The Lost Generation (1975-1982)

The Lost Generation

(1975-1982)

Chapter Two

The Way of All Flesh

Tuesday, 23 December, 1975

James Potter woke with a start.

He'd had the dream again.

It started off the same each time, like a memory, rather than a dream. He was back in the huge timbered Hogsmeade Village Hall, where his parents and David Bones’ parents had had their state funeral. They were heroes of the wizarding world, the four of them, and every dignitary in the Ministry was there, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, all of the Hogwarts teachers, and as many of the students as were able to wangle permission to leave the castle. It was standing room only, and the overflow crowd outside the hall had to content themselves with listening to the eulogies over a magical sound system that blasted the dignified voices to the entire village.

In the dream, as in life, James sat in a chair in the front row of the hall, as he had at the actual funeral, beside David Bones and David’s older sister, Alice. The three of them were immediately in front of the stage, which held the four flag-draped coffins. The Potters’ coffins were draped with Welsh flags, the red dragon gamboling over a field half white and half vivid green (when he first met Lily, James thought her eyes were the same color as the green on the Welsh flag); the Bones’ coffins carried Scotland’s cross of St. Andrew, the white “X” stark and simple on the brilliant blue.

The Minister of Magic stood and spoke at the lectern which stood between the two pairs of coffins. Then an Auror who was David Bones’ father’s best friend. More and more people stood and went to the lectern, to say a few words about Elspeth King Potter, Henry James Potter, David Alan Bones, Sr., and Audrey Rourke Bones. When the Minister said the name “Henry,” James was jolted from his fog. He’d let the man’s pompous voice slide around him, not penetrate his consciousness, until he heard that. It sounded so strange to hear his dad called “Henry.” No one called him that who knew him. Everyone called him Harry, and usually his mum affectionately called him Hal. As others came forward, James didn’t pay much more attention, only noticing whether each person used the proper name for him. If they said “Henry,” as a few people did other than the Minister, he immediately started looking up at them with suspicion. Fraud, he thought. You don’t even know his name.

In the dream, as in life, he also stood when the tune of the wizarding anthem began to play. The ghostly band of enchanted instruments ground it out, with none of the irregularities James actually preferred in human-played instruments. The perfection was almost more annoying than any trombonist who hit a sour note, or a trumpeter who bleated when he should have blared. He knew it was coming now with a certainty that increased each time he had the dream. Each step along the way was something simply to be endured. The witches and wizards who moved in ritualistic, mechanical exactitude were one such step, folding up each flag that had draped one of the coffins, handing two to him and one each to David and Alice. The strains of the crowd singing filling his head as he held the flags to his chest: yet another step. In the dream, as in life, he did not cry. Nor did he sing. He turned slightly to look at his friends behind him. Bonnie and Lily were singing, even though Lily had told him many times that she thought the words to the wizarding anthem ridiculous, as they were set to the tune of God Save the Queen:

Witches and wizards all
We do not stand in thrall
To Muggle might.
We, whom they never see
Flying aloft and free,
We ever shall hidden be
From Muggle sight.

Not slaves of king or queen
And never clearly seen
By Ministers.
Free to be what we are
Free as a shooting star
All equal and on a par
Brothers and sisters.

Lily had also not made any bones about what she felt was the inherent hypocrisy in the anthem’s words, as the wizarding world was hardly as egalitarian as the lyrics implied. Remembering this was yet another step. Then the friends and colleagues of his parents and the Boneses lifted the four coffins to their shoulders and walked solemnly out of the hall, while a piper wearing the MacBean tartan, for the Bones family, and a piper wearing the MacGregor tartan, for James’ mother’s clan, played Flowers of the Forest and followed the pallbearers. (An adequate spell for making bagpipes play by themselves had yet to be developed.) James and David and Alice followed the pipers, the other mourners falling into step behind them. James saw Lily and Bonnie walking together, holding hands, tracks of tears on both girls’ faces, while Sirius and Remus walked together behind them, Peter bringing up the rear. In his dream, his friends all seemed to be more real than the other people in the hall, but that wasn’t really different from life; in life, everyone else had seemed to be a painted backdrop to James, mere illusions.

Outside the hall, the four coffins were loaded into horseless hearses. He assumed the Bones coffins were going to be taken somewhere for an interment. His parents’ coffins were not; they had left instructions to be cremated, so they were being taken to the crematorium on the other side of the village. They had also left instructions to James that his father’s ashes were to be scattered over Bristol Sound, off the south coast of Wales, while his mother’s were to be scattered over the lake at Hogwarts. However, since they had died together, he somehow thought they should be together in death, as well, and he had instructed the crematorium to give him two urns, but not one for each parent; he wanted each to contain a mixture of their ashes, so when he spread his parents’ essence over the two bodies of water, they would still be together. The crematorium staff had agreed to the unusual request.

The hearses were gone: the final step before real life and his dream life diverged. James braced himself, knowing what was coming. The dream had always played out the same way....Suddenly, an explosion rocked the ground beneath his feet, and he went to his knees. Standing before him, in a cloak with the hood pulled up so his face was shadowed, was the Dark Lord himself: Voldemort.

His wand was pointed at James, who could not see the face, but a cold voice said, “You will die just like them. Stupid and brave....”

“Noooo!” he cried each time he had the dream, before looking around frantically and finding himself, very abruptly, in his parents’ summer cottage in the country, in Godric’s Hollow. He was somehow standing again, holding his own wand out, and then suddenly, there was a flash of green light and the sound of speeding death....

James sat up in his four-poster, his heart going a mile a minute, sweat dripping down his face. He parted the deep red curtains and fumbled on his bedside table for his glasses, bringing the round tower room into focus. Stumbling to the windowsill, he poured himself some water from the silver jug that was kept there. The almost-full moon was sending a clear, white light into the still room. James drank his water and tried to stop shaking, tried to think of other things.

He looked at Remus’ empty bed. Poor Remus, he instinctively thought. From the first time his friend had confessed to him, Sirius and Peter where he went every month during the full moon and why, the three friends had conspired to work out a way to help him, to make this time easier for him and to make him less isolated. For three years they’d been trying to master the Animagus transfiguration on their own, relying in part on James and his Invisibility Cloak to get into the Restricted Section of the library and find the information they needed. That alone had taken the better part of six months in second year. (He wasn’t able to go every night; he needed to get some sleep.)

He must have scanned through thousands of books, looking for the right information. There were also books to be feared, books that sprayed ink in his face or made a carillon of bells begin to ring in alarm, or books that had even tried to bite him and box his ears. It was downright hazardous to read something from the Restricted Section. Filch had very nearly caught him several times because of the various spells Madam Pince had used on the books.

And then, when they finally had the information they needed, painstakingly copied by James onto a dozen parchments which had to be charmed so that they could only be read by someone with the correct password (“All shall fear the Marauders”), there was the issue of sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower to practice, and also finding an isolated place in which to do it. All in all, James speculated that they could have learned the transfiguration in a year or less if they’d had all of the information right at the start and didn’t need to sneak around.

Now, finally, after all their work, they were going to be able to accompany Remus during the full moon. In the morning, they would all be leaving on the Hogwarts Express for the Christmas holiday, which they were spending together at Sirius’ home, Ascog Castle, on the Isle of Bute in the Firth of Clyde. James would have been going in any case, as the Blacks were now his guardians until he reached the age of seventeen, but Remus and Peter had received permission to come as well. The Lupin family had been dubious, as the moon would rise full and bright on Christmas Eve, but Sirius had assured them that they had very secure dungeons at Ascog and that Remus would be comfortable while waiting for his transformation, but unable to harm anyone.

The Blacks didn’t know about Remus’ “condition.” Sirius was not convinced that if they knew they would allow him to invite a werewolf home for the holidays. They were acquainted with Peter, but then, the Pettigrews were a very old wizarding family. They’d fallen somewhat on hard times, but they’d once been large landowners, there were four Ministers of Magic in their family tree (two each on Peter’s mother’s side and his father’s side), and they were also known to be descended from three of the four founders (all but Slytherin).

That Peter seemed a poor representative of this illustrious family was something that wasn’t discussed in his hearing. James knew he was all right, and even though Sirius and Remus still thought of him as something of a tag-along at times, they knew James would never agree to his being excluded from their group. He’d said to them early in first year, “We’re going to be in school together for seven years. How would you like to spend that time being the one outcast in your dorm, watching three friends who do everything together and knowing you’re not wanted? If we’re not going to be his friends, who will be?”

He hadn’t known then that Remus was a werewolf; that didn’t come out until early in second year. Remus had agreed immediately, and James felt he knew why: if anyone was a likely candidate for the outcast, it was the werewolf, wasn’t it? So they had included Peter in all of their activities, given him help in classes, and waited patiently (well, Sirius wasn’t exactly patient) for him to catch on during their three-year struggle to become Animagi. Truthfully, if they hadn’t had to spend so much time helping Peter along, it might have gone faster, but he was officially their friend and James, for one, didn’t begrudge him the time they’d had to spend doing this. They weren’t going to accompany Remus until they could all three do it together. Upon that they’d agreed long ago. Now that Peter was finally comfortable with his transfiguration and could hold it for a very long period of time, they could finally do this.

James heard Sirius and Peter snoring behind their bedcurtains. He hoped Remus was all right. Every month, the day before the full moon was very hard on Remus. He shook and shivered feverishly all day, and flinched whenever anyone touched him in the slightest. He’d again borrowed James’ Invisibility Cloak to go to the hospital wing to get some relief. James thought it must be the worst thing in the world to be a werewolf, to not only suffer the transformation for three nights out of every twenty-nine, but to have these dreadful symptoms on the day before, as well.

He’d forgotten about Remus during the previous month, unfortunately. He’d selfishly slipped out of Gryffindor Tower to see Bonnie, using the map they’d created (James simply couldn’t let go to waste some of the arcane information he’d gathered in the Restricted Section while looking up the Animagus Transfiguration). He and Bonnie weren’t ready to be completely intimate yet; they hadn’t even come close during their times alone together. James still had pangs when they collided noses when they kissed. He worried about whether she would notice that spot on his chin, whether his breath was bad, whether he’d become too sweaty while running to meet her and now had body odor as a result. In short, he was a nervous wreck about just kissing her, and did not feel remotely ready for the anxieties that were sure to accompany going further. In one part of his mind, he wanted to very badly, but in another he was utterly and completely terrified of having his abject incompetence revealed.

And then--he’d returned to the Gryffindor common room in his Invisibility Cloak and there they were, kneeling on the hearthrug, kissing desperately, their breathing raspy, evidently too worked up to notice that the portrait had opened and closed. He’d checked the map before entering. He’d seen the names of the people in the common room, even seen that the names were very close together. It never would have occurred to him--

His hands were laced in her hair and his mouth had moved down to her neck. Her dressing gown had slipped from her shoulders and her head was thrown back to give him more of her pale neck. What really struck James, though, was her passion. He had never thought of Lily that way, and here she was with Remus on the hearthrug, all of her usual decorum abandoned as she held him to her and he kissed and sucked her neck and--

Remus finally came to his senses, though. He had lifted his head suddenly and sniffed the air, his eyes narrowed. James froze and resisted the urge to suck in his breath. Sometimes he looked incredibly like a wolf even in his human form. James had been attempting to move across the common room under his cloak. He’d been praying he could reach the stairs without being discovered. He did not want to witness his friends together like this....

