Effy

anywayyyy now that I've gotten that over with, I'm gonna actually engage with this blog again. Idk if/when I'll actually post another fic, but I have a luke skywalker one I'm sitting on (it's smut, which I am extremelyyy nervous to post lol). Ideally, I'd like to start writing again, but I am a girl with an anxiety disorder so getting myself to do it is hard. I'd desensitized myself to it before, but now I'm rusty :/ but! expect actually reblog again

Already with a mild headache and eyes squinting against the sun, you said her name. Is this how she felt all that time?

“Hm?” she said, glancing up. 

“What was that?” you said, half laughing though still deathly serious. 

“What was what?”

“Sirius!” you said, hopping out of bed. “He said you two talked, but I didn’t think you were together.”

Marlene shrugged, a sly, girlish smile peeking out on her lips. “We weren’t, not until yesterday, I guess. He asked me out—properly this time, but that doesn’t mean we’re together-together.”

Lily laughed, spitting into the sink. After she rinsed out her mouth she sauntered back into the room, her brows raised. “Well, it seems like he thinks you’re together.”

“What else did he say?” you asked, realizing for a moment how much you truly sounded the same way Marlene had a month ago, the thought making you chuckle. 

“Some of it was sort of personal, but he feels like a dick for what happened before,” Marlene began, smiling up at you. “And he says you called him thick.”

“I didn’t use those exact words,” you said, tilting your head, “but I’m glad he caught my meaning.”

Marlene laughed, standing from the bed to grab her shoes. “We agreed to take things slow, just be normal for a while. I don’t know if he’s ever really done that before,” she added, almost absentmindedly. “Ugh, it’s gonna be so hard not to pull him into the Astronomy Tower to—”

“Okay, okay, we get it,” Lily laughed, cutting her off. 

“Taking it slow, how mature,” you teased, turning to open your trunk. You felt something hit your back, likely another one of Marlene’s socks. When you stood again, clothes in hand, you gave her a blank look, walking to the lavatory. “I take it back.”

“At least we didn’t wait a year to declare our undying—!”

You closed the door, rolling your eyes even if she couldn’t see you, all with a smile on your face. 

•-—✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼—-•

On Tuesday afternoon the clouds hung low, thunder rumbling in the distance. Rain was already splattering against the windows of the corridor, and as you walked you watched the water streak across the panes like tears, shimmering against the grey of the sky. 

It had taken convincing to get James to stay behind, though you needed to do this alone. The last thing you wanted was two people in your ear telling you something you didn’t believe. Yesterday, you’d told Quattlebaum after class that you’d give him one session, and if nothing came of it, you were out. You were almost certain nothing would come of it, so while the prospect of going through whatever tutoring he had in mind was not gripping, getting it all over with was a great motivator. 

Quattlebaum was in the classroom when you popped up through the hatch, waiting for you at his desk. He stood up as you walked inside, smiling softly. 

“Welcome, Miss L/N. Lovely to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” you said, standing awkwardly in the center of the room. 

“Come, come,” he said, moving back towards his desk. He motioned for you to sit, and once you’d settled he clasped his hands, sprightly as usual. “Last week was quite the event. I apologize for my demeanor—it’s very rare a student receives a genuine prophecy in class.”

“It wasn’t a prophecy, sir,” you said a bit sadly. It’d been six days and to your knowledge, Regulus had yet to answer any of Sirius’s letters. It was the only way he could meet up with Regulus alone without the help of the map, leaving him at his brother's mercy. The whole thing made no sense to you, forcing you to question the validity of your prediction. For all the theatrics of last Wednesday, Regulus appeared to be pulling away, not following. “My interpretation of what I saw doesn’t seem to be occurring. The opposite is happening, actually.”

He hummed curiously. “I find that difficult to believe. It hasn’t yet been a week! A prediction proving wrong in such a short period of time is odd, that is unless you’re sure it only had to do with the short term,” he paused, gaining a more serious expression. “May I ask what it is that you saw?”

“It has to do with someone else, sort of a secret of theirs,” you said, your mouth pressing. “It’s not mine to tell.”

“Ah, I understand. It’s very honorable of you to keep the secrets of others even under such conditions. Let me ask instead: are you sure it is incorrect, or is more time needed for a definitive answer?”

“I’m not sure,” you began. “More time, I suppose. But, it’s not looking good, professor. You can’t really understand without me telling you. I’m sorry.”

A look of kindness crossed his face, almost fond. “You would be surprised at how much the tides can turn without warning. In almost all circumstances, it’s been far too short a time to give up entirely. In fact, you shouldn’t give up at all—though this is not my choice to make. Still, I’d like to work with you. What I saw during last week's class was not typical, but you know that as well as I. With some effort, I think you might make a fine Diviner—a fine Diviner, indeed.”

You let out a long, tired sigh, surrendering with a nod. “Okay. How do we start?”

During your meeting, Quattlebaum had you do some of the oddest things in your life, and you had no clue how they were meant to help. First, he had you close your eyes and pick tarot cards off the deck and hold them to your forehead to “feel their meaning”. You’d gotten some correct, but it was purely by chance. Next, you had to read tea leaves while standing on one foot, then read twigs while standing on the other. It all seemed utterly ridiculous and entirely pointless, though at the end, Quattlebaum told you how excellent you had done and sent you on your way with a grin. 

When you returned to the common room, you threw yourself into the chair next to James at one of the tables with a huff, shoulders slumped and head scrambled. The others were there as well, Remus and Marlene engrossed in a game of wizards chess at the little table pushed against the wall. 

Lily looked up from her schoolwork, frowning. “Didn’t go well?”

“It went fine—I think. He said it did, anyway.”

“What’d you do?” James asked. 

You slowly shook your head, letting out a breathy, dazed laugh. “Couldn’t tell you.”

Marlene furrowed her brows, the game forgotten. “Do you not remember anything?” 

“No, I remember,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes. When you took your hands away you saw spots, suddenly feeling like you needed a nap. “It was all so weird. I don’t know how any of it is supposed to make me better.”

Remus leaned closer to the table, his chair tilting. “What’d he have you do?”

You filled them in, feeling silly all over again. When you finished, you saw Peter holding in a laugh, scowling at him from across the table. Sirius seemed amused as well, though he was smart enough to conceal it beneath a flat expression.

“Don’t start, Peter. I’m not in the mood.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

You shot him another annoyed look, slumping back into your chair. What little irritation you felt was whisked away as your mind returned to Divination, the idea of going back for another session beginning to give you a headache. 

“Maybe there's a method to it,” said Lily with a supportive smile. 

You tried to return it, coming up rather short. “Maybe."

James placed his hand on your shoulder, his palm warm even through your shirt. He squeezed you a bit, shaking you out of your restless mediations. 

“Give it another shot,” he said, almost too tenderly for the company surrounding you. It was a voice he used when you were alone, the one that made your heart swell. 

Your mouth lifted into a glum, dreary smile that didn’t reach your eyes. You were silently begging him to give you his blessing to quit, though you saw quite clearly that there was nothing you could do to change his mind. He wouldn’t force you, though his encouragement wouldn’t cease unless you forbid it outright. 

“I don’t know, James,” you began, your gaze drifting away. “If I had the sight then maybe this would all make sense, but right now…”

“That shite wouldn’t make sense to anyone,” Sirius said with a small scoff.

Lily gave him a disapproving look, turning to you with an expression that made you worry about what she might say. “Sight or not, I don’t think Quattlebaum’s expecting you to understand it all right from the start. The whole point of the exercises is to strengthen your skills. When you first begin learning anything, lots things don’t make sense.”

“Until they do,” James added. 

“Did you make anything out with the tea leaves?” Marlene asked.

“Yeah, it pointed to the end of something. We have less than a month left of school, so it’s not exactly a hard-hitting prediction.”

“It’s something,” Lily said.  

“I could’ve done that without the help, though,” you countered. “It’s simple—you learn that in third year.”

“I don’t get this resistance,” Dorcas said, clearly trying to mask her rising exasperation. “Why find every excuse not to have the sight? If your professor thinks you might, that's a pretty good sign.”

James made a noise, motioning to Dorcas with wide eyes as he stared at you, as if proving some point. He’d been saying the same thing to you since Wednesday, and each time you gave him your answer, it left him entirely dissatisfied. Maybe it wasn’t the sort of thing you could explain, or perhaps it was so irrational there was no explanation to begin with. 

You didn’t know what to tell her, the room seeming to close in on you as you felt their eyes trained upon your face. You looked down into your lap, rubbing at your forehead and wishing you were just about anywhere else. 

“I just don’t want it,” you said, the words pouring out of you in a single, hard breath. “I don’t want to have to deal with it—not when I’m leaving Hogwarts and going off to, y’know—It’s just one more thing to make my life more complicated than it already is. It’s like nothing can ever just be normal,” you stopped, realizing you’d been speaking a tad too loud. No one in the common room seemed to notice, and if they had, they’d already looked away. 

When you glanced back at your friends, it was like you’d poured a bucket of water over all their heads. Dorcas’ mouth was parted in surprise, seeming sorry she’d asked. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your eyes dropping down. 

“Don’t be,” Lily said, shaking her head. “We understand.”

“No, it’s stupid.” You dropped your voice to a whisper, glaring at the table top, “I should be happy about it, anyone else would be. Sometimes, it just feels like everything was better when things were normal, like before the winter holiday."

When you looked back up you saw James’s face, hurt and trying to hide it. You didn’t understand at first, furrowing your brows as you tried to figure out what you’d said wrong. When you did, you began a frenzied, frantic apology. 

“I didn’t mean before—I just meant simple—but of course I’d never wish—”

“I know,” he interrupted, trying to calm you down. “I didn’t think you meant that.”

You clamped your mouth shut, unable to bring your eyes from his. Swallowing down a nervous lump in your throat, you nodded, feeling your pulse slowing once again. 

“You don’t have to go, not if you don’t want to,” James said, something poignant to his voice that hadn’t been there before. He hadn’t been upset over a presumption you meant things were better without him, you realized, only saddened by the fact you were stumbling over another unexpected hurdle. 

“I will,” you said, calmer now. “I should.”

“James is right. You don’t need to do it unless you want to,” Lily said softly. 

“Yeah,” Dorcas agreed, Marlene nodding along. 

Resolve pulled at your chest, a reminder to be brave. The melody was building, coming to a great crescendo, and it was time to face the music. 

“No. Tomorrow, I’m telling him I want to come back for another lesson,” you said, leaving no room to argue with yourself, no room to back out. “I’ll just have to suck it up and be weird.”

“Won’t be that big of a change,” Remus said with that subtle, proud smirk that was hidden enough for plausible deniability. 

You smiled against your will, brought out of your wallowing by the surprised laughter of your friends. Maybe you were all finding it far funnier than it truly was, though Remus’s dry wit had slashed through the weightiness you’d accidentally brought down upon them. Lily chided him, though she was fighting back giggles herself, allowing her laughter to bubble up when she saw you doing the same. The sounds of your silliness blended with the chorus of the common room, making you believe that perhaps, in some strange way, your odd new life could still feel pleasantly ordinary.

•-—✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼—-•

The sight of Sirius sauntering through the Library on Friday afternoon was nearly enough to throw you from your chair. Friday and library did not often interact in Sirius's schedule, despite his good grades, and you very much doubted it was going to change any time soon. 

Lily was facing the other way, not noticing your look of surprise as you watched him approach your table, his thumb hanging from the pocket of his black uniform trousers. You raised your brows as he stood over you, Lily finally lifting her head to look up at him. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, a weak attempt at baiting him. 

Sirius remained unimpressed, walking behind you to take the free chair to your right. He leaned an elbow on the table, speaking close. “The little prick finally answered by owls. He wants to talk to you.”

Your eyes widened. “Me?”

He seemed just as baffled as you were by his brother's request, though resigned not to question it. “S’what he said.”

“Why?” you whispered, finding yourself leaning closer. 

Lily had since dropped her quill, her schoolwork forgotten as she listened in. “Did you tell him about what she saw on Wednesday?” she asked him. 

Sirius’s eyes flickered over to her, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Yeah,” he paused, dropping his hand onto the table with a thump. “It has something to do with that, but I didn’t push it.”

“Okay,” you said. “When does he want to talk? Right now?”

“No, tomorrow. He said he’ll be in classroom 4D at eight. That’s the one we always meet in.”

To your knowledge, classroom 4D had been left unused for years, perhaps the entire time you were at Hogwarts. You weren’t sure if it was simply unneeded or the subject of a horrid curse, though either way, it was unsurprising Sirius would have them meet there. He wouldn’t risk telling him about the RoR, nor would he give up the locations of any of the passages only known to your small group, at least not until Regulus officially tossed in his Death Eater towel. 

“In the morning?” you asked, a bit peeved you’d have to be so bright-eyed at eight am on a Saturday. 

“Yeah,” he replied, glancing out into the rest of the library. “He might be coming around, but I don’t know. He’s not too hot on the spooky stuff. For all I know he wants to tell you to fuck off.”

You shook your head. “No, this seems like a good sign. He would’ve confronted me the first time if he really felt strongly enough about it.”

“He’s not exactly the confrontational type,” Sirius said, tapping his fingers on the table. After a moment he got that teasing look in his eyes that you’d learned to detest, and you knew what was coming even before it arrived. “So, going in for another lesson tomorrow?”

“You think it’s just as stupid as I do,” you said, waving him off. “Now, stop distracting me. I’m trying to get work done.”

“Testy,” he snickered, standing up. “See you guys later.”

You made a face as he walked away, turning to Lily once he’d gone. You had equal looks of intrigue, likely thinking the same thing. 

Lily bit her lip, nodding to herself. “This is good, really good.”

“I think so, too,” you whispered, leaning across the table a bit. “Maybe I was wrong about being wrong. This feels like he's following him, right?”

“I think you right,” she said, beginning to grin.

“Huh. Right about thinking I was wrong about being wrong. That’s a new one.”

•-—✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼—-•

You checked your watch. Bright sun was peeking through white, fluffy clouds on its face, the little hand reaching eight just as the bell tower chimed. You could see the door to 4D up ahead, scurrying towards it before the eighth bell rang. The corridor was vacant save for yourself, Regulus nowhere in sight. You reached your fist up to knock with a distinct sense of purpose, along with a good deal of nerves. Yesterday, you hadn’t quite caught up to how much was riding on this single conversation, how much Sirius was counting on you. How so much power was suddenly thrust into your hands was beyond your comprehension. All you were sure of was how much you didn’t like it. You supposed you brought a lot of it on yourself, though you could cast a decent amount of blame onto Snape for telling you about Regulus in the first place. You were happy he did, of course, though piling some of the fault onto him did nothing to lessen your jitters.

After your third knock you stopped, trying to hear if there was any movement behind the door. Before your mind could even catch up to the footsteps it cracked open, a pair of grey eyes staring at you through the space. After a beat Regulus opened it wider, glancing nervously over your shoulder before stepping out of the way. 

You hurried inside, Regulus closing it behind you. For a few seconds neither of you spoke, looking at one another in a tense limbo. 

“Hey,” was the brilliant greeting you came up with, cringing as it left your mouth. 

“Hi,” he said back, his lips tight as he studied you further. He seemed suspicious and edgy, though not entirely cold. He’d asked you here to begin with, after all. 

You briefly turned to survey the rest of the classroom, if just to fill some time. It was on the smaller side, the desks still in their rows. You walked over to one, leaning against the edge. It put some space between you, and you hoped your demeanor would put him more at ease—as much as it could, anyway. 

“I guess Sirius must have told you about me.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice still small. “You’re the, uh, Divination one.”

You chuckled, not expecting the title. You supposed it was fitting, and likely something Sirius might call you. “Yep, that's me.”

He shifted his weight, his gaze flickering towards the floor. “He told me what you saw in class.” You could tell he was still on guard, continuing his assessment of all the risks and rewards, every implication and consequence of speaking with you. “How did you know what my patronus was?”

You pushed down the rush of happiness that flooded into your chest at his admission. So, I was right. 

“I didn’t,” you began. “I saw a lion and then a fox, and then your brother’s patronus, and I just put two and two together. Your name comes from a star in Leo, which was a clue.”

Regulus did well at keeping his face neutral, offering you a barely distinguishable nod. 

“I guess that means I was right,” you continued. “About it being you, I mean.”

“Did you—” he cut himself off, looking away again. He fiddled with his shirtsleeve, almost identical to the white one every student wore as a part of their uniform. The collar was a bit larger on this one, though, and it was tucked into a pair of jeans. You tried to recall a time in which you’ve ever seen him wear a tee shirt or a dirty pair of trainers, but you came up empty. 

You waited for him to go on, and when he did, he still hadn’t turned back to you, “Sirius said you saw me, or my patronus, following his.” You nodded, and he finally looked at you again. “Did you see anything else?”

A dull ache formed within your chest, spurred on by the glimmer of something just behind his eyes. It was dim and hidden, but there nonetheless. 

“No, I’m sorry,” you said softly. “I can try to, if you want.”

