arches and acres

What was she doing all alone out of bed, so far from Gryffindor Tower, this far past curfew? She wasn’t a swot, wasn’t above a little rulebreaking, had oft enough gone gallivanting after hours with him, or one of her girl friends. But to go so far as the Astronomy Tower all by herself this late at night? That wasn’t like her. The kitchens, sure. The Astronomy Tower? Not alone. Hogwarts was relatively safe, but it was still dangerous to be out alone in the middle of the night. 

His mind was racing, weighing his options. He could let her have her alone time, could ask her about it tomorrow. If she was speaking to him tomorrow. Or…he could go check on her. 

He was out of bed before he could talk himself out of it. He didn’t bother changing out of his pyjamas, but he did grab his cloak from the back of his chair as he slid his feet into his slippers before he stole from the room. Thanks to his years of sneaking around, he was swift and silent as he moved through the castle, ducking into secret passageways most people knew nothing about, occasionally checking the map to ensure she hadn’t moved along. 

She hadn’t. She was still there when he climbed the winding staircase and stepped out into the chilly night air. The wind was whipping her hair around, and her robes billowed around her as she stood looking out over the school grounds. He didn’t love that he had caught her unaware, was all too aware that someone with less innocent intentions could have done the same.

“Lily.” He said it quietly, softly, trying not to startle her. He was half convinced the wind would carry his voice away from her, but she jumped and turned, wand drawn on him in an instant. He lifted his hands in a show of innocence. He was holding his wand, of course, but it wasn’t drawn on her. “Whoa, easy! It’s me. It’s just me.” 

“Oh my God, James!” she hissed, lowering her wand immediately when she realized he wasn’t a threat, but her boyfriend. Her emerald eyes were wide, her mouth open in horror as her non-dominant hand covered her heart. Her face was pale, making her lips look redder than they normally did, and there were shadows under her eyes. So, she wasn’t sleeping well either. “What’s wrong with you? I nearly cursed you!”

“I see that. I’m sorry,” he said, though he was proud of her for her quick draw on him, and walked forward. He stopped further away from her than he would ordinarily, leaving some space since she had been so distant with him. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’ve been…different…lately.” 

She turned away from him, stepped to the waist-high wall of the parapet, and leaned against it, staring out into the sky. She didn’t shy away from him when he stepped up beside her, didn’t turn away again when he didn’t even try to hide that he was staring at her profile. The wind ruffled her long hair and James had to clench his fists to stop himself from reaching out to comb his fingers through the tangles that were forming. 

“How did you even know I was here?” she asked, not looking at him. “Were you tracking me on that map of yours?”

“No.” He shook his head when she looked at him, just slightly turning her head to level a skeptical glare at him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. But, well, it was the map. I was just looking to make sure nothing out of order was going on in the castle, and imagine my surprise when I saw you up here alone.” 

Perhaps she saw the earnestness in his expression, or if not maybe she simply didn’t want to pick that particular fight with him. Whatever the reason, she turned to look over the grounds again. 

“Lily, you look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said, and reached out for her. His fingers just barely brushed her arm when she pulled it away. Stung, he let his hand drop to his side. “Okay, what is going on with you?”

“I came up here to be alone with my thoughts, James,” she said coldly, and wrapped her arms around her middle. 

It was very cold, and the air was crisp and sharp in a way that promised snow. James could practically smell it coming. He hadn’t dressed for this kind of cold, and neither had she.

“I’ve left you alone with your thoughts for six days,” he replied, patience waning quickly. “Alone time’s up, Lily. It’s we’re-in-a-relationship time now, and we need to talk.” 

“Well I’m not ready to talk to you! You can’t bully me around in our own damn relationship!” Lily snapped. 

“I’m not bullying you, Lily!” he practically shouted. He forced himself to take a deep, grounding breath, and then he reached out and took her arm, ignoring how she halfheartedly tried to pull it out of his grasp again, and turned her to face him. “I’m begging you. Just talk to me.” 

She shook her head, and her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I can’t.” 