“What is it?” Lily had whispered to Remus throatily. Her skin was flushed and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Stop that, James had ordered himself. You’re not supposed to be looking at Lily’s chest. She’s with Remus. At least, now she is. And she’s like a sister to you.

“James,” Remus had said simply.

Lily had frowned, sitting back on the rug. “What?”

Remus hadn’t answered her but rapidly stood and crossed the room to where James stood, his nose telling him exactly where to go. Invisibility Cloaks were useless around a werewolf. James, for his part, had remained rooted to the spot, knowing he was about to be unveiled and helpless to stop it. Remus had reached out unerringly and pulled the cloak from his friend, anger contorting his features.

“You couldn’t have remembered your promise to let me use the cloak,” he practically growled, “but you’re not above using it yourself to do a little spying!” James had been unable to tell whether the sweat that had broken out on his brow was because of his usual monthly problems or because Lily had gotten him so worked up. James had moved his jaw, unable to speak, to defend himself.

Lily, the moment she saw James, had widened her already-enormous green eyes and snatched up her dressing gown from where it had fallen, sprinting to the stairs to the girls’ dormitories and running up them rapidly. Remus had turned his head, watching her go. Then the anger seemed to seep out of him, and he threw himself into an armchair, running his fingers through his hair, shaking. James had sat in a nearby chair, stuttering out an apology and trying to explain about meeting Bonnie, and getting the nights wrong....

Remus had shaken his head while James was speaking, and when he was done said in a hoarse voice, “No, James. It isn’t your fault. Actually--I’m glad you came in before anything else could happen.” He was shivering feverishly again as he spoke, making James think that he looked anything but glad.

“I--I can sit with you here, if you’d like some company, Remus,” he said quietly, still rather chagrined at interrupting his friends, and letting Remus down. He was also still somewhat shocked by the thought that Lily had been on the hearthrug with Remus, kissing him passionately and being kissed....

Remus gripped each of his arms with the opposite one, more like he was restraining himself than hugging himself. “Go now,” he said between gritted teeth. “I don’t want you here.”

James swallowed. “I’m--I’m really sorry, Remus....Please don’t be mad at me....”

“It’s not that!” he had yelled at James. “Go--before I don’t let you!”

His shaking was worse than ever. What did he mean by that?

“Remus--”

“Get out!” Remus shouted violently at him again. And yet--the hungry look James saw in his eyes clearly said, Please. It was a desperately pleading, not an angry order. Please go, Remus was clearly saying. James nodded quickly and grabbed up his cloak as Lily had grabbed her dressing gown, practically running up the stairs....

James returned to his bed, not closing the curtains around him but continuing to gaze at the moon, bobbing in the night sky. Soon they would be at Ascog, and they would all be together on the night of the full moon. We’re going to be there for our friend. James let this idea take over his brain as he drifted off to sleep once more, hoping he would not again encounter the dream about Voldemort, and see the dreaded green flash and hear the cold, evil voice....

* * * * *

Severus Snape woke with a start.

He felt dreadful. He had that awful feeling that he needed to go back to the hospital wing for more Porphyry Potion, to manage his porphyria symptoms. He especially had the feeling that it couldn’t wait until morning. He groaned and sat up. He didn’t think it likely that his lightheadedness was from lack of sleep. At this rate he’d faint before reaching the hospital wing. He sighed. Better wake the damn prefect.

He’d been more than a little miffed that he hadn’t been named as the prefect in his year, but he wasn’t at all surprised by who was appointed. Bloody pet, he thought. The Ancient Runes teacher, Professor Took, was the head of Slytherin House, and he’d named his favorite student in the year as prefect. Just because I don’t brown-nose and tell him what he wants to hear. Actually, he reflected, it was probably because he hadn’t taken Ancient Runes. In third year he’d begun to take Muggle Studies (the only Slytherin to do so in many years--his theory was know thine enemy) and Arithmancy. He thought Arithmancy was little better than Divination, but he had wanted to avoid Care of Magical Creatures. He was not good with animals. He’d actually wanted to take Ancient Runes (he’d bought the text in his first year and had already taught himself quite a lot), but the little exposure he’d had to Took as his head of house had convinced him that he could not tolerate having the man for a teacher for five years, and Arithmancy had been the only tolerable thing left. At least Professor Vector didn’t seem to take Arithmancy too seriously. Severus’ healthy skepticism was usually greeted with a sly smile. Was the professor perhaps more than a little aware of the silliness of it all? he wondered.

In any case, he was going to have to try to wake Karkaroff and convince him to accompany him to the hospital wing, so that if he fainted he wouldn’t be alone, and so if they ran into Filch he could say that he’d gotten a prefect to take him to see Pomfrey so they shouldn’t get detention for being out of bed. (Not that he’d mind getting Karkaroff a detention).

Igor had been insufferable before fifth year, but it was nothing compared to Igor the Prefect. Severus had had to fall back on minor things to cut him down to size--such as using Karkaroff’s least favorite nickname.

“Iggy!” he called now, shaking the boy to wake him. Gah. He sleeps like the dead. “Karkaroff!” he tried this time, in case the boy was still pretending to be asleep because he refused to answer to the hated ‘Iggy.’

The smaller boy finally rolled over and groaned, propping himself up on his elbows. “Go away, Snape. Leave me the hell alone.”

“I need to go to the hospital wing. I’ll get detention if I’m caught unless a prefect goes along.”

Karkaroff smirked. “And remind me why I should care...?”

Severus Snape’s mouth worked unpleasantly. “Because if you do this--I’ll owe you.”

Karkaroff considered this now. Severus didn’t like the sly look that came over his face as he sat up the rest of the way and said, “I’ll get my dressing gown and slippers.”

Uh oh, Severus thought. What’s that git going to try to make me do now? But then he had that feeling in his gut again and winced; he really needed to get to the hospital wing.

They walked through the dungeons for some time before finally reaching the stairs to the entrance hall. They continued up the marble stairs, Severus having to repeatedly wait for Karkaroff, who was dragging his feet sleepily (and to be as annoying as possible, Severus assumed). When they finally reached the hospital wing and opened the door to the infirmary, they discovered that someone else was already in one of the beds. Remus Lupin was lying on his side, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, beads of sweat on his brow. He shivered feverishly and he was a ghastly grey color. Then he opened his eyes, which stared into space, unseeing. There was a strange red light in those eyes.

Severus Snape stopped in alarm. What was he doing here? he wondered. It was clear, though, that he was not well, whatever the specific malady happened to be. Severus hugged the wall nervously, making his way to Madam Pomfrey’s office to tell her he had come for some potion, not wanting to get anywhere near the other sick boy, in case he was contagious.

Karkaroff didn’t take notice of any of this. “I’m going now. Don’t forget--” he added, “--you owe me.” Now Lupin was sitting up abruptly, staring at the two Slytherin boys fearfully. Severus could see him swallow; what was he afraid of? Oh, right, he remembered. Severus Snape, the big bad vampire. Over the centuries, many people with porphyria had mistakenly been labeled vampires, until now, the Muggle world assumed that was always the case, and they were ignorant of the fact that there really were vampires. He scowled at Lupin. Fine. If he wanted to be afraid of him, he was welcome. Maybe I should file my incisors to a point, Severus thought.

Karkaroff left and Severus rapped on Madam Pomfrey’s office door, watching Lupin out of the corner of his eye. She opened it quickly, surprised to see him.

“Snape! What are--” She stopped when she saw his face, its jaundiced color and his pale lips. She helped him to a bed and whispered, “I’ll get the potion. Professor Sprout just brought me a fresh batch of spleenwort. I’ve been brewing potions all day.”

As she tried to leave his bedside, he grabbed her hand. “What’s he here for?” he asked quietly.

She looked irritated. “Always coming down here for sleeping draughts. And he’ll probably ask to sleep here again, instead of in his own dormitory. But don’t worry--I’ll take care of you first.” She looked disapprovingly over at Remus Lupin again before leaving to get Severus Snape’s potion.

Lupin was sitting up in bed, staring unnervingly at Severus Snape. If I didn’t know that he hated me I’d swear he fancied me, he thought, recoiling at the thought. Gah. Even if I liked men, I could do better than that any day.

“Are you staying?” Lupin asked him abruptly, his voice throaty.

“What?”

“I said are you staying?”

Severus Snape frowned. “What’s it to you?”

Lupin started breathing more rapidly. “If I thought I wouldn’t be alone, I wouldn’t have bothered to come all the way down here....”

“Oh, you’ve got to have the infirmary all to yourself now, have you? Sorry, but some of us have legitimate medical concerns,” he said, stopping himself before he blurted out his specific ‘concern.’ “Sleeping draught. Why don’t you sod off and leave poor Madam Pomfrey alone? And me as well?”

Lupin swung his head around jerkily. “I--I had expected to be alone, is all,” he explained more quietly, not answering Snape’s nastiness with more of the same. Severus Snape never knew what to do when someone did this; it was a way of life in Slytherin House to raise the stakes. Backing off was unheard of.

The Gryffindor boy slid off his bed and put his shoes back on, and pulled his dressing gown on over his pajamas. He ran to the door. “Tell Madam Pomfrey--tell her I’m feeling much better--”

It was clearly a lie. You look like hell, Severus Snape felt like telling him. Instead he said with a smirk, “Afraid to be alone with me?”

Lupin stopped and scrutinized him very seriously; the look in his eyes was quite unnerving. Did Lupin fancy boys? Severus wondered again. And yet--there was something more like the expression of a hungry predator lurking there. Like a wild animal.

“Yes. I am definitely afraid to be alone with you,” he said levelly, his voice almost inaudible.

Severus settled back against his pillows, his mouth twisting again. “Huh! Gryffindor bravery my arse.”

Lupin was at his side in two steps, grabbing a fistful of the Slytherin boy’s dressing gown with each hand, pulling him up. Their faces were very close, and Lupin seemed to be sniffing Severus Snape.

“It’s not what you’d do to me that I fear,” he said quietly. Then he flung him back on the bed and walked unsteadily to the door, slamming it behind him.

* * * * *

Lily Evans did not wake with a start.

She shivered under her covers; she hadn’t closed her bedcurtains completely, and she could see that the bright moon was making patterns on the wall of the room, dancing trees, the branches leafless. The macabre dance of the naked limbs was hypnotic--or at least, she hoped it would be. She hoped watching would finally help her to fall asleep. Lily had been lying awake for hours, unable to get her mind to settle down, her thoughts coming in a steady stream....

Only a month ago it had happened. Ever since September she had been noticing Remus Lupin more and more, and Severus Snape as well, feeling torn and conflicted, uncertain about how she felt about either boy. On the one hand Snape was in Slytherin, which was an excellent argument against even being civil to him most days. He certainly never went out of his way to be civil to others--especially Gryffindors.

