Be All My Secrets Remembered

Chapter Twenty-Three: Phoenix Rising

June 1978

It was the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, but, due to the upcoming N.E.W.T. exams, most of the seventh-years had begged off, choosing to spend the day cloistered away, noses buried in their books. Even the notoriously non-studious James Potter and Sirius Black could be found in the Gryffindor Common Room, performing practice Transfigurations on random objects nicked from people's bags.

"James, was that my hairbrush?" Lily groaned.

"I'll change it back," her boyfriend assured her, holding up the rather confused gerbil. "Don't worry, Lil."

"And do promise me I won't have fur in my hair."

"If he's too inept to do it properly, I'll fix it for you," offered Sirius, earning himself a glare from his friend. "What? You do make mistakes sometimes."

"Right, like you don't," muttered James. "Lil, weren't we supposed to meet with Professor Dumbledore at four-thirty?"

"I think it was just you," was the harried reply. "I don't know why."

"Alright, alright, no need to bite my head off. I'll see you lot later." James strolled from the Common Room, checking his watch one last time to make sure he hadn't read it wrong. Ten minutes to get from Gryffindor Tower to Dumbledore's office. It was more than enough time.

More than enough time, he later added, if the staircases worked in one's favour. As it happened, he was forced to sprint through the last few corridors in order to reach the phoenix statue that marked the entrance to the Headmaster's office. James did arrive on time, albeit very out of breath.

"James, do sit down," the Headmaster said, smiling. "I shouldn't have minded terribly if you were late, you know."

"Staircases," James managed between breaths.

"Ah yes, of course. They do have minds of their own, do they not? Please, just catch your breath." The next few moments passed in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional squawked remark from Fawkes the Phoenix. Seating himself behind the desk, Dumbledore enquired, "Recovered?"

"Yes," answered James. "Thank you, sir."

"Quite alright."

"Is there something wrong, sir?" James finally asked, unable to quite hide his worry. "If it's about those nymphs in the fourth-floor corridor, I promise you..."

"No, my dear James, it's nothing to do with that, though I must admit I'm now curious," Dumbledore replied, brows raised slightly. "What is this about nymphs?"

"Well..." he began, "some of the third-years performed a vanishing spell on a painting in the fourth-floor corridor. Lily and I found the nymphs hiding in another painting and we did manage to find all their clothing..." He broke off, red-faced.

"So that is what young people do with vanishing spells these days," Dumbledore nodded. "I should have guessed."

"If that isn't the reason, sir, may I ask what is?"

Dumbledore took his time before asking, "James, your father is still advising the Wizengamot, is he not?"

"He is, yes, sir," James answered, frowning in some puzzlement. "I'm afraid I don't know any specifics, sir. Owls are easily intercepted."

"Of course, James. I spoke to him not very long ago, so that is not my question." Dumbledore steepled his hands, bringing them to rest in front of his mouth. "And you do plan to join the Auror training programme?"

"I do, sir. Dependent on my N.E.W.T.s," he added quickly.

"I certainly see no obstacles there," was the reply, the smile implicit in the words. "By the way, my congratulations on finally winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor."

"It seemed long overdue, sir," James grinned. "I can only hope Hennessey's able to hold her own against Fenwick next year, without the rest of us."

"Indeed." Dumbledore nodded. "I must admit, James, that your year in particular has made me very proud. You did, after all, begin your tenure here at Hogwarts when I began my tenure as Headmaster, and you have surpassed all my hopes."

"I..." James blinked, unsure of quite what to say, "Thank you, sir. That's...overwhelming, truly."

"It is I who should be thanking you," the Headmaster refuted softly. "But instead, I must ask for your help." At James's puzzled frown, he paused, waiting a moment or two before continuing, "The threat of Lord Voldemort grows stronger each day, as I'm sure you are well aware, given your father's connections."

James nodded. "I am aware of it, sir. But what does this have to do with my help?"

"There is a group only recently formed, of which I am in charge. Our mission is to oppose Voldemort and all those who support him."

The first question James wanted to ask was how? But instead, he swallowed and said, "Are you asking me to join, sir?"

"I am, James." He paused. "Before you say anything more, I am asking you to do this not because it will be easy, but because it is the right thing to do."

"Of course, sir." James flushed slightly. "Who else...I mean...how many people are there?"