“I touched you in ways I’ve never touched anyone before, Lily, in ways I never really believed you’d allow. You touched me in ways no one ever has, in ways I don’t want anyone else to, ever.” She looked confused at the mention of what they’d got up to a week ago, but he couldn’t think of anything else that had changed in their relationship, anything else he could possibly have done wrong. “I thought…I thought everything was good. Great. Perfect. I thought our relationship was stronger than ever. I don’t understand what I did wrong, Lily, and it’s breaking my heart.” 

“It’s not that, James,” Lily said weakly, looking as close to tears as he felt. “That was lovely. It was perfect.”

“Then talk to me, Lily, please. I can’t let you just slip away from me. Please don’t slip away from me. Talk to me.” He was seconds from dropping to his knees at her feet and pleading. “If you’re angry with me, yell me at me, scream at me. If I’ve hurt you, tell me. Please. I can’t apologize for what I don’t know I’ve done to upset you.” 

He wanted desperately to tell her he loved her, but he refused to have the first time he said those words to her feel like a manipulation tactic to get her to open up to him. 

“You’ve lied to me,” she finally said. 

He shook his head immediately. “No, I haven’t.” 

Because he hadn’t. He had not lied to her once over the course of their relationship. 

“I saw you,” she insisted, nodding adamantly.

“Saw me what?” James demanded, racking his brain for anything she could have seen him doing that she could have misunderstood, that she could have fixated on and convinced herself was something awful he had lied to her about. He came up blank. There was nothing. “What have I lied to you about?” 

He had told her about the map, and his Invisibility Cloak. He had told her the truth about why Sirius lived with him instead of his own family. He had shown her all of the accessible secret passages out of the castle and into Hogsmeade. He had honestly answered every question she had ever asked of him, and he was offended to find that she could so easily think him a liar. 

“Where do you go during the full moon?” she demanded. 

He dropped her arm, felt his face go carefully blank as he took a stunned step back. “What?” 

“You heard me,” she said, chin up defiantly even as her lower lip quivered. “I won’t repeat myself.” 

“I haven’t lied to you about that,” he said slowly, voice low. “You’ve never asked.” 

“Lied, withheld important information,” she spat, shaking her head at him. “Let’s not argue the semantics. Just answer the question.” 

He opened his mouth, felt it close again as words failed him. Then, “You said you saw me. What did you see?” 

“Not only you,” she whispered tremulously. “All four of you.” 

“What did you see, Lily?” James repeated. He felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the impending snow. 

“You tell me,” she said with a watery glower. 

He hesitated. 

“I can’t,” he whispered, because he wasn’t the only one at risk if he did. 

“I went to your dormitory,” she told him, and a single tear fell from one eye and rolled down her cheek. She swiped it away before she continued. “I didn’t realize it was the full moon. All I could think about was you, and how I wanted you again, wanted your hands on my body again, and your mouth. And you weren’t there. None of you were there. That’s when I realized it was the full moon. I figured you were doing something sentimental for Remus, some sort of show of solidarity and would be back whenever it was done. I didn’t want to wait for you and make you think I was checking up on you, but I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.” 

She was shaking violently, and James numbly removed his cloak to drape it over her shoulders. She didn’t stop him. 

“I was going to the kitchens for some tea or something else soothing,” she continued. A couple more tears fell, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “And I stopped at that huge window near the Entrance Hall.” 

James knew the one. It faced the Whomping Willow. He used to stop and stare and wonder how Remus was doing back when they were younger, when he couldn’t be there to help him through the transformation. 

“And there you were. You and Peter, and a bedraggled Remus between you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “And a dog jumping and nipping and tugging at Peter’s clothes. Playful. And then it wasn’t a dog, but a man who draped himself over Peter’s shoulders and tried to wrestle him to the ground.” 

James thought he might be sick. He’d thought for just a single moment that he’d heard footsteps ahead of them as they’d headed up to Gryffindor Tower, but he had convinced himself he was imagining it. 

