words were on his lips— but just as he went to bite, he locked eyes with the watchful witch. Lily peered at him from behind the locks of hair she had flipped to the side. At first, he hesitated but quickly opted for a soundless snort, his knuckles knocking once against the desk as he pulled his stare from hers and sat forward.

"Surprised you stayed," she managed. The finger James had been tapping on the table paused. He turned, looking over his shoulder to find that: yes, indeed, she was speaking to him.

Small talk, Evans? He thought to himself, so used to their conversations being by necessity only.

"Yeah, well," James began, running a hand through his hair. "Couldn't miss out on the chance of ol'Sluggy inviting me out to dinner, could I? This year might just be the year he realizes how in love with me he is." Lily bit back a laugh. The heat that had flushed through him just moments ago began to dissolve as he registered her reaction, his eyes stuck to the upturned corners of her lips.

From two rows back, a pair of beady, black eyes stared at the pair. He watched, scrutinizing every muscle that moved on the Gryffindor wizard's body. Nothing was beyond his observation. His eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a white slash as he watched the contours of the witch's cheeks lift up. Without thinking twice, he swished the wand hidden in the confines of his robes' sleeves and, with an inaudible whisper, spelled out a quick incantation.

A crack! and "what the..." was the next thing that resonated throughout the room. Everything went silent; the other students stopped their conversations to see where the sound had come from. All except Severus, who leaned over to look down at his book as a palm covered his mouth.

One moment James had been looking at Lily— the next, Lily had become nothing more than a great blob. Medea de Lacey, sitting directly across from James, jumped up from her seat, her hand covering her mouth as she watched the two halves of James' glasses fall apart and crash to the ground. Lily's eyes widened, and the rest of the class stared in silence.

"Get down!" Alexander Sykes screeched as a light flew out of the tip of James' wand and towards the Slytherin pair sitting parallel to him. The wizard dropped to the floor, grabbing Moira's robes and yanking her down with him.

"What the fuck, Sykes!?"

"Oh, don't act like I didn't just do you a favor," he cried, his eyes big as bulbs. "He's blind as a bat!"

"POTTER," Lily screamed, lifting her hand to smack the wand out of his grasp before he could manage another hex. James' face was red as a beet, the fingers that had just held his wand curling into his palm.

"SNAPE," he snarled into the unknown. Severus bit down on his bottom lip, snickering as he kept his eyes plastered to the material on the table.

But Severus Snape had been left untouched. Instead, it was Rosalia Selwyn who turned, wide-eyed and tears building, to look at Eve Kavanagh. Eve's mouth dropped open as pus-filled boils began to bubble on every visible patch of the Slytherin witch's skin.

"What's happening!?" Rosalia cried, not pulling her stare from Eve. Eve's mouth opened and then closed, her words held as she looked to Melisende Gamp. "Is it bad!?" Rosalia noticed the witch's uneasy stance, and before Melisende or anyone else could say or do anything to help her, she let out a blood-curdling shriek.

"Oh my god," Lily said, her hand over her mouth as she turned to look at the hysterical witch.

"Right, what's all this then?" Professor Slughorn asked as he walked in, everyone's back turned to him.

Dirk Cresswell scrambled to the floor in search of James' glasses, though it didn't take him long to locate them. They had been lying at the Gryffindor's feet the entire time— begging to be crushed under the weight of them. He picked them up, binding them with a simple wave of his wand.

"Here, Potter," he said, grabbing James' hand and placing the glasses into his palm.

"We aren't finished," James sneered as he slid his glasses back onto his face to locate Severus. But as the words came out of his mouth, his eyes moved to where everyone else was staring. "Ah, fu—" he sighed, his mind going blank as he watched Rosalia Selwyn, covered in what he knew to be painful pimples, staring at him, her cheeks already soaked with tears.

"Professor," Moira Palancher said, both her and Alex standing up from their hiding spot. The Professor jolted at the sudden emergence, his hand reaching for his heart. "She needs to see Madam Pomfrey."

"Right," he mumbled, placing his bag on the table. "Right— well…"

"I'll go," Aphrodite offered, both hands on either side of Rosalia's shoulders.

"Okay, yes, that'll do, Miss Flint."

"Here," Melisende offered, reaching to grab both their bags and handing them to Aphrodite. She took them without a word. The class, including the Professor, remained silent as the witches collected their things, all eyes on them, or rather Rosalia's besmirched face, as they walked out of the room.

