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Chapter Text

Lily pried open a heavy eyelid as consciousness slowly returned to her. She was slouched against a cold stone wall, head aching, her wrists shackled above her head. She couldn't feel her hands.

She blinked twice as shadowy surroundings came into focus. Shifting herself upright so her arms were no longer extended, she checked her sleeve to confirm her wand was missing. James was a couple of feet away from her, his arms similarly shackled. A trail of dried blood bisected his lips. He grinned at her, though it didn’t meet his eyes, and the blood splintered and cracked.

“All right, Evans?” he whispered.

“I’m not some delicate flower, Potter,” she retorted quietly, quoting her teenage self. James breathed a relieved sigh.

She turned her head away from James and frowned at the metal bars of their cell.

“Where are we?” Lily kept her voice down though she didn’t see anyone guarding them. “Did he build a dungeon?”

James huffed a laugh. “Nah, it looks too old. We have to be in some pureblood’s ancestral home. You’d be amazed how many of them have dungeons like this.”

Lily rolled her eyes. The more she learned about the wizarding world, the more she hated it. She swore this war was going to turn her into a Dark Lord herself.

“How long have you been awake?” she asked.

“Maybe twenty minutes. No one’s come in. I would guess there’re other cells... not sure if they’re occupied.”

Lily nodded, her eyes scanning her surroundings for anything useful. The cell was empty except for the two of them and another set of shackles on the opposite wall. The manacles appeared to be magically sealed so she had no hope of picking the lock. Pity, since muggle solutions got them out of their last run-in with Death Eaters.

Though not the first time she and James found themselves unarmed and at the mercy of Death Eaters, none of Voldemort's followers had ever gotten them to a second location before. Their first run-in, James managed to get a Patronus to Sirius before they disarmed him, but that hadn't worked this time.

“Y’know I’ve never been disarmed when partnered with Dorcas.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear her talent for humbling me extends beyond quidditch,” James replied lightly, bitterness only seeping into the last word of his sentence as if losing the cup to Ravenclaw 7^th year was more upsetting than their current situation.

“Why didn’t they just kill—" Lily began before the sound of a heavy door wrenching open above them interrupted her. She glanced at James and unspoken communication passed between them. He nodded and slouched down, closing his eyes.

Lily stared through the bars as footsteps approached, her green eyes glittering with defiance.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

“Rosier!” Lily exclaimed with mock delight. “Couldn’t wait for the ten-year reunion, eh?”

The former Slytherin glared at her, unamused. “Quiet, mudblood.” He approached the bars, peering in at James and frowning.

“Jesus, you reek,” Lily said, wrinkling her nose. “I know you’re busy torturing muggles, Rosie, but you can’t neglect basic hygiene.”

“The only reason you’re alive, mudblood, is because I plan on torturing you while he watches.” Rosier’s eyes flicked to James’s prone form then back to her. “The Dark Lord has instructed me to offer Potter the opportunity to defect. You're dead either way, just depends on how long I draw it out.”

“Ah, rats. Just as long as you use the Cruciatus, Rosie. I can tell your magic’s weak and besides I don’t want you touching me with those slimy fingers.”

“You don’t get a say in how I torture you.”

Rosier sounded so miffed Lily didn’t even have to fake her laughter. “You look so pale, Rosie.” He’d begun to flinch at the nickname. “Are you getting out of these dungeons enough? You eating iron-rich foods? You look so frail.”

Rosier, eyes bright and twitching, withdrew his wand with a flourish and pointed it at her. “Crucio!”

Lily snapped her jaw shut and closed her eyes. Her skin was on fire and she couldn’t draw breath but she managed to keep her jaw locked.

The curse lifted and Lily couldn’t help slouching against the wall in relief as she heaved heavy breaths. Her eyes snapped back to Rosier’s. “Is that all you got? I always suspected it was a lie that purebloods had strong magic. All that inbreeding leads to deformities, you know? I bet your magic's deformed.”

Rosier hit her with the curse again. She knew the curse warped her concept of time while it seared through her veins but it seemed to go on for hours. Still, she didn’t scream.

“You’re holding back, right Rosie?” she gasped once it was done. “Waiting for James to wake up? Because let me tell you if this is the best you can do, he’s not gonna give you anything.”

Amplified by his anger, the third Crucio was the worst. He released the curse and the copper tang of blood filled Lily's mouth. Her teeth must have clamped down on her tongue at some point. She spat out the blood and managed to land a few drops on his shoes.

“Weak,” she gritted out, trying to keep her voice steady. “Good thing your master isn’t here to see this pathetic show of force.”

Rosier was shaking. He flicked his wand at the cell door and it slid open. He stormed in and knelt beside her.

“How about I slice up that pretty face?” he hissed, his wand inches from her eye.

Rosier’s earsplitting scream when the stag’s antler cut through his chest was unfortunate but couldn’t be helped. Lily assumed there were anti-apparation wards which meant any occupants of this house would have to run down to the dungeon, buying them maybe a minute. Lily braced her legs against Rosie’s chest so the stag could withdraw his antler before transforming back.

Thick glops of blood smacked against the stone floor. James grabbed Rosier’s fallen wand and unlocked Lily's manacles with shaking hands.

They paused, listening for the door creaking open and frantic footfalls, but only silence echoed around them.

“They must’ve sound-proofed the dungeon,” James said, Rosier’s wand extended as he carefully stepped out of the cell.

Lily reached into Rosier’s blood-drenched robes and found their wands. James slipped Rosier’s wand into his pocket as he took his own then pulled Lily in for a kiss.

“We’re never doing that plan again,” he murmured against her lips before pulling back, his eyes wide and searching and his thumb stroking the hair above her ear. His breath stuttered against her lips.

“We should take him with us.” Lily jerked her head towards Rosier. “Maintain our air of mystery and all that.”

James nodded. “You feel the wards?”

“Yeah. I think I can take down the anti-apparation ones, they don’t feel entwined with the greater house wards.”

James checked the other cells while Lily got to work. She carved a circle into the stones of their cell floor. With a twist of her wand spells flittered around her ears. Engrossed in etching runes into the perimeter of her circle, she didn’t notice James return and clean up Rosier’s blood until she was finished.

James followed a floating Rosier into the circle and grabbed Lily’s hand.

“No one else alive down here.”

Lily glanced at the grim set of his jaw and chose not to ask for details. “I can’t do anything about the Runes. They’ll know how we got out.”

James shrugged. “They already know you’re brilliant. Shouldn’t be a surprise. Where to?”

“Dumbledore’s office?”

“We can’t get blood on his silver rug!” James said with mock horror, ignoring that not even Lily could take down Hogwarts’s anti-apparation wards.

“Moody’s then. He’ll be able to come up with an explanation for a gored Death Eater.”

Moody came running into his living room, wand aloft, when the crack of apparition announced their arrival. He barely glanced at the bloodied Death Eater before firing off security questions.

Moody knew what to do immediately and Lily tried not to feel alarmed by that. Rosier was already wanted by the Aurors for questioning and within two hours his death was classified as an accident due to his evading arrest. Maybe a Ministry official would’ve spent more time examining the body if dead bodies hadn’t been appearing in droves for the last several months.

Moody called in a newly recruited healer to evaluate them before he would let James and Lily return home. In Moody's quiet study, the wizard ran his diagnostic spells over Lily. His eyebrows jolted up as his wand passed her stomach.

“Are you aware?” he asked.

Lily scowled at him. There was blood under her fingernails and in her hair. She wanted a shower. She wanted to go home. She wanted to sleep. “Aware of what?”   

The healer smiled and flicked his wand and suddenly the sound of a heartbeat emitted from her stomach. Lily's throat went dry.

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore stepped out of a cocoon of emerald flames and into a small flat. The furniture was mismatched and somewhat tattered and the only thing that looked new was a record player in the corner. Amber light filtered in through gauzy curtains and the scent of ash dissipated to that of lavender.

Dorcas Meadowes stood up from where she was sitting on the couch in the centre of the room. Her back was straight and her face grave.

“Professor,” she greeted. He’d told her she could call him Albus but like many of the Order members fresh out of Hogwarts, she had declined. 

“Ms Meadowes. You’ve changed your hair.”

Dorcas blinked in surprise, her hand moving to her neck where her fingers reminded her of the recent decision to buzz off her dark curls.

“Ah, well yes. It’s easier and—Marlene talked me into it, she said it would look badass.” She laughed nervously as if she’d said too much.

“Indeed, quite groovy,” Albus said with a serene smile.

Dorcas huffed out another laugh and invited him to sit, summoning tea with a flick of her wand.

Albus lowered himself onto the green armchair and took the proffered mug. Dorcas, never one for prolonged pleasantries, launched into the purpose of their meeting.

“You’ve no doubt heard about James.”

Albus nodded. Alastor had sent him a message as soon as he’d escaped the Death Eaters. “How is he faring?”

“As well as can be expected. It was hardly James’s first run-in with Death Eaters. No long-term injuries. They’re at home now. But, well, it was only luck that he was able to apparate out in time. And with Harry now…”

She trailed off, her dark brown eyes meeting his, and Albus reached into her mind very gently so she wouldn’t notice the intrusion. When he used a light touch like this, he could only hear memories instead of seeing them but he could still feel emotions very strongly.

Trepidation and unease. Lily’s tremulous voice. I don’t want Harry to be an orphan.

Lily and James were afraid. Albus knew the Potters weren’t the only ones.

Most of the younger generation of the Order had been recruited by James or Lily. Both were charismatic in complementary ways. James was bold and gregarious while Lily was contemplative with sly wit. It was difficult to find someone who disliked either of them and impossible to find someone who disliked them both.

Both were dedicated. Lily had continued to volunteer for missions even after she learned she was pregnant. But things change once you hold your child in your arms the first time, Albus imagined.

If James and Lily’s morale was slipping, others would follow suit.

Albus’s thoughts shifted, as they so often had the last few months, to the hoarse whispers of a near-catatonic Sibyll Trelawney. Though he didn’t at the time, he knew now her prophecy could apply to two children, Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom. Albus had not warned the Potters or the Longbottoms. This prophecy was the answer to winning the war, a power he trusted to no one but himself.

He knew what others might do in this situation. Minerva would immediately tell both families the risk and send them into hiding. Alastor would assemble a guard of Order members, putting the families together to minimize the number of protectors needed.

Dumbledore looked up at Dorcas’s worried face. She would volunteer to protect the Potters in a heartbeat, he knew.

“What does the word ‘vanquish’ mean to you?” Dumbledore asked.

Dorcas furrowed her brow but, accustomed to the Headmaster’s non-sequiturs, she didn’t ask for clarification. “It means to defeat, doesn’t it?”