Dumbledore looked at him for several seconds before answering. "Not as many as I would like so far, but there are some very impressive members. Edgar Bones, Professor McKinnon's wife, Marlene..."

At the sound of his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's name, James relaxed slightly. "Professor McKinnon as well?"

"He's done some work for us, although he is keeping a somewhat low profile. As Head of Slytherin House, it's far safer for all involved if he does," Dumbledore said. "We've got a few people from the Ministry as well, all unofficial, of course. In these days, it is all too difficult to know friend from foe."

James nodded. "Are you going to talk to Pa---Black and Lupin and the rest?"

"I certainly can. I had wondered if you might, however. Given your N.E.W.T.s, it will certainly be far easier for you to track them down without causing too much of a disturbance, and I trust your judgement." He leant back in his chair, but if he was relieved, James could not tell.

"Was that all, sir?" James finally asked, after several seconds of silence. "I really ought to get back to studying."

"Of course, James. I thank you again," Dumbledore told him, but while his face revealed nothing, his voice shook ever so slightly.

James made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, so deep in thoughts that he barely noticed anything during the walk, and stood silent in the doorway until the Fat Lady made a pointed, and very loud remark about silly N.E.W.T.-boiled seventh-years wasting her precious time.

That caught the attention of the group near the hearth. Sirius, tilting his head slightly to one side, enquired, "Something the matter, Prongs? You look almost thoughtful."

"What did Dumbledore say?" Lily piped up from the armchair. "It wasn't those nymphs, was it? I could have sworn we'd managed to find everything..."

"Not the nymphs, Lil," James said quickly, glancing around the room at the chattering groups of people newly returned from Hogsmeade. "Look, you lot mind if we go upstairs for a bit? I've got something to tell you."

They all exchanged looks, but followed him up the stairs to the dormitory, where James performed a surreptitious cleaning charm on his bed when Lily's back was turned. Then, turning back to the door, he locked it and cast an Imperturbable Charm.

"You're being secretive," Remus observed. "Don't tell me. Dumbledore is Voldemort in disguise, isn't he?"

"Don't say that!" Peter shuddered. "You-Know-Who's bad enough without that thought in my head."

"Wormtail, really, it's not as though Voldemort would even look at you twice," drawled Sirius, causing Peter to both flinch and turn a deep shade of crimson.

"That's enough, Padfoot," James said sharply. "No, Dumbledore isn't Voldemort. He is, however, forming a group of wizards to oppose Voldemort, and wants us all."

"Not just us, right?" Remus asked, laughing somewhat doubtfully. "The four of us against Voldemort sounds entirely disastrous."

"Of course not just us," James assured him. "Apparently he's recruited loads of people already, including some in the Ministry, and Aurors and such."

"Aurors?" echoed Sirius, looking impressed. "Granted, this is Dumbledore. Most powerful wizard in the world and all that."

"Exactly. And we're the brightest in our year. I can only imagine he's going to ask Meadowes and Vance and the Prewetts as well. They're the duelling champions, after all. Even managed to beat you and me, Padfoot." James settled on his bed, next to Lily. "We'll go down in history. Think about that!"

"If we live long enough," Remus remarked, his smile lightening the words. "The ones who go down in history usually end up dying in spectacular ways."

"Jinxing yourself already, Moony?" teased Sirius. "You and Dorcas both. I just look forward to sending my darling cousin off with enough hexes that nobody would ever recognise her."

"Just remember the cardinal rule..." James warned.

"Always start with Silencio?" Sirius saluted. "It'll do her good to shut up. She always talked too much. I can't imagine that's changed. If Lestrange weren't such a duffer, I'd feel sorry for him, but he probably doesn't know any better. Speaking of which," he added, "has the Ministry found enough to at least bring them to trial?"

"The Ministry's bloody useless, according to Dad," was James's retort. "They're obviously not looking hard enough, because they keep coming up empty-handed."

"Apparently the Lestranges need to paint 'We support Lord Voldemort' on their front door in red paint that looks suspiciously like blood," Remus suggested, "since I doubt any of them would be willing to donate their own blood for the exercise."

"Lestrange Minor's useless. They can drain him," offered Sirius. "Although it really ought to be in the blood of slaughtered foes, if we want to be properly poetic."