He shook his head, meek with obvious disappointment. “That’s okay.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Nothing,” he said, a bitterness making its way into his voice that wasn’t there before. You couldn’t be sure if it was directed at your lack of helpfulness or the abysmal family life he had found himself in, but you couldn’t blame him either way.

“I know I’m just a stranger and it doesn’t mean much,” you began hesitantly, “but I wanted to thank you for what you’re doing for Sirius. I know he blames himself for part of what happened—leaving you, not talking for all that time—and all of this, it means a lot to him. I know it’s not…easy.”

His mouth was pressed, his jaw tight, yet something melancholy and unhardened lingered beneath it all. It was the kind of hurt that lived within Sirius, always like the dark, rolling sea in the moments before the tempest came, in a state of constant brewing. You wished he knew, you wished someone could show him exactly how lovely it would be once the knife could finally come out of the wound. It would be enough for him to make the leap, you thought, if only he could see the future.

“You don’t even know me,” he said under his breath, a strand of hair falling onto his forehead as he dropped his face enough to hide his eyes in shadow.

“I don’t need to, not to care,” you said with a great, unyielding conviction. “I know Sirius, and you’re his brother. That’s enough.”

You knew he meant you didn’t know him enough to understand, and it was true in part, though anyone with an ounce of empathy could tell how much suffering his family had caused him. Perhaps he wasn’t used to that, though—empathy. 

His shoulders rose with a breath, filled with what seemed to be a harrowing unease. For a moment you thought he might flee the classroom, though he stayed where he was. 

“What about in September?” he asked, knowing he found the single crack in yours and Sirius’s argument, something you were sure he’d pressed his brother about before.

You smiled solemnly. “It’s nine and a half months of hell against a lifetime of it.”

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered. 

“I know, but that doesn’t change it.”

The storm in his eyes raged, though it seemed disconnected from yourself, off in another thought that had nothing to do with yourself or your predictions. After a long pause, he spoke again, “How did you find out about me?”

“What did Sirius tell you?” you asked.

“That you were nosey,” he said without an ounce of humor. 

You couldn’t help but snort, crossing your arms. “Sounds like him,” you paused, rubbing your lips together as you thought of what to say. “I found out you were going to join before Sirius did. Then, I was nosey and tried to read your future. After I saw the hourglass, he found you in Hogsmeade—you knew the rest better than I do. He never asked me to do that, though, read your future.”

“How?” his question came out like a sharp whisper, so much like the way Severus might ask it. 

Speaking of, you wondered if you should reveal his involvement. Snape was still cuddled up with the same people as before, lurking with the Slytherins that Regulus had also attached himself to. How far Snape was willing to go, you did not know, though you still weren’t sure how much you wanted to put him at risk. Was Snape a traitor, or was he just playing the game?

“I can’t tell you,” you began, apology lacing your words. “Someone told me, and if you don’t leave with Sirius…”

“You think I’ll turn them in,” he finished.

“You’d do the same if you were me,” you said through a low, sullen sigh. “You don’t need to worry about me telling, though, no matter what. No one else will, either. If I was going to, I would’ve when I first found out.”

Unlike some of his classmates, Regulus did not appear to treat the subject of his involvement in the Death Eaters so lightly. No one went around advertising their loyalties, though it functioned more like an open secret, an unspoken knowledge shared by almost everyone. However, Regulus kept to himself, and you were sure that you being aware of some of the more intimate details of his life was uncomfortable at best and horrifying at worst. You wanted him to understand that despite your recent act of accidental heroism, you were not looking to spread rumors, nor was any one of your friends. Sirius must have said the same thing before, though hearing it from your lips was another affair. 

Again, he gave you a small nod, relaxing a bit for the first time since you entered the room.

You didn’t say anything else for a moment, looking at him and seeing someone you wished you knew better, someone who likely saw things much differently than you. Some of that would have come from a world you could not easily imagine, a world of archaic tradition and rules, though much of it was also his own. “Let us know you” you wanted to tell him, though you said something else instead.

“Think about it, Regulus.” You stood from the desk, making a move to leave. “It’ll be one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do, but it’ll also be one of the best.”

He almost looked guilty, standing there watching as you put your hand on the doorknob. You gave him a small smile, opening it and walking out. He didn’t follow, though you hardly expected him to. Still, you carried him with you all the way back down the corridors and to the common room, unwilling to let go of his ghost. 

“I’m sure it went fine.”

James’s assurances did not stop you from pacing across the bridge, his eyes following you from where he was leaning against the stone rail. You could hear the frown in his voice, seeing it when you spun on your heels to walk in the other direction. You had about fifty cups of tea in your system and were teetering on the edge of a panic attack, trying to find some comfort in the breeze brushing against your cheeks. 

“I like your shirt,” he offered, motioning to it. 

You weren’t in the mind to make fun of the comically awful attempt to distract you, dismissing him with a look as you spun around again. “Thanks.”

“I mean it!” he said, walking towards you. He put his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stop and face him. “Padfoot isn’t even as nervous as you. Everything will be fine, I promise. And, you do look nice.”

You deflated, giving him a measly smile of abundant appreciation. “Thank you, James.”

“It was just this morning,” he began gently. “Give him some time. He’ll come around.”

You nodded, swallowing down some of your worry. “Yeah, okay.”

When he seemed satisfied that you’d calmed down he leaned up against the railing again, crossing his ankles. “Is that new?”

“No,” you said, glancing down at your shirt. “I’ve had it for a year. You’re very unobservant.”

“Are you sure?” he said with a teasing smile. “I think I would’ve noticed something you look so ravish—”

“Shut it,” you snapped, laughing against your better judgement. You shot him a look, lowering your voice, “I thought we were keeping this a secret. We are very much in public right now, I’ll remind you.”

He grinned, bright and carefree, standing up with a small skip in his step. “Let's get in private, then.”

“You’re such an arse,” you groaned, moving back down the bridge towards the main castle. “The guys are probably looking for you. I think they resent me for stealing you away so much.”

“Au contraire—they’re happy to get rid of me.”

“Maybe I should make them pay me a salary,” you mused, delighting by his offended scoff. “Don’t worry,” you said, mockingly sweet, “you’re the best job in the world.”

He smiled again, just the way you loved. “I’ll take it.”

•-—✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼—-•

“Where’s Marls?” Dorcas asked, throwing an Every Flavour Bean up into the air before catching it in her mouth. Almost immediately after she began to chew she spit it into the lawn, grimacing at the taste. “Ugh! Sausage.”

“Probably with Sirius,” you said through a laugh, looking up from your textbook. “Aren’t they supposed to go out on a date or something?”

You were sprawled out under a tree in the courtyard with Dorcas, James, Remus, and Peter. Lily was in her Tuesday afternoon Alchemy, and Marlene and Sirius were nowhere to be found. 

“If only we had the bloody map,” Peter mumbled. 

“He borrowed the cloak,” James whispered, seeming none too happy to part with it. “Don’t know where they’re planning to go with it since every shop owner in Hogsmeade knows who he is.”

“Did you tell them to get any Firewhiskey? We’re running low,” Dorcas said, popping another bean into her mouth. 

“Knowing them, they’ll get a whole case,” you joked, though it wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility.

James looked over at you, lying on his back with a book propped on his chest. “Are you still meeting with Quattlebaum tomorrow?”

“Yes, for the fifteenth time,” you said, feigning annoyance. Still, he had asked you three times now. It was difficult to stay too upset with him, though, watching the leaves cast patterns across his cheeks, sunlight dappling his hair like a painting. 

“Sorry,” he droned, dropping his book onto his stomach. “You should be patient with me. I have permanent brain damage.”

“Yeah, you do,” Dorcas said with a snort, making Peter snicker. 

“Watch it, Meadowes. You too, Wormtail.”

“You brought up! Besides, you don’t have laps to hold over my head anymore,” Dorcas taunted. “I’m a free woman.”

James scoffed, picking up his book again with a small shake of his head. “Not if you don’t want to wake up with webbed fingers tomorrow.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “You don’t know how to do that.”

“Wanna test your theory?”

As she leaned forward, ready to argue, you shoved her shoulder, her gaze soon following yours. Regulus was walking across the grass towards you, his jacket hanging over his leather bag. It should have looked entirely unremarkable, though you could tell he was already uncomfortable, making him stick out against the other students dotting the courtyard, all leisurely in the mild weather of late spring.

James had since sat up, Peter’s eyes slightly wide. Regulus came up to your little group, standing a meter or so away, shifting from foot to foot. 

“Hey, Regulus,” you said, offering him a small, friendly smile. “What’s up?”

“Do you guys know where Sirius is?” 

“No, we think he’s with Marlene,” you answered, briefly glancing around at the others. James had his elbow over his knee, looking as if he was about to stand—to do what, you couldn’t tell.

Regulus nodded. His fingers twitched where they were wrapped around the strap of his bag, taking a small step back. 

“Okay, thanks.”

You smiled again. “No problem.” 

You watched him walk off, though he only got a few feet away before you called out his name. Dorcas and Peter looked at you with matching expressions of befuddlement, though you didn’t acknowledge their confusion. Regulus faced you again, just as puzzled as your friends. 

“Do you have anything you need to get to right now?” you asked. 

It took him a moment to answer, his mouth pulling to the side. “No.”

“You can stay here and wait for him, if you want,” you said as if it were something he did all the time.

He took a wary step towards you. “I don’t know. They might not be back for a while.”

It sounded as if Sirius may have told him about Marlene, at least a bit, and the thought almost made you smile. You held it down, not wanting Regulus to think you were poking fun at him. 

“You don’t have to,” you said with a shrug, having no clue if your performance on nonchalance was coming off as natural in the slightest. 

“You’d be missing out, though,” said Remus with an amiable expression; not quite a smile, but something close. “This is the lucky oak. If you study under it, you’ll get an O.”

“Just ask Y/N,” Dorcas said with a sly grin. “She was hopeless before we discovered it.”

Vaguely, you heard James say something to her, though you weren’t paying attention, knocking her shoulder again, this time a little harder. She had to catch herself from tipping, cackling at your sour face. 

“They’ll be back soon, anyway,” Peter said, his tone ordinary, but his smirk devilish. 

“How do you know?” Dorcas asked, obviously with great doubts as to his reliability.

Peter’s smile grew, impish delight sparkling in his eyes. “I replaced his fags with the exploding ones I got in January,” he said, barely able to contain himself. James let out a single bark of booming laughter, sharing in Peter’s enthusiasm. 

Remus looked up at Regulus, who had since become a silent audience member to your mutual insults. “He will be back soon.”

Again, Regulus looked around as if someone was watching, though the unusual situation had still gone unnoticed by your classmates. Clearly struggling to make a decision, you tried not to watch him, glancing down at your books. 

“Okay,” he said finally, so small you hardly noticed over the soft chatter surrounding you. 

You smiled, Regulus taking a seat a few feet away, dropping his bag onto the grass. 

“Hey, Black,” said Dorcas, holding out her box of Every Flavour Beans. “Do you want some?”

“No—thank you, though,” he answered, stumbling a bit over his words. No one acknowledged the nervous misstep, going back to doing what they had been before. Regulus pulled out an Arithmancy textbook, his chin resting in his palm as he placed it in his lap to read. Every so often, your gaze drifted over to him, happiness still blooming in your chest. Even though Sirius was sure to show up livid, he couldn’t be for long, not when his brother chose to wait for him in the courtyard with his friends. 

You were already feeling a bit smug, wondering how much your chat had to do with the change. If everything worked out, years down the road you might be able to tell Sirius I told you so, rubbing it in as payback for all the times he’s made you want to hex him into next week.

It was only ten minutes later when you saw a flash of something moving in the open air corridor across the courtyard, glancing up to see a figure running through, skidding around the corner. The face was a blur, though his black hair was enough to tell you who it was. Sirius weaved between a few students, making his way over to the archway. Beside you, Dorcas began to laugh. 

“Pet-er,” she sang, grinning at him. 

Immediately he popped up, reaching down to scoop up his wand lying on the grass. How Peter always ended up here you did not know, though he was prepared by the time Sirius entered the courtyard, already seeing where you all were. 

You couldn’t help but snort, covering your mouth with your hands. From his chin to just below his eyes, Sirius’s face was blackened by what looked to be a powder of some sort, which you could only assume was immune to whatever cleaning spell he’d certainly tried already. 

“Wormtail, you twat!” Sirius took another long stride to reach you, whipping his wand at Peter. 

Peter blocked his spell, face red as he howled in a fit of laughter. “It wasn’t me!” 

“I was with you when you bought them, c—” Sirius stopped, standing as if someone had used the freezing charm on him. He had finally noticed his brother off to the side, not even a smile on his face as he looked at Sirius’s current state. Sirius slowly lowered his wand, swallowing as he turned to face him fully. Neither spoke for a beat, nor did anyone else. 

“Looks nice,” Regulus said flatly, breaking the stretch. 

“What’re you doing here?” Sirius asked, seeming just as amazed as you were when Regulus first sat down. There was a carefulness to the way he said it, only letting a sliver of his joy peek through. 

“I was waiting for you,” he answered, the corner of his lips pulling up, just slightly. “They said you’d be back.”

Sirius took in his brother's meaning with a nod, turning back to Peter with blazing eyes. “Count your fucking blessings.” He then looked down at James, who still had an amused smirk on his face. “You too, Prongs.”

“What about Moony,” James whined, pointing to his friend. Remus had been snickering quietly, stopping once James had singled him out, though he was unable to rid himself of his smile. 

“I don’t need to tell him,” Sirius said, glaring at James. “He knows he’s lucky.”

Watching the exchange, you hadn’t noticed Regulus stand up until he went over to his brother, taking his wand from his pocket. 

“Did you try the cleaning spell?”

Sirius stared at him with raised brows, clearly a bit offended by the question. “Obviously.”

“I was just asking,” Regulus huffed, pointing his wand at Sirius. He said an incantation you’d never heard before, the black powder blasted off Sirius’s face as if a narrow gust of wind had blown straight from Regulus’s wand. 

“Thanks,” Sirius said, rubbing a hand over his now clean cheek. “You better return my cigarettes, Wormtail.”

“It’s only fifteen knuts,” Peter said, brushing him off. 

“By tonight.”

Before the brothers left, Sirius informed you that Marlene went to your room and would probably be down in a minute. When asked if she was with him when the incident occurred, he only grumbled, meaning that the answer was certainly a yes. 

Like proud parents, you all watched them walk off into the castle, waiting until you could no longer see them to speak. 

“Merlin's saggy balls, that was weird,” Peter said, still staring at the empty space in the archway. 

“I told you it went well,” James whispered to you, beaming. 

“Did he tell you guys they’re not meeting in secret anymore?” Dorcas asked, glancing between James, Peter, and Remus.

Remus shook his head. “No. I think this is a first.”

“Godric,” you began, a grin forming as you looked between your friends. “Do you think that this means—?"

“Maybe,” Remus said, more hopeful than not. 

“I’m telling you, by the N.E.W.T.s he’s gonna agree to stay with Padfoot,” James said, quite sure of himself. 

Dorcas hummed. “I’m saying by this time next week.”

James’s eyes twinkled, his lips stretching around his teeth in a playful smile. “Wanna bet?”

“Great,” you mumbled, sharing a weary look with Remus, who seemed more amused by your discontent than anything.

“Five galleons,” Dorcas offered. 

“Ten.”

“Fine, rich boy,” she said, sticking out her hand, “give me as much of your allowance as you want.”

Notes: again, not a lot of James :( sorry I really didn't mean to I promise!

•-—✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼.o○☆———☆○o.✼—-•

The headline was just as you expected, though at least your name wasn’t in it. Marlene and Dorcas were on the opposite side of the table, trying and failing to read upside down.

BREAKING: MINISTER CALLS SPECIAL INVESTIGATION INTO HOGWARTS ‘MAELSTROM’

A special investigation into the serious incident involving four or more students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be promptly conducted, said Minister of Magic Minchum during a press conference early this morning. An Auror, who has yet to be named, has been assigned head of the investigation by Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemuis Crouch. Crouch said at the same conference that ‘all methods necessary will be enforced to ensure the safety of the students at Hogwarts,’ though he declined to answer if there are any other suspects at large. 

Since yesterday, further doubts have been raised over Dumbledore’s ability to shield his students from the escalating violence outside the school, though Minchum insists that the Headmaster still has his full confidence: ‘The maelstrom at Hogwarts will be readily resolved…What I believe this unfortunate incident proves more so than anything is that Headmaster Dumbledore has done an exceedingly excellent job in preparing the students of Hogwarts for the increasingly hostile world. His students, when faced with a serious threat to their life, were able to defend themselves without the use of dark magic, and without causing serious injury to their opponent. These are the very traits we look for in the immensely selective process of recruiting Aurors, who are some of the most highly trained witches and wizards in the world.’

You stopped reading, and in a few more moments Lily passed the paper over to Dorcas, who was restless in her ignorance. Marlene was gnawing at her lip, reading over her shoulder. 

“I wonder who they’re sending,” Dorcas said.

“We’ll all have to talk to them, won’t we?” you asked warily, dreading the upcoming investigation sure to make your life even more complicated than it already was. 