Dumbledore nodded. “To overcome or defeat an opponent in conflict or battle. It’s a specific word. And not an exact synonym for kill.”

Dorcas blinked at him, waiting for his point.

Albus sipped his tea in silence. The prophecy was terrible news for the Order. Not because it predicted someone had the power to vanquish Voldemort, but that that person was only an infant. The Order was weak and growing weaker by the day. It could not hold off Voldemort for the next decade and a half, at least. 

Albus had spent the last few months seeking another interpretation. Prophecies were nebulous but the words always precise. Would Voldemort be vanquished before he could be killed?

The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… This was the line that kept Albus awake at night. Would Voldemort be close enough to the child to mark him, but not kill? Would this ‘power he knows not’ protect the child?

“Can you think of any ways someone powerless, a child perhaps, could vanquish someone very powerful?”

Dorcas hesitated then set aside her confusion to think through the question.

“A child perhaps, or a child?” she asked. Albus tilted his head and she elaborated, “I wouldn’t consider a child powerless. Certainly not a magical one, sir.”

He smiled, appreciating house Ravenclaw. He nodded for her to continue.

“A magical child is very powerful, sometimes frighteningly so. I remember when I was not even two years old, I threw a temper tantrum that shattered all the windows in our house.

“There are theories that one’s magic doesn’t grow as you age, but you simply learn to control it. Thus, a powerful wizard was an equally powerful baby at one point. There are stories of children hurting their parents with their magic. Never seriously, at least not that I’ve heard, but I wouldn’t be surprised if sometime in history it’s happened.”

Albus nodded.

“Will you be giving me any context, sir?”

Albus smiled at her tone, it was almost teasing. Dorcas was a good soldier. She may ask, but she didn’t expect to be told more than was necessary.

He considered her words. It was unlikely either child could fend off Voldemort this young. The prophecy likely foretold Voldemort marking his enemy once they were old enough to fight back and escape. But maybe not.

And if Voldemort knew about the prophecy, something Severus Snape would have made sure of, why would he wait until the child could fight back?

If Albus was right, Voldemort would be vanquished. A respite, even if brief, could turn the tides of this war.

If he was wrong, an innocent child would be killed along with their parents.

But that was the lucky thing, wasn’t it? There were two children.

Others wouldn’t understand. Minerva and Dorcas would be horrified. Even Alastor wouldn’t stand by him if Albus verbalized this plan. But there was a reason none of them was leading the Order of the Phoenix.

The Potters were too valuable to the Order to lose. The Longbottoms, though it saddened him, were expendable.

“The Potters will go into hiding,” Albus said, rising to his feet.

Dorcas blinked up at him. “Hiding, sir?”

“Let them know I’ll come to them in two hours.”

“Sir, I don’t understand.”

“James was targeted by Death Eaters. They know his value to the Order and won’t stop until he’s killed. We will protect him and his family.”

Dorcas looked at him with surprise and admiration and for a brief moment, before Albus pushed it aside, he pitied her.

Chapter Text

Remus Lupin was six years old when he broke the one rule his parents had begged him to follow.

Growing up, Remus and his parents lived in a small, tidy house and they never had guests because Remus’s father wouldn’t let Remus or Hope invite muggles over. Lyall Lupin didn’t have any wizarding friends of his own to invite over because Lyall had a ‘strong personality’, according to Remus’s mother.

It was lucky for Remus he was an independent child or else he might have been lonely.  

But one day when Remus was four years old, another wizarding family moved in one street over. Hope excitedly told Remus the family had a son his age and he wouldn’t have to lie to him. Hope invited the family over for dinner and their son, William, and Remus became fast friends.

William was a year older, had pale blond hair, sunburnt easily, and corrected Remus when he called him Will once. He was an only child like Remus but unlike Remus, he was rarely told ‘no’ so he often tried to order Remus around but Remus wouldn’t let him.

Remus stopped being fully, completely, undeniably human just before he turned five. He didn’t have a word for it at first. All he knew was it made his father’s lip curl. After everything changed, he didn’t see his friend for a long time. He didn’t see anyone except his parents for many months, after a flurry of doctors at St. Mungo’s who were only sympathetic at first.

Remus’s father was to blame for the isolation. Remus knew because of the night he snuck out of bed, tiptoeing halfway down the stairs in socked feet to eavesdrop on his parents’ whispered arguments at the wobbly kitchen table. His father had said it was safer this way and Remus should get used to being on his own. His mother had cried and not said much.

The agony of the transformations was overwhelming. Remus never grew accustomed to the pain but he learnt complaints irritated his raw throat and made his mother cry so Remus repressed them, capturing them in his amygdala and never letting them escape. 

But each month, once some of the cutting white light bled out of the moon and the sharp pain faded to dull aches, he found his voice again. Remus knew many things were outside his control but there was one injustice he couldn’t understand and refused to accept. He begged his mother for months to let him see his friend again. Finally, after many hissed nighttime arguments between his parents, the Lupins relented.

Remus’s father used glamour spells to hide the worst of Remus’s scars. They coached Remus before William’s first visit not to mention his lycanthropy or his pain.

For a few weeks, everything went well. William was happy to see Remus again and show off how he’d grown two inches taller. Their separation had made him angry but he was seven and a quarter now and thus was significantly more mature than Remus and could handle such disappointments, he insisted. He taught Remus how to climb the old elm tree in Remus’s backyard on an early spring day when his joints didn't hurt too much and his mother was too busy gardening to tell them no.

But it didn’t last.

One presciently rainy afternoon they were stuck inside the Lupins’ living room. His mother was out and his father was in his study and Remus’s leg ached from being broken in two places four nights ago and the truth spilt out of his mouth.

He described to William the bite, the pain, how afraid he’d been. He told him about the transformations, the loss of control, the aftermath. As he spoke, panic tingled in his veins and he knew he shouldn’t be doing this but he couldn’t stop talking. His magic fizzed around him like it did when he was upset and William’s eyes widened in horror.

Remus caught his reflection in the rain-streaked window and noticed his scars were visible. His magic must have overwhelmed the glamours.

William said many things very quickly. Remus only remembered ‘monster’ and ‘kill me in my sleep’ and the overall sentiment that William no longer wished to be his friend. William got steadily louder until Remus’s father burst into the room.

Lyall Lupin was an emotional man. He got angry and shouted terrible things and punched walls. He got wretchedly depressed and had to leave the room to hide his tears. He got indignant and went on rants advocating for the mass euthanasia of certain dark creatures without considering how certain dark creatures might retaliate.

So Remus wasn’t surprised when Lyall rushed red-faced into the room with magic twisting around him like a hurricane. He grabbed William roughly by the arm and summoned his wand and hissed, “Obliviate.”

Remus didn’t know that spell but assumed it had some sort of calming effect because William stopped screaming and looked up at Lyall dazedly.

Lyall withdrew his shaking hand with its white knuckles and jagged nails and stared at the wrathful red circles on William’s arm. After a moment of pounding silence, he lifted his wand again to cast a healing spell Remus knew well.

Lyall made Remus go wait in his room while he brought William home. Remus waited there for hours, expecting his father to storm in and shriek and scold him but he never did. His mother brought him dinner on a tray with tears in her eyes and stood in his doorway for a long time watching him eat and looking like she was on the verge of speaking but never did.

A month later the Lupins moved to a new neighbourhood with no wizards or witches or children his age at all.

Chapter Text

Peter Pettigrew took two steps into the silent study before he faltered. The Death Eater escorting him, a nasty Slytherin Peter recognized from Hogwarts but whose name escaped him, grabbed his shoulder and gave him a shove. Peter barely managed to keep his footing as he resumed crossing the room. He dropped to his knees by the fireplace and bowed his head until his forehead touched the soft fibres of the Persian blue rug.

“M-my Lord,” Peter choked out, his spine rattling against his ribs.

“Mulciber. Who is this pathetic invertebrate?”

Ah, Mulciber, that was his name, Peter thought. Arsehole.

“He is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, my Lord. It took surprisingly little convincing, but he has agreed to serve you.”

Peter kept his head against the carpet to hide the fear dilating his eyes. Little convincing, he wanted to scoff, an hour of the Cruciatus Curse was ‘little convincing’?

“What is your name?” The voice addressing Peter was cold and commanding.

“P-Peter Pettigrew,” Peter managed. “My Lord.”

“That name doesn’t quite capture your debasement, does it? No, why don’t you tell me your real name.”

Peter couldn’t lift his head. “I don’t know what you—”

“You cannot keep secrets from Lord Voldemort, Wormtail.”

Peter flinched at the nickname.

He remembered when Sirius first threw out the suggestion shortly after they became Animagi. Peter hated it, obviously, but it made James guffaw so that sealed his fate. His friends used the nickname good-naturedly, for the most part, but at its roots was a thin edge of cruelty. Did Remus felt the same way about Moony? Did he see it as a show of affection or a cutting reminder of his greatest source of pain and the power his friends held over him?

Peter managed to lift his head enough to look upon Lord Voldemort’s face.

The man seated before him had pale skin and dark hair that was flecked with grey. His long fingers were steepled, his wand rested against his thumbs. He radiated unabating power and disdain. His dark eyes were trained on Peter as if he was a newly discovered and especially revolting species of insect.

“I need information, Wormtail. It's the only reason you still draw breath. Either you tell me what I need to know or I will take it from your imbecilic mind. After, I will have no more use of you.”

Peter shuddered violently, dropped his gaze, and tamped down the tears filling his eyes.

“It’s faster if you tell me. Thus, your death would be faster and far less painful than if I hand you over to Mulciber. Do you understand, Wormtail?”

Peter swallowed and took a shaky breath. “I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

“Leave us,” Voldemort commanded.

Peter listened to the pound of Mulciber’s boots against the floor and the creak and click of the door. His watery gaze was on Voldemort’s brogues. The perforations looked familiar and Peter realised James had a pair just like them.

“Were any children born to members of your dwindling Order this July?”

Peter’s eyes snapped involuntarily to Voldemort’s. This was a mistake since even Peter knew eye contact made Legilimency easier. He dropped his gaze quickly and answered before Voldemort could steal the truth.

“Yes, my Lord. T-two families. The Longbottoms and the Potters had sons end of July.”

Why on earth do you care? Peter thought.

Voldemort was silent for a moment. “Who did the Potter heir marry?”

Peter nearly looked up again to gauge Voldemort’s sincerity. Have I honestly been abducted to share gossip? he thought incredulously.

Swallowing his confusion, Peter replied, “Lily Evans.”

“He sullied his lineage with a muggle?” Voldemort spat.

Peter wasn’t sure if Voldemort genuinely thought Lily was non-magical or like many purebloods he didn’t differentiate between muggle-borns and muggles. Regardless, the question was rhetorical and Peter deemed it prudent not to clarify.