"Right, you two, you can stop anytime," James said, noting that Peter appeared to be turning an uncomfortable shade of green, and Lily's fingers were digging into his wrist. "I'd rather not have my girlfriend be sick on my bed, if it's all the same to you."

"Lily is starting at St. Mungo's in less than two months," Sirius pointed out. "If she can't take this, how on earth is she to handle magical injuries?"

"Lily--who would rather not be discussed as if she were not present--is entirely well-equipped to deal with patients," the girl in question put in silkily. "Just not with boys being stupid."

"If you're planning to stay with Prongs, you'll need to get used to it," Sirius grinned. "All things considered, you ought to be used to it by now."

"I live in hope," she retorted, wrinkling her nose at him. Remus finally gave up trying not to laugh, and while James noticed from the corner of his eye that Peter did not join in the laughter, he thought it best not to address the point just yet.

***

"Go down in history, indeed," Peter growled under his breath as he made his way back to the Common Room. "We'll all just die. They won't remember us."

"Peter, what's the matter?" It was Laura, glancing up from her Care of Magical Creatures book in perplexity. "Did you say something?"

He blinked, startled for a second or two, before shaking his head. "Nothing important. I wouldn't worry too much about Kettleburn's exam. Save your energy for McGonagall. She's ruthless." Managing a smile, he asked, "How was Hogsmeade?"

"Hogsmeade was lovely as usual. I've brought you brain food." She held up a Honeydukes parcel. "Now sit down," Laura said, shifting her books aside. Peter slumped onto the couch. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about...whatever it is?"

Peter sighed. "There's nobody else here now, is there?"

She shook her head. "Everyone's gone to dinner. Where we probably ought to be, all things considered. Have you eaten today?"

"We snuck some food up from the kitchens earlier. Prongs went to talk to Dumbledore. Apparently he--Dumbledore, that is--is forming a group to oppose You-Know-Who," he took a hesitant breath at the name, however indirect, "and he wants us all involved."

"Why, that's marvellous, Peter!" Laura threw her arms around his neck. "The fact that Professor Dumbledore thinks you're all good enough...I'm so proud of you!"

He wasn't sure whether to feel elated or suddenly crushed. "Laura, it's not that simple. Look at us! We're not even out of school. How on earth are we supposed to fight a Dark Wizard?"

"You'll find a way," she pronounced confidently. "And you'll be heroes."

Peter just looked at her, relieved that the dim lighting hid his dismay, and that he had been able to stop the desperate protest that wanted so badly to fly free, But I don't want to be a hero. Maybe I did once, but not now. I want to have a nice normal life, with a family, and children, and cats. And, of course, the nagging accusation, I thought that was what you wanted too.

"Peter?" Her face was very close to his, her eyes narrowed in slight puzzlement. "You are going to do it, aren't you? I mean, someone has to stop him. Otherwise, we'll all be dead."

Someone. Why me? He forced another smile. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?"

Of course, he might be worrying for nothing. After all, it was entirely possible that someone might defeat You-Know-Who even before they joined Dumbledore's group. And even if not, surely Dumbledore wouldn't send them out when he had experienced Aurors who would be far more effective. And it would mean that he'd actually see Moony and Prongs and Padfoot, which, given their jobs, might have been something of a difficulty otherwise.

By the time his friends trooped down from the dormitory to join them, Peter's smile was genuine, and the nagging doubt had been shoved down far enough that he was at least able to ignore it.

***

The very air seemed easier to breathe when the door to the exam room had closed behind them. Dorcas heaved a sigh of relief. "If I never see another equation in my life, it will be too soon."

"Just one more left," Sirius added with a grin. "Practical Defence tomorrow, and then we're completely finished."

"And, of course, you're not worried in the least," she remarked.

"Of course I'm not. Nor should you be. McKinnon's brilliant. Ex-Auror, you know, along with his wife. You've been learning from a master."

"How do you know this?" Dorcas glanced at him curiously. "He's friendly enough, but he's always struck me as fairly private."

Sirius shrugged. "Friend of my father's. One of the few Slytherins I can stand, honestly, all the more ironic given he's their Head of House."

"He's diplomatic," Dorcas observed. "Doesn't go about praising pureblood supremacy in a school whose headmaster is Albus Dumbledore. Not," she added quickly, "that I think he's secretly killing Muggle-borns or anything. After all, he's been teaching us how to defend ourselves against Dark magic, using Grindelwald as an example. I can't imagine that's a coincidence."