“I’d expect so,” Lily began, “especially since they fumbled the last one so badly. If word ever gets out that they had Wilkes and Zephyr in custody, Crouch is done for.”

“He might not even have known about it,” Marlene said. “They must bring in so many people, and he’s the head of the department. I doubt he's going through every one, especially if it’s something as little as Wilkes and Zephyr.”

“You’re probably right, but he’ll still be the one to take the fall,” you said.

Dorcas let out a humorless laugh. “And Barty has everyone thinking he’s really cracking down.”

“He usually is,” Lily said. “Auror’s can kill Death Eaters no questions asked now. They’ve never had that kind of power before.”

Dorcas continued reading, tossing it back over to Lily after a moment. 

“What else does it say?” Marlene asked. 

“Nothing much. Your name isn’t in it,” Dorcas said to you. “No one else’s is either, other than Mulciber. His family is missing—probably gone into hiding.”

“What about Wilkes and Zephyr?” Marlene whispered. 

“Not a thing, but word will get out. All the Prefects know they're missing, right?”

“Just me and James, and Remus, of course,” said Lily. “But the Slytherin’s must all know, and they were out of class on Friday and won’t be in again today, so it’ll be pretty obvious what's happened.”

Excellent. 

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

On Wednesday the Auror arrived, somewhat stone faced and serious. James acted more like a child than someone nearly about to graduate as you all walked down to Dumbeldore’s office, incessantly asking questions that you couldn’t possibly have the answers to. Sirius was equally as excited, though he did a far better job at hiding it. When it came time, however, James put on an impressively professional demeanor, shaking her hand with a curt, respectful nod. At his newfound maturity, Dorcas snorted in the back of your group, all corralled outside of the Headmaster’s office.  

Remus, still a bit achy, sat on a floor up against the wall as he waited, each of you taken in one by one. It wasn’t at all different than what you already had to tell Dumbledore, though you supposed they needed each of your stories officially. When you asked the Auror when the trial would be, she said they hadn’t set the date yet. The thought of having to testify made your stomach churn, though you told yourself there was no use worrying about it now. 

The last day of May came quicker than you expected, only a little over two weeks out from your duel with Mulciber. You were somewhat successful in pushing it all from your mind for the time being, basking in the easier moments of your life. You had a month more at Hogwarts, a month more of wandering its corridors, sneaking around under the cloak, watching someone char their eyebrows in Charms…The final days were becoming more and more bittersweet, especially when the final quidditch match of the year was this Saturday. It was all coming to a close, and it couldn’t come slow enough. 

“Hello, hello, my merry magpies! I hope you are ready to steal the glimmering knowledge of the mystic realm!”

Peter looked at you sideways as you walked towards your Divination table, in little mood for Quattlebaum’s ramblings. You bit back a smirk, greeting your professor as you passed. 

He beamed, continuing to levitate crystal balls over to the stands on the center of each table. “Good afternoon, Miss L/N! Oh, and Mister Berry, your aura is looking radiant!”

When the class settled at their seats, Quattlebaum glided to the front, gesturing to the crystal balls. “The crystal ball—a tool we take for granted! Sometimes I regret teaching it so young, for even if it is a third year skill, the practice is lifelong. As you all know, each prophecy in the Ministries possession has been captured by such curious objects. Their capacity, to our current knowledge, is limitless. It is funny then, I think, that so many view them as tools of the amateur and not the master. I can see that I’m boring you—though rest assured! We will not simply be discussing the basic properties of the crystal ball this class.”

He clasped his hands, his eyes roving the rows of his students as he paced towards one end of the classroom. Peter shifted on his cushion, trying not to meet his professor’s gaze. 

“Let us warm our senses,” Quattlebaum began again, spinning around to walk in the opposite direction. “Take turns acquainting yourself with your tool. Introduce your mind to its wisdom!”

Peter stared blankly at the crystal, sighing. “Hello.”

You tried not to laugh, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to, as Quattlebaum always put it, align yourself with the harmony of nature. As you let it out slowly through your nose, a different set of Quattlebaum’s words seemed to flood your mind against your will. All at once you were entrapped in the recent memory, one which you had made great efforts to forget since your moment of panic at the base of the West Tower. 

...you may very well possess the sight, though you would be a stunted learner…Your dreams have many prophetic qualities…though they are quite weak…

You opened your eyes at once, the room just the same as you had left it, Peter sitting in a hesitant slump beside you. He didn’t seem to notice your change, for you were not quite sure you even wore it on your face, looking down at the crystal ball with an impassive gaze. 

“Now that you have made your gestures of greeting,” said Quattlebaum, pulling you even further from your thoughts, “I would like us all to focus our minds on a happy memory. Our goal is to invoke a prediction…or prophecy, that is connected not to the negative, but the positive outcome. It may be small, mind you, for we often unconsciously seek out the warnings, the trials and tribulations, making the good all the more difficult to conjure. After you take a moment to sit with your memory, observe your crystals and take note of what you see.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Peter begin to smirk, furrowing your brows as you leaned over the table towards him. 

“What?” you whispered. 

Caught in the act, he let out a quiet snicker. “I’m thinking about that time we set all those ferrets loose in the Slyth—”

“That’s your happy memory?” you interrupted, raising your brows. 

“Prongs was there too, y’know.” 

You rolled your eyes, you each knowing he had won as you sat up straight again. 

It was easy for you to think of a happy memory, the only problem was choosing which one to use. You thought of your first kiss with James in the Astronomy Tower, the way your head spun and your knees felt weak, then of Lily in the Hospital Wing, the embrace you shared. Finally, you settled on this past Saturday night, all of you together, no secrets hanging over your heads. 

“You go first,” Peter offered, pushing off the inevitable. 

Keeping the feeling of your memory alive, you stared into the crystal, opening your mind to its influence. At first you did it the same as you always did, thinking of it as a tool which showed you the future, a vessel of a force far past your true understanding. Yet, as you did, something akin to nervousness crawled in your chest, a distinct unease making it harder and harder for you to focus. 

“Uh—are you okay?” Peter said, keeping his voice low. 

Your eyes snapped up, the feeling already beginning to dissipate. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

He was still looking at you oddly, though you could hardly blame him. “Do you want me to go first?”

“No, it’s all right,” you said, looking back towards the crystal ball. 

You thought of your memory again, holding to the relief, the joy, the comfort of being with the people you loved. 

Like emerging from a low hanging mist, something flickered at the center of the crystal, gone before you could tell what it was. You stared, unmoving, trying to make out whatever else you could see. Five seconds passed, then six, then seven, though soon you saw something else, a flash of flaxen color, or perhaps a pale yellow, again too quick for you to catch it in full. 

You drifted closer without meaning to, the sound of Peter’s voice bouncing off your ears, only vaguely heard. There was nothing but the crystal ball, some golden mass shifting behind the veil of mist beginning to take shape. The feeling returned to your chest, though it was not a warning meant to make you skittish. It was a hum almost like an orchestra warming up, drawing you towards something that seemed so much like your memory.

At first, it happened very quickly. The head of a male lion emerged out of the cloudy center, then its chest, pure light beaming around it. Swiftly, it shrank, blurry until it transformed into a fox, its fur a blazing orange, its small nose rising in the air before it bounded, leaping from view. Another lull began, nothing to be seen in the crystal. Like before, you had some sense that Peter was speaking, maybe even reaching for your shoulder, though you did not move.

Suddenly, there came another orange streak, bright, white light bursting outwards from some unknown source like rays of sun beaming down from a break in the clouds. Then, a smudge of black. The face of a shaggy black dog you knew all too well appeared, turning its head to look back. It walked forward, the fox following by its hind legs, its bushy tail waving. 

All at once, everything was gone, and somehow you knew it was over. It took you a moment to lift your face, finding Peter with wide eyes, almost horrified. It was silent, your classmates all staring at you. Still where he had been before, Quattlebaum watched you from the front of the room, not even the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, quiet and sheepish. You were looking around, trying to piece together exactly what had just occurred. 

“There is no need for apology, Miss L/N,” said Quattlebaum, still not smiling. He glanced back at the class in its entirety, waving his hand. “Everyone, back to work.”

Everyone obeyed, murmuring to themselves. You met Peter’s eyes again, watching as he swallowed anxiously. 

“What happened?” you whispered. “Was I out of it or something?”

Peter nodded slowly, almost seeming frightened of you. “Yeah, you were out of it.”

“What did I do?” you asked frantically, still keeping your voice down. 

“Nothing. That was the problem.” 

The look he was giving you made everything seem far more serious than nothing, so you continued to press him further, insatiable in your need for immediate answers. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?”

“Nothing,” he said between his teeth. “It was like you were in a trance. I tried to break you out of it but,” he stopped, drawing even closer. “You were gone. I’d thought someone cursed you for a second.”

“I saw something, Peter,” you muttered, staring straight into his eyes. “It wasn’t like—I’ve never…”

Peter glanced down at your watch. “How much time do we have?”

Broken out of your initial shock, you read the time, frowning as you looked back to him. “A lot. Almost an hour.”

Peter sighed, his mouth pressed as he seemed to be thinking of ways to get you out of class.

“Do it so you don’t get in trouble,” you said, nodding towards the crystal ball. You didn’t think he’d act on any of his ideas, though you wanted to prevent the possibility. That last thing you needed was one of the many scenes you knew he could come up with. 

Peter groaned a little too loudly, though Quattlebaum said nothing. As he went to work you took out a sheet of parchment, writing down everything you could remember about what you had seen. 

You barreled out of the Divination classroom, knowing Quattlebaum likely wanted to speak with you, but not giving him enough time to ask. You were the first one on the ladder, scurrying down the staircase as Peter ran behind, having to stop when something flew from his bag. 

You went forward towards the main castle, Peter shouting behind you. 

“Transfiguration’s that way!”

“I know,” you called, not bothering to look over your shoulder. “But they’ll be coming from this way!”

You skidded around the corner, bolting towards the swiveling staircase. The corridors were more crowded now, forcing you to weave between students, Peter trailing your path. As you came upon the wide hall by the entrance to the staircase, the mass of students became so thick you wouldn’t be unable to force your way through, though Peter took matters into his own hands. 

Ripping his wand from the pocket of his robe, Peter pointed it towards the crowd. Through the middle, students were shoved out of the way by an unseen force, knocking them into one another like dominos. A handful of obscenities were shouted, either directed at Peter or the sudden shove, you’ll never know. 

Just as you each emerged into the stairwell, you saw your friends already halfway down the flight, their conversation cut short as you and Peter bounded towards them. 

You practically ran into Marlene, who held your shoulders, stopping you from tumbling backwards. 

“What's going on?” she asked, cut off by James saying your name, doing a poor job at hiding his worry.

“Something happened in Divination,” you explained, turning to Sirius. “I saw you.”

Sirius, flabbergasted and likely thinking you had truly snapped, furrowed his brows. “I wasn’t in Divination.”

You huffed, “Not you-you, divination you.”

You heard Dorcas swear under her breath, eyeing you in shock. 

“How?” Lily asked.

“Crystal ball,” you said, still frenzied. You looked at Sirius, nodding up the stairs. “C’mon.”

“I have class, y’know,” he droned, showing little interest in your discovery. 

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around. He could have easily shaken you off, especially as you began to lead him up the steps, though he complied, pouting all the way. 

James said your name again, hurrying to your side. “What’d you see?” he asked, following you to the landing. 

You met his gaze, wide with edgy excitement. 

“I can’t say here,” you began quietly, your eyes flickering to Sirius. “I just have to tell Sirius first, okay?”

James’s expression was largely unreadable, but he seemed to understand, nodding solemnly. 

Sirius, who had since been looking out into the wide open space of the stairwell, likely in an effort to allow some semblance of a private moment, turned back to the pair of you. “All right, sister. Let’s get this over with.”

You offered James and the others, now all lingering behind him, a strained smile, continuing back up the staircase. 

After a moment of silence, charged with something not entirely awkward, though distinctly exhausted, you peeked over at Sirius, still mildly grumpy. “You sound like a wanker when you call me sister, by the way.”

Your insult seemed to cheer him up, his mouth turning up into a smirk. “You’re gonna feel pretty fucking embaressed when it catches on.”

“It’s never catching on.”

“Whatever you say, sister. 

You let out a breath, almost laughing. “You better start being nice to me. There's no getting rid of me after graduation.”

“Believe me,” he drawled, leaning in towards you in a single, sweeping motion as he stepped up onto the next landing, “the thought haunts me.”

“Do you know your brother’s patronus?”

Sirius hid his surprise fairly well, shrugging as he sauntered deeper into the RoR. “No. Why?”

“I think I saw him,” you began, standing by the door. Your arms were crossed, drawn inwards with the delicate nature of your conversation. “We were using crystal balls. We’ve done it a million times before, but we were specially asked to try and predict something good, something happy. So, I thought of all of us this Saturday, and then I saw you.”

“You saw my face?”

You shook your head. “No, your animagus form, but I wouldn’t mistake it for anything else. I’m sure it was you.”

Sirius looked away for a beat, scratching the back of his head. “What does Reg got to do with this?”

You almost smiled at the nickname, biting it back. “I think I saw him, too, but it was probably his patronus, or his animagus form, if he has one,” you paused, your arms dropping back down at your sides. “At first it was a lion, but then it became a fox. It disappeared for a second, and that's when I saw your animagus. You started walking, and the fox followed behind you. Then, I came out of it.”

“Came out of it?” Sirius asked warily. 

Your head dropped briefly, knowing this is where it all might fall apart. “I was, I don’t know—nothing like that has ever happened to me before. When I saw everything in the crystal it felt different, like I was completely focused until the crystal decided it was over. I could almost feel it, the way you can feel magic sometimes. I don’t know how to describe it—all I know is that when I came out of whatever I was in, the whole class was staring at me like I had just sprouted a second nose. Peter said he was saying my name, trying to shake me, but I didn’t move. I was just…gone somewhere else.”

The air was heavy, but you stood your ground, not shrinking under the weight of his skepticism. Sirius sucked his teeth, deep in thought. 

“How do you know it was my brother?” he said finally, not as combative in his disbelief as you had feared. 

“You know why,” you said softly, taking a step closer. “His namesake is the lion's heart, and I’d bet a pretty tall stack of galleons his patronus is a red fox.” When he didn’t respond, you went on, “It was a good one, Sirius. It means that he’s following you—and maybe one day it’ll be like this Saturday, all of us together. But, this time, he’ll be there.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes flitting to your face, then drifting away again. You hated the way he hated to talk about it, wishing that for once he’d come out with everything without having to do a dance to get there. It was too much to ask, you realized, though it might save you each some heartache. 

“I’ve been talking to him lately,” he murmured, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. “He says Walburga’s getting cold feet.”

“She is?”

Sirius shrugged again. “I guess so, s’what he said. They still hate muggles, but I think seeing the war has put them off the idea of actually fighting in it.” He let out a sharp laugh of contempt, smiling bitterly. “They’ve been trying to teach him how to duel over the summer and winter. He was pretty good when I left, but,” he faltered, glancing down at his shoes. “He’s never been great at that stuff. He’s probably smarter than me, the little shit, but I don’t think he has it in him.”

“What doesn’t he have in him?” you asked, just under your breath. 

The grey of his eyes was more like a storm than ever, mournful and raging. “The willingness to kill.”

“I’m not sure if I have that, either.” 

“You won’t have to. You’ll just have to protect yourself. Them—they’ll have to use the Killing Curse,” he replied, taking a slow step to the side, beginning to pace. “Reg is a lot of things, but he’s not a murderer. When the time comes he’ll back out, and it’ll mean his life.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Of course I did,” he said, almost angry in his expression; his brows were pinched and jaw tight. He closed his eyes, his hair falling into his face. “He said he might come back with me this summer.”

In an instant you felt lighter, smiling softly. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but it’ll mean hell if he does.”

You knew what he meant, no more explanation needed. If Regulus broke away from the Death Eaters and was disowned by his parents, his life would be torture for his final year at Hogwarts. He’d be completely shunned by his house and unwelcomed by the other three, surely to become the subject of relentless bullying by the people who were once his friends. He’d be entirely alone while within the bounds of the school, simply buying time until graduation. It was a hard thing to ask of anyone, much less Regulus, who did not share his brother’s unique brand of resilience. 

“I think he will,” you said, still with the same look of hope. “I was right about the hourglass, remember? If things keep going the way they are, he’ll follow you.”

He poked his tongue into his cheek, considering your theory with less cynicism than you expected. After a moment his features shifted into something more like they had been on the staircase: a little sly and eager to get under your skin. 

“Guess this means you have the sight after all.”

“No,” you droned, your face going blank. “Just that the universe has spoken.”

He laughed, low and rolling. “What’s up with your little trance, then?”

You were beginning to believe he was taking advantage of you now, teasing you when you came to him with something serious, a time when you wouldn’t give it back with the same ferocity. But you were different now, more sure of yourself, willing to make a small attempt to match him. 

“Fuck off. Just be happy the universe seems to think your family problems are important,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

He barked, taking a few long, swaggering steps towards you. He slapped a hand on your shoulder as he went for the door, turning you around. 

“Don’t get so pissy, L/N,” he drawled, leading you out into the corridor. “C’mon, let’s go have a smoke.”