“An Animagus,” she breathed, and James closed his eyes, jaw clenching. “Sirius is brilliant, but he wouldn’t have done it alone. And you’re reckless, but you wouldn’t approach a werewolf during the full moon unless you knew he couldn’t infect you, and neither of you would ever put Peter at risk of being infected.” 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. She was watching him, wide-eyed and tearful, and his own eyes were hot and stinging. 

“I can’t apologize for that,” he breathed after a moment that stretched on far too long. “I won’t.” 

“You’re not registered,” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “I knew you wouldn’t be, but I still checked. Do you know what the punishment is if the Ministry finds out?” 

Yes, he did. They would be sent to Azkaban, the worst of all Wizarding prisons. He didn’t give a bleeding damn. 

“We can’t register, Lily,” he said firmly. 

“Why? Why can’t you go to McGonagall and tell her? She can help you go through the Ministry. Or Dumbledore. Between the two of them, they could…” 

“We can’t, Lily!” he insisted, cutting her off. 

“Why!” Lily threw her hands up. “You’re still in school for a while yet! The Ministry would be lenient, especially if McGonagall and Dumbledore got involved. You could easily say that you just did it for a laugh, to show off and impress everyone with your talent. Why would you expect me to be with a man who might be sent off to prison at any moment?” 

“This isn’t about you, Lily!” he exclaimed, and gripped his hair in both hands when she looked as though he had slapped her. He forced himself to soften his tone. “I’m sorry that hurts your feelings, but it’s not. We did it to make Remus’s life easier! And it works! It helps him! We help him! That alone is worth the risk, because if everyone knew we were Animagi, they would demand to know why! No one would believe we did it to show off seeing as how we’ve kept it a bleeding secret for over two years! Werewolves have to register, too. Remus is registered; it’s just harder to find because he’s registered under an alias since he was a fucking toddler when that bastard turned him. They would know it was to do with him, and Remus would take the blame.” 

Lily frowned, clearly dubious. “Why on earth would Remus be blamed for your actions?”

James scoffed.“You may not have noticed, but the world doesn’t take kindly to werewolves. Most people have no sympathy for them, not even for a little boy who was targeted for his father’s opinions. Remus has no prospects after school. No one hires werewolves for gainful employment. They’re second-class citizens. Worse, even.” 

“I know a thing or two about that,” Lily said. 

“No, you don’t!” James exclaimed, then stopped, and turned in a circle, sighing. “Yes, you do. You have an idea. But your parentage, as much as those idiots judge you for it, isn’t as easily identified as Remus’s affliction. You realize he physically cannot participate in society for a couple of days out of the month? He can’t turn up for work, and there’s no reasonable explanation for it other than the truth. He won’t be able to hold down a job. He has known this since he was just a child.” 

Lily looked stricken. He knew she cared deeply for Remus. She had been friends with Remus for years before she had even tolerated James. Hell, Remus was the reason James had been able to befriend her in the first place. She had figured out that he was a werewolf on her own and had stuck by him just like James, Sirius, and Peter had. That didn’t mean she truly understood what it was he went through. 

“And that’s just the shit he hasn’t even had to deal with yet,” James continued. “You know it hurts him, but you’ve never seen it. You haven’t lived it. You haven’t heard the screams, you haven’t watched bones snap and mend over and over and over again, you haven’t wrestled an angry snarling, snapping beast bent on rending his own flesh to shreds. You don’t understand.” 

He stopped himself when he saw that her tears were starting up again. His heart was heavy in his chest, a painful brick that made it hard to breathe. 

“You’re right,” he said. “I can’t expect you to tie yourself to me knowing if I slip up I could end up in Azkaban, so if you’re going to break up with me over this I’ll accept it. It’ll wreck me, but I’ll take it. I will not ever apologize to anyone – not even you – for what I’ve done to help my best friend through the worst recurring nightmare of his life. But…” He was trembling now, truly on the verge of breaking down, and terrified on top of heartbroken. She was crying in earnest now, but he wasn’t finished. “So help me, Lily, if you tell anyone about this…if you do anything to make Remus’s life even harder than it already is, I will never forgive you. I will hate you for it.” 