"Oh, my mother never approved of him. She and my father had several nasty rows on the subject. Mother thought he was a blood traitor, Father thought he was a perfectly decent man." He shook his head. "Delightful family, I've got. But, at any rate, we've got nothing to worry about. Even Wormtail's going to pass this N.E.W.T. without problems."

"He's really not as stupid as you make him out to be," she said mildly. "I can't understand why you're so insistent upon thinking that."

"Well, he's not precisely a genius either," Sirius pointed out. "Look at what happened with O.W.L.s."

"With all due respect, Sirius, his father died five months before O.W.L.s."

"So did mine. You didn't see me failing Potions."

Dorcas sighed. "Sirius, you're not precisely normal." Seeing the set of his jaw, she pre-empted his argument, "Alright, alright, this will get us nowhere. Consider the subject dropped."

"So be it," he replied, shrugging again. They made their way down the corridor, both lost in thoughts, until Sirius finally spoke up again, "We're his friends, Dorcas. He knows that."

"I never said he didn't. But you do forget he exists every now and then."

"So does he, when Hennessey's around," he said. "You don't see us complaining."

"He hasn't complained. I just speak from observation." Another few moments passed, and Dorcas stopped walking, taking Sirius' arm to catch his attention. "I can't help what I see."

"It's always been this way. Moony points it out every so often, and then proceeds to ignore it again. Until and unless Wormtail says something, I see no reason to change. Now," he said, even as she opened her mouth, "do you really want to keep arguing about this?"

Dorcas shook her head, biting back the remark that he was the one who had insisted on continuing the argument in the first place. "Not especially, but do think about it."

"If you insist," he replied in mockingly long-suffering tones. "The things I do for you."

"Very funny," retorted Dorcas, managing with some effort to keep the acidity from her voice.

As they rounded the corner, the statue of a rather puzzled-looking wizard came into view. Sirius paused to take a closer look. "Are his gloves meant to be on the wrong hands?"

"They are," Dorcas told him. "That's Boris the Bewildered."

"Is it, now? I don't think I've ever been to this particular part of the fifth floor. Moony was the one in charge of this section of the map, I remember. He sent me down to the cellars instead."

"I'm sure there was a very understandable reason," she said, smiling. "No doubt he thought you might enchant the statue to sing...what was it?"

"Oh, that's only Salazar Slytherin. And Moony was in on that." Sirius set down his bag and leaned forward, peering into the wizard's very bewildered-looking eyes. "Anyone know what he was bewildered about?"

Dorcas shrugged. "Mysteries of life."

"I was under the impression mysteries of life provoked Deep Thoughts, as opposed to actual bewilderment. He simply looks as though he's lost his way," Sirius observed, resting his chin on his hand in an appropriately pretentious manner.

"You know what they say about geniuses. No common sense. I suspect that includes a sense of direction." She took several steps backward. "Now, if you truly want to know more about Boris the Bewildered, we could always take a side trip to the library and look him up in Hogwarts: A History."

"I'll pass, thank you," he said. "I think I've developed an allergy to the library, at least for the time being."

"Thankfully you needn't go near the library for some time. Especially since you seem to have bribed poor Remus into doing all your research for you even after you start working for Gringotts." Dorcas shrugged. "Of course, I can't blame you. He does enjoy it. I simply don't understand why he can't just find a job dealing with Defence Against the Dark Arts research. We certainly can use it these days."

"What, you don't think he's taking an ideological stance against organised research?" Sirius queried, perhaps too nonchalantly. But before Dorcas could argue, he stepped away from Boris the Bewildered and started toward her. "You've got the sceptical look. It's endearing."

"I have a sceptical look?" She frowned. "You're evading, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," replied Sirius with a grin. "And you don't mind, I don't think."

"Not if that smile's involved," she admitted rather sheepishly. "I am only human, after all, and have my weaknesses, same as anyone else."

"I'm a weakness? I'm flattered."

"You should be. I don't have many," retorted Dorcas. "But do remember that swelled heads look silly, and should be avoided at all costs."

"And here I thought I could start a new trend," he said with mock disappointment. "After all, Prongs has managed to deflate his. Someone needs to take his place."

"I don't think need is the word you want." Unfortunately, her inability to stop smiling was undermining any attempts to be stern. "I suppose it's my sworn duty to distract you."