"If that will be all," their Professor continued, catching the look of everyone in the room. "Please, take a seat so we can begin." James didn't move at first, and neither did Lily; as a matter of fact, a number of them stood still as if the ending were too premature for their liking.

"Excuse me, Professor?" Melisende snorted. "What about Potter?"

"Oh, that's rich," James blurted out, his face scrunching up as the two of them locked eyes. "You're the ones that started it. Snivellus, If he hadn't broken my glasses!" Lily shut her eyes and counted back from ten in her head.

"Right, well..." Professor Slughorn began, looking between the Slytherin witch and the Gryffindor wizard.

Because here was what everyone in that room knew to be true: the Professor had walked in at what some could consider an opportune moment. He had seen neither James throw the hex at Rosalia Selwyn nor had he seen James' glasses snap in half. And almost none of them had seen who had hexed James' glasses in the first place. Matter of fact— the only thing that the Professor did know was that Rosalia Selwyn was having a particularly awful skin day. "Potter?" James' eyes darted straight to his Professor's.

"It wasn't me— I didn't mean to do it," he proclaimed. "It was an accident."

"Right, well." Professor Slughorn turned back to Melisende. "There you have it— a written apology from you, Potter, checked over by me. I'm sure that'll clear this up."

"Bollocks," said Cedric, shaking his head.

"That's not right," protested Melisende.

Please, shut up, thought Eve Kavanagh, who had only woken up to reality after Rosalia had gotten hexed.

"Wait, why am I the only one who has to apologize? If I have to apologize, so does Snape," James egged on, his brows knitting together. Lily grabbed her hair into a clump, keeping her vision on the floor as she sank back into her seat.

"I didn't do anything," Severus asserted from behind him.

"Bollocks," James spat back.

"Boys," Slughorn pleaded, lifting his hands up to stop the both of them. "A written apology from both of you, Avery and Gamp."

"For what!?" blurted out Cedric and Melisende at the same time that Severus said, "Why?"

"For disrupting the class and delaying the lesson." Severus looked to Cedric, whose mouth had dropped open.

"Fine by me," James said, shrugging and taking his seat.

"Uh, Prof—"

"Another minute longer, and it'll be detention, Avery," Slughorn stressed, challenging the wizard to continue. Cedric scowled, crossing his arms over his chest as he shared a look with Melisende. "Very well, then— I hope everyone enjoyed their weekend," Slughorn began, touring the room as his students began shuffling back into their seats. "And I suppose you all had the chance to review Golpalott's Third Law— which we finished off with before the holiday?" He scanned the room, his question answered only by lazy nods and a mumble here and there. "Would anyone care to briefly remind us?… Anyone?" The room remained dead silent. The whirlwind that had just passed had yet to die down, and many were still caught up in its aftermath. "Ah, yes, excellent— Mr. Cresswell!"

"You don't even know it was him," James heard from beside him as he tried to focus on the Hufflepuff's response. His eyes dropped to the crouched-over witch, who quickly scrawled down whatever Dirk Cresswell was saying.

"What?"

"You don't even know," she mumbled again, not once looking at him. "How do you even know it was him?"

"If it was who?"

"Snape," she said so low that James had to lean forward to hear it. "You don't even know it was him."

"Right, still defending him, I see," he said through a forced smile.

"No," she countered. "But it's true, you don't know—"

"Because I know…What?" He asked as he watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. "Don't believe me?"

"No, nothing— never mind."

"No, go ahead, say what you want. Please, since you already started."

"No, it's just, you know, you're Head Boy now," she began, barely whispering as her eyes darted up to read what Slughorn had enchanted the chalk to scribble. "If it was him— and you don't even know if it was, as Head Boy, it seems a bit… Childish? To accuse people of something they may or may not have done without proof — no?"

"Childish?" James repeated, his voice lowering. "Because I defended myself?"

"But you weren't hurt, were you?" Lily pointed out, finally meeting his gaze. "Actually, no, someone else got hurt. Someone who wasn't involved in any way."

"I didn't—"

"You didn't mean it?" She said, her voice growing hotter. "No, you just can't control yourself— you have to react, don't you? You can't just let it go."

"Let it go?"

"Yes," she answered, her eyes alight. "If you haven't realized, Potter, you're not just Gryffindor's Head Boy— you're their Head Boy, too. And as their Head Boy, you're not supposed to be attacking them, yeah?"