You followed him down the corridor for a long time before you said anything, making sure you were alone when you did. 

“Sirius?” You saw him glance at you in your peripheral, though you did him the kindness of not looking back as you went on, “How are you and Marls doing?”

“Y’know,” he began, drawing it out. “I talked to her. Don’t get mad at her, though. I put out a gag order.”

“Yeah?” you said, giving him an out if he wanted it. 

He stopped in the archway leading into the courtyard, leaning against the pillar. He took his pack out of his bag, taking a cigarette for himself before handing it over to you, all without meeting your eyes. 

“I told her I wasn’t any good,” he mumbled around his cigarette, taking a drag. The smoke billowed out into the clear air, gone as soon as it came. 

“What’d she say?”

He chuckled, almost with the same indignation he had when speaking of his parents. “She said I was good, just a little fucked up, s’all,” he paused, finally looking at you again. “Did you hear Seraphina’s going out with Will?”

You nodded, laughing. “They’re perfect together.”

“Is it weird that I’m happy for them?” he asked.

You thought he was joking at first, though soon enough you saw that his question was genuine, and it made you smile turn gentle. “No, it’s not.”

When your cigarettes were down to the filter you spoke again, picturing a future you knew was possible, if he wanted it. “Don’t be like me, Sirius. Don’t hide it. You’ll only waste a lot of time you wished you hadn’t.”

“You’re full of it today.”

You snorted. “And you’re always full of it. See how it feels?”

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

It was the first Saturday in June. The stands were packed shoulder to shoulder, a cacophony of chatter and enlivened voices existing in a single, long hum before the start of the match. Peter’s face was painted half red and half gold, though the rest of you went for a more subtle display of support. Banners were flying and flags waving, the sky a bright, robin blue, only a few clouds hanging high above your heads. 

Slytherin wiped the floor with Hufflepuff last match, putting them at a colossal six-hundred forty points total. Gryffindor was resting at a comfortable four-hundred thirty, meaning they’d need to amass two-hundred ten points during this last match to win the cup. Ravenclaw could beat them both out, though it was doubtful they’d acquire the three hundred points needed for the task. The odds seemed to be in Gryffindor’s favor, though not enough to put your house entirely at ease. The pressure was on, and the crowd could feel it. 

“Welcome to the sixth and final match of the season, Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor!” Atticus Bundleby said over the loudspeakers, the stands roaring. “The players take their positions as Monsieur Button steps out onto the pitch to begin the game!”

Instantly, your hollers fell to murmurs as you watched them circle up above Button. You could pick out James hovering to the right of Dorcas, who was staring straight at Darren Balfour, the Ravenclaw seeker. 

Monsieur Button released the hatch on the trunk, thumping back and forth on the grass. The snitch and bludgers flew out, the former disappearing into the sky. 

“The bludgers and snitch are released!”

Monsieur Button threw up the quaffle, and the maelstrom began. 

Dorcas and Balfour shot off to look for the snitch, the rest of their teams scrambling to get possession of the quaffle. The Ravenclaw’s sent a bludger flying towards Daniel, who dashed out of the way in the nick of time. Sirius knocked it back towards the other team as it came around, hitting the end of one of the chaser’s brooms. You all began to cheer as it sent him spinning out, though your celebrations were premature.

“The quaffle is passed to Potter, he’s moving forward. Oh! He’s hit with a bludger by Nightingale—the quaffles in Ravenclaw’s possession. They’re heading towards Gryffindor…and Ravenclaw scores!”

Despite the early disappointment, Gryffindor went on to score two goals, putting them ten points ahead. As the quaffle was thrown back into play, Dorcas and Balfour spotted the snitch again, high in the air near one of the Hufflepuff towers. Balfour swooped around the opposite side while Dorcas went straight for it, leaning forward and stretching out his arm as he went to intercept the snitch’s path. As he lunged forward, the snitch jerked away, soaring away above the Hufflepuff stands, the students craning their necks to watch the golden streak above their heads. 

“Ooh! Balfour just misses the snitch!”

A few minutes later the quaffle was back in Ravenclaw’s possession, though the Gryffindor’s moved in sharp synchronization, so well practiced it seemed as though they could do it with their eyes closed. Daniel pushed up against the Ravenclaw chaser with the quaffle, struggling against him as they neared the Gryffindor goal. As they knocked shoulders, Sirius hit a bludger towards the other two chasers following behind, forcing them to pull up and out of the way. Through the newly unguarded space, James came in from above, darting back down to trail Daniel and the Ravenclaw. The stands held their breath as James flew below them, spinning upside down to hit the end of the Ravenclaw’s broom with his feet, Daniel shoving him at the same time. The chaser’s hold loosened on the quaffle, sending it careening through the air. James caught it, throwing it down to Valerie Hathaway, who was already near the Ravenclaw goal. She scored, and the crowd went mad. 

“Potter takes the quaffle from Laurel with a speelman steal—Hathaway scores!” Although Bundleby continued to shout into the microphone, the dismay over his house's small defeat was evident in his voice. “That's thirty to ten, Gryffindor!”

Behind you, Remus slapped his hands on your shoulders, the sound of his shouts only barely louder than the others.

It was a long time before things picked back up again, each team making another goal. With the scores now forty to twenty, a nervous buzz surged through the stands, the stakes building and building the longer the match went on. Dorcas and Balfour had since lost sight of the snitch, their small figures hovering above the rest of the match. 

Nightingale, one of the Ravenclaw beaters, was hit in the head with a bludger, nearly throwing him from his broom. Thankfully, he was able to stay on, saving Gryffindor from a foul. This also had the added benefit of making him a bit unsteady, now operating at half his usual skill. With only one and a half beaters to challenge them, Sirius and Gudgeon were able to send a barrage of bludgers towards the chasers, giving the Gryffindor’s an open to score. James made another goal, putting the game at fifty to twenty, Gryffindor in the lead. Your heart was in your throat as you continued to chant with the rest of your house, your hopes that Gryffindor may actually win the cup building in your chest.

“If they catch the snitch, they only need one more goal for the cup!” Lily shouted over the clamor. 

“What if they tie?” Marlene asked. 

Lily turned to her, still grinning. “I have no fucking idea.”

Suddenly from high above, Balfour dived. Dorcas was lower in the pitch, quickly moving forward to catch his trail. They hugged the walls of the stands, following the curve before swooping up again over the other Gryffidor section and behind the pitch. 

“Balfour and Meadowes head behind the stands, we can’t spot ‘em anymore!”

You all whipped around in every direction, trying to see where Dorcas and Balfour were. It was a few minutes before you caught them flying around a Ravenclaw tower, grabbing Lily as you pointed. 

“There! There!”

Their movements were erratic, zigzagging every which way right above the center of the pitch. Meanwhile, Ravenclaw scored another goal. 

“Things are heating up! It’s fifty to thirty, Gryffindor!”

Peter hollered, “Fucking hell”

“One more!” Remus yelled, grabbing you again. 

“Potter is moving towards the goal! Black blocks a blow—Ravenclaw makes a hit—Laurel takes possession of the quaffle!”

You thought Peter was about to have a heart attack, throwing his arms up in complete and utter distraught.  

“Balfour and Meadowes are right on the snitch—it’s trying to throw them off!”

Dorcas was right beside Balfour, each moving in nearly identical jerks and turns. Slowly, Dorcas inched forward, her arm outstretched. Balfour did the same, though he was too late. Just as Dorcas went to grab it, she pushed forward, swinging herself around to face him, cutting him off. As soon as anyone realized what she had done, the snitch was already dashing away. 

“I can’t believe it! Meadowes pulls an intentional delay!”

No one else could believe it, either. Balfour immediately raced off to look for the snitch again, leaving Dorcas hesitating for a beat, likely catching up to her own brilliance. In a moment she followed suit, chasing behind. 

“Is that legal?” you asked through the flurry of thrill running through the throng. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Remus said, laughing in disbelief. 

Peter stopped screaming long enough to answer your question, his smile never wider. “It almost never happens, but when it does, it’s fucking wicked!”

Below, the two teams were pushing back and forth, neither of the keepers allowing another goal. Nightingale finally seemed to have gathered himself again, making a few good shots at the Gryffindors. 

“Meadowes and Balfour spot the snitch again—they’re heading towards the lawn!”

It was nearly instantaneous. You heard the cheers before you understood what happened, your eyes having trouble catching up. James was flying straight towards the goal, the Ravenclaw’s distracted by the seeker’s nose-dive, whipping the quaffle through the hoop. Only seconds after, Dorcas nearly skimmed the clippings, propelling forward just in time for her hand to seize the snitch. 

The roar was almost deafening. You had never loved quidditch more than you had in that moment, the vibrations of a hundred people jumping reverberating through your feet, the haze of red and gold waving all around you, the cries of jubilation nearly never ending. 

“Gryffindor scores and Meadowes catches the golden snitch and ends the match! Gryffindor wins the game sixty to thirty!”

You wrapped your arm around Lily’s shoulder, leaning into her. “That's it! That's the cup!”

Dorcas first went to meet the rest of the team, their brooms knocking as they patted each other on the back, shaking their shoulders, ruffling one another's hair. Half of the stands were chanting her name, the others saying Potter or Black or Hathaway—though no matter whose name they were cheering, it was Gryffindor’s moment of glory. 

After the team had sufficiently celebrated amongst themselves, they went to do their victory lap, their fists thrown up in triumph as they whizzed past the stands. 

“We’ve just done the maths—and Gryffindor wins the cup with razor-thin margins coming out at six-hundred forty points total, ten ahead of Slytherin who's in second with six-hundred thirty. What a way to end the season!”

You all rushed out of the stands, pushing through the thick horde of students to wait outside the locker rooms. There were a fair few others waiting as well, all with the same, identical smiles. It was tortuous watching the first few players emerge, congratulating them as they went off with their friends. 

Soon enough James, Sirius, and Dorcas emerged through the curtain at the same time, each barrelling forward towards where they knew you’d be waiting. Wide, shining grins were plastered onto their faces, their joy entirely pure and untainted. When James neared you he stopped, Dorcas nearly crashing into Lily, though Sirius kept going, heading straight for Marlene. Before anyone could understand what he meant to do, he wrapped her up into an embrace, her feet lifting from the ground. She let out a surprised squeak which soon turned into a laugh, throwing her head back to look at him. He beamed back at her for a beat before he pressed his lips to hers in a single, hard kiss, setting her down a moment after. 

No one knew quite what to do, Dorcas choosing to whistle. 

“You’re such an arse,” Marlene said through a laugh, smiling up at him. 

He threw his arm around her, pulling her into his chest. “Nothing can hurt me today, love, so don’t even try.”

Your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much, looking back at James again. Everyone else was congratulating Dorcas up and down, which you would have to make up for later, though you allowed yourself the luxury of looking at him, just for a second.  

“You were fantastic,” you said, your voice full of unmasked pride. 

His eyes still glimmered with happiness, just like old times. “Just fantastic?” he teased. 

You pushed his shoulder, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t get cocky, Dorcas will hex you.”

“I’ll do what?” Dorcas asked, her brows raised as she looked between you. 

“Nothing,” James chuckled, waving her off. 

Dorcas rolled her eyes, coming to put her arm around your waist, leading you off towards the castle. The others began to follow, James letting out a quiet scoff, though it only made Dorcas laugh. 

“C’mon,” she said with a wicked smile. “It’s time to get pissed.”

“It’s only three in the afternoon.” 

She pulled you in a big tighter, shrugging. “Who says I can’t start early? I’ve earned it.”

“You didn’t take a bludger to the head,” James grumbled from somewhere behind you. 

“What’s one more?” Dorcas said, glancing back at him with a smirk. “Your brain’s already irreversibly damaged.”

James huffed when you began to giggle. “You’re not gonna defend me?”

You turned to Dorcas, fighting down your laughter. “Dorcas, that’s completely unfair. I’m sure the damage is reversible.”

All but James fell into a fit, though when you twisted around to look back at him, his grumpiness melted into an expression of endearment, flooding you with a familiar warmth. This would probably be the last time he played quidditch in a real pitch, the last time he and Sirius ran through the plays they had devised late at night in their dormitory when they should have been sleeping, the final time they won. Soon he’d get new wins playing different, more dangerous games, so you chose with purposeful intent to savor the current victory, revelling in the meaningful meaninglessness of it all. 

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

The party ended in the early hours of the morning. Lily had to drag Dorcas up from the couch where she was sleeping with her head on Marlene’s lap, Remus still snickering at her. By this time, James and Sirius had a considerable come-down from their former states of being, during which they found everything anyone said incomprehensibly hilarious. James had run up to you a few times throughout the night to throw his arm around you, making no effort to hide his grin of uninhibited glee. You had let him, your cheeks still burning from his attention, figuring no one would think anything of it in his inebriation. He was affectionate on a good day, much less with a few drinks in him. It was just another thing to relish: the freedom of leaning into his side, his breath tickling the side of your face, all while the festivity raged on around you.

Sporting matching buzzes, just enough to make the world a bit fuzzy round the edges, James went to his room to disappear beneath the cloak while you slipped out of the common room, waiting only a few moments in the corridor for his arrival. Instead of telling you he was there, he threw the cloak over you, making you nearly jump out of your skin. Chiding him for the freight he gave you, you wandered through the seventh floor to the Astronomy Tower where you sat beneath the stars, your eyes growing droopy. It was a new moon, the best time to see the milky way, the glow just rising over the horizon. 

“Did you get an answer out of Sirius?” you asked him, barely able to keep your gaze on the sight above you. Your cheek was pressed into his shoulder, his arm around your waist. 

“No,” he said with a small laugh. “Never thought to ask.”

“Marlene wouldn’t give me anything, but she will in the morning—that is if I’m able to get up in the morning.”

He laughed again, the rise of his chest moving your careful place on his shoulder. You lifted your face, brushing the hair back from his forehead. 

“I like to see everyone this happy,” you said, still playing with his curls, wild even after the shower he had taken after the match. 

As you said the words his eyes stared into yours, blown out from the darkness or the drinks or you, the reflection of the stars in his glasses. It was almost too much, the way he looked at you as if the sun wouldn’t rise unless you told it to. Your hand dropped away, your fingers tracing along the side of his neck. 

“Me too,” he said eventually, a mischievous smile soon replacing his one of contentment. “Have you thought about Quattlebaum’s offer?”

You groaned, taking your hand away and tipping your head back, your laugh revealing you were less than upset, though not quite overjoyed, either. “Not now.”

“If you do have the sight, he can help you. It won’t hurt to try,” he said, ignoring your request. 

“This entire month we’ll be studying for the N.E.W.T.s,” you argued. “It’s either let Quattlebaum try and train me to be a seer, which won’t work anyhow, or not fail the exams.”

“You won’t fail,” he said, as if the possibility was completely out of the question. 

You sighed, your gaze falling to your lap as he kept staring at you, willing you to change your mind. 

“Peter’s convinced,” he offered, causing you to look back up. “And you know Lily and Marlene are, too.”

“What do they know,” you muttered, fighting down a smile. 

James laughed softly, touching the side of your face. “You don’t have to do it every waking hour. Just once or twice a week—fine, once. Anything is better than nothing.”

You felt his fingers brush the shell of your ear, his thumb resting against your cheekbone. Tilting into his hand, you let out a long breath through your nose, still not sober enough to form an adequate reply. 

“Later, Jamie,” you said, letting out another noise of complaint. “I’m too tired—it’s unfair.”

“Calling me that won’t get you out of it,” he teased, running a hand up your arm. You already knew you were in danger by the way he made you shiver, though you were ill prepared to be bested so soon when in a single, quick movement, he put his other hand on the back of your head, pulling you to the floor. After a gasp of surprise you saw him beaming down at you, impish and proud of the way he threw you off so easily. 

In the shock you had grabbed ahold of his arm, which you now hit lightly, trying to scowl. However, your efforts to do so had very likely failed if the lack of effect it had on him was any indication. So, you raised your eyebrows instead, taking on his roguish smirk. “Doing that won’t help, Jamie.”

He leaned down to kiss you then, a little harder than normal, spurred on by the previous hours of low stakes debauchery and, more notably, the nickname. After a moment you pulled away to laugh, though he didn’t let it go on for long, capturing your lips once again. You were growing giddy, the cool air doing little against the fever in your chest. 

“Unfair,” you mumbled against him, your arms winding round his neck. 

You felt him smile, kissing the corner of your mouth as he spoke, “I know.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Notes: (theres a lot of notes today lol) Super sorry this took forever to put out, stuff has been insane lately. also sorry this had barely any James :( Also, I'm very much aware that someone born and raised anywhere in the uk would not call anyone sister, howeverrrrrr I’m gonna justify Sirius saying it by headcanoning that he saw star wars with the guys over their winter holiday (I checked! the uk release was in late december of 77 lol) and he heard han solo say it and now he’s taken it up as His Own. no one can stop me!