"That sounds promising." They were very close now, close enough that Dorcas barely needed to tilt her head upward to kiss him. Well, aren't we bold? Middle of the fifth-floor corridor? Really, Meadowes, you should know better. By sheer force of will, she pulled away, laughing weakly. "We really shouldn't..."

"Why not?" His brows raised slightly, accompanied by as innocent a smile as he could muster, which was really not very innocent at all. "It's not as though this is a secret. And even if it were, it's only a proper secret if the whole school knows."

"Ingrate," she muttered, but again, she was smiling. "I have no quarrel with everyone knowing. However, that doesn't mean I'm altogether keen on McGonagall or Flitwick showing--"

He cut her off with another kiss, hands splaying across her hips, as her arms looped around his neck. Now who's playing it like a Mills and Boon heroine? At the thought, her nose wrinkled slightly, but that was hardly a good reason to break up an entirely enjoyable snogging session.

The whining meow from around the corner, on the other hand, was ample reason. Dorcas pulled away, hissing, "Mrs Norris!"

Sirius swore under his breath, glancing up and down the corridor for someplace to hide. Even as he did so, Dorcas grabbed his hand and pulled him toward a nearby door. Muttering the words 'spring breeze' under her breath, she turned the doorknob and pulled him in, just as Filch's voice followed his cat's.

"Is someone here, dearest?"

Dorcas closed the door as quietly and quickly as she could, heaving a sigh of relief. "Well, that was an odd sort of adventure."

Sirius didn't seem to hear her, too caught up in staring around the room, at the white marble walls and the giant swimming bath bordered with hundreds of gold taps. "Bloody Hell, what is this place?"

"Prefect's Bathroom," Dorcas replied, stepping past him to set down her bag and sit on the nearby marble counter. "You approve?"

He nodded wordlessly, spinning round to take in the room. It was oddly endearing, really, and not what she had expected, given his family's reputation and wealth. Finally, he made his way back to where she was seated, head tilted slightly to one side. "So this is what I missed out on by not being a Prefect?"

"Authority, respect, luxurious bathrooms..." She trailed her fingers to his collar and pulled him firmly forward to kiss him again. "Not always being the first suspect on the teachers' lists."

"And what if I happen to like my reputation?" His fingers slid around her waist, tickling her skin until she squirmed slightly. "You don't seem to mind it, after all, and you're a Prefect."

"You know I'm just in it for the bathroom," she gasped, the words muffled against his neck. "I ought to have dragged you in here earlier, I think."

"I'll forgive you," murmured Sirius. "I might even forgive Filch for showing up at an inopportune moment."

"Don't go that far." It was taking a fair amount of effort to keep her voice level, between kisses growing ever more insistent. "Everyone will think you've gone soft."

"You should know better," he shot back, breath catching slightly. Dorcas, taking advantage, stretched slightly upward to nip at his earlobe. He closed his eyes, a purr-like sound rumbling deep in his throat. "I really hope you don't plan on our leaving anytime soon."

Dorcas smiled, unseen. "You did claim we don't need to study for Defence. I'd hate to think you were lying."

"Wouldn't dream of it." She could hear the smile in his voice, feel his hands sliding upward along her spine, and let out her breath with a slight shudder as she drew back to kiss him again.

At first, when she saw the shadow in the far corner of the bathroom, near the window, she told herself she was imagining things. Anyone would think you were looking for an excuse not to snog him. Either that, or you've just got awful luck. The latter seemed far more likely, as the shadow moved yet again, and she turned her head just slightly to murmur in Sirius' ear, "Don't make any sudden moves, but I don't think we're alone."

Sirius, not unexpectedly, disregarded the suggestion, muttered something unintelligible, pointed his wand at where he believed the culprit to be, and snarled, "Expelliarmus!"

There was a surprised yelp, and a pink bottle came flying through the air before landing beneath the counter. Sirius lunged forward, into the slightly misty corner, and returned, dragging a confused and shaking fifth-year.

"Gilderoy Lockhart." Dorcas shook her head with a weary sigh. "I wasn't aware voyeurism was one of your hobbies."

"I didn't mean to!" he protested, obviously attempting to salvage a modicum of dignity whilst being held rather firmly by his left ear. "I was here first, after all."