She didn’t answer, clearly wasn’t capable of it as she lowered her face and sobbed into her hands, but he didn’t need an answer. He didn’t want one. Her sobs were heartrending enough. He had never, not even when they had been younger and at each other’s throats, been so harsh with her. He didn’t regret it. He would never mince his words when it came to protecting his best friends. Not even to soften the blow to the girl he loved who was breaking his heart. 

“You’d better get back to your dormitory soon; you’ll freeze out here,” he said. 

And what is Lily too cheap to order with the added delivery charge? You guessed it.

So she gives Nick a last bit of apple which he crunches with relish before she tucks the Nutella back in the cupboard, notes the bareness of it overall, and decides she’s definitely motivated enough to brave the elements in pursuit of a burger.

Nick eyes her distrustfully as she moves about the flat, readying to brave the streets in pursuit of greasy deliciousness. She can’t bring herself to resist the look today, so when she’s pulling on her trainers she locks eyes with him. “Nick would you - ,” she pauses as his ears perk, “Like to go out?”

A question which, as expected, instigates a bout of the zoomies for the record books. When he skids to a halt at her feet, little chest heaving, Lily leans down and gives him a peck on the head. “Let's get you ready to go.”

It’s not far, they put a bit of avocado on her burger so she feels healthy, and they have little pup burgers too. She only gets one for Nick on special occasions, or when he looks particularly cute. Which is a very official, almost scientific determination.

It’s not too dark yet, thanks to the longer summer days, and so she and Nick enjoy a quick walk a few blocks down chit chatting about how delicious their snack is going to be. When she mentions the ‘pup burger’ by name, he licks his chops and tightens up his little walk. He’d run if she let him.

Soon enough, the bell is jangling over the door and Nick is leading the way to the queue. There’s another customer in line and Nick definitely wants to sniff his sneakers, but he’s a good boy, so one short tug at his lead and he’s sitting close to her side with his nostrils flaring in interest.

While she’s mid internal debate about a milkshake splurge, the customer in front of her turns around and she’s briefly bewildered by his annoyingly attractive face. Which gets more annoying when he grins at her and then turns the smile toward Nick. “Who is this little cutie?”

Her precious little boy looks at her as if to say ‘well, introduce me,’ so she smiles, “Nick.”

“Has Nick tried the pup burgers here?”

As if in an attempt to answer, Nick lets out a little squeak and squares his stance. Like standing more perfectly will impact Lily’s answer.

“That’s actually half of our mission here. I can’t bring him here unless he’s getting something too.”

“Quite cruel if you do,” the lovely stranger says with a chuckle, “Could I treat the little gent to his supper?”

“A bit forward of you.”

“He’s the one bearing his undercarriage for pets,” the stranger shoots back, squatting down to scratch at Nick’s belly. “How’d you like a pup burger, mate?”

As if in answer, Nick flops his tongue out and bats one paw miming more pets. Nick’s new best mate grins up at Lily, “I think he says ‘yes’.”

“So much for ‘loyalty of a fine dog’,” Lily grumbles as she fights a smile, “Now if you two lovebirds could place your order I’m still famished and no closer to satisfaction.”

“Can I take care of that too?”

Lily nearly chokes on her own tongue as the disgustingly good-looking, generous, good with dogs bloke stands up, waiting for her response.

But she’s no push over, even before Adonis himself, so she leans in close, “No, I don’t know that you can.”

She watched Dudley take someone's pudding. The dinner lady looked away.

She looked for Harry. Found him at the end of a table, eating methodically, alone, his tray half-empty in a way that suggested his portion had started that way, not that he'd left anything. He wasn't watching Dudley. He was watching the door.

***

By the third week she had a list in her head, though she hadn't written it down yet.

The jumper — always too big, always the same one or one exactly like it, worn at the elbows.

The shoes — trainers that didn't fit properly, the left one split at the toe.