On the other hand, she had noticed on the first day of the term--quite against her will--how striking he looked as he was maturing, how penetrating his dark eyes were, how they seemed to reach into her soul when he looked at her, even if it was to say something cutting (she had noticed that his sharp remarks were usually about her house or her friends, but not usually about her). He had been assigned to her as her Potions partner, and working side-by-side with him had given her the opportunity to get to know him in a way she hadn’t expected. The cutting remarks had lessened considerably, and they’d managed to develop a working relationship that was mutually beneficial. In spite of now living with an uncle who ran an apothecary, his technique wasn’t up to hers, and having to watch to make sure he didn’t make mistakes made her more vigilant about her own work.

When he’d taken ill in class one day, she’d even accompanied him to the hospital wing and had sat with him while he’d taken a potion Madam Pomfrey had brewed for him. Lily wished she knew what it was; the matron had started to say the name, remembered Lily was there, and thought better of it.

They’d talked for some time while he waited for the potion to take effect. He was very precise with his language, which she appreciated, as she prided herself on precision as well, but it did make it difficult to get to know him better. Their interactions were so formal. She did learn a lot about him, though. About his parents (although he refused to talk about their deaths), about his uncle, about living in Oxford, and moving to Dunoon. He’d learned to sail during the summer. Yachting was a popular pastime on the Firth of Clyde. There were yacht races in the bay down in Rothesay, on the Isle of Bute, in July. He and his uncle and their crew of wizards had come in a respectable fourth place. They didn’t actually use magic for this; they sailed Muggle-style, for the sport of it. This shocked her, since he was a Slytherin. (But she found out that his uncle--and his late mother--had been Ravenclaws.) He would describe to her in precise detail the various types of knots he’d had to learn, and what each was for, but instead of listening carefully, she found herself letting his already-deep, mellifluous voice slide over her...she watched those large, dexterous hands with their thin, articulate fingers, as they pantomimed tying the various knots....

She also watched his face when he spoke of sailing. It was an activity that seemed so out of character for him. Indeed, he had never done it before his parents died. He’d led a very circumscribed, uneventful life down in Oxford, a life hemmed in by the bells chiming in the church towers. Nine o’clock. Read three chapters of Hogwarts, A History. Then, twelve o’clock. Luncheon. One o’clock. Afternoon constitutional. Three o’clock. Read two chapters of The Dark Arts. And five o’clock. Tea. Report to parents the day’s activities, what was seen on the afternoon walk, what was read and remembered....

Sailing on the Firth of Clyde with his uncle was an unpredictable way to spend the summer; you never knew when a cooperative breeze would come up, when you would be able to sail effortlessly down to the Isle of Arran for the day, or even further south, skimming along the west coast, perhaps putting into Blackpool or Liverpool. Being away from the land, surrounded only by the shimmering water in all directions, was both the most exhilarating and most frightening experience of his life.

He had very sensitive skin, so he’d been wearing long trousers and sleeves and a hat, and constantly reapplying the salve his uncle made for him on the exposed parts of his skin. She didn’t say anything about this. She knew others speculated that he was a vampire. She thought this was preposterous; he was a boy, just a normal boy. He was perhaps more formal and less-sure socially than many people his age, but she sensed no bloodlust in him, even when he was making his cutting remarks to her Gryffindor friends. She bristled when he did this (although she was less concerned about his hostility to Sirius than she had been in the past), but at the same time, she wondered whether he was jealous of their camaraderie, their easy friendship. He didn’t have that with anyone in his house; there were people with whom he sometimes associated, but it almost seemed that they did it against their will, because they were afraid of him. He wasn’t exactly the center of a close-knit circle of friends.

And yet, even though she did sometimes get a sense of bloodlust lurking just under the surface with Remus, he was unfailingly gentle with her and everyone else with whom he came in contact. In Professor McGonagall’s class, when they were transfiguring animals into useful objects around the home, while most people were turning rabbits into slippers and toads into tea-cosies, Peter was turning a dove into a small pincushion. To test whether he’d succeeded, Peter had put a pin into his poor bird, who was now covered with embroidered cloth but still clearly a living, breathing creature, Remus had cradled the poor thing in his hands and plucked out the pin, carefully healed the bleeding wound with his wand. She had watched how gentle he was when he’d done this, and when he’d raised his eyes to hers afterward, it had been very hard to look away.

She had found herself looking at Remus quite a lot in the months leading up to That Night, as she thought of it. There was just something about him that drew her, something very different from Sirius. He was so unassuming, so gentle, so convinced that he didn’t deserve friendship, so glad to have it. She had never known anyone who was gentler and yet stronger; she’d seen other perplexing demonstrations of his strength since he carried his and her trunks on the first day of the term, and she had come to the conclusion that he was just very strong. She tried to deny it deep down, but a part of her was as attracted to this idea as to his amazing eyes, and the way his hair flopped over his brow just so, and the way he didn’t laugh out loud when he found something funny (as James and Sirius did); he ducked his head instead, while a small smile crept across his face....

She knew she was doing it again. She was developing another crush on a friend. Didn’t you learn your lesson with Sirius? she demanded sternly of herself. But it didn’t matter. Her friendship with Severus was progressing in a slow but predictable pattern that could very well result in a romantic relationship (if he were ever to let his guard down), but she didn’t know what to think about Remus. Sometimes she thought she caught him looking at her, and other times he seemed to ignore her existence altogether. Once a month, he inexplicably became ill and needed to see Madam Pomfrey for days running, and then he was fine afterward. It may have been going on for years; she was so focused on Sirius when she was younger that she was unsure about this. The afternoon of That Night she had asked Remus whether he wanted her to accompany him to the hospital wing, but he had been violently adamant that he not only didn’t want her to accompany him, he wanted her out of his sight.

She had run upstairs after that, burying her face in her pillow, inexplicably breaking into tears. He hates me. No, she had told herself, trying to be sensible. But he’s annoyed with me. I’m just a pest....

She had lain in bed, sleepless, much like this night, for hours on end, picturing him telling her to leave him alone, his face contorted, her heart breaking into a million pieces....

And then she hadn’t been able to stand it any more. She just hated the idea of his being angry with her. She had decided that she would swallow her pride (this was very difficult for her at the best of times). She would apologize and beg to still be his friend, on whatever terms he wanted. She had hoped to get him to have that light in his eye again, that expression he had when their eyes had met in the transfiguration classroom and it seemed they were the only two people in the entire world.

Her crush on Sirius had never been like this, she knew. Sirius had made jokes at her expense. Sirius had exploited her willingness to do things for him, until finally, he had--

She shivered at the memory. She had never known it was possible to feel so repulsed by someone to whom she had previously felt so attracted....but then, she hadn’t known he had the capacity to behave in that way....

Lily had shaken with nerves. She was planning to break school rules. This was not something she did lightly. She wasn’t even certain it was something she’d done at all before (at least, with premeditation). She was going to go to the boys’ dorms and try to get Remus to come down to the common room to talk to her. It was thrilling and terrifying to contemplate this. What if Sirius woke up and found her there? What if he told all of Gryffindor House? She had donned her dressing gown and started walking down to the common room, on the verge of fleeing back to her room several times before reaching it. Then it turned out she didn’t need to risk going into the boys’ dorms after all. He was already there by the fire, shivering and sweating at the same time, shaking convulsively, his legs drawn up to his chest, his arms hugging them. He had turned his head in alarm when she entered, his eyes widening.

“Lily! I thought I told you--”

“I know, Remus. But I--I just couldn’t bear to think of you being cross with me. I had to talk to you, to apologize.” She sank down on the floor next to him, hugging her own legs to her chest. His shaking seemed to grow worse when she was near him.

“Please go,” he had said, so quietly she could barely make out the words.

She touched his arm with her hand. He responded like a dog with its quarry’s scent high in its nostrils; they flared as he turned to her. His eyes went wide and the fire reflecting in them made them look reddish.

“Lily--” he choked, as though his life-force were being sucked from him. He covered her hand with his. She had the strange feeling that he really did want her to stay, in spite of his words. She moved closer to him and put her arm around his shoulders.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” she said insistently. “You shouldn’t be alone, in this state.” She brushed his hair out of his face tenderly with her other hand. He followed the movement of her hand with his nose, breathing her in as though she were an exotic flower. She caught her breath as his nose nuzzled her hand for a second before his lips made contact with her palm, as though he just couldn’t help doing it....

She hadn’t expected this at all. She’d thought they might sit together and talk, that she might distract him from feeling poorly. The moment she felt his lips on her skin, all of her nerves suddenly stood to attention. She thought it was possible she had stopped breathing. His face moved over her hand again, smelling it thoroughly, memorizing her scent as if he planned to track her....

He turned to look at her then; the red light in his eyes no longer seemed to be a trick of the firelight. It didn’t scare her, though, and she watched, fascinated, as he leaned over and captured her lips with his. She put her hand against his chest to brace herself, and to push him away if need be. What would she do if he opened his mouth? That had been part of her undoing with Sirius. When he had suddenly, mercilessly (she thought) thrust his tongue into her mouth, she thought she would choke to death. Surely people didn’t like doing this? she had thought. It was disgusting.

And yet--Remus was different. Suddenly she had found herself absolutely aching to taste him, to breathe with his breath. She parted her lips slightly and when she felt his tongue lightly brush against her lower teeth, she finally felt as though she was starting to understand why people did this, why they wanted to. He moved his mouth against hers a little more insistently, slowly bringing his tongue against hers in a gentle caress that was making her react in ways she also hadn’t expected. She felt perspiration rise on her skin, she felt a warmth in her chest, and before she knew it, he was removing her dressing gown, she was on her knees before him, his mouth clamped on her neck, his hands--God, she thought, he has amazing hands....

Her mind whirled as they continued, their breathing becoming more labored, their pulses racing. Then, without warning, Remus lifted his head and sniffed the air.

“James.”

Everything after that was a fog to her. Remus had crossed the room and removed the Invisibility Cloak from James (where had he gotten that? she wondered) and started screaming at him. James may have answered, she wasn’t sure. Mortified, remembering only the amazed and dazed expression on James Potter’s face, she had snatched up her dressing gown and run up the stairs to her dorm as though a wild animal was chasing her.

A month later, lying in her bed watching the moonlight play over the still room with the three sleeping girls, she played it all over in her head again. This was Remus. Suddenly, they were kissing and pawing each other on the common room floor. How had that happened? It still seemed as though that had been some other person down there, not the self-possessed Lily Evans, prefect. His touch had released a cascade of desires she hadn’t known lived within her, and they frightened her. She had felt utterly out of control, her body running the show instead of her mind. She always had to be in control. The alternative was unthinkable to her. And yet--the way he had made her feel--

This was Remus, she thought again. Remus with the luminous hazel eyes. Remus with the shy smile that made her catch her breath. Remus who was the nicest boy she knew, and therefore the last one she would ever expect to make a pass at her. But this wasn’t a pass; what Sirius had done was a pass. (Everyone knew what had happened, too, once they saw what she’d done to him.) This was--she didn’t have a word for it. It had been mutual, that was for sure. Remus had seemed to need her so, to want her. Sirius--he had simply assumed he could do certain things to her, that she would let him because of her crush. It was very different. Remus seemed to be doing everything as much for her as for him. She remembered his nose gently nudging her hand....