"Then why didn't you mention something?" Sirius demanded.

"You didn't look like you wanted to be disturbed," was the retort, delivered with what Dorcas felt to be a surprisingly impressive amount of aplomb. But then again, her previous experience with Gilderoy Lockhart, fifth-year Slytherin prefect, involved a great deal of aplomb and very little else.

"Sirius, let him go," she finally said. "He's not done anything."

"He's an annoying little prat. Does that count?" Even as he asked, Sirius did let go, and Lockhart stepped back, rubbing his ear. "You'd best not breathe a word of this. If you do, I will find you, and you will regret it."

Lockhart nodded quickly. "Right-o. Now...I think I'll make my exit. Well-timed, don't you think?" Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted his sky-blue robes and ran one hand artfully through his wavy blond hair before strolling through the door.

Sirius took the opportunity to prowl about the room in search of any more hidden observers as Dorcas settled back onto the counter with a sigh. "Apparently we're just doomed to constant interruption," she said.

"Nobody else here," he remarked as he made his way back. "Although my fingers now smell like strawberries and I truly don't want to know why."

"This is what happens when you hold people by the ears," Dorcas told him, shaking her head. "You never know what they've done to those ears." At Sirius' look, she elaborated, "Strawberry-scented shampoo. Marion Branwell insists upon using something similar, and our entire dormitory invariably ends up smelling like raspberry jam every time she washes her hair."

Sirius still looked baffled. "And people call me a ponce?"

"I wasn't aware they did. Although..." She let the word trail off, hiding the smile to the best of her ability.

"Yes?" he challenged. "You're the one who dragged me into the bathroom for illicit snogging, so anything you might say will also incriminate you."

"And when did that ever stop me?"

"Good point," he conceded. "I think that's part of your charm."

"You could sound less enthusiastic if you truly tried," she observed acidly. "Oh, get over here, and stop sulking."

"I'm not sulking--" He cut himself off, glaring at her. "Not fair."

"And when do you ever play fair?" she teased. Then, frowning suddenly, "What's the time?"

He glanced down at his watch. "Half five."

"Bollocks," she muttered. "I promised Emmeline I'd give her pointers for Defence before dinner. And as much of a charming distraction as you are, love, I'm afraid we might have to take a rain check."

"Considering our luck so far, it might be for the better. McGonagall might walk in, with Snivelly behind her." He grimaced at the very thought.

Dorcas began rooting beneath the counter for her bag, but when she found it and turned back to Sirius, she realised he was looking around the bathroom, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"My bag," he said, "It's not down there, is it?"

"Not that I saw..." She glanced down again. "No, nothing else. Except for this bottle of strawberry-scented shampoo, which I don't think is yours."

"No. Lockhart, I am not," he replied.

"Did you leave it in the corridor?" she enquired, slipping her robes back over her shoulders, and straightening her hair as much as possible. If anyone saw them, there really was very little she could do to stop them from jumping to conclusions. Not that she saw a reason to do so. "I could have sworn you'd grabbed it, but I can't say my memory is particularly clear."

Sirius crossed to the door and pulled it open to peer into the corridor. "Oh hell."

"What?"

"Filch must have nicked it if it was there. That was Filch you heard earlier, wasn't it?" He ran one hand through his hair, with a groan. "Mind a detour through his office?"

"Not at all." She grabbed her own bag and followed him.

Filch's office was on the first floor, which required the use of multiple staircases. As they approached the doorway, the lank-haired Caretaker looked up from what appeared to be his perusal of Sirius' bag, and grinned triumphantly.

"Come for this," he gestured to the bag, "have you?"

Dorcas could see Sirius' jaw tighten, although he said nothing. "Mr Filch," she said, "he simply forgot it in the corridor. Might we have it back?"

"This is Sirius Black. Who knows what he's got in there?" Lifting the bag, he dumped the rest of the contents onto his already cluttered desk. Sirius grimaced. "I'll be confiscating some of these items, Black. Six Dungbombs, one nose-biting teacup, a flask of..." he sniffed, "Firewhisky? I've half a mind to keep all of it and give you detention to boot."

"But Mr Filch," Dorcas protested as sweetly as she could, "we've still got exams. He needs--"

Filch considered for a moment. "You can take your books. Nothing else."

Sirius made a strangled noise, his eyes falling upon the blank piece of parchment balancing precariously on the edge of the desk.