“Where are the Potters?”

It wasn’t a decision, not really. He answered instinctually. Perhaps he was still bewildered by the earlier line of questioning. But once Peter had betrayed his closest friend, the words dispersed like vapour in the air and impossible to recapture, the path forward was simple. Peter had already betrayed James, so what was it to betray the McKinnons, too? Who were the Prewett brothers to Peter?

Obscured by his fear, the cold drop of realisation would settle in Peter’s stomach only afterwards.

Peter answered the question, truthful and quick. Then waited, listening to his own ragged breaths.

“That is all I needed.”

Peter had been preparing for this moment. Even if he transformed, he couldn’t imagine evading Lord Voldemort. He was fast as a rat, but Voldemort’s magic was faster. No one escaped Voldemort.

“I’m an Animagus!” Peter cried, his voice tremulous but clear, his eyes still downcast. “I can transform into a rat and eavesdrop on c-conversations. I’m trusted within the Order. People tell me things. They confide in me.”

“You wish to be my spy?” The cruel amusement in his voice reminded Peter of Sirius when faced with a Slytherin he disliked.

“Yes, my Lord. Please.”

“Why would I trust a simple-minded rodent?”

“I ask for nothing but my life. I-I’ll report back to you. I’ll do whatever you ask. Read my mind all you want.”

The silence was long and excruciating. Peter’s stomach roiled and his lungs tightened and cracked, ribs splintering as he tried to restrain the fear coursing wildly through him.

“You’re in luck, Wormtail, that I don’t want to kill the Potters immediately.”

Peter exhaled harshly, his palms stinging with sweat.

“I have a project I’ve been working on for years now that is nearly complete. I’d prefer to finish before personally eliminating muggles and blood traitors. It would be… convenient to have someone update me on the Potters’ movements until I’m ready to kill them.”

It took a moment for Peter to comprehend Voldemort’s words, then relief settled like a threadbare sheet over the cold, despairing horror of what he’d done.

“In a month, Mulciber will find you and bring you back to me. You’ll tell me where the Potters are and Dumbledore's plans. Maybe I’ll like what you have to say and let you live another month.”

“Y-yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord.”

Peter stood, his back still hunched over, and slowly walked backwards towards the door.

Absurdly, a memory of his sixth year at Hogwarts filled his mind. They’d set off a glitter bomb in the Slytherin common room and the image of James laughing with tears in his eyes and glitter in his hair was vivid and filled with light. Peter hadn’t seen his friend that carefree since. The last time he saw James his eyes were lined with worry and his smile tentative and he held Lily’s hand tightly as if she would disappear if he let go.

The James with glitter in his hair was lost to time, however, and not the person Peter just betrayed and would betray again.

“Do not try to run, Wormtail. Do not try to hide. You could leave the country and live your life as the rat you are and I would still find you.”

Chapter Text

“Please?

“No.”

“C’mon Moony.”

Unbothered, Remus turned the page of the book that’d been occupying him while he waited for his friends to get ready for Hogsmeade. 

“I can’t believe you won’t help us.” James was now scowling as he leaned against the back of Remus’s couch. James hated being ignored.

“Can’t you?”

“You’re no fun anymore.”

“Mm.”

“You won’t avenge my potion?!”

James was convinced Snape sabotaged his potion, causing it to explode in James’s face (and Lily to laugh at him). Despite taking eight showers in the last 48 hours, James had smelt like burnt rubber ever since.

“You don’t even know he did it, Prongs.” Remus was placating James. Snape definitely did it.

“Padfoot, help me talk sense into Moony.”

Sirius had just descended the dormitory staircase clad in a leather jacket that would be as effective as tissue paper against the wind. Peter followed close behind, having obviously taken Sirius’s fashion advice for the excursion. While he didn’t own a leather jacket, Peter was dressed in all black and had product in his hair. Unfortunately, his hair didn’t gleam like Sirius’s but looked oily like Snape’s, were he blond. Peter looked less like a greaser and more like a pre-pubescent child at a funeral for a distant aunt.

Sirius sauntered over and rested his arms on the back of the couch, his shoulder brushing James’s. He then wrinkled his nose and shuffled a few inches away from his friend’s odour.

“What does Moony need to be sensible about?” Sirius asked James with a smirk that indicated he was playing dumb. “That there’s no shame in exploring colours outside earth tones?”

Sirius turned his head leisurely towards Remus and looked him up and down with his everything’s-a-joke eyes.

“You’re in no position to judge anyone else’s sartorial colour schemes, Black,” Remus retorted, refusing to be made self-conscious about his ochre jumper and brown trousers by a James Dean-wannabe.

Sirius snorted before leaning closer and offering Remus his most earnest expression.

“Snivellus needs to be put in his place, Moony,” Sirius said solemnly. “You have to help us. I don’t care what Minnie thinks, we all know you’re our pranking mastermind.”

Sirius might have been more persuasive than James, but Remus was resolute and growing more and more irritated by the second. He hated when James and Sirius forced him into the wet-blanket role on the rare occasion he refused them. Spoiled toffs. 

“I told you, I want no part of this rivalry anymore,” Remus said, looking up from his book to glare at Sirius.

“Why? You’re worried about your precious prefect status?” James’s tone was turning bitterly petulant which Remus couldn’t stand.

Remus returned to his book with a scoff. It was common knowledge Remus Lupin was the worst prefect of their year. He only ever took points away from aggressively racist Slytherins and turned a blind eye to all other forms of rule-breaking. He smoked in the dorms with his friends, thrice broke into Slughorn’s potion cupboard to steal boomslang skin for nefarious purposes, and skeeved off prefect meetings as often as he could get away with it. Remus cared as much for upholding Dumbledore’s rules as he had before their fifth year, which was to say not at all.

James’s comment wasn’t entirely out of the blue, however. Attempts to lure the giant squid onto the quidditch pitch were one thing, but lately, Remus had been shying away from pranks targeting Snape.

Not that Snape, who threw around slurs like they were articles, didn’t deserve what he got, but Remus didn’t like the pointed questions he’d been asking about Remus’s frequent bouts of illness. Nothing good would come from this ever-escalating rivalry.

Remus was spared further cajoling when a flash of red hair emerged from the girls’ dormitory.

“Oi, Evans!” James shouted as if she were across the great hall and not less than a dozen feet away from him.

Lily winced at the exclamation.

“What, Potter?” she asked wearily, pausing in her step to focus on buttoning her coat. Evans dressed in muggle clothes on the weekends despite it drawing insults from the students who didn’t think muggle-borns should be at Hogwarts at all. Remus admired her backbone, but when he noticed her skin looked sallow, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Lily had knocked imperiously on the door to their dorm the previous night, claiming McGonagall instructed her to do random room sweeps for contraband. The Marauders had learned the hard way they needed to be fastidious when it came to hiding their prank paraphernalia. It paid off, Lily didn’t find the dungbombs, firecrackers, or even the laxative-filled eclairs. However, she did confiscate the open bottle of Firewhisky in James’s hand when he’d giddily swung open the door at the sound of her voice, despite the other boys’ shouted warnings.

Remus was starting to suspect she hadn’t turned in the alcohol to their Head of House as the Prefect Handbook instructs.

“You’re leaving for Hogsmeade, Evans? Let’s go together.” James stood and took a step toward Lily before rethinking it and leaning against the couch’s armrest in a way he probably thought looked nonchalant.

“No,” she said with a sigh signalling limited patience.

Mary and Marlene stumbled down the stairs, bleary-eyed and not dressed for Hogsmeade. Marlene had a severe case of bedhead and Mary was shielding her eyes from the sunlight streaming in through the window. They made their way unsteadily to the portrait hole, mumbling to Lily something about breakfast as they passed and holding each other’s arms for support.

Remus watched them go, torn between amusement and indignance.

James, eyes still locked on Lily, ruffled his hair. “C’mon Evans, you know you want to. Why deny yourself the things you want?”

Remus suppressed a snort at his friend’s abysmal attempt at charm.

“Potter, if you are deluded enough to think I want the rapid descent into profound idiocy that would come from spending extended time with you, then you’ve been hit in the head by one too many bludgers.”

Sirius barked a laugh. Smirking, Remus remembered Lily had mentioned needing new quills on yesterday’s prefect rounds. As eager to get away from his friends’ prank recruitment efforts as he was to vex James, Remus put down his book.

“Lily,” Remus said, his tone overly innocent, cutting off whatever retort James had opened his mouth to give. “Want to go to Hogsmeade with me? I’m going to Scrivenshaft’s.”

Lily grinned as James whirled on Remus, his mouth agape. Sirius made a choked sound.

“I’d love to, Remus.”

“Traitor,” James hissed as Remus passed by, patting James condescendingly on the shoulder as he went. Remus extended his arm to Lily chivalrously and she slid her own through it, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Remus kept his back to his friends as Lily climbed through the portrait hole first, scratching the back of his head with his middle finger purposefully extended. James made an indignant noise.

As the portrait swung shut, James remarked in a bitter voice, “You look ridiculous, Wormtail.”

Lily took Remus’s arm again and leaned heavily on him as they walked.

“You and the girls drank that whole bottle of our Firewhisky, didn’t you?”

“Remus,” Lily groaned. “You are talking so loud.”

Chapter Text

“There’s only a handful of people I think it can be,” Alastor said, sliding across the table a piece of parchment enchanted for Albus’s eyes only.

Alastor was the first one to raise the possibility of a spy to Albus after the Prewett brothers died last month. His concerns didn’t mean much in Albus’s estimation. Alastor was always thinking three steps ahead of hypothetical scenarios. Paranoid, some might call Alastor Moody.

Although a spy would explain how Riddle knew about the child.

Severus had come to Albus months ago begging him to protect Lily Potter. By that point, Albus had already instructed the Potters to go into hiding, though he didn’t share that with Severus.

Albus had looked into Severus’s dark eyes, frantic and desperate, and felt a pang of regret cut through his general disgust at the pathetic man before him. Albus had wanted Voldemort to go after the Longbottoms and now the Potters were hidden away. If Voldemort had decided the prophecy referred to Harry Potter, then the Potters should have been the ones left exposed.

But Albus could be patient. The Potters were overly trusting thus they weren’t discerning with whom they shared their location. They were also anxious about being sidelined and Albus knew soon enough they would demand to re-enter the fight.

Despite Severus’s warning, it wasn’t until Dorcas Meadowes came to him to express her suspicions that Albus believed there was a spy.

That was the day after Benjy Fenwick died. The next day the McKinnons were killed.

Marlene McKinnon was a major loss. Young and charismatic, she’d been almost as beloved as the Potters. Dorcas was especially devastated by the loss. Every time Albus saw her after Marlene’s death, her eyes were small, intent, and lined with rage.