"No, this doesn't count. This is different."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, Evans, really."

"Right," she said, huffing as she lost track of the conversation.

"Besides, what does it matter if I'm Head Boy? He broke my bloody glasses—"

"You have to be better than them."

"I am better than them."

"Great," she scoffed, shaking her head. "Absolutely brilliant, Potter… Gosh, you're such a child— will you just grow up?" He stared at her as she looked away, her eyes scanning the list that had just finished being written on the board.

"Why do you care what I do anyway?"

"I do not."

"Yes, yes, you do?"

"Do not," she repeated. James' raised his brows, and Lily let out another breath, closing her eyes and smiling tightly. "You know what?"

"What?"

"You're so annoying."

"Cheers, petal," he shot back. She pressed her lips into a grimace and, without a second thought, began shoving everything she had placed on the table into a bag. One by one, she collected her things and began transferring them to the empty table in front of them.

"Miss Evans?" Slughorn asked, looking up at the sudden movement. "Everything all right?"

"Fine, Professor," she said quickly. "I would like to work alone— if that's okay."

"Of course."

"Great, thanks."

As she sat down, she wanted to turn back around and smack James Potter over the head with a book. How ridiculous, she thought to herself. I do not care about what you do, Potter, she repeated over and over again as she scribbled angrily away at the sheet in front of her. I do not care, I do not care, I do not care— and who the fuck made you Head Boy!?

Oh, you've got to be fucking joking, she thought, stopping short on the staircase. Her hand wrapped around the banister, balancing herself on it as her gaze bore down into the cracks in the steps. She blinked, holding her breath on the off chance it would make it more transparent.

She brought a hand to clasp around her neck, pressing her thumb into the spot behind her ear. Nothing, and yet— it was there, but in such a way that it almost felt stuck. She couldn't quite put her finger on it: like it wanted to become something bigger, but it couldn't— not yet, not until it knew more until it had more. By the time she could confirm, it had dwindled out, fizzing into a figment of her imagination.

What the…? She wondered, running a hand through her hair as the sound moved further into the distance. The witch resumed her climb of the steps, ignoring the racing beat in her pulse points, but stopped short again just as she neared the landing.

There it was— advancing out from the darkness, spiraling back and forth to and from her. She paused, holding her breath once again as she tried to focus on it.

It was gone before she could put a name to it.

She released a deep, steadying sigh, pursing her lips as her brows furrowed. The endeavor was useless. No matter how much she tried, there were no answers. All she could do was push it to the side, for now. And she did, continuing to walk down the hall to her dormitory as if she didn't hear things that no one else did.

She pushed open the door to her room, peeking her head inside to see who was and was not there. Sitting one across from the other on the bed, opposite the door, was Rosalia Selwyn and Aphrodite Flint. They sat cross-legged, Rosalia holding a brown glass bottle that dumped out a similar brown, gel-like gunk which she swathed onto the pustules that had not seemed to be doing any better. Eve grimaced, closing the door quietly behind her as she entered.

"Hi," Aphrodite said, waving a meek hand at Eve. Eve politely returned the greeting with a toothless smile, keeping her eyes down and making her way over to her bed. She could not bear to look at Rosalia, not right then. She had to admit— it was terrible. The pustules seemed to have stopped developing pus at some point and had instead begun to bleed. The blood had crusted over the witch's face, leaving behind dry, cracked skin that was caked red. "How're you doing?"

"Uh," Eve began, taking off her cloak. "I just came from the library."

"Oh, and how was that?"

"Busy."

"Right," Aphrodite said, nodding slowly as she turned to look back at Rosalia. "Well, Rosie and I have been here like all afternoon."

"Mhm."

"You don't have to stay with me," Rosalia murmured, sniffling as the remnants of her sobs filled the room.

"The nurse couldn't do anything?" Eve asked, hooking her bag to the side of her bedpost. Finally, she mustered up the tenacity to look at Rosalia. Yeah, it was bad, Eve confirmed as soon as she turned around. She leaned her shoulder against the wooden frame, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for the witch's response.

"She did," Rosalia said through the renewed tears beginning to form in her ducts.

"She numbed her face so she could eat and talk without pain," Aphrodite continued to explain, turning to look up at Eve. "But she said the..." They exchanged a look to acknowledge the unspoken word. "Would take a day or so to heal completely."