"But surely...quills and parchment and such. We do need that too." Dorcas tightened her hold on Sirius' hand, hoping against hope that he wouldn't do anything stupid.

"Then he can borrow yours, Meadowes, since you seem to have all the answers," Filch snapped, shoving the textbooks into Sirius' hands. "Now go."

Thankfully, they made it out of earshot before Sirius began to curse Filch, all of his ancestors, and anyone unfortunate to be his descendants. "This is war," he growled.

"Sirius, at least he didn't give you detention," Dorcas offered rather weakly.

"If I'd had detention, I could have stolen it back. Of course, there are ways around everything." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. "All I need is Prongs' cloak, and that map will be ours again by tomorrow morning."

Although she had many a thing to say to such a pronouncement, Dorcas kept a diplomatic silence. When Sirius related the incident over dinner that night--with certain bits edited out, naturally--it was Remus who took up her part.

"All things being equal, Padfoot, we do only have a week left. I don't think it's that great an issue. Prongs?"

James shrugged. "I was fond of that map. But you've got a point. After this week, we won't need it. And it's not as though Filch would ever be able to read it anyway."

"Right," Peter piped up. "Filch'll probably throw it into that drawer of his, where he throws everything else we've ever been associated with."

"Gentlemen," James pronounced, "Let's raise our glasses to the Marauder's Map. A work of art and brilliant craftsmanship. May some intrepid student someday understand its value."

***

The rather large disparity between their surnames made it not quite so much of a coincidence that Lily ran into Severus Snape in the corridor outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. The lucky coincidence was that Evan Rosier, whose name came directly before Severus' had gone in with James, the Prewett twins, and Ian Robertson, just before. She was waiting for James, of course, as her practical had finished some time before.

"Hello Severus," she finally said, raising her chin to hide her--stupid--nervousness. Why on earth did she insist upon being so fidgety around him?

"Evans," he replied curtly.

"I guess I ought to congratulate you." Her voice sounded so falsely polite to her ears, the smile stretched across her face to the point of pain.

"On what?" Again, there was nothing in his voice or his face, save disdain and perhaps the slightest tinge of bitter amusement.

Lily swallowed, feeling both her hands clench into fists at her sides in order to keep from fidgeting further. "Professor Agrippa told me you're to be assisting a famous professor in Germany. Although," she added, frowning, "I could have sworn Emmeline mentioned something about you and the Auror programme."

He laughed, harsh and strained. "And wouldn't that just be funny? Another three years with your precious Potter?" Leaning forward, he all but spat the words into her face, "He's not so charming to the rest of us as he is to you, Evans."

Lily stepped back, trying to keep her composure. There was nobody else in the corridor from what she could see---not that she expected him to do anything, but all the same... "I know you don't like him, Severus, but--"

"But what?" He advanced, suddenly seeming to tower over her. "Do you want to defend him? Tell me how he saved my life..." his voice, if possible, grew even colder, "when it was his best friend who tried to kill me in the first place?"

"Severus--" she protested weakly.

"Don't you dare try to defend him to me." Suddenly, he smiled, the expression making her slightly queasy, similar as it was to the perpetual smirk on Evan Rosier's face. "The nerve," he drawled, "You want to let bygones be bygones, Lily Evans?"

Realising belatedly that he was waiting for her answer, she nodded.

The smile vanished. "Then go back to your darling boyfriend and stay away from me." With that, he swept off toward the examination room, leaving her alone in the middle of the corridor. Lily fought the urge to sit, or fall, or grab for the nearest wall for support. She really ought to have known better than to speak to Snape. He was, after all, the one who had brewed a highly illegal potion in order to...

At the memory, she winced. No, it was best not to think about it. Just another chapter closed. Nothing more.

A few moments later, James appeared, grinning widely. "If they don't give me top marks for that, I'll eat my wand."

"I'm glad to hear it," she managed, dredging up a smile as she leant close to kiss him.

"Snivellus was in a right strop. I saw him as I was leaving. Pity they don't have N.E.W.T.s. in holding grudges and bad hygiene. He'd pass in a heartbeat." Glancing down, he frowned slightly. "Something the matter, Lil?"

Lily looked up at him and straightened slightly. "Nothing at all. How do you want to celebrate finishing our last N.E.W.T.?"