And then, the next day, he had ignored her. She had expected--she didn’t know what she expected, but it hadn’t been that. Her heart had gone crashing down into her feet. Had he just been trying to get what he could, like Sirius? It had felt so different, though. She didn’t want to think it of him. And when she decided to try to talk to him about it that night (he had avoided her all day), she found he wasn’t in the common room. She steeled herself to invade the boys’ dorms, as she’d planned to do previously, treading ever so lightly on the stone steps. To her shock, the entire fifth-year boys’ dorm had been empty. She had cautiously opened the curtains on one bed after another. All four boys were out of Gryffindor Tower. Suddenly, a prefect’s rage had risen in her. They would lose Gryffindor house points if they were caught! And that James. He was a prefect! He should know better!

Lily had gone back to bed, but not to sleep (she’d hadn’t slept a wink all night). She kept hearing the sound of howling wolves coming from the Forbidden Forest. The howls made the hair stand up all over her scalp. Were they just common wolves? she wondered, then stopped herself. Best not to think about what things lived in the forest. She’d heard too many stories for that to be conducive to sleep.

Three nights in a row, she’d gone to the boys’ dorms and found their beds empty. She was quite nervy about it now. On the morning after the third night, she cornered James when he was leaving the prefects’ bathroom and pulled him into an empty classroom.

“Where were the four of you last night? For the last three nights?” she had demanded. He looked shocked.

“In--in bed, of course,” he lied. He was quite pink; normally, James Potter gave a new meaning to pale. Not as much as Severus Snape, but close.

“No, you weren’t. I checked your dorm. All three nights I checked! What are you thinking? Do you want to send Gryffindor into negative house points?”

“Is that really why you’re asking?” he had responded, bristling. “Because I could ask you the same. Girls aren’t supposed to be sneaking into the boys’ dorms. You were probably far more likely to be caught in our dorm than we were to be caught out of it.”

She had opened her mouth to respond and shut it again, confused. He could get her a detention! A month of detentions. She clamped her lips together angrily (how dare he get the better of her!) and turned on her heel, leaving the room as quickly as she could, seeing red. A moment later he caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

“Wait! Lily--I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to threaten you or blackmail you or anything. But--but why were you checking to see that we were all in our dorm? Why did you go up there, really?”

She stared at him helplessly. Because I’m a lovesick idiot. That would be the truth. She wracked her brain for a plausible lie, but nothing came to her. Finally, feeling she could trust James, of all people, she said softly, truthfully, “I was worried about Remus.”

James stiffened, and his hand closed more firmly around her arm, so that she was tempted to cry out in pain, but she forced herself not to. “I see,” he had said, and then she remembered his face when Remus had removed the Invisibility Cloak; didn’t he and Bonnie do things like that? She had no idea, and would never dream of asking. “We--we were worried about him too,” he said in a sudden rush. “That’s why we weren’t there. We’d taken him to the hospital wing and stayed with him. Madam Pomfrey let us. He’s our friend, Lily. We wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Don’t worry about Remus.”

He wasn’t looking at her; his eyes slid around her, but wouldn’t meet hers. He’s lying, she felt sure. He won’t look me in the eye. “If you say so,” she answered reluctantly. How do you accuse one of your best friends of telling a bald-faced lie? She wanted to, very badly, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She walked away from him sadly. James was lying to her. That was almost as disillusioning as Remus kissing her passionately, then completely ignoring her. Both seemed contradictory to their basic natures. That meant there had to be a good reason for what each of them had done. But what was it?

Now she had another thing to think about. After a week, her relationship with the four boys normalized again somewhat, and Remus started to behave toward her as he had previously (but it was as though he had completely forgotten ever kissing her). James stopped going pink when he spoke to Lily, and looked her in the eye. She tried to forget about Remus. She tried to focus on her assignments. She wrote History of Magic essays and practiced learning new charms and brewed complicated potions and prepared for the O.W.L.s....But then the cycle had repeated itself, and Remus’ physical condition had again deteriorated....

He had been shivering and perspiring during the day again, she remembered, staring at the underside of the canopy above her bed. Whatever malady overtook him on a regular basis, he was once more in its grip. She turned over in bed, wondering if he had yet again taken refuge in the common room. Did the other boys send him there? she wondered, growing angry with them on his behalf. Then she realized that this didn’t square with them taking him to the hospital wing and staying with him there--if, in fact, that was what they had done (and she wasn’t at all convinced, yet could not bring herself to ask Madam Pomfrey whether they’d been there, in case they all landed in trouble because of her).

Lily stood and slid her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown and wrapped it securely around her. She walked softly to the door of her room in her bare feet, even though the stone floor was chilling her. She crept down the curving stairs to the common room, wondering if she would have the courage to check the boys’ dorms again if he wasn’t there. But she never found out whether she would be able to bring herself to do this, as Remus was again sitting before the roaring fire, shivering as though he’d been set adrift on an ice floe and the nearest warmth was half a world away, not three feet away.

He looked up at her with a stricken expression. “Lily,” he whispered, giving her a look that made her want to do anything in her power to make him feel better.

“Help me.”

* * * * *

Sirius Black woke with a start.

Several floors below in Gryffindor Tower, a door had slammed noisily. He pulled himself up in bed and parted his bedcurtains, wondering what was going on. He crept out of bed and toward the door. When he was on the landing, he looked around cautiously, then took a deep breath and did it; he felt the change ripple through his body, felt the horrible pain as his bones wrenched themselves into a different shape, as his very internal organs shifted and metamorphosed into another creature’s.

His paws landed softly on the stone floor. He turned his head to see his tail flicking. He felt quite satisfied inside. He hadn’t told the others he was doing this, transforming whenever he felt the urge, for more practice. Yes, it was painful, but it also gave him an incredibly powerful feeling to be able to execute such advanced magic, and something that was so rare, at the age of fifteen. He had been very, very impatient for them to be able to accompany Remus during the full moon. He’d been ready ever since the term had started--well before that, in fact--but James had insisted that they continue to wait for Peter to be ready.

Sirius loved being in his dog form. He could smell things he couldn’t as a human. He could hear incredibly well. He had started to feel like his nose and ears were stuffed up when he was in his human form, the difference was so marked. Being a dog made him feel more alive than he’d ever been in his life.

Now he started to descend the spiral stairs in his dog form, going toward the source of the noise. It had come from the first-years’ dorm, on the second level. The fifth-years were on the sixth level, high above the common room. He paused a flight above the first-year dorm, catching snatches of their conversation, even through the heavy door.

“You do know what shagging is, don’t you?”

What on earth? Why were first years talking about that? he wondered. Then he heard the voices in the common room below, the sound unobscured by doors or walls or constrained by human hearing....

“Remus! That boy heard us!”

“Don’t worry, Lily. We have the cloak. It’ll be all right....”

Sirius padded softly back up the stairs and changed into his human form again before opening the door to his dorm and staggering to his bed. He threw himself back on his pillow. She was with him. One of his best friends. He felt like punching something, or someone. He felt--incredibly angry with himself. It’s all your fault, came the accusing voice in his head. He couldn’t bring himself to hate Remus; he didn’t blame Remus at all, in fact. You botched it up and now she hates you.

It had happened after the Quidditch match that fell on the Saturday directly after Lily’s birthday. Lily had been mooning over Sirius for years, although she tried to pretend she didn’t care. (She did a very poor job of this.) It had been frankly embarrassing during the first three years of school, when he didn’t care tuppence for girls. She’d go deep red whenever he was around, and when she’d gone (and sometimes even when she hadn’t) the others would nudge him and wink and tease him about his girlfriend. It almost made him hate her. After all, she was an insufferable know-it-all. Who wanted someone like that for a girlfriend, and with hair in that dreadful red? Someone who was a skinny stick, and pale to boot (when she wasn’t blushing over running into him).

Once, late in their second year, when some fourth years had teased him in the common room about his girlfriend he’d shouted irritably, “She’s not my bleeding girlfriend! I wouldn’t be caught dead with her!” Then he saw that she was still in the corner of the room. She’d looked up with a stricken expression on her face, and he felt a stab of guilt. The guilt had deepened when she’d fled the common room, disappearing for hours. She’s not so bad, he had thought more charitably when it started to become quite late and she still hadn’t returned. She’ll probably look all right when she’s older.

James had gone to look for her after she didn’t turn up at the evening meal. Sirius was actually starting to feel somewhat anxious. What if something happens to her because of me? he thought. She never let him copy her homework--in spite of her crush, she was very scrupulous about this--but she had helped him with assignments many times. He’d shamelessly taken advantage of the fact that he knew she wouldn’t refuse him. He’d used her time and again, he thought, feeling more and more like a complete cad.

He had sat near the bottom of the spiral stairs to the boys’ dorms, waiting, and finally, James had come back with her. He’d walked in with his arm around her tenderly; her face was rather blotchy, as though she’d been crying. Sirius sank back into the shadows in the stairwell so they wouldn’t see him.

“There, there,” James had said softly to her. “He’s my best friend and even I don’t think he’s worth this much fuss,” he told her, making Sirius frown. Thanks a lot, mate.

“You don’t understand. It was--he said caught dead. It just made me think--I’d--I’d just gotten a letter from my dad about my mum. She’s--she’s in hospital again--the cancer’s back--” She buried her face in James’ shoulder and he held her and patted her back, his cheek on her hair. Sirius grimaced. Bloody hell. He was going around insulting a girl with a dying mother. Why hadn’t anyone told him Lily’s mother had cancer? Because no one thought you cared about her, that’s why, he answered himself.

Things hadn’t improved much in third year, and by then she was sporting orthodontia, on top of everything else. She still blushed around him, still shot him nervous glances when she didn’t think he knew. When they were doing assignments together she was better, she was able to focus on the work and be more businesslike. However, she took on the imperious manner of a teacher at these times, which didn’t exactly make her more attractive to him.

Then when she returned from the Christmas holidays during fourth year, it was like she’d undergone a transformation. Suddenly, her hair looked like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen--maybe she’d found a new shampoo?--her orthodontia was gone. He noticed for the first time how her green eyes sparkled. She had--she had a figure now. A slight one, but she was definitely no stick any more.

Now Sirius Black had a problem. He’d spent three-and-a-half years stating loudly and uncategorically how he wouldn’t have anything to do with Lily Evans. The trouble was--now he’d fallen for her. He’d fallen hard. How was he to undo everything he’d said about her since coming to Hogwarts? He had no idea.