“I had to make some assumptions,” Alastor added, his gruff voice pulling Albus back to the present. “But these are the ones you ought to talk to first.”

“How’s morale?” Albus asked, his eyes tracing the edges of the shadowy dining room instead of the parchment. Albus expected better lighting in the flat of someone so suspicious of everything.

Alastor shot him a somewhat incredulous look before he reigned in his features. “Not great. The fact that so many that have been killed were just out of school…”

“Losing someone with a decade of Auror experience would’ve harmed our cause more.”

Alastor frowned. “So you’ve told me before, Albus. But if morale is a concern, perhaps you ought to start sending the more experienced members on the riskier missions.” 

Albus paused, waiting long enough to convince Alastor he was considering his point of view before moving on. 

“I’ll talk to them,” Albus said, glancing at the list. “In the meantime, you’ll—”

“All members are now on a need-to-know basis with the missions. Moved the Potters to a new safe house. James wasn’t happy about it. And he insisted on telling his buddies where they are.”

“You don’t trust his judgment.”

“Obviously not when I have several members of his inner circle on that list.”

“The Potters are fervent believers in love and loyalty. It’s admirable that in such uncertain times they trust their friends implicitly.”

Alastor grunted in acknowledgement and said no more.

Albus resumed attending Order meetings in person. He arrived early and spoke to people, looking in their eyes and sifting through their thoughts as unobtrusively as he could.

Order meetings had become tense affairs. Paranoia was evident from the rapid shifting of eyes and the twitching of fingers. Half the wizards in the room flinched at the scrape of a tree branch against a windowpane. Members recounted missions in low voices as if Voldemort were in the next room, his ear pressed against the crack in the door.

Dumbledore didn’t start with the names on Alastor’s list that knew the Potters’ location. If it were one of them, the Potters would be dead already. But as he crossed name after name off the list, he started to wonder.

Sirius Black doggedly attended every Order meeting. Unlike James, who was motivated by a need to protect those he loved, Sirius wanted to defeat those that had failed to love him. So many members of his family wore the bone-coloured masks of Voldemort’s followers and Sirius took it as a personal insult.

None of Sirius’s defining features had changed since Dumbledore last saw him. His dark shoulder-length hair and grey eyes were the same but his smile was tighter and he had lines on his forehead that most men in their early twenties hadn’t developed yet. Dumbledore was an adept enough Legilimens that he could feel Sirius’s worry even without meeting his eyes.

“Sirius,” Albus said as he approached him. Sirius had insisted Albus use his first name the moment he graduated.

“Albus,” Sirius said with an unconvincing grin. “Any news on the plot against the Potters?”

Ah yes, the vague plot against James and Lily that Albus used to justify their hiding out.

“Nothing useful, I’m afraid,” Albus replied as he reached out to Sirius’s mind. “How are they coping?”

Memories of James, Lily, and Harry were at the top of Sirius’s thoughts as he answered the question. Albus could hear a dog’s bark then Harry’s squeal of delight. He heard Lily’s jokes and Sirius’s answering laugh. He heard James’s calm words of advice. It didn’t take long for Albus to be confident Sirius wasn’t the spy.

He had begun to pull back when James’s voice in Sirius’s mind said something odd. Just keep trying, Padfoot. You became an Animagus for him, after all.

Sirius was an Animagus—that may be useful to know one day, Albus thought and smiled to himself imagining Minerva would be horrified but reluctantly impressed. He was pleased that sifting through Sirius’s memories wasn’t a complete waste of time.

“I haven’t seen Mr Pettigrew or Mr Lupin recently,” Dumbledore said conversationally because they were the next names on his list.

Memories of Lupin’s voice fluttered across Sirius’s mind. Shouted accusations and frigid retorts filled Albus’s ears as a cold wave of guilt and longing rushed over him.

“I saw Pete the other day,” Sirius replied woodenly. “I know he’s been busy with his new job and hasn’t made a lot of the meetings…”

Sirius didn’t mention Lupin despite him consuming his thoughts.

“If you learn any new intel, I know James is going stir-crazy. Ah, I need to speak to Dorcas. Excuse me, Albus.”

Albus nodded as Sirius extricated himself, his brow furrowed.

Both Pettigrew and Lupin had been absent from Order meetings for weeks. Dumbledore knew Lupin was infiltrating werewolf packs across the country, but Pettigrew had no such orders to explain his behaviour. Dumbledore arranged to meet with Alastor at the Auror’s office the next day and had no problem intercepting Pettigrew on his way to his office at the Ministry.

“Mr Pettigrew,” Albus greeted warmly as Pettigrew jumped and whirled around with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“D-Dumbledore. Hello.”

Albus felt a twinge of triumph at the look on Pettigrew’s face. He reached out to Pettigrew’s mind as he asked him about his new job.

The fear crept up Albus slowly but it was heavy and disorienting. Tom Riddle’s voice was all Pettigrew could think about even as he prattled on about his position. Pettigrew refused to meet Albus’s eyes as if foolish enough to think that would prevent Albus from hearing Voldemort’s voice as it echoed through Pettigrew’s memories.

It would be… convenient to have someone keep me updated on the Potters’ movements until I’m ready to kill them.

Ah, so that explains why the Potters were still alive. He was biding his time.

Albus didn’t want Peter to become suspicious, so began to withdraw. At the last moment, he heard Peter’s voice, shaking and high, tell Voldemort about Dorcas’s next mission.

“A-and of course it’s a huge honour to be so trusted by the head of the department, well you know. But really I should be going or I’ll be late to my morning meeting.”

Back in the atrium of the ministry, Albus smiled serenely, letting Pettigrew make his flimsy excuses and scurry away.

Perhaps, Albus thought, if Pettigrew told him the Potters planned to conceal themselves even from their closest friends, it would jar him into action.

Dumbledore smiled congenially at the passing wizards and witches he knew while his mind flickered with thoughts of old spells and complicated charms and ways to protect the Potters while leaving them just vulnerable enough.

He just wished he hadn’t heard the last bit about Dorcas.

Chapter Text

Remus was alone in the library when Sirius found him. Not that Remus had been hiding. After all, Remus was the only Marauder who took his studies even remotely seriously, thus was deemed the group swot, and permanently associated with books, parchment, and all things academic and boring. The library would’ve been a terrible hiding place even if he were in the section in the back near the books on healing particularly nasty skin conditions that most students avoided. Where he happened to be.

“Hey,” Sirius interrupted Remus’s reading with less of a greeting and more of an accusation.

Remus looked up from his textbook, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. One was not friends with Sirius Black for nearly five years without becoming familiar with that tone. It was his irrationally outraged tone and typically ended in a small fire or a Slytherin getting hexed. “What?”

“Since when are you queer?”

Remus blinked at him several times as a chill shuddered through his chest. “I—who told you?”

“Peter.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Ugh, of course, Peter.”

“Lupin.” Sirius never called him Lupin. “How could you tell Wormtail and not me?”

Remus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Of course, Sirius would make this all about himself. “I didn’t tell Peter. Peter knows because he walked in on me and Graham McMillan.”

Remus tried not to flush red after the words came out. He regretted mentioning his name but it was too late now. At least Graham was a Ravenclaw in the year above them, which meant Sirius was unlikely to know him.

Sirius blinked, the anger evaporating like steam out an open window but something else replacing it. “What were you doing?”

Remus gave him a dry kind of glare that conveyed Sirius wouldn’t get an answer to that question.

Sirius shifted uneasily. “Er, well. Are you two…”

“What?” Remus snapped. He was hating this.

“Y’know. Together?”

Remus shook his head. “No, we—it was just—no.” Together, ha. They’d gotten off together a few times in the broom shed after Graham finished practice and avoided eye contact when they passed in the hallways. Then Peter burst in on them one day because he’d seen Remus from afar and had a pressing question about their Charms homework and Graham had avoided him ever since.

Sirius nodded, his demeanour infinitely more cheerful. Remus glanced at him then averted his gaze quickly.

“Doesn’t seem like your type,” Sirius observed.

Remus frowned. So Sirius did know the name. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sirius shifted his weight from foot to foot, uncharacteristically awkward. “Bit quidditch mad, isn’t he?”

“No. Just because he plays doesn’t make him obsessed.”

“Still.”

“Just because you couldn’t make the team—”

“I told you I only tried out that time as a joke and to make James look—"

“—doesn’t mean everyone else who plays is James-level dedicated to training.”

Sirius huffed and crossed his arms. “Seeker’s the easiest position.”

Remus didn’t dignify that ludicrous statement with a response but stared at his book, gnashing his teeth.

“Just luck, really. Takes no physical prowess,” Sirius added.

Remus was staring at his textbook but his eyes weren’t moving. He waited for Sirius to go away.

“So, is that why you’ve been so pissy with us lately?”

Remus fixed him with a glare, his face tight.

“I thought it was the Animagus stuff,” Sirius mused. “But if you’re having boy troubles…”

“Shut up.”

“I mean, that would make more sense. We became Animagus for you. It’d be a ridiculous thing to be pissy about. We just didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to get your hopes up if we couldn’t—”

Remus interrupted him by snapping his book shut. “You didn’t tell me because you wanted a dramatic reveal.”

Sirius smiled, his eyes glinting and Remus could practically see in their reflection his own horrified face when he stepped into his dorm to see a dog, rat, and stag staring at him.

“Maybe a bit,” Sirius said with an insouciant shrug.   

Remus stood, starting to gather his books with peevish movements.

“What, you don’t think you deserve friends who will become illegal Animagi for you?” Sirius demanded.

Remus paused, an irritated sigh tickling his lungs. Sirius loved to psychoanalyze him even though he had no grasp of muggle psychology.

Summoning patience, Remus met his gaze. “It’s not that.”

“What then? The moon went great! You didn’t kill any of us. You said you normally scratched and bit yourself, but you didn’t with us there. But you’ve been acting like a prat. It’s like second year all over again.”

A memory of three scrawny boys blocking the dorm door to announce they’d found out about Remus’s lycanthropy flashed across Remus’s mind. Though they’d enthused it was ‘wicked’, Remus hadn’t spoken to any of them for weeks after.

Remus sighed, feeling less huffy and more drained. It was a nice gesture, of course. But something about the expectation that he should feel grateful made Remus entirely averse to the sentiment. He felt the same way about Dumbledore showing up in all his splendour to Remus’s parents’ house to magnanimously offer Remus a place at Hogwarts and a cold empty shack in which to scream.

He couldn’t articulate that so he tried another explanation. “It’s just, I’m going to get used to it but it won’t last forever. Then I’ll be on my own again and it’ll be difficult.” Once the words were out, Remus realized they weren’t entirely untrue.

“What do you mean?”