*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*⑅୨୧*

Mary came to see you at some point hat evening, though you hardly made for good company despite your efforts at the contrary. You asked about her boyfriend, Mavors, though you knew the only thing she wanted to talk about was the insanity of the day before. She gave you a very brief account of his success with their most recent Herbology project, obviously holding back more burning questions when she asked how you were feeling. You told her you felt perfectly fine, though someone would have to be thick to believe you. She returned to her dormitory after a few sweet words, saying how the house was going to brag about you for the next decade or more, leaving you feeling even more guilty over your rudeness. 

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

“You don’t have to,” Marlene said when you emerged from the lavatory the following morning, speaking of going to the Great Hall. 

You tossed your pajamas in the hamper, not meeting her eye. “I know…I want to see James.”

Really, you wanted to convince him to go with you to Quattlebaum straight after breakfast, fearing that if reason did not reach him soon, he would be forever stuck in his foolish opinion. You hoped that over the course of the night he saw through some of his ridiculousness, though even if this was not the case, you were prepared to not take no for an answer. 

When you came down, you saw the guys tucked in the back of the common room at a study table, James staring intently at the wooden top. Remus elbowed him, nodding towards you and your dormmates where you stood awkwardly at the base of the stairs. It seemed as though they had forced him to wait, for he begrudgingly stood, following the others over to you. He offered such a miserable smile that you could only do the same, wondering to yourself if he got any sleep at all. 

“Morning,” Lily said to no one in particular, though she only received mumbles in reply. 

You were later to breakfast than usual, meaning that there were far less inquisitive stares than usual due to the corridors being so sparsely populated, though James’s demeanor only made the ones that did occur all the more keen. It was an uncommon sight to see him so down, especially since he should have been riding the high of his attention-grabbing performance out on the lawn a few days prior. 

He walked a bit in front of you, separated from you by Peter and Lily, his posture poor and sulking. You were watching him with a frown as he pushed open the door to the Great Hall, though you only had a few seconds more to focus on his moping before the cheers began. 

Your heart lurched at the noise, erupting like a cannon blast from the Gryffindor table. It rolled out in a wave, most of your house coming to stand in a matter of seconds, clapping their hands and cupping around their mouths as they shouted. Students tapped their silverware against their glasses and stomped their feet, creating a cacophony of rhythmless clatter. You saw Maxwell Thomas stand on the bench, whooping and hollering like he did during quidditch matches. From somewhere in the thick of the mayhem someone cast a burst of red and gold streamers into the air, followed closely by sparks and then a round of confetti, shooting up towards the sunny ceiling before they fluttered back down like autumn leaves. Some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs joined in on the synchronized chorus of your name, filling the vast expanse of the Hall.

Professor Sinistra stood from her seat at the high table with her wand pointed in the air, the confetti suddenly gone. She pressed the tip to her throat and spoke, her voice echoing throughout the room, “Enough!”

The noise ceased, Maxwell standing lamely on the bench, glancing around in confusion before hopping down. Most of the Gryffindors stood in a suspended moment of shock before taking their seats, still murmuring amongst themselves. 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, your body still rigid. The entire room was watching you—nearly every student at Hogwarts, all at once. Marlene put a hand on your back, though you couldn’t look her way, your gaze darting madly across the Hall. The hushed voices of the student body blurred together into a single, neverending drone, buzzing in your ears. After a beat you took a step forward, the others following suit towards the table. You sat near the end, hunched forward as if you could somehow shield yourself from their eyes. 

Conversion began again at its normal volume, a familiar melody that didn’t set your nerves so on edge. A bit down the table, a group of younger Gryffindor’s continued to look your way, prompting a glare from James. They turned away at once, ducking their heads until he went to make up his plate. You didn’t have the mind to scold him, barely able to bring yourself to pour a cup of tea. 

“Think any of those cheers were for me?” Sirius asked, causing Remus to smack the back of his head. “Ow!” He rubbed where Remus had hit, scowling as he ripped a piece of toast out of the rack. 

Marlene rolled her eyes. “We’ll get you a cake on our next trip to Hogsmeade.”

“Oh, about that,” Lily said, cringing. “There won’t be another trip to Hogsmeade, not for the rest of the year.”

“What?” 

“They said it would be too dangerous,” said Remus, dropping a few too many sugars into his mug. It was getting close to the full moon, you remembered. Someone would have to sneak into Honeydukes to get him some sweets, that’s if Dorcas didn’t have enough in her stockpile. 

“Who is ‘they’?” Marlene asked, horrified by this revelation.

“Slughorn told us, but I’m assuming it came from Dumbledore,” Lily said. 

Marlene threw her arms down, her head nearly colliding with the table. “And when did he say this?”

“Yesterday evening during the Prefect’s meeting,” Lily answered, though this did little to appease her. 

Across from her, Dorcas leaned over to whisper, “They did have to smuggle Y/N out. Hogsmeade’s probably crawling with reporters, or worse.”

“Smuggle?” Peter said through a mouthful of cornflakes. James perked up as well, awakened from his ghostlike existence. 

“I’ll tell you guys later,” you said. “I shouldn’t say anything about it here.”

“You left Hogwarts?” James whispered, his jaw clenched. 

“I can’t tell you here,” you said, glancing behind you. “After breakfast I’ll tell you everything.”

He let out an aggravated sigh, growing restless. “Let’s just wrap something up and leave, then.”

“We have to wait for the owls,” Lily reminded him, her tone placating enough to get him to drop the subject.

James continued to stare at you as you ate, wound tight once again. You tried not to pay attention, formulating your plan to get him to see Quattlebaum as soon as possible. He wasn’t at the high table, though he almost never was on the weekends. While you couldn’t be sure he was awake, it would be nearly half past nine by the time you left breakfast by your guess, making it a rather safe bet he would be able to receive you even if you went straight from the Great Hall. You’d only have to hope he’d actually be in.

Halfway through eating you turned around at the sound of your name, finding Steve Zielinski standing behind you with a lopsided smile. 

“Oh, hey Steve.”

“Hey, Peter,” Steve said, knowing each of you from Divination. 

Peter nodded. “Hi.”

He then looked beside you at Marlene, who didn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She hadn’t yet taken him up on the date he asked her about months before, though she had been paying him a bit more attention as of late. 

He smiled a little wider, flicking his head to move his grown out fringe from his eyes. “Morning, Marlene.” 

“Morning,” she said, shyer than she usually was. Her gaze darted away, leaving Steve to return to his primary target of conversation. 

He didn’t seem to notice the weary look you were wearing, but if he did, it didn’t seem to affect his behavior, going on as if you were chipper as ever. “I just wanted to congratulate you, y’know. No one knew you were that good a dueler.”

You chuckled, realizing that you’d have to start getting used to taking more praise, at least within the foreseeable future. “Me neither.”

“They did you wrong in the paper—Sweeney’s a hack.”

Sweeney, you recalled, was the reporter who wrote the front page article detailing the event. 

“Well,” you began, still drawing a blank, “they write what sells, I guess.”

“Still, you were great,” he continued, pointing his thumb over his shoulder with a laugh. “There's a rumor going round that you got the Barnabus Finkley Prize. All the Ravenclaw’s are jealous. It’s the first time in years anyones won it. Everyone was figuring it’d be one of us.”

“Uh, yeah, that,” you said, wondering if there was a way you could deny having received it without lying, though you never even got the chance to think it over.

“Why’d you figure it’d be one of you,” James said with a mild sneer as he looked across the table at Steve.

You whipped around, your eyes wide at his total lack of manners. James’s impertinence was usually a different sort, directed at different kind of company. Steve Zielinski was Steve Zielinski, entirely harmless and easy-going. You shot him a glare, though you couldn’t be sure he caught it, his gaze still trained on your classmate. 

You looked at Steve in a way you hoped conveyed your apology, though he was rather taken aback, thrown so far off his track that he appeared to still be finding his way back on. 

“Oh, y’know, it’s just that Ravenclaw’s can get kind of competitive about stuff like that, s’all,” he replied, stumbling over his words. He glanced back down at you, his smile more nervous than genuine. “Well, congratulations on the prize. You deserve it.” He went to leave, throwing up a hand. “I’ll see you in class. Bye, Marlene.”

“See you, Steve. Thank you,” you called after him, spinning back around to shoot daggers at James. “What was that?”

“He was being a dick,” James said, pushing his food around his plate.

“He was being perfectly nice,” you scoffed. “You were the one being a dick. He just came to congratulate me.”

James huffed, throwing down his fork in a childish fit, though he didn’t counter. 

Remus sighed, side-eyeing James. “I know things are a bit of a disaster right now, but you have to cool it, mate.”

“A bit?” James said under his breath.

“You know how they are,” Sirius said with a laugh of general disapproval, pointing his spoon towards the Ravenclaw table. “Prizes are their bread and butter, and the Barnabus Finkley is their holy fucking grail. Half of them would fight a dozen trolls for that hunk of metal.”

“Enough of the slander,” Lily chided, frowning as she glanced between them. 

The second round of owls came through the double doors, swooping down to bring the post to those who weren’t present at the usual seven o’clock round. Just like always, a copy of the Daily Prophet was dropped into Lily and Remus’s laps, their bindings ripped open wildly. You leaned into Lily’s side to read the front page with bated breath, dreading the headline. 

MUCH STILL UNKNOWN OF ATTACK AT HOGWARTS: Minchum and Crouch to hold press conference Monday morning

You read over Lily’s shoulder, though there wasn’t much of note. James and Sirius’s names were still absent, as were Wilkes and Zephyr’s. So far, the only new information the press was able to gather was that there had been more than two people involved in the duel, that Dumbledore had extinguished the fiendfyre, and that you were the one to ultimately inhibit Mulciber. You assumed the cheers had been a product of reading the latter.

The rest concerned the political implications, which were many. The incident was both an embarrassment to Crouch, who had thus far been relentlessly pursuing Death Eaters using unprecedented methods of capture (or in some cases, assassination), and for the Minister of Magic, for obvious reasons. Minchum released a vague statement condemning the use of dark magic and congratulating the student, who he did not name, who was tactfully able to defend herself, pushing off saying anything further till Monday. You hardly cared about any of it, however, as long as they left you alone for the time being. 

“It’ll be old news in a week,” Marlene said, offering you a smile. 

You supposed she was right. News seemed to move so quickly these days, tragedy after tragedy piling up onto one another until nothing seemed shocking. It was only a matter of time before there would be another attack resulting in actual casualties, likely with the swirling green of the dark mark looming above the scene, taking all attention away from your duel, which would seem rather benign in comparison. 

“All right, the posts here. Let’s go,” James said, standing from the table. 

Dorcas made a noise of acute distress, though James didn’t respond, waiting for everyone to follow. She scarfed down a few more bites, Remus downing his tea, and Sirius grabbing a roll for the road. Dorcas continued to grumble over her breakfast being cut short as James stomped down the corridor towards an empty classroom, accepting her fate only when the door was closed behind her. 

You filled them in on your clandestine trip to Hogsmeade after Remus cast a silencing charm, good enough for a brief conversation. Peter was by far the most dumbfounded over Aberforth, going on about how he always assumed the Headmaster was an only child, or that all his relatives were dead. The entire time you were fidgety, leaning on a desk, getting up again, shoving your hands in and out of your pockets. Eventually you interrupted Sirius’s theory concerning the car, the part of your story that of most interest to him, no longer able to take the wait. 

“As intriguing as this all is—James, I need to talk to you.”

He looked at you, really looked at you for the first time that morning. You hadn’t realized how much he’d been hiding behind his glasses, staring at your forehead instead of your eyes. However, he didn’t let you dwell on it, uncrossing his arms to push through your loose circle. The others watched on in concern as you took a breath, moving to follow.  

“We’ll see you guys later,” he said, waiting for you to catch up before he opened the door. He let you out first, allowing you to lead him a few paces towards the Great Hall until he spoke. “I’m sorry I was a dick to Steve earlier, and to you,” he spoke softly, staring at his shoes. “Something about him just…”

You stopped him, the mission ahead putting you in a particularly forgiving mood, “Thanks. I get that everythings, well, y’know.”

“I’ll give ‘em some points or something, just to smooth it over,” James said, making no objection when you continued in the direction of the grand staircase.

You hummed, your heart beginning to beat a tad faster as you went up a flight to the first floor. You wondered why he hadn’t interrogated you at all as to where you were taking him, for any other classroom would have served your purpose of speaking to him alone perfectly well. It was only when you turned off into the fifth floor corridor did he acknowledge your poorly disguised plan.

“You could’ve said we were going to Quattlebaum.”

You glanced at his profile, remembering the days when this sort of look was the only one you would dare allow yourself to savor. Your chest grew heavy at the thought that it may return to just that: you and James, just friends. You’d never let it be exactly the way it was, you promised yourself, right there in the corridor. Whether he liked it or not, from now on you’d always look at him without a mask, your expression of heartbreak worn plainly and without compromise. When that burden lessened, a pain that became more bearable day by day, you’d gaze at him in poignant love, knowing that he had once cherished you so dearly that he gave up his happiness for nothing else in return but your wellbeing. You would never force him to be with you—not if it meant a lifetime of him torturing himself with worry and guilt, though you would never tell him that you no longer loved him, either. It would be a most egregious lie, worse than any one you’ve ever told before. So, there you both would be; you with your everlasting hope that James may see the affection in your smile and realize that he was wrong, and him, always putting space between you, believing that in his suffering he was doing the noble thing.

“I didn’t know if you’d agree to come,” you said, a dangerous question burning on your tongue. Are we still together—right now? You hated this state in between, not sure if you could still call him yours in the truest sense. 

“I didn’t think so either,” he said, studying the large, pastoral painting up ahead. It was of the Lake District, bright greens sloping down towards the blue water, purple mountains rising in the distance. A pair of sheep grazed by a low stone wall, stopping every minute or so to bleat. “But I figured that's what you wanted with me and, I don’t know…saying no to you is hard.”

You chuckled, though like all your laughter lately, it did not possess any real happiness. “I can never pull one on you, can I?”

“No,” he said, smiling weakly, “and you never will, so you should just stop trying.”

You shoved his side as you took a left into the west wing, terribly thankful that the west bridge was located on the third floor. Please, laugh. Please, be yourself again. He did, but barely, and you instantly regretted having tried. 

Once at the top of the West Tower, the stone staircase a bright white in the mid-morning sun, you went up the ladder first, throwing open the hatch and peeking inside the Divination classroom. You heard nothing, though you didn’t expect to, knowing Quattlebaum was likely in his quarters a storey above. You climbed inside, waving James in as you went over to the spiral staircase in the far corner of the classroom. You heard him close it behind you as you hurried up, the sound of music growing louder as you neared the heavy wooden door. You paused to read the sign hanging beneath the silver knocker, written in glimmering purple script: I am in.

After three knocks you the scratch of a needle having been abruptly taken from a record, and in no time at all Quattlebaum was flinging open the door, smiling widely at the sight of you. 

“Miss L/N! I didn’t expect to see you here. On a Saturday, no less. On a victory tour, perhaps?”

You weren’t sure if he meant it in jest or not, for it was always difficult to tell with him. Either way, you smiled politely, your eyes briefly drifting behind him. All you could see was a small drawing room covered in Turkish rugs, a sofa and wingback chair facing the windows. There were a dozen candelabras scattered all across various cabinets and tables, the faint smell of pipe tobacco billowing through the entryway. 

“Not quite,” you began, motioning down the steps. “James Potter is here, as well.” 

“Our honorable Head Boy,” he laughed, peeking down at him. “What do I owe this marvelous pleasure?”

“We’ve actually come to ask you about something, that is if you have the time.”

“Of course!” He clasped his hands for a moment before moving to step out of the doorway, gesturing for you to make the descent back into the classroom. “How does it feel to be the talk of the castle?”

You chuckled half-heartedly, glancing behind you when you took the final step. “I guess I’ll just have to get used to the attention.”

“Many of your classmates would enjoy it,” he said, the white feather adorning his blue tudor flat cap swaying like a thin ponytail against his shoulder. He smiled at your bashful shrug, turning to James with a genial look in his eye. “Mister Potter, how do you do this morning?”

James, still with a drowsy, glum disposition, made an effort at a greeting. “Well, thank you.”

“Please, sit,” said Quattlebaum, walking to his desk. He waved his wand, producing a second chair for James on the opposite side. “Now, what is it that you need to ask me about?”

You shared a nervous look with James, still hesitant where he sat like a horn in a library. When you turned back, Quattlebaum was waiting patiently, always with that same expression, as if he knew too much already. 

It took a great deal of time to recount your dreams and the various opinions you, James, and your friends had on the subject, though Quattlebaum did not interrupt once. He listened intently, sometimes nodding, often with a hand to his chin when James would cut in to argue his point further, obviously thinking you hadn’t done it enough justice. When you finished he sat for a moment, digesting your words. 

“Curious,” he said, still ruminating. “I see that the interpretation you submitted for the Ichthyomancy project was not a genuine effort.” 

You shrunk a bit, offering him a feeble look of apology. 

He waved his hand. “No matter, your grade remains. It is not the first time a student has concealed from me their personal readings. A certain degree of embarrassment is not uncommon, though I do wish you came to me with your dreams sooner. Such are not to be under appreciated.”