The way he ate at lunch. Quickly. Neatly. Like someone who had learned not to draw attention to hunger.

The bruise on his forearm that he'd said was from falling. Which it might have been. Children fell.

The way he flinched — just slightly, just a small tightening — when she raised her voice at the class for something. She'd stopped raising her voice after she noticed that. She told herself it was good pedagogy. She knew it wasn't only that.

He was quiet. Not the shyness of children who wanted to speak and couldn't — she knew that kind, she'd been that kind. This was something else. He chose his words. He watched before he moved. He was careful in a way that no six-year-old should have had to learn yet.

But he was brilliant. That was the thing that kept catching her off guard. His reading was years ahead. When she did maths on the board he'd already done it in his head and was waiting, patient, for the others to catch up. He'd ask questions that made her pause — real questions, not showing-off questions. How can airplanes stay up if they’re so heavy? If the Earth is spinning, why don’t we fall off?

He wanted to know things. Despite everything she was quietly beginning to suspect, he still looked at the world like it might have answers worth finding.

She found that almost unbearable, somehow. The hope in it.

***

She went to Cora Meyers in week four.

Cora was the year three teacher, had been at St. Giles Primary for nineteen years, knew every family in a two-mile radius. If anyone would know about the Dursleys, it was Cora.

"Harry Potter," Nina said, in the staffroom, keeping her voice low. "Year one. Do you know anything about his home situation?"

Cora looked up from her marking. Something crossed her face — recognition, and then a kind of practiced neutrality. "Potter," she said. "Yes. He was flagged a few years back, I think. I was not his teacher, but I've heard."

"Flagged how?"

"Oh, you know. Concern was raised." Cora said it the way you said things that hadn't gone anywhere. "Nothing came of it. The Dursleys are very..." She paused. "Respectable. The mother keeps a very clean house."

Nina looked at her. "He comes in hungry."

"Children that age are always hungry."

"His clothes don't fit."

"Some families have less money, Nina." Cora said. Not unkindly. Patiently. The way you spoke to someone young.

"He flinches when—"

"He's a troubled boy." Cora said it simply, like she was offering a diagnosis. "I taught his cousin last year. Very different child. Harry's always been a bit..." She made a vague gesture. "You'll find your footing with him. They're not all easy ones."

Nina was not convinced but smiled. Said thank you. Took her mug back to her classroom.

Troubled boy. She sat with that for a long time. Turned it over. Looked at it from different angles, the way Harry looked at things, like there might be an answer in it somewhere.

Troubled like it was something he'd done. Something he'd arrived with, packaged and sealed, nothing to do with where he slept or what he ate or whose house he went home to.

She didn't go back to Cora after that.

***

She called social services on a Tuesday in November.

She'd written notes by then. Actual notes, in a small notebook she kept in her cardigan pocket — dates, observations, specific things. The split shoe. The lunch. The flinch. The Tuesday in October when he'd come in with a mark on the back of his hand he couldn't explain and looked at the floor when she asked.

She had it all written down. She was prepared. She was calm.

She picked up the phone in the empty staffroom and dialed.

And then—

She stood there for a moment with the receiver in her hand, the dial tone going, and she thought: what am I going to say, exactly?

She knew what she was going to say. She had it in the notebook. But the thought slid away from her strangely, like trying to hold water, and she found herself thinking about her lesson plan for Wednesday, the shapes unit, whether she had enough of the orange card—

She put the phone down.

She stood very still. She picked it up again. Dialed.

His shoes don't fit, she thought, very deliberately. He flinches. He ate half a lunch in October because someone had—

The thought went sideways again. Softly, like a hand guiding her away from something. Wednesday. Orange card. The shapes.

She put the phone down.

She was shaking slightly, she realized. That was strange. She didn't feel frightened. She felt— redirected. Like a river that had been turned.

She tried four more times that afternoon. Once she got through to a recorded message and opened her mouth to speak and simply couldn't remember why she'd called. Once she sat down to write a formal letter of concern and wrote three words and then got up to water the classroom plants, which didn't need watering.