Remus looked at Sirius like he was being particularly stupid. “The three of you aren’t going to spend the rest of my life transforming with me every single month. I’d be surprised if you all even make it through the year.”

Sirius bristled. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean? We didn’t go through all this trouble to abandon you. You’re our friend.”

“For now, sure. But it won’t last forever. You’ll get bored or have other priorities. And it’s fine, I just—when things change, it’ll be jarring to go back.”

Sirius lifted the chin and looked down his nose like the refined aristocrat he pretended he wasn’t. “I’m going to prove you wrong.”

Remus laughed, meanly. He wanted this conversation to end. “I bet you’ll be the first to go. You’ll get distracted by some bird.”

Sirius took a step towards him, aggravation clear in the furrow of his brow, the tension in his jaw. “We’re breaking out of the shack next month and the only birds that’ll distract me are literal ones.” He smirked in that infuriating way of his. “Padfoot likes chasing them.”

Nothing would make Sirius more agitated in this situation than if Remus rolled his eyes. So he did, exaggeratedly, and opened his mouth to say something snide to cap it off. 

Before he could speak, firm hands were clasped on his shoulders and warm lips pressed against his.

It wasn’t Remus’s best kiss. It was too aggressive, their teeth knocked together, Remus’s shoulders were tense under Sirius’s tight grip, and he was so shocked that he didn’t participate at all.

Sirius pulled back and took in Remus’s wide-eyed expression. Sirius's eyes were frantic like he was about to bolt. This might be the only time Remus ever kissed Sirius Black—a concept so ridiculous to him only seconds ago yet, absurdly, he felt he’d been cheated. Absurd or not, Remus threaded his fingers through Sirius’s hair and had pulled him back to kiss him properly.

Remus’s lips moved keenly against Sirius’s and Sirius made a small sound at the back of his throat that Remus felt against the fingertips in Sirius’s hair. 

Remus pulled back because Sirius had been about to say something and Remus had been rude to interrupt. He looked at Sirius expectantly.

“I can do better,” Sirius blurted as he stared at Remus’s lips.

“What?”

“I’m actually a good kisser, I have a lot of experience. You just caught me off guard.”

“You kissed me!” Remus whisper-yelled because he hadn’t forgotten they were in the library. 

Sirius dragged his gaze up to Remus’s eyes.

“Let me try again,” he said, his voice low.

Remus’s lips twitched but he gave Sirius a disapproving look. “We’re in the library.” See? He remembered.

“Yes, well, I planned that. I know how hot and bothered you get around the written word.”

Remus was very practised at hiding his emotions and one typically became immune to embarrassment very quickly after joining the Marauders. But Sirius had thrown him off-balance so Remus couldn’t help the blush that crept up his neck.

Sirius beamed at him.

Remus stepped back from Sirius with an exhale. He took his textbook and stuffed it into his tightly packed bag. He diligently capped his inkwell (Sirius always forgot that step and ended up siphoning the ink out of his bag with his wand) and tucked it and his quill into one of the front pockets with nimble fingers Sirius tracked with his eyes. Remus felt unmoored but the diligent motions were calming. He pushed in his chair.

The two of them had always been the counterweights of their group. They were both more cynical than James or Peter but in opposition in every other possible way. Remus was tranquil while Sirius was chaotic. Remus was aloof while Sirius craved attention. Remus was quiet while Sirius was a blaring beacon of exhilaration.

It’s doomed to fail, Remus thought. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the kiss, but a bizarre sense of rightness had replaced the distrust that typically twisted behind his eyes. So, while Remus believed the thought, he'd overlook it for now.  

Remus started to walk away but paused at the edge of the oak bookcase, twisting his head to look over his shoulder.

“Come on,” Remus beckoned in the higher tone of one calling a dog. It was a Marauders’ joke and Sirius was meant to act offended. But Sirius was too gleeful to even summon even a faux scowl.

He hastened to Remus’s side with a wild grin and trembling fingertips and they left the library together.

Chapter Text

“I think I can talk him into it.”

The confidence in James’s voice was contradicted by his agitated pacing. He paced so much these days Lily had expressed surprise that the faded linoleum tiles in their latest safe house weren’t depressed in the shape of his foot.

Lily looked up at him from her seat at the table with hesitation edging her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek.

“What? You don’t trust Sirius anymore?” James asked, no accusation in his tone.

The bulb in the light over the kitchen table let off a weak, yellowish light that made it hard for him to read her expression. James wanted to change it out but, of course, he couldn’t leave the house. He released a frustrated breath.

“I trust Sirius. If it were just about you and me…” Lily’s eyes went to the crib in the corner of the kitchen where their son was sleeping. Harry had a nursery, but they’d been levitating his crib into whatever room they were in the last few days. “I trust all of our friends - we’ve talked about this. I just want to understand why he doesn’t want to do it.”

“He says he’s the obvious choice. They’ll target him and it’d be safer with someone else.”

“He realizes us not choosing him doesn’t change that, doesn't he? They'd still go after him.”

James nodded, his face creased with misery. “He does.”

Lily took a shaky breath. “So, he doesn’t trust himself. That’s what he’s telling you.”

“He’s underestimating himself.”

Lily didn’t reply but fiddled with her wedding ring.

“Come now, tell me,” James urged.

“That incident with Severus,” Lily replied reluctantly.

James tilted his head. “What? Fifth year?” 

Lily pulled her auburn hair over her shoulder, her fingertips twisting the ends. “It was a betrayal. He exposed Remus’s secret... nearly got him killed. Severus, too, if you hadn’t intervened.”

James pursed his lips. “He’d just run away from home and Snape had been goading—” he stopped himself and shook his head. Lily was right, though it pained him.

“You think that’s why he doesn’t want to do it?” he asked.

Lily shrugged. “I don’t know. But I understand why he doesn’t trust himself. Did he suggest someone else?”

James leaned against the counter. “Peter.”

“Not Remus,” Lily stated, straightening her shoulders.

James nodded mutely. 

“Go on. You must’ve asked him.”

James shifted. He glanced at the crib, then back to Lily.

“He said he doesn’t know him anymore. Remus has barely spoken to him since we graduated.”

Lily huffed in frustration. “That stupid prank.”

“Moony forgave him for that.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Did he?”

James didn’t respond, crossing his arms and looking at his shoes. They were silent for a moment then James broke it. “He also said Moony’s had to lie his whole life. Wasn’t his choice… but the result is he’s very good at it.”

Lily was biting her cheek again. She had to consciously relax her jaw before she drew blood. “What did you say?”

“Threatened to punch him.”

Lily smiled despite herself. “I think it’s easier for him to make Remus out into some sort of villain in his head. Like he did with his brother.”

“Regulus joined them, Lily. He was a villain.”

Lily shrugged, remembering the Order meeting when Moody told them a young Death Eater had tried to defect and was presumed dead. Sirius’s eyes had flashed with pain then went cold.

“I don’t want to ask that of Moony,” James said, returning to their Secret-Keeper decision. “Dumbledore already asks too much of him, making him stay with those packs… I know we already discussed it, but—”

“Should it be one of us?” Lily finished for him.

James nodded.

“Our only way to contribute to this war while we’re in hiding is with a safe house under Fidelius,” Lily said, crossing her arms, unconsciously mirroring James. “If neither of us is the Keeper, we can apparate people in without sharing the secret. Order members can send us distress signals and we can go get them. And we’ll be still helping the Order instead of just sitting here being useless.”

“Only one of us needs to be the Keeper,” James said. “The other could still apparate people in.”

“Do you want to do it?” Lily asked with raised eyebrows. “You could never leave the house. If someone saw you coming home, you’d have given them the secret.”

“If we apparate in—”

“What if a Death Eater grabs on while you’re apparating?”

James sighed.

“We’ve been cooped up for months now and we’re both on edge,” Lily said. “Having someone else be the Keeper would give us our freedom back until Dumbledore finishes whatever he’s doing with the cloak. Then we can switch one of us to the Keeper and that person can use the cloak to get out now and then.”

“We can finally replace the damn bulb,” James said with a wry smile, looking at the light over her head.

Lily huffed a laugh. “No, we’ll leave this place and its weak bulbs and tacky floors behind and go to the home we bought a year ago but haven’t been allowed to live in.”

“Do we need to even discuss Dumbledore?” James asked. “I’m sure his offer still stands.”

Lily shook her head. “The old man’s priority is ending this war, not our son’s life. Absolutely not.”

James nodded.

“I feel like he knew we’d never take him up on it, too. Something in his eyes, I can’t explain it. I know he’s not telling us everything either,” she added. “There’s more to the prophecy, why else won’t he show us his memory in a Pensieve?” A sigh. “Do I sound like Moody?”

James’s laugh was without humour. “A bit, love. But you’re not alone.”

“He was so vague about when he heard it, too.”

“You think the prophecy is why he first sent us into hiding?”

“Maybe.”

James crossed the kitchen to take the seat beside Lily. “That leaves Pete, then.”

Lily nodded.

“Talk me out of it,” James prompted.

“I—I don’t—if he were tortured…” Her voice broke on the last word.

James nodded as horrifying images of his friend under Voldemort’s wand sprang into his mind. In school, Peter was quick to cave under McGonagall’s interrogation over some ill-conceived prank. But then the stakes were only a week’s detention. He’d never failed as a friend in a consequential way, like telling someone Remus’s secret.

“I trust him. And there’s his Animagus form,” James said. “Between him and Sirius, escape would be easiest for Pete. And Sirius is right, they wouldn’t expect him.”

Lily stirred her untouched tea with a wandless spell then drew a shaky breath. “Let’s ask him, then.”

James got up and headed to the living room where the floo was.

“Be sure to tell him it’s only temporary. Dumbledore has to give us the cloak back eventually. Then Pete’ll be off the hook,” Lily said before James crossed the threshold. He nodded.

Lily stayed seated, stirring her tea and watching her son's chest rise and fall as he slept. Soft murmurings filtered in from the other room as James fire-called Pete. 

James returned to the room a few moments later looking grave. “He’s agreed. He’ll meet us in Godric’s Hollow in the morning. He had one request.”

Lily canted her head.

“He asked we tell no one.”

Lily sighed. “Not even Sirius and Remus?”

James nodded. “I told him Sirius already knows and I need to tell Dumbledore if he’s going to take measures to protect him.”

Lily frowned and James knew what she was thinking. But they could convince Peter to let them tell Remus later. “He agreed?”

James summoned parchment with a wave of his wand. “With some convincing. I’ll owl the old man now.”

Chapter Text

Remus awoke to pain. It was like this every month, a deep, sharp ache permeated every muscle and joint in his newly human body. It always took him several minutes upon regaining consciousness to identify his injuries through the lingering agony of the transformation.