And to make matters, worse, he could tell that two of his friends had it bad for Lily too. Peter he wasn’t worried about, but Remus....And on top of that, it was clear that Severus Snape was not immune to Miss Evans’ charms either. In fact, he’d noticed Snape looking at her in second year and thought, Good luck to you if you go there, mate. Now he felt like he would kill Severus Snape if he ever tried to lay a finger on his Lily. His Lily. When had she become that? In his mind a transformation had taken place, and he had no idea what to do about it.

After the Quidditch match that had closely followed her birthday, the Gryffindors were celebrating in the common room; James had clinched the match again, racking up goals to keep them safely ahead so the Slytherin Seeker wouldn’t even try to catch the Snitch, which meant their Seeker, feeble though he was, simply had to have a clear field to grab it. As one of the Beaters, Sirius played an important role in this, sending the Bludgers hurtling at the Slytherin Seeker while the Gryffindor Seeker made his way toward the small golden ball.

During the celebration, Sirius noticed Lily sitting alone; after congratulating James on his win, she’d retreated to a corner to read. Their exams weren’t for two months. He shook his head. Someone need to teach this girl how to live. He sauntered over to her and sat down next to her. She looked up to see who it was, reddened, said a soft “hello,” and buried her nose in the book again.

“You know,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I hear there’s a party we could go to. In the Gryffindor common room. Some sort of victory celebration.”

She looked up then, grinning at him. He grinned back. Why, he thought, when she smiles....She’s going to break hearts, he thought instinctively, not realizing that his might very well be the first.

She let him coax her away from the corner and got bottles of butterbeer for both of them, drawing her into the crowd of laughing people near the fire, who were rehashing some of James’ exploits again. James flashed a smile at the two of them, jolting Sirius. Did he suspect his best friend’s change of heart concerning Lily Evans?

Sirius’ presence seemed to convince Lily to stay in the circle of people near the fire for the rest of the party. They sat next to each other on the hearthrug, and at one point--judging the moment very carefully--Sirius slung his arm carelessly over her shoulder. She looked at him suddenly with wide eyes when he did this. He smiled at her warmly and she blushed again, but it wasn’t anything like when she’d been younger. He detected that her breathing had changed; he was able to move his hand gently to her neck and feel her quickened pulse. She caught her breath when his fingers brushed her skin. Hmmm, he thought. She’s rather responsive.

Sirius and Lily remained as the other students slowly left, ascending the stairs amid huge yawns. Finally, it was just the two of them. Her skin still looked flushed in the firelight. She wore a simple white blouse and black skirt, her usual clunky black brogans on her feet, and socks pulled up to her knees. He let his eyes go down to her chest very briefly, then back up to her face, his arm still around her. He leaned closer to her and felt her hitch her breath in anticipation. Should he say something? he wondered. What could he say? After years of saying I wanted nothing to do with you, could you please be my girl? Smooth. Very smooth. He looked in her emerald eyes and decided that speaking was out of place just now.

Actions, not words, he thought. Suddenly, he covered her mouth with his, holding her to him. She pressed her lips against his, mouth closed, meeting his pressure with an equal one. He opened his eyes and found her eyes open too, looking back. He pulled back from her.

“You’re not supposed to look,” he told her irritably. This wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. She frowned.

“You were,” she shot back. She was looking somewhat dissatisfied as well. Did she know nothing? he wondered. He wasn’t even sure he could remember how many girls he’d kissed. Was he her first? Probably, he answered himself. Who else would have kissed her, after all?

He took a deep breath and put his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her close to him. “Just relax,” he whispered to her as he pressed his lips against hers again. In response, she became tenser than ever, as though she were over-thinking the entire operation. It’s not Arithmancy, he thought, irritated.

Her lips were still shut against his. She really doesn’t know anything, he thought, bringing up his hand and pulling her jaw down somewhat impatiently and pushing his tongue against her lips. This finally caused her to open her mouth involuntarily, and he thrust his tongue in at last, holding her head in place. She started struggling against him, and he held her more tightly. She was making a peculiar sound in her throat, and he took this as encouragement, moving one hand down to her chest....

Finally, she wrenched her head away from him, her eyes dark with fear. She pulled out her wand from the pocket of her skirt and pointed it at him. Her breathing was labored and she looked angry and disappointed. He was getting more irritated by the moment.

“Oh, come on, Lily. Put your wand away. It’s just snogging. It isn’t as though you haven’t been wanting me to do that for years--” Even as he said it, he realized how dreadful that sounded. He always had been terrible when it came to talking to girls. His most successful come-ons were the silent ones, the meaningful glances across the library, followed by a pretty girl meeting him behind the far bookcases, letting him kiss her without a word....

Lily gasped, and he knew she didn’t care for how callous he sounded. He’d botched this up completely, he realized. Now he not only had years of rejection to undo, but this. Right, he thought. Go with your strength. Actions, not--

But as he stepped toward her again, she pointed her wand and a burst of sparks shot out of the end, striking him in the face. He immediately felt his skin moving of its own accord. In a panic, he put his hands up to his face.

“Ow!” he cried, having poked himself in his left eye, which was near where his mouth should have been, only a little further down and to the right. He moved his hands over his face carefully; his left ear appeared to be where his nose used to reside, and his mouth was sideways on the left side of his forehead, while his other ear was upside down on the right side. His nose now protruded from the left side of his head, and his other eye was on the right where another ear used to be. He moved his head to the left, so he could see with binocular vision again, sort of; the eye on his lower right jaw and the one on the side of his head were a little too far apart for the world to look quite right to him.

“What have you done to me?” he cried in alarm; it was a very strange sensation for his forehead to be opening and closing when he spoke, and he also wound up wincing from the noise, because of the ear that had been placed so close to his mouth. She fled up the stairs and he sat down in a chair, closing his eyes (looking at anything was getting very disorienting to him) and exhaling noisily. Had anyone ever botched anything so spectacularly? he wondered.

His features remained rather mixed-up for a week, and he couldn’t practice the Animagus Transfiguration during that time. He made a mental note to hex anyone who called him “Picasso” when he was normal again. (Peter was particularly annoying during that week, smirking at him constantly, and Snape was completely insufferable.) No other girl would go near him in the meantime, and he had a most difficult time reading, eating and blowing his nose. Brushing his teeth was no picnic, either. Because she’d been in a panic, she’d actually messed up the spell, so for one of the teachers to reverse it would have been somewhat difficult. Professor McGonagall assured him that his features would migrate back to their proper positions over the space of about a week.

In the meantime, Sirius never knew where his eyes, nose, mouth and ears would be when he awoke in the morning, and they were usually in different places by the evening meal than they were at breakfast. Although McGonagall had pressed him, he wouldn’t reveal who had hexed him. She knew him well by now, and even with his limited vision he thought she wore an expression that said He probably deserved it. Secretly, he agreed with her. He didn’t speak to Lily during that week, and she did her best to avoid him anyway. Through his oddly-placed eyes he had seen James looking at her with his eyebrows raised (Sirius’ eyebrows were drifting around his nose and one of his ears). James might suspect, but he wouldn’t tell McGonagall it was Lily, that was fairly certain. Nonetheless, a rumor did start to go around that it was Lily who’d done it, because he’d made a pass at her. He’d put up with a good bit of ribbing even after his face looked normal again. Some rather daring people still insisted on calling him “Picasso,” but it was starting to die out.

Then he had watched her alternately looking at Severus Snape and Remus Lupin all during the autumn term, almost never looking at him any more, and certainly not the way she used to. In the meantime, every time he was with any other girl, he wound up comparing her unfavorably to Lily Evans, and coming away feeling vaguely dissatisfied and aimless.

Now--now she was with Remus. They’re down there, right now, he thought, making himself stay in his bed, forbidding himself from going back out into the stairwell and relying on the superior hearing he had as a dog to listen to what they were doing in the common room. That wouldn’t be right, he told himself sternly. You had your chance, and now she’s moved on.

He sighed noisily and laid back, staring up at the canopy. This was his comeuppance, obviously. He’d been a dreadful prat to her for years, and now this. The feature-rearrangement hex was nothing compared to this. And no matter how much he knew he had earned it with his insults and snideness toward her, and the incompetent pass, and no matter how much he knew Remus deserved a little bit of happiness, he couldn’t help feeling....

She’s going to break hearts.

He thought, Done.

Done and done.

* * * * *

Remus Lupin woke with a start.

He’d been huddled in a corner of the Transfiguration classroom under James’ Invisibility Cloak, biding his time and waiting for all of the students to be in their dormitories and for the teachers to retreat to the staff wing before rising and going to the hospital wing for a sleeping draught from Madam Pomfrey. Luckily, James hadn’t forgotten this month that he needed the cloak.

Before he’d started adolescence, the day before the full moon had been accompanied by a carnal craving that had been satisfied by food; his parents had never been able to fill his stomach on those days. When it was close to full was the only time he felt remotely calm, but his stomach emptied so quickly again that he had to eat almost constantly to keep from shaking to pieces. He had decided, based purely on his own experience and not any research he’d done on werewolves in general, that his body was preparing for the baser carnal desire of sinking his teeth into human flesh during the full moon, for that tearing and ravenous urge that soared through him when he was a wolf. However, as he’d become sexually mature, he’d begun to have carnal urges of a different nature during the day before the full moon. These were far worse than the random urges that struck any twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy, and unfortunately, the sort of activity that eased the tension during other times of the month gave him no relief whatsoever when it was the eve of the full moon. The only thing that seemed to help was actual proximity to another person. He needed to smell them, to touch them, to have them touch him and smell him, and then more, more....

Or at least, he assumed this was true. In his fifth year of school he had never had the courage to find out whether actually having sex with another person would ease the symptoms he experienced as the full moon approached. Early in second year, when he was shivering uncontrollably in his bed, James had come to him, wondering what was wrong. He’d sat next to Remus on the bed, and Remus’ nose had started going into overdrive. Suddenly he felt the incredible need to smell James all over, to touch him, to be touched by him; his proximity was both exciting him incredibly, and at the same time it was a calming influence. Breathing in the other boy’s scent made him feel so right, like he was close to a solution to his problem. He’d never been this close to someone when he was coping with the eve of the full moon. He hadn’t known that this was what could calm him. And yet--he needed more than proximity. He needed--more.

And that thought terrified him. He was only twelve years old. So was James. They were both boys. James might not like boys, and they were so young, below the age of consent. People would think it was wrong for so many reasons....No one would care that Remus was going mad for lack of human touch, for that closeness which was greatest when two people joined their bodies in mutual delight....

So he’d drawn back from James in fear, fear of alienating his friend (If he knew what was going through my mind!) and fear of what this meant for him (Do I like boys? Do I like girls?). He’d ordered James to go back to his bed, and the other boy, clearly still concerned, complied.

Once he was lying by himself again, Remus had sniffed the air; the scent of the other three boys was heady and sexual. All four of them were bundles of walking hormones, and with his werewolf sense of smell, Remus was even more aware of this. Sirius had been wanking in the bathroom, he was sure. Nothing unusual there. But the smell that lingered on his friend, which wafted across the room, was starting to make Remus sweat and shiver again, and he burrowed under his blankets, miserable, afraid that any moment he would spring out and rape one of the other boys. I’m stronger than any of them, he thought suddenly. I could do it, just take one of them.... And then he thought, I’m a terrible person. I’m not even a person; I’m a beast, an animal.....