“As I’ve said, I was hoping you could assure James that they are not signs,” you began, your leg bouncing. “I know that only seer’s can make predictions or receive omens without intervention from the natural world, so it’s impossible they truly meant anything outside my own mind.”

“Your subconscious was a factor, yes,” he said, causing you to let out a breath of relief. “Though I am not sure I agree with you that your dreams do not contain a degree of prophecy.”

“Huh?”

Quattlebaum looked to James, taking no notice of your outburst. “You believe that Miss L/N’s dreams are prophetic?”

James frowned, his gaze flickering up from his lap. “Yes, professor.”

“You do realize this would mean she was gifted with the sight. A very rare gift, that is.”

You scoffed under your breath, slumping back in your chair. You couldn’t believe this was even being entertained, especially by Quattlebaum of all people. He knew better than anyone that you weren’t a seer. Why lead James on, you wondered, what was he getting at?

“I do,” James answered, glancing at you with a look of pained longing, paired with a subtle, profound amazement. You wanted him to look away, to change his expression to anything other than that. 

“I don’t,” you said, your anger beginning to boil. 

“Some of us are not great judges of our own character,” Quattlebaum said off-handed, though it was no less infuriating. 

You bit your tongue, your lips pressed in an attempt to keep you from chastising your professor. You’ve never seen Quattlebaum give out a detention before, though you were fairly certain you could earn one if you allowed yourself the freedom to do and say exactly what you wanted. 

“What do you think, then?” you asked, gritting your teeth.

“It’s entirely possible,” he said, letting out a laugh. “Most students of Divination begin their studies believing that they must be blessed with the gift of second sight, or hoping as much, only to find they are quite mistaken. You, however, have always been a startling realist. I hope I am not too far from truth when I venture to say you never once considered you may one day receive a prophecy?”

Your lack of reply was enough for him to continue, still with a small, knowing smile. “In my opinion, you may very well possess the sight, though you would be a stunted learner compared to your peers who have been working to hone their skills since the age of thirteen, some even before, if it is a family trait. Your dreams have many prophetic qualities…though they are quite weak. You see, the sight is like any other discipline. While connected to the art of Divination, it is nevertheless separate. It must be practiced, and even with the greatest efforts, some seer’s may not accomplish the sort of fantastic feats that others do through no fault of their own. You may be one such seer, whose sight will never be particularly strong—though I assure you that this should cause you no shame! Sight, as I have stated, is rare in and of itself.

“Now, for the question of its meaning. I’m afraid I’ll have to make only an educated guess. From what I know of you, and of the stars,” he paused, a twinkle in his eye as he looked to James, “I do not believe you are correct, Mister Potter, even if I can appreciate your reasoning. The mystery of symbology is just that—a thing which often escapes our every logical attempt to capture it. Our initial misinterpretations, rather than perfect rationale, often act as flickers of light to guide our way through the darkness and towards the truth.”

You glanced at James, seeing the tense pull of his shoulders relax just a fraction. Unused to the riddles in which Quattlebaum often spoke, he seemed to catch only enough to know that your professor didn’t think he was the cause of your suffering. 

“I don’t entirely understand, sir,” James said, furrowing his brows.  

Quattlebaum's smile was more enigmatic than ever, peculiar and lacking a certain seriousness one would expect from a conversation such as this. Just as it often was with him, you had little clue what he was about to say. 

“Your misinterpretation, or rather error, Mister Potter, was your belief that this dream was a sign that Y/N should not pursue you as a romantic partner, that she should separate herself from you. In that belief you revealed your guilt over your supposed involvement in the harm which very nearly came to her. You think it best you end your involvement in her life, that the universe has advised as much. Am I correct?” James nodded, and he went on, “This act of selflessness comes only in love. It cannot be born out of anything but, whether it be romantic, such as yourself, or the love for a friend, or of mankind, or any other strain—it always seems to me such a shame that the English language has so few words for it: love. Don’t you agree?”

Neither of you answered, though he didn’t seem to mind. 

“The meaning of it all being is that you’ve proven, entirely by accident, that you are willing to give up an immeasurable deal of happiness for her benefit. I have in all my years never witnessed an omen or prophecy alike which undermines true, selfless love. It seems as though it would be in contradiction to the prevailing good of nature. For all its destruction and rebirth, suffering and pleasure, love is supremely favored.”

You didn’t know what to think, unsure if you believed him or not. The thought of your love for one another being untouchable even in the eyes of the divine, or whatever phrase one may use to describe the unknown source of magic, made both perfect sense and none at all. Lovely as the idea was, it meant you had to believe you had the sight, which was almost as implausible as James’s belief that he was somehow a walking, talking bad luck machine.

“Love is always favored?” James asked warily. 

“As I have said, I have never before witnessed anything which refutes my statement. And, not to betray my age, but I have witnessed and received a fair few prophecies in my lifetime,” Quattlebaum replied with a small laugh. “Prophecies, in my experience, always and without exception favor it. Therefore, I find it impossible that the dreams could have been signs that the pair of you should separate from one another—That's if you are, or were, truly sincere in your saying that you would sever all romantic ties for her benefit.”

“I am—was,” James said at once.

Through your bewilderment you caught his quick correction. Was. Was, was, was. A word had never been so sweet. 

“There was much wisdom to be found in Miss Evans’ interpretation,” Quattlebaum continued, “though from what I know of her as a Diviner, she is one to look for the positive, even when things appear quite the opposite upon first glance. However, that is if these dreams were in fact prophecies…As much as I believe they could be, I am unable to make a definitive judgement. If they are not, if they are ordinary dreams, then they are simply a window into your subconscious. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So I can’t be right either way?” James asked.

Quattlebaum smiled. “Precisely.”

It seemed as though James was mulling over his own mess of thoughts, slowly turning to look at you in a daze. His lips were parted, making subtle movements as if to speak, though no words came out. 

“James?” you said carefully, worried he may never speak again unless prompted sooner rather than later. 

After a beat he began to smile, which soon turned into a grin of elation, beaming like sunlight. The abruptness of this change was startling, sending a nervous wave running through your veins despite the fact that he had never looked happier. After a second you felt the weight lifting, replaced by a certain sense of serenity. We’re still together. 

Quattlebaum laughed, abundantly entertained by his change in countenance. 

“Thank you, professor,” James said quickly, standing from his chair. He looked down at you expectantly, though like yesterday in the RoR, you found your legs unable to move. 

“Supremely favored?” you repeated, your mind looping back around once again, a new weight coming to replace the old. 

“Quite,” said Quattlebaum, standing as well. “Would you two like a cup of tea? I don’t know about you, but I always get a bit sluggish when the moon is in Scorpio.”

“No, thank you,” James answered, still staring at you. 

Quattlebaum went over to his cupboard, taking out a pot and a cup and saucer. “Are you sure? It’s a lovely oolong.”

“I’m sure,” James said. 

You said his name again, feeling rather childish still sitting in your chair. “What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that this is bloody fantastic—excuse me, professor.”

“No harm,” Quattlebaum said with a chuckle, paying neither of you any mind as he went about fixing his tea. 

“But you think,” you stuttered. “You think I have the sight?”

“Of course, I do,” he said, his voice rising in exultation only found in the truly, undeniably happy. 

“But that’s ridiculous,” you said, glancing back at your professor. “I don’t care if I’m stunted, it still wouldn’t have taken me this long to realize I have it.”

“Well,” Quattlebaum began, “that is not a definitive statement, necessarily. Wesley Finkle did not observe his first true prophecy until he was nearly seventeen, and he became a very powerful seer in his own right, as you well know. If you possess half his natural talent, it’s no great conundrum that you lag a few years behind, especially given your resistance to the possibility you may be gifted at all.” He waved his wand and heated the water in the pot, the steeping tea filling the room with its fragrance. “Mister Potter seems to have no trouble in believing it.”

“He is also not a good judge of character when it comes to me,” you said, earning a scoff from James. 

“It is not my place to convince you,” Quattlebaum said, speaking uncharacteristically frank, “though two against one is a precarious place to be.”

Your ability to stand was suddenly regained, perhaps because the classroom, which was always such a cozy place, seemed to be closing in all around you. You grabbed James’s hand, pulling him towards the hatch. 

“Thanks again, professor!” you called, a bit too sarcastic to be polite. 

“It was no bother, no bother at all,” he said back, clearly rather pleased with himself. You didn’t think he even caught your tone, or if he had, he’d thought nothing of it. 

“Oh,” James said, stopping abruptly. “Professor?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind keeping us a secret? We’re worried that if Wil—”

“Certainly,” Quattlebaum said, something warm making its way into his expression. “Congratulations on your triumphs, each of you, and on your love. It is a special thing, indeed.”

You threw open the hatch, not saying a thing as you climbed down. James shared another few words with him before following you, practically skipping down the staircase. You crossed your arms once you made it to the bottom, your teeth grinding. 

“I owe you,” James said, bouncing on his toes. “Anything you want, I promise.”

“This is a sour win,” you mumbled, shaking your head to yourself. “You don’t owe me anything. Just forget about it.”

He grabbed your shoulders, still grinning. “How can you be upset right now?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t have the sight, James. Quattlebaum really is a crackpot.”

“You do, but you don’t have to believe it, not if you don’t want to. You should, though,” he teased, letting you go when your surly face remained. “Now I see why you were so livid. This is awful. Why are you so miffed about this? I’m sorry about not believing you, I really am. I was an idiot, a buffoon. I can see I was a little dramatic—” 

You scoffed. “Yeah.”

“Don’t make me take my favor away,” he warned playfully, trying to cheer you up. 

It worked for a moment, a smile peeking out on your face before you remembered why you were so upset. You felt as if you’d experienced a whole lifetime worth of emotions within the last forty-eight hours. You were beginning to crash, your heart beating far too fast, the wide open corridor feeling much hotter than you knew it to be. You rubbed your sweaty palms on your trousers, trying to will your head not to grow light. 

James said your name, though it sounded strange, like flipping through radio stations. He put a hand onto your cheek, his skin cool against yours. 

“C’mon, let’s go to Poppy’s. You’re burning up,” he said, his frantics poorly concealed.

“No,” you said, coming back to the world. “No. I want to go outside or something.”

He sighed, moving to lead you down the corridor. “Okay.”

You didn’t pay attention to where he took you, only realizing where you were when you smelt the fresh air, the breeze utterly splendid on your burning skin. You were in one of the cloisters along the northern courtyard, only a few students sitting in the grass. This part of the castle was never too busy, leaving you to take your place on the low stone wall in peace. The vaulted ceilings rose above you, the geometric pattern perfect, each curve exactly alike. You wondered how muggles ever build something like that without magic, though you had seen enough to know that it was quite commonplace. 

“What’re you thinking about?” James asked, standing in front of you in the shade. 

“The ceiling,” you said monotonously. 

He let out a breath through his nose, smiling softly. “What about it?”

“I’m wondering how muggles ever manage to build them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

James strolled around to sit next to you, leaning forward to look at your face. “Do you want anything? We can go to the kitchens.”

You shook your head, craned up again. “No. I’m okay.”

You could no longer hear the blood rushing past your ears, your false fever lessening. There was still a despicable feeling in your stomach, a fist kneading somewhere deep inside, taunting you. 

You twisted around when you caught a whiff of cigarette smoke blowing in from the courtyard, groaning when you realized you had none on you. You stood, somehow forgetting all the inhibitions which once had you tethered, moving into territory more known to James than yourself. 

“I’m gonna go see if I can bum a smoke,” you explained, hopping over the wall.

James didn’t follow, watching as you walked up to a few Ravenclaws talking quietly in the grass. They, too, stared as you jogged over, their eyes a little wider than before. You looked at the one smoking, though you didn’t know her. She must have been a few years below you, too far removed to you to be acquainted. 

“Hey,” you said, still rather flat in affect. “I was wondering if I could bum one?”

She stammered, her eyes locked on yours, “Yeah, sure.” She hesitated for a second too long, putting the cigarette between her lips to dig around in her bag. She took one from the pack and handed it up to you, still a bit flabbergasted. 

“Thanks,” you said, trying your best to give her a thankful smile. When you appeared back beside James you had already lit it, feeling halfway normal again. 

“Better?”

“Loads,” you sighed, taking a drag. At that moment you were infinitely thankful that nearly every professor or employee alike would let you smoke in the courtyards, and the two who were vehemently opposed, McGonagall and Filch, were not likely to be here this time of day. 

You held it up for him but he shook his head, his expression too affectionate to look at long, lest it make you mad with equal endearment. 

“With the day you’ve had, it’d feel like I was stealing from the blind.” 

“You’re real clever,” you droned, your smile betraying you. 

“Can’t help it,” he said, pushing the back of your head in the waggish way you were used to. “It’s in my nature.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Notes: PROFESSOR Quattlebaum?? 🙅 NO! certified couples therapist 💯🔥

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Marlene smiled at Dorcas’ torment, putting her books back on her desk. “We thought we’d all go to the RoR. Lily and Remus’ll meet us there after class.”

You figured they’d want to meet up properly sooner rather than later, only hoping they’d already gone over enough of yours and James’s timeline to satisfy their curiosity for the time being. 

You found James, Peter, and Sirius at the base of the stairs, James leaning against the wall as he tried to peer around the corner, awaiting your arrival. He beamed when he saw you, though he didn’t touch you when you made it down the final step, his left hand digging into the joint where the strap met his bag, his knuckles nearly white. You considered that this might almost be worse for him, having his best friends know and not being able to push it farther. Before, he was fairly well contained, having little leeway in terms of public affection. Now with six people knowing about you two, it may be more like a tease than a gift. You could only imagine the ambivalence of his mind, pulled between his intense desire to keep you safe and his equally passionate impulse to tell everyone he meets how in love he is. 

“You’re the worst actor in the world,” Marlene said upon seeing him.

James shot her a half-hearted scowl, calming himself when he turned back to you. “C’mon,” he said, smiling in a far more subtle way than before, an acknowledgment of the fragility of your arrangement. “They tell you where we’re going?”

You laughed, the sound somehow both feeble and light. “Yeah. Where else would we be going?”

“Smartarse,” he mumbled, some of that blinding brightness that he so often possessed peeking through his former pessimism, enough to satisfy your hope that he may forget the Prophet and bask in the knowledge that Mulciber was buried somewhere in the Ministry, awaiting trial. 

You barely sat down in one of the chairs when Dorcas pounced, leaving Peter’s face beet red despite the question having nothing to do with him. 

“So, when’s the wedding?”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let yourself shrink away like a wilting flower. You wouldn’t dare a single glance at James, who was sitting right beside you on the settee. “A little early to be asking that, don’t you think?”

She laughed, looking over at Sirius. “Black, did James ever say anything about his great-grandmother's ri—”

“I’ll put you on laps for a week!” James said rather abruptly, shooting to sit straight up in his seat. You weren’t sure who he was addressing, though it seemed to have the desired effect on both. Sirius’s countenance was largely unbothered, his brows raising with a lazy shrug of compliance. Dorcas made a face of comical surprise at his outburst, her smirk gone. 

You fidgeted, waiting for the awkwardness to settle. When it did, you made a poorly planned joke, though it was all you could think to do to save some semblance of comfort for yourself, and for Peter. “You know, most people consider those kinds of questions rude.”

“Most people find their friend hiding the fact they have a boyfriend rude,” Dorcas began, her look of mischief returning, “but I’ll forgive you. I’d hide the fact I was dating Potter, too.”

James scoffed, nodding towards her. “I’m serious about the laps.”

“Have you ever heard the word ‘mutiny’?”

“This is so stupid,” Marlene sighed, looking at Dorcas in disappointment. “I don’t know why she’s so curious, I told her everything—”

“Everything?” you all but shrieked, straightening the same way James had. 

Marlene’s mouth opened, mild fear crossing her features. “Oh, no,” she stuttered, “not everything—”

Sirius barked, half doubled in his chair. His hair fell into his face, rosy with laughter, his shoulders shaking as he stared at the scene before him. James glared at him, though unlike usual, it appeared entirely genuine. 

“Padfoot,” Peter uttered, shoving Sirius’s side as his eyes darted nervously between him and James. 

“Sorry,” Sirius said, his howls fading. He threw his arm over Peter’s shoulder, gazing at you and James the way an artist looks at a completed sculpture, admiring the craftsmanship of his work. “Wormtail, prepare yourself for the last month and a half of my life.”

“Padfoot, you blue-eyed prat,” James said, leaning forward and pointing at Sirius with steely, narrowed eyes, “no one needs any of your shite right now.”

Sirius was unaffected, snorting at James’s fuming expression. “A little fucking testy, I see.”

James’s cheeks went pink, his mouth twisting. “Stop being a dick,” he snapped. “You’re embarrassing yourself.” Sirius let out a wild laugh, seeming to enjoy James’s anger far more than James was enjoying slandering his friend. “You’ve got a head like a fucking kettle,” James huffed, sitting back. 

“What does that even mean?” 

“It’s thick and hollow. Only proves my point you had to ask.”

Peter recoiled as if James was talking to him, Dorcas trying to stifle a giggle at the spat unfolding like an amateur production of a Greek comedy. Marlene was frozen in place, somewhere between amused and horrified.  