He didn’t have to this morning. James was leaning over him, his wand hovering over Remus’s left hand, as he murmured incantations. Remus made a small sound in the back of his throat as the bones in his hand shifted and set.

“Morning, Moony.”

Remus blinked, too tired to ask questions but James launched into the answers anyway.

“It was a good night. Hardly any scratches on you, just the usual broken bones from the de-wolfing. I fixed your ankle already and your hand. And, yes, I know what you’re going to say. But just tell Pomfrey you fixed it yourself. I’m not spending time that could be used wooing Evans teaching myself healing spells to not use them.”

Remus snorted, though in his weakened state it was more of a huff. Evans was more likely to warm to James seeing him studying in the library than she would if he were to continue burdening her with his harrowing pick-up attempts.Still, he felt a familiar twinge of guilt.

“D’you even need to know healing spells to be an Auror? I don’t want you wasting your time if it’s just for me.” His voice sounded like gravel.

“Yeah, because healing spells are a complete waste unless you’re friends with a werewolf. They’ll never come in handy in any other area my life, ever.” James rolled his eyes theatrically. “And it doesn’t matter if Aurors need them, I changed my mind about that.”

Remus shifted. He was lying on the bed on the second floor of the shack with a blanket draped over his bare waist. He wasn’t cold, James must’ve cast heating charms, and Peter was asleep in rat form on the pillow next to his head, tail resting on Remus’s shoulder and his whiskers tickling Remus’s cheek.

“You changed your mind? Why?”

James shrugged. “Anything hurt? Y’know, more than normal? Your knee looks swollen but my diagnostic spell doesn’t indicate anything’s wrong, but I only just learned that one…”

Remus shook his head.

Satisfied with his healing spells, James curled up next to Remus on the bed, resting his head on the opposite end of his pillow as Peter. Remus normally objected to his personal space being invaded but he couldn’t bring himself to mind when the extra body heat helped dull the pain lining his bone marrow. His friends had discovered this exception to Remus’s touch-aversion shortly after they told Remus they knew he was a werewolf. Now they gleefully took advantage of it, dogpiling on him after full moons once the broken bones were healed.

“I was reading through some of the ministry pamphlets about the training and the requirements…” James said, his voice slow with tiredness. “Then there was that article in the Prophet about the new werewolf regulations…”

Remus's stomach sank. He'd read the article. Aurors were now required to report werewolves to the Ministry if they were involved in or suspected to be involved in criminal activity. The Prophet called the law basic common sense and long overdue. “And?”

“I just realized I don’t agree with a lot of the laws we have. Not just about werewolves,” he said, giving Remus a pointed look. “Y’know merpeople are classified as Beasts? I met one—remember that time Mulciber threw me in the lake with a weight charm on my robes?”

“How could I forget?” Remus replied dryly.

“Thank Merlin I know how to do a bubble head charm. Anyway. The way the laws are, especially for anyone who’s not considered a wizard…” James trailed off, his expression contemplative. “I don’t want to enforce shit laws I disagree with, y’know?”

The guilt still sat heavy in the pit of Remus’s stomach but appreciation crept in, too. “What’ll you do instead?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine this war’ll be over by the time we graduate and we can just get normal jobs. Maybe I’ll try to get into a healing program.”

James yawned and closed his eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Remus warned.

“I set an alarm at the base of the willow,” James said through a second yawn. “My wand’ll buzz once she gets there. I got the cloak right here.”

James gestured sleepily towards the floor where Remus assumed the priceless invisibility cloak lay crumpled.

James nestled closer while Remus breathed a sigh of relief. It was the first moon since his friends had become Animagus without Sirius. He’d worried the debilitating anger he’d steeped in all month would make the wolf more aggressive, but the rat and boy on either side of him appeared no worse for wear.

“James?”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to forgive him.”

James opened his eyes to give Remus a sceptical look.

“Why?”

“It’s been a month of all of us freezing him out. I know you miss him. I think it’s been enough.”

“No,” James said simply, closing his eyes again and burrowing his head into the pillow, his chin resting on Remus’s shoulder.

“What d’you mean no?”

James opened his eyes grumpily. “No. If you’re doing it for my benefit, the answer is no.”

“I’m not just—”

“Besides you’re wrong, I don’t miss the plonker. I’m still furious with him.”

And James wasn’t putting on an act.

It wasn’t a surprise when James intervened after Sirius revealed to the worst person at Hogwarts how to bypass the Whomping Willow. James had always been a paragon of Gryffindor bravery with no self-preservation instinct. The surprise had been the vehement anger James directed as his best friend who was practically a brother.

Sirius and James had fought before and frequently. But the fights were always quick, fiery spats that more often than not ended in an undignified wrestling match for which they were much too old. Not once had Remus seen either remain mad at the other for more than an hour.

But this time was different.

Remus, still unconscious in the hospital wing, had missed the fight. According to Peter, it was less a fight and more James unloading on Sirius for almost fifteen minutes. Peter said he’d never seen James that angry.

Neither Peter nor James would speak to Sirius. Sirius now mostly stayed out of the dorm until after the rest had gone to bed. He didn’t eat with them at meals or sit with them in class.

It was the talk of the school. Sirius and James had always been lightning rods for attention, and the Marauders as a whole had reached legendary status by fifth-year (thanks to their prank with the Nifflers in tuxedos). The prevailing theory was Sirius had kissed Lily. Remus heard that rumour from a none-too-pleased Lily Evans herself, who ranted for half an hour about how she wouldn’t touch either of them with a ten-foot pole. Remus would’ve found it amusing if his own emotions weren’t so raw.

But despite the whispered gossip, despite Sirius’s kicked puppy expression as he sat alone at the end of the Gryffindor table, despite the almost unbearable tension in the dorm, James showed no signs of forgiving Sirius.

Upon reflection, Remus shouldn’t have been surprised. James valued loyalty above all else. He could forgive Sirius for almost anything except betraying a friend.

James’s voice pulled Remus out of his thoughts. “Has he even apologized to you? The chocolate doesn’t count.”

Remus had been finding chocolate on his bed each night for the last month. He had been giving it to random first years in the common room until they started following him around like stray cats. Now he just threw it out.

“I hardly gave him a chance, did I? I know he’s sorry. You know he’s sorry.”

James scoffed.

“We have more than two years left sharing a dorm with him. It’s awkward—”

“Who cares? I love awkward, you’ve seen me with Lily.”

A reluctant laugh bubbled out of Remus.

“You do what you want, Moony. But I’m not ready to forgive him so don’t think you’re doing me any favours.”

James had just closed his eyes again when his wand buzzed. He groaned, reaching over Remus to grab the rat on his pillow. Wormtail squeaked as James rolled dramatically off the bed and landed on the floor with a thump. Remus sat up and looked over the edge of the bed but they had disappeared under the cloak.

Madame Pomfrey called up to him a moment later. Remus pulled on his clothes which James had set at the foot of the bed and limped down the stairs.

It wasn’t just the tension in the dorm that had Remus set on forgiveness but the persistent buzz of whispers in the halls. It would be very easy for Snape to slip in the true explanation for why the famous Marauders had split up among the rumours. Remus didn’t know what threats Dumbledore had used to keep Snape quiet, but they wouldn’t last long. If outwardly forgiving Sirius would stop the eyes burning holes into the back of his neck, it would be worth the sting to his pride.

In truth, Remus had no intention of forgiving Sirius in anything other than words. James’s anger, though more severe than Remus had expected, didn’t hold a candle to his own. James didn’t know the half of it, after all. He saw it as a betrayal of a friend, not knowing Sirius and Remus had been more than friends for months.

It’d been Remus’s mistake, after all, since he knew better. It had been too easy falling in love with someone who already knew his secret. Someone who, for years, had acted trustworthy. Remus should’ve known people could still betray you after years of friendship but now he would never forget it.

But Remus would be fine. He would tell Sirius he was forgiven and the rumours would stop. James talked a big talk but he would forgive Sirius once Remus did and Peter would follow suit, like always. Remus would get through the next two years with his head down and as soon as he was free of this cage of a school, Remus would never have to look at those cool grey eyes again.

Chapter Text

Peter apparated into an empty alleyway beside the Hog’s Head. His eyes skated over the trash cans, confirming no one was in sight before he transformed.

As a rat, it took a frustratingly long time to reach Hogwarts, but Peter didn’t dare make even part of the journey as himself.

Peter hadn’t returned to the school since he graduated, but he still remembered where there were cracks in the walls. He was taken aback by the comforting warmth of the castle. Now that he was back scuttling through the familiar corridors, the difference between the carefree delight he’d felt in school and the wretchedness he’d endured since joining the war was stark.

Wormtail had discovered he could get into the Headmaster’s office early in his seventh year. He was just exploring—James was with Lily, Remus was studying, and Sirius and Peter never hung out alone—when he found the hole at the base of the gargoyle that was just large enough for him to slip through.

Peter never told anyone. James and Sirius would’ve insisted they take advantage by planning some monumental prank and Peter was terrified of the trouble he’d get into if he were caught in the headmaster’s office. Wormtail had only gone in once when the Headmaster was away. Even then, he’d only watched Dumbledore’s blood-red phoenix snoozing on its perch for a moment before hastening back to the safety of the dorms.

Tonight, Peter had a goal in mind that would’ve horrified his seventeen-year-old self.

It was too late to do anything about Sirius. Fortunately, he was too distrustful to tell anyone about the change. Peter would deal with him later.

James would write Dumbledore and tell him the new plan for the Fidelius Charm. And once Peter told Voldemort the Potters were making him Secret-Keeper, he would act fast. Peter doubted he would escape this mess without his change of loyalty coming out, but he would do everything he could to prevent it.

Wormtail scurried past the spiders in the wall and up the spiral staircase. The Headmaster’s office was quiet except for the occasional snap from the fireplace. His beady eyes were drawn to the sorting hat resting on a shelf above the Headmaster’s desk.

When the sorting hat had been dropped on Peter’s eleven-year-old head, he’d been certain he’d go to Hufflepuff. His father had been a Ravenclaw and always spoke ill of Hufflepuff. That’s where oddballs like you end up, he’d told Peter once after he’d done something daft. His father had laughed after and insisted he was only teasing when Peter didn’t laugh along with him.

Instead, the hat had surprised him.

“Hufflepuff?” it’d hissed in his ear. “You don’t want to be there, that much is clear. Loyalty and justice aren’t exactly important to you, isn’t that right?”

The hat then spent several minutes debating between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Peter was shocked. He didn’t think he belonged in either house. In his young mind, Gryffindors were tall, strong knights in shining armour. Slytherins were brilliant, cunning men who succeeded in every venture. Peter wanted to be them, but he was weak and brainless.

“Brainless, eh?” the hat had murmured in his ears. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be able to sort you at all.”

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hadn’t meant it literally. 