The next morning, James had come to talk to him again, and Sirius and Peter noticed and joined him, all of them on Remus’ bed.

“What’s wrong, Remus? I can tell something’s wrong; you can’t hide it any longer,” James had said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Remus swallowed, looking round at his friends; they seemed genuinely concerned. His second year had barely begun. He’d been friends with these boys for a year, and they did everything together--almost. (He went to the Shrieking Shack by himself every month.) Finally, he made a decision. He plucked up his courage and blurted it out.

“I’m a werewolf.”

They stared back and forth at each other, and then Sirius started laughing first, followed by Peter, and then James.

“All right, then, don’t tell us,” Sirius said. “Werewolf. Is that the best you can do? All right, I’m the bleeding Queen of England,” he began in a high voice, “and I want my tea and crumpets now!”

Peter guffawed so hard he had to run to get a handkerchief to blow his nose. James was looking concerned again, though. While Sirius and Peter were carrying on, he quietly said to Remus, “What is it really?”

Remus looked at him sadly. “I said. I’m a werewolf. Tonight when the sun sets and the moon rises, I will change into a wolf. Any human who is near me runs the risk of being bitten and turned into a wolf also or just plain being killed.” His voice was soft and steady, and Sirius and Peter finally settled down. The three boys were absolutely still, listening to Remus’ quiet words. “I am why the Whomping Willow was planted. It conceals a passageway to the Shrieking Shack. When I press a certain knot on the roots of the tree the limbs stop moving and I can go through into the passage. When I transform, if there are no humans to devour, I attack myself. That is what the villagers hear coming from the Shrieking Shack. They hear me. That is why I need to go to Madam Pomfrey each morning after a night with a full moon, so she can repair my wounds. And last night--” he nodded at James “--my body was--was getting ready for the transformation. The night and day before the full moon is--is very difficult--”

Finally, they had believed him. They didn’t disown him as a friend. He almost felt like crying; had anyone ever had such good friends? he wondered.

But that didn’t solve his monthly problem. Each month that followed, he spent the day before the full moon in agony, around boys whose hormones were jumping about constantly, and around girls who were in complete denial about their sexuality, even as he could smell which ones were menstruating, which were ovulating. They all smelled like sex to Remus Lupin, and they all drove him mad, boy and girl alike. He began to haunt the hospital wing on the eve of the full moon, asking the matron for sleeping draughts (James’ idea), but soon she grew tired of him and wouldn’t let him have a potion if it was too early in the evening.

“Go back to bed,” she’d say tiredly. “It’s only eight o’clock. You haven’t even tried to get to sleep on your own. You don’t want to become dependent on a potion to fall asleep every night.”

Although the staff knew he was a werewolf, and even that that was why the Shrieking Shack had been built and the Whomping Willow planted, no one--including his friends-- really knew about what he went through before the full moon. He was ashamed; he couldn’t go to Professor Dumbledore and explain, “I’m sorry sir, everything you’ve done for me isn’t quite enough. I need complete carte blanche to shag anyone I want on the night before the full moon, or I’ll go mad.”

He couldn’t admit to the headmaster or matron what was bothering him. And he shuddered to think of the jokes Sirius would make if he knew. It was just too embarrassing. So he shouldered on, finally falling back on sneaking down to sleep in the common room when he couldn’t bear the scents of his friends any longer, or when he hadn’t been able to talk Madam Pomfrey into giving him a potion which would guarantee him instant sleep. He had gone as far as asking James whether he could borrow the Invisibility Cloak on the night before the full moon so he could go to the hospital wing for the potion late at night without being seen. When she was tired, Madam Pomfrey was more pliable and often let him sleep in the infirmary after taking the potion, instead of taking it back up to his dorm in a vial. She slept nearby, but in a different room; and she didn’t bother him, at any rate, being too old to give off any sort of sexual scent. She hadn’t been a sexual being for decades, and he was grateful for this. Yearning after the matron was one more headache he didn’t need.

But this night....After the corridors had all gone quiet and he’d awoken in his uncomfortable position on the floor of the Transfiguration classroom, he’d put on the Invisibility Cloak and made his way to the hospital wing. He didn’t want to be discovered by Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris. He took off the cloak and stuffed it in his dressing gown pocket before entering the infirmary.

Then, while he was waiting for the matron to get the potion, he had shown up, with that git, Karkaroff. Remus watched Severus Snape enter the room, his eyes narrowed into slits. He likes Lily, he knew. It was painfully obvious. Every time they were in Potions together, the way he looked at her when she didn’t know he was looking made it very, very clear how he felt. And yet--he had far more right to like Lily than he, Remus, did. He was a werewolf. He could never really be with anyone. He had watched his friends pair off with girls and thought I can’t do that. He didn’t dare. James had Bonnie, and Sirius had--whichever girl it was this week. Peter didn’t have anyone, but that was hardly surprising. Remus thought he might have a little thing for Lily, too.

Remus couldn’t help but hate Severus Snape. Snape who was so tall. Snape who played Keeper on the Slytherin Quidditch team (although he could almost never prevent James from scoring; James was a brilliant Chaser). Snape who made Lily smile and sometimes blush in Potions class, who made her get that wondering look on her face. It was stupid; he shouldn’t feel jealous that Snape might actually have a chance with her. He had no business being with any girl, let alone Lily Evans. But still--

The scent of the other boy wafted across the room to him. I do not want to want that git, he thought irritably. Remus squeezed his eyes shut, feeling beads of sweat on his brow. He shivered feverishly. Then he opened his eyes again, watching the other boy. Snape hugged the wall nervously, making his way to Madam Pomfrey’s office. Karkaroff moved toward the door again. “I’m going now. Don’t forget--” he added; “you owe me.” What does that mean? Remus wondered. He sat up, swallowing. Snape scowled at him.

After Karkaroff left, Snape rapped on Madam Pomfrey’s office door; Remus could see Snape watching him out of the corner of his eye. She opened the door quickly; Remus knew she was in the middle of preparing his sleeping draught.

“Snape! What are--” She stopped when she saw his face, then helped him to a bed. With his very sensitive ears, Remus heard her whisper to Snape, “I’ll get the potion. Professor Sprout just brought me a fresh batch of spleenwort. I’ve been brewing potions all day.”

Snape grabbed her hand. “What’s he here for?” he asked quietly. Remus sensitive ears heard this too.

She looked irritated. “Always coming down here for sleeping draughts. And he’ll probably ask to sleep here again, instead of in his own dormitory. But don’t worry--I’ll take care of you first.” She looked disapprovingly at Remus again before leaving to get Snape’s potion.

Remus sat up straighter, finding it very difficult to not stare at Severus Snape. His beard defined his jaw and high cheekbones very nicely....Aargh, he thought. Stop that. I do not want to have these kinds of thoughts about Snape.

But his mind ran away with him anyway. The two of them, in the infirmary, alone....No. He shook his head to clear it. ’Not a good idea’ would be the understatement of the century....

“Are you staying?” Remus asked him abruptly, his voice throaty.

“What?” Snape sounded startled.

“I said, are you staying?”

Snape frowned. “What’s it to you?”

Remus couldn’t help it; he started breathing more rapidly. “If I thought I wouldn’t be alone, I wouldn’t have bothered to come all the way down here....” Then he wished he hadn’t said this; it must sound very strange.

“Oh, you’ve got to have the infirmary all to yourself now, have you?” Snape shot at him. “Sorry, but some of us have legitimate medical concerns.” Then he looked like he was worried he’d said too much. What was wrong with him? Remus wondered. “Sleeping draught. Why don’t you sod off and leave poor Madam Pomfrey alone? And me as well?”

“I--I had expected to be alone, is all.” Remus slid off his bed and put his shoes back on, pulling his dressing gown on over his pajamas. He ran to the door. “Tell Madam Pomfrey--tell her I’m feeling much better--” Snape looked unconvinced about this, but he smirked, “Afraid to be alone with me?”

Remus stopped; the other boy’s scent was very strong. He looked at him, at the bit of pale skin revealed by the V of his dressing gown, at his large hands. Snape looked unnerved by his scrutiny.

“Yes,” he admitted softly. “I am definitely afraid to be alone with you.”

Snape settled back against his pillows, his mouth twisting again. “Huh! Gryffindor bravery my arse.”

Remus was at his side in two steps, grabbing a fistful of Snape’s dressing gown with each hand, pulling him up, breathing him in hungrily. Their faces were very close.

“It’s not what you’d do to me that I fear,” he said quietly. He flung him back on the bed and walked unsteadily to the door, slamming it behind him.

He had decided he couldn’t risk staying. He felt so on edge. Ever since he’d given in to his desires and starting kissing Lily during the previous month, he’d been dreading this night. That had been so amazing; inhaling her, hearing her sighs and feeling her fingers fluttering over him....until James had come in and brought him to his senses. Which he was glad of. And yet not....

In the corridor, he tried to get his breath. Damn! He would have to go back up to the common room. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, unless he wanted to risk leaving the castle and going through the passage to the Shrieking Shack. The winter wind beat against the windows in the corridor and a cold breeze swirled around his ankles; the castle was draughty, but it was at least shelter, and there was some warmth. The Shrieking Shack had none. And if he went to sleep all night on the floor of a classroom, covered in the Invisibility Cloak, he would probably be found by Filch and Norris; he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t snore, or throw the cloak off in his sleep.

He gave the password and entered Gryffindor Tower, taking off the cloak and bundling it into the pocket of his dressing gown again. He sat before the fire, remembering Snape’s scent, and beginning to shake again. Damn Snape! He was so close to getting the sleeping draught from Pomfrey....But he didn’t know how long she would take getting Snape’s potion, how long after that she would have his sleeping draught ready, and how long both boys would be there, alone in the infirmary, waiting for their potions to take effect. What was wrong with Snape, anyway? he wondered. But he didn’t have long to ponder this.

As he sat before the fire, shaking, his nose started quivering again. No, no, no, he thought. Go away. I can’t bear it. I can’t fight it.... He heard her soft footsteps come closer and closer as she descended the stairs.

Finally, she had reached the common room. She walked toward him slowly, then stopped. He couldn’t help staring at her; she was so beautiful, so compassionate. He knew he’d already hurt her a great deal, yet, miraculously, she didn’t hate him for it. She was here looking for him in spite of that. He had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms the morning after they’d first kissed, to tell her how much he loved her and to kiss her again. But he dared not do this. He was a monster. He dared not ever love anyone, nor ask them to love him.

And yet, even as he thought this, he moved his eyes over her hungrily, aching for her, and not just because he was a werewolf. His resolved crumbled utterly as he whispered, “Lily. Help me.”

* * * * *

Bill Weasley woke with a start.

The door to the first-years’ dorm slammed noisily and Peregrin Booth came hurtling back into the room, leapt onto his bed and dove under the covers. The other boys woke also, and immediately started telling off Booth for being so noisy upon returning from the lavatory in the middle of the night.