The last time, she stood at the phone with her notebook open in her hand, the specific page, Harry's name at the top, and she read each entry out loud to herself quietly, like an incantation.

Consistent underfeeding. Inadequate clothing. Physical marks. Fearful response to adult anger.

She picked up the phone.

She dialed.

She heard it connect.

She said: "Hello, I'm calling to raise a concern about a child—"

And then she was sitting at her desk with her coat on and her bag in her lap and it was five-fifteen and the school was empty and she didn't know how she'd gotten there. The notebook was in her pocket. She checked. His name was still there, all the entries, her own handwriting.

She sat in the empty classroom for a long time.

On his desk, in the front row — he always chose the front, another thing she'd noted, easiest to see the board, farthest from the door — there was a drawing he'd left. A forest, done in pencil, with tremendous patience. Hundreds of tiny careful trees.

In the middle of the forest there was a small figure. She had to squint to see it. It wasn't doing anything. It was just standing in the trees, very small, looking out.

Nina Norton put the drawing in her notebook, between his pages.

She went home. She told herself she would try again tomorrow. She would find a way around whatever this was — whatever kept redirecting her, whatever kept turning the river. She would try again.

She meant it the way she'd always meant things.

No hesitation. No polite introductions. She crossed the room fast enough to stir the papers on my desk and planted herself in front of me like she owned the place.

I leaned back in my chair and lit a cigarette I’d already promised myself I wouldn’t smoke.

“I take it this isn’t a social call.”

“A person is missing.”

“A person you know?”

“My sister.” Her voice cracked on the word. “The Muggle police have been useless. Please, Detective Potter. I need you.”

That stopped me for half a second.

“If this concerns a Muggle,” I said carefully, “there’s not much I can do. Ministry regulations. We keep to magical matters and let Muggles drown in their own mysteries.”

Her face hardened so quickly it could’ve cut glass.

“A woman is missing, and you’re refusing to help?” she snapped. “I heard stories about the famous Detective James Potter. Noble. Brave. Selfless.” She laughed bitterly. “Funny thing about reputations—they never survive meeting the real man.”

The words landed harder than I cared to admit.

“I know next to nothing about the Muggle world,” I said. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag.

“What if a wizard took her?”

That made the room feel smaller.

“Did one?”

She opened her mouth, then stopped. Whatever nerve had carried her through my door finally gave out. She sank into the chair across from my desk—the one my partner usually occupied when he wasn’t off chasing stolen heirlooms or interrogating shady goblins—and buried her face in her hands.

Then came the tears.

That’s the thing nobody tells you about detective work. The bodies don’t stay with you. The blood doesn’t either. What stays are the tears. Especially when they belong to a beautiful woman who looks at you like you’re the last light left in the world.

I grabbed my handkerchief from the desk drawer and knelt beside her chair.

“Easy now, Miss,” I said softly. “Dry your eyes and start from the beginning.”

“You don’t understand, Detective.” Her shoulders trembled. “It’s all my fault.”

“That your sister disappeared?”

She looked up at me then. Mascara streaked beneath her eyes like wet ink dragged across a painting.

“No,” she whispered. “That I ever believed Severus Snape was my friend.”

The name hit me like bad whiskey.

A cold shiver crawled down my spine—not fear, nothing so simple as that. Disgust. I’d heard the name before. Too many times. Snape had a habit of turning up wherever decent people ended up dead, ruined, or missing. Low-life operators like him always think they’re the smartest men in the room. Usually, right up until somebody plants them in the ground.

I stood slowly and moved behind my desk.

“Now, Miss…”

“Lily,” she said quietly.

“Lily.” I nodded. “I’m going to get you a glass of water. You’re going to sit here, catch your breath, and tell me exactly how a woman like you came to know a man like Severus Snape.”

I reached for my wand.

“And after that,” I said, “I’m going to find your sister.”

Her eyes met mine again—still green, still dangerous, but softer now. Hope can do strange things to a face.