“I’m looking for potential, nothing else,” the hat continued. “You value daring—can’t stand to sit on the sidelines—Gryffindor might empower you to act on it. But you have a strategic mind and a strong sense of self-preservation, Slytherin qualities for certain.”

The hat was in no rush and Peter was about to burst into flames from the humiliation of being a hat stall when it finally settled on Gryffindor. Peter stumbled over to the Gryffindor table, buoyed by the cheers but at the back of his mind, the hat’s words lingered.

Daring and self-preservation, Peter thought. Weren’t those contrary? 

A movement to Wormtail’s right pulled him from his memories. Dumbledore stood by the open window, a short-eared owl with large black patches around its eyes sat on the sill.

He was too late.

Dumbledore held the letter in one hand while he used the other to summon an owl treat which he absentmindedly fed to the Potters’ owl. Dumbledore looked up from the letter and though his face was serious, his eyes were bright with that righteous gleam he got whenever he spoke at Order meetings.

In four long strides, Dumbledore crossed the room to the fireplace and slipped the letter into the flames.

Before Wormtail could contemplate how odd of a thing that was to do, a glowing German Shepherd burst into the office.

“Dorcas Meadowes is dead,” it said in Alastor Moody’s voice.

There was a sharp jab of pain in Peter's chest. He had told Voldemort Dorcas was responsible for the deaths of four of his followers a week prior. The woman had become ruthless after Marlene was killed. Peter had passed along her whereabouts knowing Voldemort would target her next. Peter had been half in love with Dorcas at school, not that she’d ever looked his way.

Dumbledore barely reacted to the news.

Peter shivered with dread. There’d been that moment at the ministry where Peter feared Dumbledore knew Legilimency and had pulled Peter’s many betrayals from his mind. But Dumbledore was too moral to use such dark magic even if he was trying to smoke out a spy, wasn’t he?

If Dumbledore had known Peter was a spy, Peter would be in a cell in Azkaban and Dorcas Meadowes would be tucked away in a safe house somewhere.

But if Peter was wrong, Dorcas’s death could be the betrayal that exposed him. The list of suspects had to be growing narrower. Only a few others knew about Dorcas’s mission. Would Dumbledore send his Patronus to James, telling him they’d been fooled and asking where was Peter now?

Dumbledore did no such thing. He paced. He pulled long threads of memories from his mind and deposited them in his Pensieve but didn’t look at them as they swirled to the bottom of the basin.

An hour before dawn, Peter left Hogwarts and went to Godric’s Hollow.

Dumbledore didn’t burst into the cottage as Lily whispered complicated incantations over Peter’s shaking hands.

Dumbledore didn’t intercept Peter as he left the Potters and went straight to the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore didn’t clamp a hand over Peter’s mouth before the truth tumbled out.

Dumbledore didn’t see the Dark Lord’s cold smirk as he said, “You’ve proven yourself useful, Wormtail. I will reward you.”

Dumbledore didn’t swoop in as Voldemort pressed his wand to Peter’s shaking forearm and black smoke coiled out and wrapped around him before sinking into his skin like barbed wire.

Peter sputtered and shook as he stared at the black ink on his arm. “M-my Lord, how can I be your spy with t-the dark mark on my arm?”  

“I’m going to kill your friends, Wormtail. There is no more need for subterfuge. Your precious Headmaster will know it was the filthy rat that did it.”

Chapter Text

“He’s so arrogant.” Lily crossed her arms and scowled, her eyes tracing the progress of Gryffindor’s dark-haired chaser.

Remus nodded, giving her a sidelong glance. The afternoon light hovered like a halo around her mane of red hair. “He can be.”

“And it’s not like I don’t get why. He just so happens to be good at everything. He’s tops at every subject—”

“Not Divination,” Remus said. “And you and Snape do better than him in potions.”

“Sev only beats him in potions because Sev forsakes every other subject for the pleasure of beating Potter at something.”

“And your success in potions has nothing to do with James,” Remus replied wryly.

“Of course not. To compete with Potter, I would have to pay him mind. Which I don’t. I just hate that he doesn’t have to try.”

“He—”

“I want a cigarette.”

Remus chuckled and stretched his legs out on the empty seats below them. It was Gryffindor’s last practice before the finals against Ravenclaw tomorrow and the stands were scattered with crimson-clad students eager for a break from studying and some good news. Even some Ravenclaw students were in the stands scoping out the competition. Lily waved to Dorcas Meadowes, a beater on the Ravenclaw team, a few seats over who waved back then resumed pretending to read while her eyes followed the Gryffindor chasers’ movements.

“If you do, you’ll get a lecture on appropriate prefect behaviour,” Remus said, adopting a Scottish lilt.

“McGonagall hates to lecture me, maybe she’d turn a blind eye,” Lily said wistfully, glancing at the tower where their Head of House’s office had an excellent view of the quidditch field. Remus snorted and Lily smirked.

“God forbid Slughorn saw you. He’d be so disappointed.”

“Psh, what’s he gonna do? Kick the only muggle-born out of Slug Club? Then who would he haul out when someone implies he’s prejudiced?” Remus pulled a face and Lily ignored him. “Have you seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s?”

“Nah.”

“In the movie, Audrey Hepburn has this cigarette holder. Very chic. I want one. I could charm it to disillusion the cigarette then McGonagall wouldn’t catch me.”

“She’d see the smoke.”

“Pessimist.” Lily rubbed her hands over her legs, her eyes still on the game. “I’m not chic enough for a cigarette holder anyway.”

“Sure you are.”

“Remus, I have holes in my stockings.”

“I don’t see any.”

“I have a gaping hole right where my big toe is,” she said, waving her right foot for emphasis. “You can’t see it but I feel it and it keeps me from being chic. Chic is all in the mind, really.”

Remus nodded gravely.

Remus and Lily had been spending more time together since Sirius had been welcomed back into the Marauders. Remus could only tolerate being in Sirius’s presence for short intervals and so joined Lily at meals or when James or Peter, his buffers, were busy.

Lily had waited an admirable three weeks after the Marauders reunited before asking Remus what had happened with a guilty look signifying she already knew the answer. Snape, unsurprisingly to Remus, had told her about the Whomping Willow incident under the pretence of putting her on guard for her next set of rounds with a dark creature. Lily had made Snape swear to tell no one else.

Remus had scoffed at her assurances before she’d grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug. “You’re my friend and I don’t care if it’s true. I won’t tell anyone,” she’d whispered and it’d been a few years since Remus was last overwhelmed by such a crushing wave of acceptance. Against his will, his had eyes filled with tears and Lily had pretended not to notice.

“And that hair, ugh,” Lily said, returning to her original rant and bringing Remus back to the present.

“What’s wrong with his hair?”

“He does it on purpose! Messing it up like a prat. He just—he thinks he can go around being smart, good at quidditch, all rakishly—I mean, he thinks he’s attractive. Erroneously. And that just compounds the arrogance.”

“Right,” Remus said, trying to keep the line of his mouth straight.

“One can’t even blame him, really. What with the way people fawn over him just for winning a stupid game.”

“Mm.”

“He’s such a bully, too.”

“He saved Snape’s life!” Remus argued.

“Psh, he did that for you. He treats Severus terribly.”

Remus had filled Lily in on the details of that night which Snape must’ve deemed too inconsequential to mention. She would never admit it, but Remus suspected James’s act of heroism was the reason he came up more often in their conversations.

“Snape deserves what he gets,” Remus said tersely. “How can you defend someone who calls your friends that word?”

“He’s not—I’ve talked to him about that, he’s promised me he’ll stop. Besides Remus, you’re the one who forgave a friend who used your condition for a cruel prank.” 

“What does that have to do with—”

“It’s all the same shit, isn’t it?” Lily sighed and narrowed her gaze onto the quidditch rings as if she intended to set them ablaze. “We’re both considered… less than ideal in the wizarding world. But if we reject everyone who sees us as an other, we’ll be alone.”

“I don’t see you as an other”

Lily waved a hand dismissively.

“My point is you have no right to judge me for staying Sev’s friend if you’re staying Sirius’s.”

Remus shook his head but didn’t respond. The comparison was deeply unfair to Sirius, but he was still too upset with him to defend his behaviour to Lily.

“James doesn’t see you as less than ideal,” he said instead, eager to change topics.

Lily huffed sardonically. “He’s pureblood, of course he does.”

“You haven’t met his parents. They’re aggressively anti-blood purity. The Sacred-Twenty-Eight families hate the Potters.”

Lily shook her head. “Fine. So maybe about muggle-borns he’s not a prick.”

“Not a prick?” Remus whispered conspiringly. “Can I tell him you said that? He’ll be giddy for a week.”

Lily shook her head, trying to hide her smile. James sliced through the air in front of them but was too focused on his teammates to notice Lily and Remus.

“The hair though,” she groused, wrinkling her nose.

Remus laughed lightly. “Yeah. I have no excuses for the hair.”

The sun was getting low and dinner would be served soon, so Remus made a lazy motion with his arm and Lily followed him down from the stands.

“Moony!”

Remus flinched but slowed his steps against the grass to allow Sirius to catch up. Lily followed suit, albeit grudgingly.

“Wotcher, Evans. Moony, can I talk to you? Er, alone?”

Lily gave Remus a questioning look and he nodded. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Lily continued towards the castle while Sirius pulled on the sleeve of Remus’s jumper to direct him towards the lake.

They walked in silence until they reached the water’s edge, Remus having no intention of speaking first. He could tell from the twitch of Sirius’s fingers he wouldn’t need much patience.  

“You haven’t forgiven me.”

Remus released a sigh. Directness was always one of Sirius’s strengths.

“I have,” Remus replied, his eyes on the glitter of amber light against the water.

“You can't even look at me,” Sirius said, insolent.

Remus turned his head to meet Sirius’s gaze. He held it for a defiant three seconds, then looked away, catching Sirius’s scowl in his periphery.

“I hate this polite... frigid act you’re putting on with me,” Sirius said. “Makes me miss when you weren’t speaking to me.”

“Let’s go back to that, then.”

Sirius lifted his arms just to drop them in exasperation.

“Moony,” he implored. “Tell me what to do. How to fix it. I made a mistake. I’ve apologized,” he hadn’t, not in words, “I bought you chocolate from Honeydukes, I wrote that potions essay for you…”

Remus wouldn’t have let Sirius write that essay if he’d been asked his opinion. Not out of a moral stance against plagiarism, rather because he was stubbornly ignoring all of Sirius’s guilty overtures. But Remus was unconscious for a full 24 hours after January’s moon then unable to lift his arm for an additional two days and Sirius had written and submitted the essay without consulting him.

Sirius was still listing his good deeds when Remus cut him off.