"Merlin," Eve whispered, her chin flinching back slightly. If Eve could somehow remove herself from the situation, she'd even say she was somewhat impressed with the wizard's skill— but that was a story for another day. "That's one nasty hex." Aphrodite pursed her lips and nodded, both girls looking back to the red-faced, swollen-eyed witch across from them.

"I absolutely hate him," Rosalia managed, wiping her nose with the soaked handkerchief in her hand. "I will fucking kill him."

"Mhm," Eve said, nodding, trying to picture what exactly Rosalia Selwyn killing James Potter would look like. How exactly would she go about it? Eve definitely had Rosalia's weapon as poison. Still, she didn't put her past push-him-off-the-Astronomy-Tower-and-make-it-look-like-a-suicide either.

"Oh my gosh, and we'll help," Aphrodite said, placing a hand on the witch's forearm.

We will? Eve repeated in her head.

"Is there anything we can do? Do you want to go to the Headmaster—" Rosalia snorted as soon as the words were out of Aphrodite's mouth, shaking her head.

"That blood traitor?" She sneered. "Yeah, right. Did you hear Melisende? Even Slughorn washed his hands clean of this, pathetic."

"That's because he hadn't seen it," Aphrodite responded. Her gaze dropped to the patterns on the bedspread as Rosalia shot her a castigating look. "Sorry," she muttered, clasping her hands together and placing them neatly in the center of her lap.

"Oh, well, don't take it personally— Slughorn hates most of us in here," Eve said, sitting on the edge of her bed and flipping her shoes off one by one.

"Honestly," Aphrodite said, exasperated as she threw her hands up. "Like— the only people he gives a damn about are Black and Evans— that's it, literally it. It's so obvious that it's ridiculous if you ask me. Why even teach!? And he's Head of our House, too— ugh!"

For a second, the witch's rant made Rosalia forget about the bleeding craters on her face. Her long lashes covered her vision as she blinked, her thoughts frozen as she pieced together what had triggered her breathlessness. A slow grin broke out on her face, watching Aphrodite wave her hand around as Eve listened to whatever she was saying. The grin turned into a slow giggle, catching the other two's attention as they paused, turning to look at her as she clapped her hands together and brought them to her mouth.

"What's so funny?" Aphrodite asked, watching the witch take a deep breath to calm herself.

"No, nothing," Rosalia assured, waving her hand. "It's just I figured out what I'm going to do!"

"What?" Aphrodite asked as Eve raised a brow. "About what?"

"About this, silly," Rosalia explained, turning her head side to side, so each and every cavity showed. "Oh, you'll see! It's going to be such fun!"

Fun? Eve repeated.

"You ever thought maybe those labels were onto something?" James asked, frowning from across the lazy circle they had formed in the paddock of mixed cloves and grasses. He pulled and tugged at the weeds while surveying his two best friends, both of them puffing away on opposite sides of a tree trunk.

"Whadyoumean?" Remus mumbled, not looking up as he took a drag from the cigarette between his lips.

"I don't know. Whatever that bloke, H.M. Government, wrote on the side," James explained. "Can't be good for you if he's writing it on the box that it's bad. Maybe consider cutting down on it or something." He shrugged while ripping at a patch of grass he had clawed with his hand.

"That bloke, H.M. Government?" Remus repeated, laughing as he shook his head. James' eyes narrowed on his friend's grin.

"What?"

"Her Majesty's Government," Peter answered. "The Queen of England?"

"Oh, right."

"Cut down on what?" Sirius asked, turning to look at James. He was lying with his back to the ground, one hand holding the cigarette, the other holding the back of his skull as if it were a pillow. He took another pull, his eyes firm on James.

"That thing in your hand."

"Oh, you mean this?" Sirius stretched his arm out and pointed his middle finger directly at James. Peter, who sat between him and Remus, couldn't help but snicker, biting down on his cheek as soon as James turned to throw him a look.

"Yeah, that," James grumbled, looking back down to his now sticky, grass-stained fingers.

"You smoke, too," Sirius rebutted.

"Only when I'm drunk."

"We're drunk every weekend."

"Well, right now, you're sort of ruining the atmosphere, Padfoot."

"What atmosphere!? Fuck the atmosphere... This," Sirius held up the cigarette to ensure James could see it, "is part of the atmosphere— my atmosphere."

"What's with you, James?" It was Remus' turn to butt in, the cigarette dangling lazily from his lips as he turned from his studies to look at his friend.