“I don’t care how cold the floor is,” Alex Wood said to him angrily, after Orville Simpson had told Booth to do something to himself which was probably physically impossible. Sleep was still making Alex’s voice a little thick. “Put on a pair of bleeding slippers or boots or something. Don’t just--”

“That’s not why I was running!” Booth said breathlessly. He sat up, leaning forward, clearly hoping he’d goad the other boys into asking what was really making him run. His fair blond hair shivered in a pudding-bowl shape around his head.

Rembert Leonard, his fox-like face poking between his bedcurtains, took the bait. “All right--why were you running?” Leonard was Booth’s best friend, and was bound to ask. The blond boy called him Bert and in turn his friend called him Perry. Bill and Alex and Orville Simpson, who tended to stick together, called them Booth and Leonard. The two groups of boys rarely interacted when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. It was merely incidental that they all had to live together.

“There’s--there’s something in the common room! I heard noises when I came out of the loo, so I went downstairs to find out what it was. I looked around the whole room--couldn’t see a thing--but there were still these noises....I think there’s something evil down there.”

Orville rolled his eyes and smacked his forehead. “Honestly. You are aware that ghosts live here? In the castle? There’s something evil down there....” he said in a squeaky voice intended to mock Booth, whose voice hadn’t yet deepened--and in spite of the fact that his own voice still cracked and wavered between alto and tenor on a regular basis. He shook his head in disgust. Orville Simpson was a half-blood and had grown up in the magical world, like Bill and Alex, who were both pure-bloods. Booth and Leonard were both Muggle-borns and still shocked by many things they encountered in the magical world--of which they’d each had only four months’ experience.

Booth smirked at Orville. “Very funny, Simpson.” His voice went squeaky when he said the name, mocking Orville right back. “I know what ghosts sound like and what they do. This was no ghost. There were voices. Two voices. Sort of grunting and groaning. Sometimes sighing. I even heard a laugh.”

Bill looked at Alex and saw the knowing expression on his face. Bill hoped no one could see him blushing in the semi-darkness--he could feel it, though. From what Booth had said, he could guess what was going on in the common room, and he could tell Alex had drawn the same conclusion. Bill braced himself--

“Let’s go!”

“Wood!” Booth yelled as Alex bolted across the room to the door. “Where are you going?”

Alex turned around at the door with an evil grin on his face. His dark hair was standing on end, like a gang of exclamation points. “I’m going to find out who’s shagging in the common room, that’s where I’m going.”

“Who’s sha--what?”

Alex rolled his eyes, and now Orville joined him by the door, also rolling his eyes. Since the term had started in September, Bill had been a little disconcerted by Orville’s aping many things Alex did, but now he was used to it--although he stubbornly refused to do the same. “That’s what you were hearing, you stupid git. The sounds of shagging. You do know what shagging is, don’t you?”

Booth was shuffling his feet, embarrassed. “I know about babies and all that. I’m not a three-year-old.”

Alex snorted. “Fooled me. And just about everyone else, too.”

Booth bristled now, and his best friend came to stand by his side in solidarity. Alex ignored them. “Who wants to come?” he said to Orville and Bill, a wicked smile on his face. “Get it? I said who wants to--”

“We get it!” Bill hissed, trying to shut him up. “All right, let’s go--”

Against his better judgment, he followed Alex down the spiral stairs to the common room. Orville was practically stepping on his heels. He turned his head briefly and saw that Booth and Leonard were bringing up the rear. He experienced a pang for a moment--who would want five eleven-year-old boys walking in on them at such a crucial time? (If there really was shagging going on.) And yet his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he couldn’t resist trying to find out what was going on....

Alex had reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped; Bill plowed into him, having expected him to keep moving. Alex looked around the common room with his eyes narrowed. Bill looked too; not a soul was in sight. There was no sound, either; certainly not the sounds Booth had described.

“See?” he said now. “I told you I hadn’t been able to see anyone. It’s not humans; it’s got to be something else....”

Bill shrugged. “Maybe whoever it was went back upstairs.”

“The boy would have had to go past our dorm. I’m sure no one did. And only the seventh years are lower down than us,” Orville reminded them all. The seventh years were on the first floor up from the common room and the first years were on the second floor; they would remain in this dorm for the next seven years, only the sign on the door changing as they grew older.

“Could have been seventh years. Most likely, really,” Bill responded softly, looking around the room again.

“Nah,” Leonard responded. “Their door has this dreadfully loud squeaky hinge. Needs oiling. If someone had gone into their dorm, we’d have heard it. I can tell every time one of them gets up to use the loo in the night. It’s like an angry screech owl.” Bill remembered that this was true; the noise echoed all up and down the stone stairwell whenever the seventh-year door was opened. The seventh years didn’t care, evidently.

The five of them stood near the foot of the stairs, looking around the room nervously. Was some evil being going to suddenly swoop at them out of nowhere? Was a ghost playing games with them?

“They could have just left Gryffindor Tower,” Alex suggested in a whisper. Whispering seemed necessary for some reason. The other boys nodded.

“That’s easy enough to find out,” Booth said sensibly. “Just ask the Fat Lady.”

They all hesitated; it meant going out into the corridor. Being out of their house after hours. They’d had it drummed into them for almost four months that that was a serious punishable offense. Bill looked at his dormmates; Orville still had the look of sleep in his eyes, and his matted hair made it seem that a sandy-colored animal had decided to sleep on his head. Alex made no move toward the portrait hole; he bit his lip nervously, his dark eyes very large in his pale face. Booth and Leonard actually seemed to be trembling.

Bill felt a curious sick feeling in the vicinity of his stomach, and swallowed; it wasn’t fear so much as self-loathing. I should do it, he thought, still not moving.

They all looked back and forth at each other and waited.

Finally, Bill couldn’t take it any longer; he hated the way he was feeling and had to do something about it. It’ll just be for a minute. “I’ll do it,” he said disgustedly, crossing the room before he could change his mind, opening the portrait hole and stepping into the corridor. He shivered as a draught swirled round his ankles and up his pajama legs; the portrait hole still open, he looked up at the Fat Lady uncertainly.

“Er, excuse me, ma’am,” he began awkwardly, never having addressed the Fat Lady except to give her the password to Gryffindor Tower. “Can you tell me whether anyone has come out of Gryffindor Tower recently?”

She looked down at him kindly. “Only you, lad. And it’s rather late for that. You had better run along to bed.”

“In a minute,” he said, feeling more comfortable now. “You’re quite sure? What about--” he lowered his voice in case the others were listening from inside the common room. “--ghosts?” he said even more quietly, feeling just a bit foolish.

“Well, now, that’s a possibility for going in--” she began.

“What do you mean?” he said in a normal tone of voice, forgetting to whisper.

“I mean that a little while ago, a disembodied voice gave me the password and asked to enter, and so I opened. I saw no one pass me, however, so I do not know who it may have been. He did have the password, though.”

“He?” Bill noticed that she’d assigned a gender to the unseen intruder. “A man?”

“A man’s voice, yes. Not like yours. I do like the sound of a good boy soprano. Do you sing?” she added hopefully.

“Er, no,” he told her, turning pink. “At least, you wouldn’t want to hear it. Anyway, this person had the password, then you opened the entrance, and that’s the last time anyone came or went until I came out here?”

“That’s right, dear. Of course, if it was a ghost, it was a ghost who had forgotten he could pass through walls. That would be a very odd sort of ghost.”

He stood deep in thought for a half minute, still holding onto the portrait frame, so he could easily reenter the common room. There was a thought starting to form in his mind, but in his sleepy state it felt like it would get away if he tried to pounce on it too quickly, before it was fully formed....

“Well,” he told the Fat Lady slowly. “Thanks for your help--”

“Aha!” cried a familiar, gravelly voice with a flourish of triumph. Bill whirled, letting go of the portrait, which swung closed, leaving him stranded in the corridor. A grey cat, walking languidly, came round the corner, followed by Argus Filch, who carried a parchment and quill in one hand and a lantern in the other, despite the flaring torches on the corridor walls. Bill felt his heart leap into his throat.

“Aha!” the caretaker repeated with relish, coming closer to Bill and holding the lantern in his face, as though he would otherwise be unable to see the boy with the bright red hair. “Out of your house after hours! Where’ve you been, then, eh? An ickle firstie, if I’m not mistaken, flaunting the rules! What will you be doing by the time you’re a seventh year? That’s what I’d like to know. You delinquents all start as you mean to go on, I’ve seen it before....”

“But--but--I just now came out here,” Bill piped, irked that his voice sounded even higher than usual. He couldn’t help it--the pitch went up when he was nervous. “We--we thought there was an intruder in Gryffindor Tower. I was asking the Fat Lady whether she’d opened the portrait to let someone leave--I had to step out here to talk to her...”

“A likely story,” he sneered, his grimy features twisting into a mask of distinct contempt. “If that was true you should have had a prefect come out and check. That’s what they’re for. A first year isn’t supposed to take these things on himself.” He pulled out his quill and spread the parchment on the stone wall next to the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Name?” he prompted.

“Bill Weasley,” he mumbled. Filch’s quill scribbled across the parchment. After he’d taken the name down, he continued to write with the quill for an alarmingly long period of time. Then he grunted with satisfaction and rolled up the parchment, slipping the quill inside.

“Second one out of bed tonight!” he said, with what probably passed for happiness (for him), rocking back and forth on his old boots, his eyes glittering. “Stupid Slytherin prefect, claiming he was taking a student to the hospital wing....”

“Maybe he was!” Bill responded hotly, keenly feeling the injustice of this, forgetting that it might not be wise to yell at someone who was in the middle of giving him a detention. “Did you go to the hospital wing to check? He might have been telling the truth. And if you’re giving detentions to prefects who say they’re on official business, how would it have helped for me to get a prefect to come out and talk to the Fat Lady? You’d have just given him a detention instead of me!”

Filch looked at him, complete and utter loathing on his lined old face. A vein was throbbing in his cheek. A first year was daring to speak to him like this. “You,” he hissed between his teeth, “will have detention tomorrow evening at eight o’clock. You will be--”

“I can’t,” Bill said automatically, frowning. Filch’s eyes bugged out at him; now his left eyelid was twitching, in addition to the dancing vein.

“What did you say to me?” he breathed in disbelief, glaring at him malevolently, as though Bill had sprouted another head.

Bill quaked under his gaze. “I--I won’t be here. The Christmas holiday. I’m getting the Hogwarts Express home tomorrow.”

Filch had clearly forgotten about the holiday. Bill watched him, wondering if he was going to have a complete melt-down. He’s barking, Bill thought, watching the shifting expressions flow over the man’s face, as though one ghost after another were attempting to take possession of the man’s body and then thinking better of it.

Finally, he bent over Bill and said between his clenched yellow teeth, “Then you’ll do detention your first night back, when the new term starts.” His breath was sour in Bill’s face, a blast of putrid decay, and he fought not to wince; he didn’t think it wise to show too extreme a reaction to this.