You checked your wristwatch, grumbling, “When’s second period let out?”

Peter decided to skive off History of Magic, though it was largely inconsequential whether one attended or not, (other than the effect it would have on your N.E.W.T. grade), given that it was a miracle Professor Binns ever noticed any of his students at all. When Lily and Remus came to the RoR, Lily questioned him on the subject, though she could hardly disapprove of his answer. Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

By this time, James and Sirius had stopped hurling insults at one another and made up. Neither said a thing about their spat, and it was Dorcas who brought it up to your new additions, cackling as she threw herself over the armchair to look at Remus. 

“Potter called Black a kettle. It was brilliant.”

Remus hummed, a nearly unnoticeable smirk making its way onto his lips as he glanced between the two. “A pot calling the kettle black,” he said, as if it were merely an impartial observation. 

Even more violently than before, Sirius flew forward, his hands to his knees as he convulsed in a fit of roaring laughter, his glee in stark contrast to the glower now plastered onto James’s face. Peter was letting out short, barely concealed snorts, the others laughing along with less enthusiasm than Sirius, though it was admittedly a difficult force to match. You knocked James with your shoulder, offering him a smile of both amusement and sympathy, unable to stop yourself from appreciating the extraordinary nature of the phrasing. Remus, as always, was a master. 

James’s sour look lessened upon seeing your face, his eyes drifting to the ceiling in passive annoyance as the giggles began to cease. “Very clever,” he said to Remus, his voice flat, “but we have shit to talk about.”

The room fell silent, all eyes looking to you and him. You hardly knew what to bring up first, though Sirius beat you to it.

“Are you lovebirds keeping this thing a secret, or can we start complaining to people outside this room?” 

“I don’t know,” you said, glancing at James. “We only talked about it a bit last night.”

“James filled us in,” Lily said. “I think it might be a good idea, just to be safe.”

Dorcas shrugged. “I’m not sure it’ll matter that much. Mulciber isn’t here anymore, and Wilkes and Zephyr are on the run. They seemed to be the main players.”

“There's others,” James said. “There's no real way of knowing, but there has to be more people in our year who are involved—and we know there are sixth years, too, because of Regulus.”

Sirius ran his tongue over his teeth, returning to the same look he had this morning. “He’s close with Evan Rosier,” he said, still a bit far off, “and Avery, too. Snivellus is in with them all, but I guess he’s a toss up these days.”

You could see Lily sigh, clearly displeased at the use of the nickname. 

“Sirius,” you said, raising your brows. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. 

“Why don’t we just vote on it?” you suggested. You could tell if James wasn’t very supportive of this idea, though he didn’t argue. “All right, all in favor of keeping me and James a secret, raise your hand.”

James put up his at once, Peter not long after. Lily seemed to think it over, raising her hand after a few seconds, followed by Remus. You hesitated, eventually raising your own, thus closing the vote. 

“That settles it, then,” you said. You looked at James, knowing this must be killing him, even if he did vote 'yes'. “I’m sorry. I know you’re sick of hiding it.”

He smiled, a clear ploy to reassure you. “That doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

You nodded, trying to remember that things would feel infinitely better now that all your friends knew, saving you from hours of sneaking around and dozens of lies and half-truths to keep track of. 

You took a breath, licking your lips in preparation for a long, arduous talk. “So, I guess we should talk about what happened. Did James tell you everything already?” There were a few nods, and you continued, “Did he tell you about the fish?”

All you received now were puzzled looks, Marlene glancing at Lily as if she held some answers, though there were none to be found. “Do you mean the fish?” 

“Yeah, the fish,” you said, going on to tell them the whole story over again, including the crow, as well. After your explanation of what you believed it all meant, you were met with a moment of charged silence, slightly uncomfortable like a bath gone cold. 

“It’s all come true, then,” Lily said. “Of course the red and purple fish has, but it seems like the eight orange ones—joy—must be James.”

“That’s what I think, as well. I put the pink ones, heartache, as me worrying over telling you,” you said, ignoring your burning ears.

“Your dream,” Lily began again, pensive as she stared at the floor, “it’s so odd.”

You furrowed your brows. “What d’you mean?”

“It’s such an excellent parallel, when you think about it. You run to the lake, a crow flies just above you and picks up the fish. During the duel, a crow flew above you right before you jumped into the lake.”

Not this again. Your friends' unyielding confidence in your Divination abilities was flattering, though you wished they’d stop putting so much weight into the nonsense your subconscious came up with when you were asleep. 

“It never picked up the fish, though, and the fish was very much alive the last time I saw it,” you argued. 

“Wait— remind me again what happens in your dream,” Sirius said, his hand rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

You went into an account, explaining the differences between the two. “So, the second time I had it, it felt even more like the figure knew me, that they could see me very clearly. The crow also dropped the fish at my feet, which was new, and even though its eyes were white, it was still trying to breathe. I think I know what the figure means, but the fish…I’m not so sure.”

“What about the figure?” Lily asked. 

You had thought about it briefly the night before and more during the hour you spent alone in your room this morning. You weren’t certain that your hunch was correct, though you couldn’t think of another explanation given the facts currently at hand. Perhaps a few weeks from now some event would prove your theory incorrect, though in the meantime, you had to work with what you got. 

“I think it’s James,” your voice was softer than intended, laced with a tinge of embarrassment. You knew that if it were James instead of yourself, he’d feel no sense of humiliation for having strange dreams where you acted as a mysterious subject. But it's James, you reasoned, he hardly gets embarrassed over anything.

You felt James’s eyes on the side of your face, and when you turned to look at him you couldn’t quite make out what he was thinking. 

“I think that makes sense,” Remus said after a beat of contemplative silence. 

“I do, too,” said Marlene.

Lily nodded along, biting her lip. “You were never able to get to the figure in your dream, right?”

You shook your head. “No, I wasn’t.”

“But you were able to get to James yesterday,” she continued, still thoughtful. 

“The dream isn’t a prophecy,” you said, glancing over at James once more. A sense of calm washed over you at the sight of his face, a face that felt more familiar than all others and in which you could find no faults. You couldn’t recall when exactly you came to see him this way, though you now couldn’t picture someone more lovely. “It’s just my subconscious, a collection of my worries about the omens and my feelings for James. The first time I had the dream the figure felt familiar. I wanted to run to them for help, but the second time, the feeling was stronger. Way stronger. The urge to run to them was almost overpowering, and more than ever I was sure that they—I don’t know—saw into my soul,” you faltered a bit, reminding yourself that your friends already knew, that you no longer had to hide the way you felt about him. Still, it felt too revealing, like sharing a piece of your innermost psyche. You supposed there was no way out of it now. “That’s not really the right word, soul, but I can’t think of another right now,” you went on. “The point is, the dream doesn’t have to make sense, or even have a meaning beyond what I already told you.”

“What about the crow, then, and seeing the fish?” Dorcas asked. “Sure, the James thing didn’t come true, but Lily’s right. The whole thing reeks.”

“Of what, tripe and onions?” Sirius snorted.

“Shut it,” Lily huffed, glaring at him for a half-second. “Obviously, I’m in agreement with Dorcas. It all just seems a little too perfect to be coincidence.”

You rubbed down your cheeks, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Sometimes coincidences seem perfect,” you said, lifting your face.

“And sometimes they’re not coincidences,” James said, his voice very flat, as if he had no real feelings on the subject despite his comment.

“Not you, too,” you groaned, pleading as you looked at him. What you found was a peculiar expression, only a hair away from melancholy. You dropped your look of frustration, staring at him with a pit in your stomach. “James?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes, dazed where he sat beside you. 

“James?” you asked again, to no avail. 

“Prongs?” Remus said in the same horrified concern. James’s gaze flickered to his, his mouth parting. 

He finally turned to you, his brows pinched in an agonizing sorrow. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, weak and broken. “I shouldn’t have—I can’t believe I got you into this.”

Your throat tightened, not knowing what he could possibly be apologizing for. “What’re you talking about? What did you get me into?”

“Everything!” He grabbed your shoulder, his hand coming to cup your cheek, brushing just under your eye with his thumb. “Your dream was an omen, it had to be, and I was in it,” his words strained against one another, brutal and dragging. He took his hand away, rubbing down your arm all the way to your wrists. 

You were silent, entirely still and unable to speak. Sirius stood up, though he did not take a single step. You could hardly pay attention to anything other than James, whose eyes were wretched, his entire being taken up in a storm of crestfallen sadness. 

“I was the figure you were trying to get to. I knew you in your dream. I saw you and I led you towards the lake, towards the crow and the fish and all the awful shit that—Merlin, don’t you understand?” He stared at you desperately, though you were still too confused, too slow to catch his meaning. 

Lily made a small noise almost like a gasp, moving forward in her chair. “James, no.”

James glanced at her, resolute. “Yes.”

“I don’t,” you stumbled, finally finding your voice. “I don’t get it. What do you mean you led me?”

“In your dream I wouldn’t come to you. I forced you to follow me. I broke my promise,” he choked, his head making short, quivering shakes, so unlike himself. “I said I would always come to you if you called me, and I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t, but I’m sorry…I’m sorry.”

“It was a dream,” you said, trying to console him. “You’re not in control of my dreams. You couldn’t possibly have known.” You reached for his face but he pushed away your hand, carefully bringing it back to your lap. 

“It was a prophecy, and it said that I would lead you towards danger, towards the bad luck and the loss of innocence, and it’s true. I’m the reason Mulciber wants you dead. Me.”

Sirius moved, standing above James, stunned and unsure. “Prongs, you didn’t lead her to—”

“Why does Mulciber want her dead?” James asked sharply, his mouth pressed into a harsh line as he stared up at him. 

Sirius met his eyes, though he didn’t answer. You watched their wordless challenge unfold, the standoff breaking when James looked back to you, his body rigid and his features still painted with distraught. 

“Your dream was a warning,” he spoke gravely, enough to break your heart a thousand times over, each crack worse than the last. “It was a warning not to follow me.”

You felt your chest twist. “That’s impossible.”

“She’s right, James,” Lily said. “Why would anything want to—”

“Because Mulciber saw the way I looked at her,” James said, no longer facing you. “He saw the way she looked at me, even before we realized it. He knew I was in love with her, and he was smart enough to realize that hurting her would be worse than killing me. If he had gotten her to—Godric, Lily, I’d rather have died,” he stopped, standing up to pace around the back of the settee. He stood a few meters away, his back turned as he continued to speak, no one daring to interrupt him, “Whatever it was, whatever the reason is that Divination works, it was trying to tell her not to follow me, because it knew that it would make Mulciber target her, and we saw how that fucking mess turned out.” 

He glanced back, just enough to see you. “I should’ve never kissed you, Y/N. I’m sorry.” He looked away again, ripping his gaze from yours in a way that almost felt cruel.

You suddenly felt very heavy, seeming to sink into the cushions of the settee deeper and deeper until soon you would fall straight through the floor, ending up in the middle of some classroom. You were thankful for Sirius, following James to place a hand on his back.

“That’s a load of shite and you know it.”

Lily said his name, though he did not turn. “We need to talk this through.”

“What’s there to talk about?” James mumbled. 

“This isn’t like you thinking that The Hobbit was a true story,” Remus began. “We can’t just let you go on believing it without discussing it first.”

James let out a bitter laugh, finally spinning around. “Great time to bring that up. I was eleven.”

“Couldn’t help it,” said Remus with no humor, his brows raised expectantly. 

You were holding the back of the settee like the gunwale of a boat, feeling as if it were impossible to leave its confines lest you drown in the depths below. “Jamie?”

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered, seeming so small, a shell of who he was a half an hour ago. 

“I’ll call you whatever I like,” you tried to make yourself sound stronger than you felt, though you knew it was a useless endeavor. He would always be able to see through it. “Please come and sit. I want you to.”

He swallowed, contemplating your request for a beat before complying, still reluctant as he took his seat beside you. You wanted to stroke his hair, to take him into your arms and kiss his cheeks, though you did not. It was worse than keeping your hand in a lick of flames or a basin of ice water, fighting your reflexes, forcing yourself to endure the pain for what seemed like no good reason. 

Sirius sat back in his chair, appearing as if he’d been holding his breath for an indeterminate period of time, long enough to make his chest shudder. 

“All right,” Lily began, even and calm. “You think that the universe, or magic, or whatever we’re calling the thing that gives seer’s their sight was showing Y/N that you would lead her towards danger, in this case it being the fulfillment of her negative omens, which then happened to be Mulciber?”

James nodded, scratching his forehead. “Yeah, that's it.”

Lily continued, “Okay, but what about the fact that you helped save her?”

“She wouldn’t have needed help if it weren’t for me,” he said, filled with an obvious self loathing.

“You don’t know that,” you said. “Mulciber thought we were together before we got together. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference if we started dating or not. He already had it in his head.”

“It must have been different,” James said, tilting his head as if it were all plainly obvious. “I had to have acted differently. After that night, after we—you were all I thought about. Guys—” He turned to the others. “I was different, right?”

A hesitance drifted over them, a vague unsurety. Marlene’s eyes darted to Dorcas, then to Sirius. 

“I know that I knew before yesterday,” she said, “but I don’t think you were much different.”

“Me either,” Peter agreed. 

“You always looked at her a certain way. It’s not surprising Mulciber thought you two were a couple,” said Remus, much to James’s chagrin.

“Then why were you all so surprised?” James asked, growing short with the lack of support. 

Sirius chewed on his thumb nail, his foot tapping on the floor. Peter was much the same, timid and unwilling to answer. 

“James,” Lily sighed with a small, sad smile. “You’ve been looking at her that way for so long that it became normal. There was no reason for us to think that a month and a half ago you suddenly acted on it.”

“I don’t see how it can be any other way,” he said, more biting as he was backed further into a corner, the sole defender of his theory. “If the dream wasn’t trying to tell her I was leading her towards danger, then what the fuck did it mean?”

You shook your head, wanting to scream. “Nothing. It was just a dream.”

“For argument's sake, lets just assume—”

“No,” you interrupted, scowling at him. “Not ‘for argument’s sake’, because for argument’s sake means I have to consider the fact that the universe doesn’t want us to be together, which is completely, utterly impossible. I’m not going to—I won’t even entertain it, okay? It’s an impossibility.”

He was silent for a moment, as was everyone else, something heavy settling all around you like dust after an explosion. You felt your heart pounding against your ribs, your face hot with outrage over the very idea that somehow, someway, you and James were not meant to be together. You were filled with the desire to hex the person who would come up with such an insulting, objectionable statement, though you soon realized it was James who had floated the idea, and you held back your wand. 

“Mulciber’s gone now,” said Sirius, breaking the silence with a careful, calculated tone. “Even if you did lead her towards him, the omens are over with. They’ve been fulfilled, or whatever.”

“I think we can all agree that Mulciber was going to attack me whether James and I got together or not,” you said with a great conviction, surveying the others. James was the only one who seemed to disagree. “Good. Now, James.” You met his eyes, stern and unwavering. “The only reason I’m not in St Mungo’s right now, or in the ground, is because of you and Sirius. You spent weeks teaching me how to duel, so many hours I can’t even begin to count. Do you seriously think I could’ve fought him off the way I was a few months ago?”

“That's not the point.”

“It is. And when I was in the lake, you and Sirius were the ones to help me fight off Mulciber. There's no way of knowing what would’ve happened if you two weren’t there, but it’s not as if you made things worse,” you paused, somehow finding it within yourself to smile. “Face it, James, you’re the reason I’m alive. Mulciber would’ve come after me either way, and without you I would’ve been using the Jelly-Legs Jinx on him. Just ask Sirius.”

The man in question grimaced. “It's true.”

You grabbed his hand, and he let you, watching you trace a vein over his knuckles. “If anything, just for argument’s sake, the dream meant that I should follow you, because if I follow you to the omens, I’ll be okay.”

He sighed deeply, barely audible, “I don’t know…”

“You could ask Quattlebaum,” Peter suggested.

You nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I think it might be a good idea,” Lily began. “He might have better insight into this sort of thing. Well, he definitely will.”

“Just my two sickles,” Dorcas said to James, “but I don’t think the universe was telling her not to follow you.”

You were still playing with his fingers, happy he was letting you. Beneath the strength you mustered to argue, you were terrified that he may never listen to reason, that he would be deaf to your pleas and chose to believe what you deemed impossible. Even worse, you were afraid he would walk away, not because he didn’t love you, but because he did. 

“Could we be alone?” you asked, looking up. 

“Of course,” Lily said, immediately standing. The others soon followed, lingering in a mass of awkward worry. “We’ll be in the common room.”

“Okay,” you said, though James was notably silent, still staring at his lap.

When they were gone you brushed your fingers through his hair, smoothing it down behind his ear. You bent so you could meet his eyes, overtaken by heartache, wondering how you were going to convince him he was wrong.

“I love you,” you said, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough, though he ought to hear it anyway. 

“I know,” he murmured. “I love you, too.”

“Isn’t that everything? What’s there for the universe to object to?”

“You can love something that's bad for you,” he said, still as low as before. 