"Nothing," James huffed under his breath. His fingers reached up and grabbed the knot in his tie. "It's just we're sitting here and not talking or doing anything because you two are too busy with that."

"You can talk," Remus assured him.

"Yeah, mate, we can do both at the same time?"

They all remained silent, all three pairs of eyes on him as he ripped away at the cloth around his neck until it finally sat unknotted around his shoulders.

"I don't get it," James huffed again, running a hand through his hair. "Why does she—"

Bloody hell, Remus said to himself, holding back an eye roll as he began to realize what can of worms he had opened.

"Why does— We're there, yeah? The two of us— laughing. She's laughing at something I said, yeah? It's me, her, and a bunch of snakes in this dark dungeon room." James looked up to the castle sitting beyond them, his eyes never once meeting theirs. "Snape tries me, I say... So I try to defend myself, and still, she won't have anything to do with me. I'm in the wrong. I, somehow, fucked up— again." Remus and Peter exchanged a look. "Do you know— Snape— my fucking glasses, just bam! In half like that." James snapped his fingers together. "Do you know how blind I am without my glasses?"

"Oh, we know," Peter said.

"What?" Remus let slip, his brows furrowing with concern. He closed the book in his hand and turned fully to face him. "Snape did what? He broke your glasses?"

"Yes!"

"You joking?" Sirius asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"You sure?" Remus added. "You saw him do it?"

"Positive," James said but then sighed, pursing his lips. "No, not really— I didn't see him, no. But— who else would've it been?"

"Avery, Nott," Sirius listed off, trying to remember who had the patience to stick around someone like Horace Slughorn. "Gamp— when she's bored?"

"Okay— but Evans just got up and walked away from me. We were sitting together, and she made this whole show to move away from me."

"Well, what'd you do?" Remus asked.

"What'd I do?" James nearly shouted, his finger pointed at himself. "I didn't do anything— they're the ones laughing at me; she's the one calling me annoying and telling me that I'm Head Boy—"

"You are," Remus pointed out.

"And that means I shouldn't defend myself?"

"It means you can't blame others because of things that happened in the past when you're not entirely sure who did it." James froze, meeting Remus' stare.

Sirius took a long pull from his cigarette, his eyes darting between the two of them.

"Right," James muttered, his shoulders drooping down as his resignation sunk in. "I know."

"Reckon, that's a good place to start, yeah?"

A momentary silence fell upon them.

"I hate potions— you know, I wasn't gonna take it this year. I have so much— Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, N.E. … And how come Evans and I are the only Gryffindors in the class?" James snapped, his voice growing thinner with every word he said. A pained expression painted on his face. "Why did you lot drop—"

"Oh, fuck this," Sirius cut him off, shaking his head. "Don't go there— you know why. No one told you to sign up— you could've dropped it just like we did." Because Sirius would rather shoot himself in his own foot than deal with whatever obsession Horace Slughorn had with him. No matter what Sirius did, there he was: inviting him, peering over his shoulder, constantly trying to converse with the younger wizard. Sirius had purposefully tried to fail his fourth year, and yet, somehow, he had passed with stellar marks.

James turned to look over at Peter, whose once beaming face dropped.

"Mate, it's depressing," he finally answered. "Especially when you're not part of Sluglife."

"SlugClub," the other three said at the same time.

"Whatever."

Jame turned to finally look at Remus.

"I'm terrible at potions," he reminded James as if it needed explaining. Remus paused, observing the contents and contours of his friend's face. "Mate, did something else happen?"

"Like what?"

"Something you're not telling us?" James' face scrunched, his hand reaching back for a patch of grass and ripping at it.

"I may have sent Selwyn to the Hospital Wing," he finally admitted. Remus brought the nearly finished cigarette to his lips and took a drag. From the other side of the tree trunk, Sirius choked on the excess smoke in his lungs.

"What'd you do?"

"Furnunculus Curse," he said under his breath.

"We can't hear—"

"Pimple Jinx!?" Peter repeated before Sirius could finish.

"Fuck, mate," Remus remarked.

"Fuck, I wish I had been there," Sirius guffawed. "That's brilliant, Prongs. Fucking Selwyn, too."

"Not funny," Remus said almost forcibly, taking another pull from his cigarette to ignore the grin ready to break across his face.

"It was an accident! I didn't mean it, I thought— I couldn't see. Snivellus broke my glasses," James disclosed.

"Eh, it'll be okay," Sirius assured.