“Yes, sir,” he choked out, trying not to breath through his nose, wishing he had a head cold so he wouldn’t be able to smell.

“Now get in your house!” he barked at Bill, who quickly gave the Fat Lady the password and ran through the portrait hole, his heart going a mile a minute. When he was in the common room again, he stood still, catching his breath. There was no one to be seen. The other first-year boys had apparently fled up the stairs to their dorm again. They had probably heard Filch’s voice.

With another look around the quiet common room, Bill decided Booth was also mad and had been letting his imagination run away with him.

Except--

The Fat Lady had said that someone she couldn’t see had given the password to enter Gryffindor Tower. He walked slowly up the spiral stairs to the first-year dorm, thinking about this. When he reached his room again, he walked calmly to his bed and climbed in, but he didn’t lie down; he sat up, staring at the window, full of bright moonlight.

Finally, he whispered, “Alex?” Silence. “Alex?” he said again, more loudly.

“What?” came the sleepy reply. “That you, Bill? You all right?”

Yeah, like you really cared, Bill thought. Probably ran up the stairs like a dragon was after you. You’d have wet your pants if it had been you out in the corridor with Filch. He felt irritated.

“I got a detention,” he said casually, as though this happened every night and was of extreme unimportance. “Listen. I thought of something.”

There was a bit of a delay before his friend groaned, “What?”

“The Fat Lady said someone she couldn’t see gave her the password and came in. But no one went out.”

Alex scrambled to sit up, clearly more awake now. Bill saw that Orville was sitting up now, too. The other two boys had evidently fallen asleep again.

“What do you reckon that means?” Orville asked.

“I know what that means,” Alex whispered, his voice full of certainty. “It means someone in an Invisibility Cloak.”

“An Invisibility Cloak?” Orville breathed in disbelief. “What Hogwarts student would have an Invisibility Cloak? Why not just walk around wearing something made of a thousand Galleons sewn together?”

The three boys were quiet. Then, from the far bed, came a small, high voice.

“I heard that one of the prefects has an Invisibility Cloak,” Peregrin Booth said, his voice seeming very loud in the quiet room.

Bill and Orville and Alex looked round at each other, their jaws dropping open. A prefect! How shocking!

“Well, that narrows it down to six people, now doesn’t it?” Alex said, sounding predatory, like a hunter closing in on his quarry.

“Three,” Booth said. “I heard it was a boy.”

“Three people,” Alex mused, as though he’d just thought of this himself and Booth hadn’t said anything.

“So,” Orville said now, “there’s the seventh year prefect, What’s-His-Name--”

“Stephen Pearce,” Bill said automatically.

“No girlfriend,” Alex said authoritatively. “And he’s huge. Impossible for him to walk about quietly under an Invisibility Cloak. Plus, he’s Muggle-born. He probably doesn’t even know they exist, let alone how to get one.”

“How do you get one?” Rembert Leonard asked quietly, also sitting up in his bed now, unable to resist joining in.

“I know they exist, and I’m Muggle-born,” Booth said, bristling.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got a phonographic memory, I know--”

“That’s photographic memory,” the blond boy informed him with an exasperated sigh; Bill knew he was as frustrated with their isolation from the Muggle world as the other boys were with his and Leonard’s ignorance of the wizarding world.

They were all quiet for a minute, thinking.

“I heard,” Leonard said quietly, “that the fifth year prefect had one.”

“Had what?” Alex said, as though he’d started to fall asleep again.

“An Invisibility Cloak.”

“Potter?” Orville said in awe. “You reckon that was Potter down in the common room? Who with?”

“Dunno. They must have been together under the Invisibility Cloak, and that’s why Perry didn’t see anyone when he went down. They could have been there still when we all went, but staying very still and quiet.”

“The Fat Lady said someone entered she couldn’t see,” Bill said softly, in a daze. “Potter’s girlfriend is in Hufflepuff. He could have given her the cloak to be able to get here without being seen. The way Filch was prowling around, the only way you’d want to be out is with one of those cloaks. He said he gave detention to a prefect who claimed to be taking a student to the hospital wing.”

The other boys shook their heads over Filch. Suddenly a yawning epidemic overtook them, beginning with Booth and finally reaching Bill, who sank back onto his pillow, thinking. So. James Potter was down in the common room with Bonnie Manetti. Where were they now? he wondered. He thought of Bonnie and her large dark eyes, her dazzling smile and the dimples in her cheeks. Potter was one lucky bastard, he thought. Then he felt awful when he remembered that Potter had become an orphan on the first day of the term. Poor Potter, he thought instead. But at least he has Bonnie. That’s something. Although at this point in his life he knew that if he had to choose between his parents and a girlfriend, he’d take his parents. His family was everything to him.

The dorm was quiet again, and soon Bill heard Booth and Leonard snoring softly. He stared at the ceiling and started to drift off to sleep, when suddenly, Alex’s voice came at him out of the darkness again.

“Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“D’you--d’you like any of our girls?”

“Our?”

“In Gryffindor.”

“Oh.” He thought now of Lily Evans, but didn’t say anything about this. “Do you?” he asked instead.

“Well,” Alex hesitated. “Mary Ann is nice.” Mary Ann Boxwood was one of the three girls in their year.

“I guess.” Then Bill thought of Potions class, with the Slytherins. He thought specifically of Roxanne Maine-Thorpe....

“But girls are a ruddy pain in the arse,” Alex said now, his voice hard. “More trouble than they’re worth.” He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Bill.

“Right,” Bill said, more to be agreeable and to bring the conversation to a close than because he believed this.

“Right,” Alex repeated into the darkness.

But somehow, as he let his eyes close and drifted back into sleep, Bill had a feeling that James Potter was the last person in the world who would agree with that statement.

* * * * *

Wednesday, 31 December, 1975

As the sky lightened in the east, pale pink fingers of light began to make their way across the flat, overcast sky that sat on the South Wales coast like a leaden weight. No sun could actually be seen; instead, the light seemed to emanate from the sky in general, no one area seeming brighter than any other. Gulls cried out overhead, occasionally settling on frost-touched rocks or on the rail that defined the edges of the Penarth Promenade.

James Potter watched the waves slap the shingle mercilessly, white froth edging the wet weapons until they revealed themselves to be nothing more than insubstantial water, slinking back into the sea half-apologetically. He looked down at the simple black basaltware urn in his hand. The other one was back in his trunk at Ascog castle. He’d been waiting for almost four months to scatter his parents’ ashes, and now he hesitated, as though this meant severing the last ties he had to them forever. They’re gone, he told himself sternly. And this is what they wanted. He tried not to think of the funeral again, in case a memory of the dream crept into his head instead. He hadn’t told anyone about the dream. Not Bonnie, not his mates, not Lily. They’d think he was mad.

James looked at Bonnie, standing beside him. Her face was sympathetic, even as she clutched her cloak around her; the wind off the sea was sharp, like receiving a slap in the face over and over. Sirius stood on his other side, then Lily, Peter, and Remus. They’d all come with him, his girlfriend and his best friends, just as they would stand beside him when he did the same thing at Hogwarts. The cold air was making his eyes sting and his nose itched; he reasoned that it must be the weather, because he’d cried so many tears for his parents already. Enough was enough. He had to be strong, to go on and be a man they would be proud of. He lifted his chin and sniffed the sea air; he watched Bonnie’s hair blow into her face and knew that the wind had changed; it was behind them. It was safe now.

He said a silent farewell to his mum and dad as he opened the urn and watched the ashes blow over the sand and into the water. He watched a particularly loud gull swerve upward on the wind, as though it knew what the wind was blowing to the sea. James tipped his head back, watching as the bird flew directly over him, inland, as if telling him that his past was in the sea now, follow the gull inland to the future, his future....

Lily’s eyes stung and she wiped them hastily with the back of her hands. She reached instinctively for the person standing nearest her, who turned out to be Sirius. He closed his arms around her sympathetically and smiled down at her. She looked up then, startled, and backed away from him hastily. His face clouded when she did this. She turned then to the boy on her other side, and Peter held his friend as she sobbed quietly for their friend’s parents, now at one with the sea.

Sirius turned away from them; she was still angry with him, or scared of him, at least. Still didn’t trust him. He sighed and leaned his hands on the rough wooden rail. He played the events of the previous April over in his head yet again, wishing he could take back everything he’d said and done (and not just because of how difficult it was to function for the following week). He never seemed to think before he acted. He always went purely with his gut instinct, and he’d regretted that many times, yet still--

Sirius Black looked at the ecstasy on Peter Pettigrew’s face. Hmph. Peter didn’t stand a chance with her--that much he knew. Perhaps that was why she turned to him now. He was as safe as you could get, was Peter. Talk about non-threatening. He cursed himself again. Damn! If only....

He looked at her now, straightening up after having cried on Peter, and then looking at Remus with such longing it took his breath away. Then he saw that Remus returned this. He loves her too, he realized, surprised that this was the word he thought of. Love. And yet--why didn’t the two of them cling together? Why was there this distance between them? He remembered hearing their voices wafting up from the common room on the night before they’d gotten the Hogwarts Express home for the holidays. Had he completely misunderstood what was going on down there? Were they together or weren’t they?

He turned back to James, who was watching the sea again. Sirius’ sister Ursula was waiting for them at the end of the promenade, ready to walk them all to an unobtrusive spot where they could use the Portkey back to Ascog Castle. His parents had spent the previous four months building another floor of the castle, so that Sirius’ previous room was now the guest room and he and James had bedrooms on the top floor. His mother had said she was going to get his father to build a roof garden. James had said he liked his new room when he’d seen it, but he looked around rather listlessly at everything these days. He’d merely drifted through the previous term, never really seeming fully present, always--Sirius assumed--thinking of his parents.

Sirius was only fifteen and he could be tactless and thoughtless, but he cared fiercely about his friends--including Lily--and would do anything in his power to protect them. He hoped Lily and Remus could work things out. If I can’t have her, it should be him, he thought. Remus deserved a little happiness. It had been amazing, when they’d accompanied Remus during the full moon the previous week, feeling his power beside him as they prowled around the shores of Loch Ascog, and he padded in his dog form beside the wolf, his friend. Because of Remus, he had learned a maddeningly difficult bit of Transfiguration that he could utilize the rest of his life. He didn’t begrudge Remus being with Lily; he only hoped he realized how lucky he was, and didn’t botch things up. Like I did, he thought.

As the sun continued to rise, James turned from the sea and held his hands out to his friends. “Thanks, everyone,” he said to them quietly. They nodded and smiled at him through their tears. Then, Sirius put his arm around James’ shoulder and James put his around Bonnie’s. Lily also put her arm around Bonnie’s shoulder, and Peter took Lily’s hand while Remus slung his arm across Peter’s small, thin shoulders. Linked thusly, the six friends walked down the promenade into the rising sun, girding themselves to face the uncertainties of the New Year.

* * * * *

Thanks to Andrew for being my emergency beta reader for this chapter, and thanks to everyone who commented on Chapter One!