You kissed his hairline, pressing your cheek against his forehead as you held him. “Don’t be silly.” You pulled away, feeling your eyes begin to well. In a moment of weakness you kissed his lips, though he hardly kissed you back, just enough for it to count. 

“Please,” he rasped, grabbing your arm. “Don't kiss me.”

“Are you saying that because you don’t want me to, or because you think I shouldn’t?” you asked, your brows raising.

“You know why.”

You put your hand on the nape of his neck, sliding it up into his hair and along his jaw. “If I asked you to kiss me, would you?”

He looked shattered, though it didn’t stop the selfish swell in your chest upon his answer. “I think I’d do just about anything you asked me.”

“I promise not to abuse that,” you said with a weak smile that dropped soon after, “but I will just this once. Believe me. Believe me when I tell you my dream didn’t mean what you think it did.”

He crumbled, bending forward until his head pressed against you, falling into a heap upon your lap. You felt him tremble, his shoulders shaking with silent, tearless cries. Without thinking you folded yourself over him, capturing him in a somber embrace. You whispered his name over and over, kissing his grey jacket, though for a long while he didn’t speak at all, his shivers dying into motionlessness. He held onto your shirt, curled as close to you as the settee would allow. 

“Please don’t do this to yourself, James,” you begged. “Don’t spoil everything once it’s just gotten perfect.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice crackled, the sound muffled by your clothes. He began to sit up, so you let him go, staring at his mused hair and straightening his crooked glasses. 

“Don’t say that. You don’t have to be sorry about anything.”

He swallowed, looking at you as if you were already lost to him, irretrievable. “Yes, I do. I’ve always—I knew I was the reason you had gotten hurt. It’s been killing me since yesterday. But now…I’m even worse than I thought I was, and I’m putting it all on you. If I were a better person, I’d leave.”

“Well, thank Godric you aren’t.” A tear slipped from his eye, running down his reddened cheek. You wiped it away, leaning closer to him. “I don’t care what the universe says, or what you think it’s saying. I love you and that’s all that matters. That’s it.” 

“What if something else happens?”

“It won’t,” you said, crawling closer to wrap your arm around his neck. “I promise that it won’t.” 

He seemed tortured when you craned your head down, your nose bumping his, though he still held your waist, slowly giving in. “How can you be sure?”

You smiled. “I have a hunch.” His breath shivered when you pressed your forehead against his, your eyes closing. “Is this your master plan to make me beg?”

That made him laugh, even if it was small and strained. “I wish it was.”

“Let’s ask Quattlebaum,” you said, moving back. “He’ll tell you you’re mad and paranoid, and then you’ll owe me big time for making me worry this much.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then Sirius is right and he’s a crackpot.”

“How convenient.”

You smiled again, this time just a bit brighter. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?”

Suddenly seeming incredibly tired, he closed his eyes, smirking despite himself. “Don’t open that can of flobberworms.”

“Why, because you think it’ll give you a big head?” you teased. 

“No,” he said, his gaze drifting away, “because then I’ll have to tell you how lovely you are, and that’ll take far too long.”

You wondered if you’d ever stop getting butterflies around him, or if you’d be old and grey, giddy over something he’s said. You supposed there was only one way to find out, if you could swing it, that is.

⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆｡⋆☆⋆

When you went back to the common room before lunch, McGonagall collected you to speak to your parents in Hogsmeade. It was an affair in and of itself, for the attention you, and Hogwarts, received in the Daily Prophet meant they couldn’t be sure there weren’t wayward reporters lurking in the village, waiting for another break in the story. Without much of an explanation, you followed her to the boathouse, where she took you across the lake the same way you went to and from Hogwarts at the beginning and end of every year, and during the winter holiday. You held your tongue, waiting until you were docked to ask your questions. 

“Are my parents here, in Hogsmeade?” 

“Yes,” McGonagall answered, walking with you down the path through the trees towards Hogsmeade Station. “They are in the Hog’s Head waiting for you. Aberforth has closed the Inn for us to use.”

“Can we trust him?” you asked.

“Yes,” she repeated, hesitating before she continued, “He is the Headmaster’s brother.”

You nodded, unspeaking for the remainder of the short journey. You had no knowledge of their relation, nor any other member of Dumbledore’s family, for that matter. It was strange, however, that he should live so close and never be seen with his brother, or that no student has found out the connection.

Upon arriving at the station, you saw the groundskeeper, Hagrid, standing beside the tracks. You had only spoken to him a handful of times, though you had little reason to believe him disloyal to Dumbledore, or in with the Death Eaters. While there was always a chance for a shock, such as Zephyr, you always found something about Hagrid to be distinctly good-natured, a trait at odds with the necessary qualifications for their ranks. 

He smiled down at you beneath his untamed beard, his expression undoubtedly kind despite him obviously not quite knowing how to go about the unusual situation. You hadn’t much of a clue either, feeling better knowing you weren’t alone in the strangeness of it all. 

They led you away from the station towards Hogsmeade, where to your great surprise, you saw a car parked on the path. It was rather out of shape, parts of the chrome bumper rusted and the red paint lacking any luster. 

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she,” Hagrid said, his gruff voice filled with a childlike animation. 

“Is it yours?” you asked. 

“No, no,” he said, placing his hand on the roof as he admired it. “Borrowed it from a friend.”

McGonagall, who did not appear in high favor of what she was about to say, turned to you. “We have to conceal your presence in the village to the best of our abilities, hence the automobile.”

You nodded, looking back at the car. It was a hardtop and a two-door, making you wonder how Hagrid planned to fit inside, given that he was over eight feet in height and there were three of you. Hagrid opened the driver’s side door, motioning for you to get in. You gave him a puzzled look, wondering why they’d want you to drive, though he only urged you on. 

When you looked into the cab you saw that the car was charmed. Very charmed and very illegal. There was now a backseat, and the height of the roof seemed to be over double what it appeared to be from the outside. You took a step back, looking through the rear window once again. You saw very clearly only a front seat, making you turn to Hagrid and McGonagall in complete befuddlement. 

“It’s borrowed,” Hagrid mumbled.

You didn’t question them, resigning to the mystery as you climbed into the backseat. McGonagall sat beside you, with Hagrid behind the wheel. The engine sputtered as he drove down the path, the castle rising above the thick grove of trees lining the boundary wall. 

Hagrid parked the car in the alley behind the Hog’s Head, stepping out to check if the coast was clear. Aberforth opened the back door, nodding his head for Hagrid to come inside. McGonagall stepped out, hurrying you in behind him. 

You had seen the owner of the pub before, though before today you did not know his name. He had grey hair and a beard like Dumbledore’s, though not as long, and not as well kept. From the few times you had seen him, he never seemed to be a particularly pleasant man, always appearing as if he had experienced a disruption in his plans, or some other inconvenience. You tried to imagine him, ill-disposed and unsociable, standing beside Dumbledore, though you found the task difficult. 

You followed him down a narrow, poorly lit corridor towards the main room, which was equally as dim. The walls were made of an ancient, cracking stone, the ceilings held by thick, wooden beams, just tall enough for Hagrid to stand at full height. The hog head hanging on the wall behind the bar snorted upon seeing your party, though otherwise made no sound. Your parents were nowhere in sight. 

Aberforth looked at you, largely expressionless, with a hint of pity around the eyes. “They’re upstairs,” he said, glancing at McGonagall. “I’ll lead you up.”

Convincing your parents you were all right took a great deal of effort and some tactful arguments, though you were ultimately able to succeed. Your Barnabus Finkley Prize was a help, for you used it to reason with them that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. You assumed Professor McGonagall had done her share of careful persuasion on your behalf, for they eventually agreed to forgo their temporary move to the village on the condition you would write them every Saturday and Wednesday, rain or shine. You readily accepted, leaving out all details of your omens, your dreams, and James. You supposed it would be a poor time to tell them about any of the three, allowing yourself to procrastinate on account of the dismal day you were having. 

You arrived back at Hogwarts the same way you came, quiet and meditative. You wondered if the Ministry knew about the charmed car or the meeting between your parents and yourself, though you didn’t dare ask. The legality of things was far from your mind, as was Aberforth. The revelation of his familial relations was intriguing, and any other time monumental, though James occupied the vast majority of your thoughts. 

You went straight to the kitchens from the boathouse, wrapping up lunch and taking it to Gryffindor Tower. Eating in the kitchens surrounded by the commotion of bustling house elves would be an unfavorable backdrop to what you were sure would be a depressing meal. When you stepped inside the common room, you found it entirely silent, without a single student in sight. You thought it peculiar, rounding the corner to find out that you were mistaken. 

James sat on the red sofa, entirely alone, turning to look at you with far less surprise than yourself. The fire was unlit, sunlight streaming in through the lattice windows, diamond shadows stretched out upon the wood floors. He had nothing in front of him, not a book or a piece of parchment. Not even the radio played in the corner. You stood motionless for a beat, your heart jolting at the sight of him. He looked dreadful, almost ill in his complexion. 

“You’re not in DADA?” you asked.

He shrugged, turning back at the empty hearth, the thick stone mantle, the tapestries, anything but you. He was slouched more like the way Sirius often sat, his hand hanging limp over the arm of the sofa. 

Without a word you went over, taking the seat next to him, your feet pulled up onto the cushion. You put your lunch to the side, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Only an inch remained between you, though neither made any move to close it. You could hear his breath, short and shallow, his fingers moving in an uneven, pointless pattern. 

“No one’s here,” you said, speaking low as if you were telling him a secret. 

“There's a sixth year Charms class now,” he explained, flat and emotionless. 

You looked at him, not knowing what else to say. 

After a while he spoke, still not meeting your eyes, “Do you remember that night when Dorcas got high and tried to catch Mrs. Norris?”

The question caught you off guard, making you chuckle. “Yes. Why?”

“I had a dream that night,” he said, far off, as if he were talking only to himself. “It wasn’t prophetic or anything, just a dream, but in it we were on the west bridge. I remember I kissed you, but it wasn’t a first kiss. It was like we had been together for a while, like I knew you’d kissed me before and that you’d do it again,” he stopped, taking a breath like the swell of a wave. “It was one of the worst dreams I’ve ever had.”

Your brows pinched. “Why?”

“Because I woke up certain it’d never come true,” he paused, finally turning to you. “I wish I could have kept you safe.”

“You did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I don’t need keeping anymore,” you said. “Your job is done. Problem solved.”

He stared back at you, his light so dimmed it was barely recognizable anymore. “Everyone needs keeping.”

“You don’t think you need keeping,” you said, almost like things were a few days ago, playful, as if nothing was wrong. 

“I didn’t used to,” he replied, the corners of his mouth pulling into a joyless, bleak smile, “but I was wrong.” He looked away, standing up and walking in front of the fireplace, presumably heading towards the dormitories or the portrait hole.

“James—”

“You should eat. You skipped lunch.”

You loathed the way he sounded: curt, impassive, vacant. You wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him silly, knock out whatever it was that was locking away his fervor, his passion for living. You followed him, grabbing his arm. He let you, almost seeming annoyed by your interruption. 

“We’re going to Quattlebaum tonight before dinner,” you said, more or less demanding it. 

He sighed. “We can go tomorrow.”

“No. We can go tonight. He won’t mind.”

He shook you off, mumbling as he trudged to the portrait hole, his steps heavy on the floor. “It won’t make a difference.”

“James!” you called, though he was already in the corridor, the distance between you seeming as vast as an ocean, you without a ship or sail to take you across. 

You went up to your room after he left, trying to force yourself to read, though ultimately failing. Not long after you pulled on your shoes, making the long trek towards the west wing, thinking of nothing but the horrid mess that lay in front of you. When you arrived at your destination you didn’t know what you were meant to feel, stepping out onto the west bridge as if prepared for a transformative experience. What you received was only a sadness which buried itself deep within your bones, the kind which makes the world seem drab and dull, leached of its color. The heat of the sun meant nothing to your skin, the smell of spring air ordinary and unremarkable. You stayed there for a few minutes before wandering back towards the main castle, nostalgic for a memory you never had. 

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When Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas came back from class you were sitting in the window in your dormitory, your book lying on the floor beside you. You had been wondering when it was you would cry, for you had yet to shed a single tear today, though you felt that a weeping spell was more than warranted. Instead of crying, during which thoughts wove around one another like an indistinguishable, foreign script, you pondered all the things you could say to James to sway his immovable mind. They found you this way, deep in woeful rumination. 

“James is downstairs,” Lily said softly, placing her bag onto her desk. 

You didn’t turn away from the view, blinking yourself back into the present. “Okay.”

Marlene came to stand beside you, leaning against the frame. She stared down at you, her mouth contorted in a pitying frown. “I can tell he wants to see you, but he won’t send one of us to get you.”

For a moment your sadness was replaced with anger at his foolishness, frustration far surpassing what you felt when you fought over Mulciber a few months prior. There was a time, not even a full day ago, when he would tell you that nothing about you and him could ever be wrong. He had said that you were in love, which is the beginning and the end of everything, that all else would fall in place alongside it. Where is he now? You wished you could conjure him, make that James real again. The person downstairs was someone else, an imitation made to trick you into misery. You knew this wasn’t true, of course, though that did nothing to ease the ache. He is an imposter. He’s taken away my James. 

“He thinks that's what's best, not seeing me,” you mumbled. 

Lily said your name, her voice laced with a strong sort of sympathy, letting you know that although she would let you wallow, she would never fully concede to your melancholy temper. You turned, seeing her standing by the stove at the center of the room, her face telling you much the same. “I know you might think it’ll be weird, and maybe it will be, but do you want to talk about it?”

You pressed your lips. “I don’t know.”

“I promise I’ll be good,” Dorcas said, feigning an easier manner.

You smiled, though it was hardly happy. “I know.”

“Even though you didn’t ask,” Marlene said, taking on some of Dorcas’s humor, “I’m going to tell you anyway. I really think everything’ll turn out all right. I just can’t see it not.”

“Obviously, James would disagree,” you said, looking back out the window.

Lily went to sit on your bed, the closest to you. You didn’t look at her when she began to speak, watching the clouds drift like cotton wool pulled apart, streaked tufts in the sky. 

“When James came back up last night, we all went to the RoR—which was a real endeavor without the map. As much as I disapprove of their usual uses for it…it does come in handy now and again,” she chuckled. “Dorcas was an arse, obviously—”

“Uh!”

“—and she asked a million questions, which annoyed James to no end, and the whole thing was a bit of a mess. Marlene told her most of it already, so I’m not sure why she was so curious.”

“I wanted it direct from the source,” Dorcas defended, though it only made Lily roll her eyes. 

“I could tell he was trying to spare me a bit on the details, give me a little more time to get used to things, but he was pretty awful at hiding how he felt,” she paused, though you still wouldn’t look her way. “We never loved each other the way you two do. I don’t think we were ever really in love at all.”

Your breath caught in your throat, though if Lily saw it, she didn’t make any move to acknowledge it. 

“I’ve never seen him this way—none of us have. There’s just something different about this, but it's hard to put your finger on. All I know, all we know, is that if James is stupid enough to end what he has with you, it’ll be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his entire life—not that he’s lived some particularly torturous existence up until now,” she laughed, though it fell away quickly. 

Your eyes began to burn, the feeling of pressure moving up your chest. Finally, you thought, I can still cry. 

You put your face in your hand, your mouth half covered by your palm as you looked at Lily, still wearing her expression of commiseration. A stab of guilt remained over the whole ordeal: the kiss last night, the betrayal, the month of lies. It was still a wonder how she wasn’t more upset about it, though you weren’t in the mind to question it. 

“James’ll do it, if he thinks it's right,” you said, muffled by your hand. 

“And we’ll all be livid with him if he does,” Marlene said.

“He’ll have a face full of boils,” said Dorcas, entirely serious. “I don’t care if he kicks me off the team.”

You dropped your hand, frowning. “Don’t do that.”

“We might have trouble stopping her,” Lily said, rising from the bed. “But I’ll do my best.”

You stared off for a moment, the fatigue of the day catching up to you. It seems as though you were able to hold off for some time, though the desire to lie down, to close your eyes and let sleep envelop you was becoming stronger and stronger. There was a comfort in having your dormmates back, even if they didn’t stay in the room as you slept. If you turned into a statue during your nap, transfigured into marble, at least someone would find out eventually. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, your eyes heavy. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

Lily smiled softly. “Good. Get some rest.”

Still in your clothes, you crawled into bed, your friends pretending not to watch you as they busied themselves with their own menial tasks. You pulled the curtains closed, peeking out one last time. “Could one of you wake me for dinner, please?”

“Sure,” Marlene said, tossing her Potions textbook onto her bed. “Do you want to come down to the Great Hall?”

You hadn’t thought about it, though the prospect seemed daunting. They saw your hesitance, Lily speaking first. 

“We’ll eat in the kitchens today. Tomorrow we can go to the Great Hall.”

“I think I’ll be fine, really,” you said. “Won’t be any worse today than it will be tomorrow.”

“Absolutely not,” Lily said, firm but kind. “We’re eating in the kitchens, end of discussion.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue, especially when her efforts came out of compassion. So, you only nodded, slipping back behind the scarlet curtain, your vision blurred by unshed tears.

Chapter Thirty

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