"Will it? Evans thinks I'm—"

"Who cares?" Sirius cut James off, rolling his eyes. "I thought you were over her. What was the reason for that whole tryst with what's-her-name?"

"Please, don't remind me," James pleaded, holding his heavy head in his palm. "It's just... We're supposed to be Head Boy and Girl— and she'll barely speak to me. Shouldn't we at least be friendly?" He looked up at Remus. "You reckon—"

"Absolutely not," Remus said right away. It was not the first time James had asked if he could intervene on his behalf. For the sake of his friendship with James and Lily, he kept himself far removed from their drama.

"Charlotte Liggit," Peter said with a chuckle, ignoring James and answering Sirius directly.

"Right," Sirius responded, pointing the finger holding the cigarette at Peter. "Charlotte Liggit."

James closed his eyes and threw his entire back onto the ground. He reopened them when he was sure the only thing he'd see was the sky.

For five years, James Potter had suffered rejection after rejection, and not once had it defeated him. But during the summer before his sixth year, he had made it a plan to completely and utterly forget about her. So he spent most of his sixth year shagging and snogging any girl that would let him— wholly convinced that it was getting him somewhere.

In the summer before his seventh year, he had even asked Charlotte Liggit out on a proper date. He had even brought himself to call her his girlfriend and, eventually, tell her he loved her.

Then, on the day he had found out that he made Head Boy, he had gotten so drunk that apparently — unbeknownst to him at that moment — he had been asking about Lily over and over again. Incessantly. Apparently, it was something he did when drunk, but his friends always did him the favor of not mentioning it the morning after.

He had woken up the following day— his face raw and a bachelor again. Apparently, Charlotte had slapped him so hard that he had flown into a wall, breaking a marble bust of great-grandfather Potter.

Good for her, he had thought— because how could he blame her? No, he couldn't forgive himself for this. All he could do was avoid it. Never had James Potter run away from something or someone. Still, he had made sure to memorize Charlotte Liggit's schedule so that he never, absolutely never, had to run into her.

Gosh, did James suck at lying— but he had this unearthly ability to convince himself something was true when it wasn't. Deep down, he no longer wanted to be the desperate schoolboy who pined after the same girl for his entire youth. He didn't want to be the running joke for rejection. The school was already divided between two camps: either they felt sorry for him or completely had it with him. They thought him a romantic fool or an arrogant arse— there was no in-between. So he created an entirely new vision for himself and prayed that Lily Evans would become nothing more than his silly little childhood crush.

But, boy oh boy— Head Boy and Head Girl: it had gotten so much worse. Forget about thinking; now he often found himself alone with her not once, not twice… The two of them, just the two, no one else.

So, yes, that afternoon, lying in the grass, James Potter's heart felt like the heaviest thing in the world.

Heavy because he had messed up again.

Heavy because he was back doing the impossible.

"Right," he repeated, his friends unable to hear him. "Fuck."

"No, no, no," she whispered under her breath, rubbing her hands over her eyes as she rolled onto her back. It was the middle of the night. Actually, she didn't even know what time it was. She'd been trying to fall asleep for hours, but every time sleep would take her: that sound. Again and again. Come and go, back and forth like ocean waves. Her muscles would tense every time, sending a renewed adrenaline rush through her as she waited for it to come to its full force, ready to rip the sheets off and run to the first empty sink or tub she could find.

It was there, always there, but further— almost. Eve paused, looking around as if to catch it wherever it was going. Her eyes moved in one direction, then the other, and back.

She began to wonder, her mind retracing her steps from the library earlier that day to where she was now. Had she imagined it? Was this the result of drowning herself time after time for years? A slow deterioration of the brain? Was she finally losing it? Had she not already? Was her paranoia finally getting to her? Was she inventing the noise out of thin air because she thought out of thin air it would appear?

She sat up on her bed, holding the sides of her face in both hands, clumping her hair into fists as she stared down into the dark, emerald comforter.

But no, for it was still there. Even then, in that quiet, she could hear it. As if it were a comet doing circles around the sun— slowly getting further and further away just to come back again.

A realization dawned on her: had the noise become permanent? Her stomach clenched at the thought of it. Could it become permanent? Would it let her sleep or eat? She laid back down, more awake than ever, as her heart pumped along with the coming and goings of the sound.

If that were the case, she would have to live the rest of her life on the tips of her toes.

No, no, no.