“What do you want from me?” he snapped, shooting Sirius a glare before quickly looking away.

“I want to go back to how we were before.” Sirius advanced, his fingers pinching the hem of Remus’s jumper. “I want to be Padfoot and Moony again.”

Sirius sounded so forlorn it tugged at the bottom rung of Remus’s ribs. Before everything with Snape, that entreaty would have been enough. Remus would have crumpled and it would have been a relief.

But now, Sirius was asking for something impossible. Because they could never go back, not without a powerful Obliviate.

“Sirius.” Remus hesitated. He considered brutal honesty for a moment before thinking better of it. “I have forgiven you. If you imagine I’m treating you differently, it must be your own guilt.”

Remus couldn’t see Sirius’s glower, his eyes were on the horizon that had turned a pretty shade of coral, but he felt it against his skin. Remus was a better liar than this. His jaw ticked with the knowledge that he didn’t want to fool Sirius.

In truth, the anger had mostly dissipated. All that was left was something low and simmering, easily discarded if Remus were inclined. Maybe a couple of years ago Remus would have done so. He would have rationalized that Sirius couldn’t have used him as a weapon if Remus didn’t turn into a monster every month. Maybe he would have even apologized to Sirius for being a temptation to his destructive impulses.

But, while Remus couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d changed, he no longer thought that way. Maybe it was when the wolf first ran free through the forest with his pack behind him, his legs extending further than the shack or his parents’ basement had ever allowed. Or maybe it was when James, grinning, cast a healing spell he’d taught himself on the scratch across Remus’s arm Madam Pomfrey had missed. Or maybe it was when Peter, bleary-eyed, stayed up until dawn studying with Remus after he panicked over missing class when he’d dislocated both shoulders. Or maybe it was unrelated to his friends altogether. Maybe it was triggered by maturity, or the book Lily lent him on feminism and blood supremacy, or the fight he overheard last summer when his mother finally raised her voice so Lyall couldn’t talk over her threat to leave. Regardless, something had shifted in Remus’s mind.

Like taking a knife to thread, Sirius had severed the trust Remus had unspooled it for him so gradually, so tediously. And Remus couldn’t pretend he deserved that.

“I don’t know what you expect from me,” Remus said, frustration seeping into his tone. “Because of you, Snape knows I’m a monster and I’m waiting for the moment he tells everyone.”

“You’re not a monster,” Sirius said, so pitiful and earnest like he hadn’t nearly condemned Remus to death.

“I am when it’s useful to you.”

Sirius was quiet for a long time. Remus resisted the urge to look at his face. When he spoke, Sirius’s voice was small. “Just tell me, are you still punishing me? Or are you done with me?”

The question rang in Remus’s head, echoing unsaid things. Are you done with me, like my family’s done with me? Do I lose you, too? Remus felt that pull again to set aside his own hurt, to lick Sirius’s wounds. He pressed it down.  

The caw of a raven somewhere in the forest punctured the silence. When Remus met Sirius’s gaze, there must have been something terrible in his expression because Sirius recoiled.

“I’m done with you.”

Chapter Text

“Lupin.”

A familiar voice ripped Remus from his memories. He dug his nails into his palm as if he could prevent it. No one had called him Lupin since school.

“Lupin, can you hear me?”

Remus turned his head to the voice and saw Professor McGonagall looking at him. She had tears in her eyes.

How strange.

“Do you understand what I’ve told you, Lupin?”

Am I crying, too?  Remus thought. He’d cried when his mother died the year before—a freak weather event, the muggle news said. The Prophet hadn't bothered to report on it, but it was Death Eaters. It was always Death Eaters. But today Remus’s eyes were dry. He felt like he was made of rubber. But rubber was lightweight, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t a child in a second-hand uniform anymore. Arguing with Sirius was a memory. He was an adult whose stomach had sunk at the sight of a familiar cat perched on his mailbox. Not because he'd intuited why McGonagall had come, but because for a ridiculous moment he'd expected to be scolded for some prank.

It took Remus a moment to remember he’d been asked a question. “James and Lily are dead. Peter is dead. Sirius… Sirius killed them.”

McGonagall nodded. She was seated on a worn-down armchair in his tiny cottage and looked terribly out of place wringing her hands in her lap. Minerva McGonagall belonged in Hogwarts with its imposingly high ceilings and illustrious furnishings. Her chin should be raised and her eyes stern.

Nothing made sense.

Sirius loved James like a brother. Then again, Remus had once thought Sirius loved him. He’d thought Sirius incapable of betraying Remus’s secret. He’d been wrong.

For a long time, Remus was convinced Sirius, despite whispered promises in quiet alcoves, never loved him. Remus hadn’t believed Sirius’s excuses—he wasn’t thinking, he was just angry, he lost control, it was Snape’s fault. The real reason was Sirius was selfish enough to use a convenient monster as a means to an end. 

You’re not a monster, you dramatic boy, Lily’s voice in his mind admonished. No monster owns that many jumpers.  

The memory of her voice was like a thorn in his throat. Remus had spent so much of his life entrenched in pain but even his worst transformation was nothing compared to the horror of his current reality. He would never speak to Lily again. He would never hear James’s laugh again. Peter would never give him advice again. And Sirius…

It was windy outside. A strong gust flattened an orange-brown leaf against Remus’s windowpane. Thinking about Sirius was easier than the others since he’d lost him so long ago. The grief cut deep but the scab was too old to pick at. The edges of the leaf twitched while cold detachment overtook Remus again. The dead leaf spiralled away.

Maybe Sirius had loved Remus in those early weeks of their fifth year when they spent every free moment hiding from their friends and wrapped in each other’s arms. Maybe Sirius was the real monster and his wolf viciously ripped through his mind at unexpected moments. What would Remus have done if his wolf didn’t emerge in a foreseeable rhythm but whenever it wanted?

Nothing made sense.

The part about Peter was the most baffling. If Sirius had betrayed James, it would have been a mistake, a momentary lapse in judgment, a result of his temper, caprice, arrogance.

Sirius would have regretted it immediately. He would have come to Peter, Remus, Dumbledore, Moody, anyone to confess and ask them to fix it. Through tears, he would have made his excuses.

He wouldn’t have killed Peter.

Nothing made sense.

And then there was Harry. McGonagall couldn’t explain why the boy was still breathing with nothing but a scar on his forehead to suggest the world's most powerful dark wizard had raised his wand to him. The child that every time Remus visited him had a new present from his doting godfather.

Sirius wouldn’t hurt Harry. 

A small, cruel voice in his head told Remus he didn’t know Sirius anymore. They had never resumed a close friendship after Sirius’s prank on Snape, let alone their romantic relationship. As soon as they no longer shared a dormitory, Remus gave up the pretence they were anything more than strangers with a history that left a nasty taste in his mouth. He was polite when they crossed paths, at Order meetings or to celebrate the Potters as they squeezed as many milestones into their short lives as they could—had they known? Had their fate been inscribed on the insides of their wrists? Did they love others so fiercely because they felt death ticking like a clock against their bones?

Another voice, one that sounded like James, cut through the fog threatening to overtake him. You’re the only one left who knows him. The only one who can speak up and say something isn’t right.  

James, who could never let anything lie. James, who, arms waving, gave motivational speeches on trusting your gut—Moony, Moony now’s not the time for thinking! James, who urged Remus to be reckless when everyone else begged him to be restrained. James, who would risk his own life to protect someone he hated from someone he loved. James, who died just to buy them a few extra seconds. And he’d known, he must’ve known, it wouldn’t be enough.

A horrible thought crept like static between the folds of Remus’s ears, who would teach Harry all the lessons James taught me?

The numbness, though curling at the edges, hadn’t abated so his words came out steady when Remus said, “I need to speak with Dumbledore.”

Chapter Text

Albus leaned over his desk, examining the silver fabric stretched across it. His eyes flicked between the invisibility cloak and his wand, a familiar yearning pulling at him.

He hadn’t asked James for the cloak to pursue his long-abandoned dream of mastering death. But as his fingers traced the shining material, he momentarily indulged in imagining what it would take to find the stone.

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Albus flicked his wand and the cloak slithered into the drawer of his desk. Moments later, Minerva strode into his office with a former student in tow. Albus suppressed a twinge of irritation and donned a sympathetic mask. It had been a lot to ask of her, she had never even officially joined the Order, but he’d hoped she would have been able to handle Lupin herself. 

Lupin was pale. His eyes were unfocused and his breathing shallow. He looked like he’d just come off a full moon, even though it was weeks ago.

“Mr Lupin. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

Lupin nodded. Albus motioned for him to sit but Lupin didn’t follow the motion with his eyes or take the seat. He took a deep breath and blinked a few times before his eyes snapped to Albus’s.

“Professor McGonagall told me Sirius betrayed the Potters and killed Peter,” he said, his voice gruff and low.

Albus nodded slowly.

“That… can’t be right.”

Albus hesitated. James had written Albus about the change in the Secret-Keeper, he could have written Remus as well, in which case it wouldn’t matter that Albus had burned his letter.

The risk was compounded by the fact that Peter’s role as a spy wasn’t a closely guarded secret among Voldemort’s followers. Several nights before, Severus had written to warn Albus he’d seen the Potters’ friend leaving Voldemort’s study. Please, please promise me you’ll tell Lily immediately. I don’t know where they’re hiding or I’d do it myself. Please. He’s her friend. She has to know. You have to keep her safe. The scrawl had been almost illegible and Severus had taken a huge risk sending it. Albus had vanished the letter with a wave of his wand.

Remus could have heard whispers from Voldemort sympathizers on his most recent mission with the werewolf pack. Severus, in his desperation, may have even reached out to the Potters’ friends when his owl didn’t return with a response. Albus had to tread carefully.

Albus reached out to Lupin’s mind as gently as he could. It was a scattered mess of panicked images, whirling like the wind outside. Albus couldn’t take control and search as deeply as he wanted to without alerting Lupin of the intrusion. He kept sifting, waiting for Lupin to speak. 

“Sirius… I don’t see him doing this.”

“There are several witness accounts of Mr Black killing Mr Pettigrew and a dozen muggles,” Albus replied.

Lupin didn’t respond at first. Memories leapt through his mind with no mention of the change of Secret-Keeper. He gripped the chair in front of him tightly, his knuckles white, while attempting to regulate his breathing.

“I—I need to speak to him. I don’t believe he could have…”

“Mr Lupin, I wouldn’t recommend you do that,” Albus said, speaking slowly. “The Ministry is trying to track down Voldemort’s followers. They are eager to lock up as many as possible in Azkaban. I wouldn’t want you to be put under investigation.”

Lupin blinked at him in confusion. “Why on earth would I be investigated?”

“Any association with a Death Eater may be enough in these paranoid times. You have not registered, have you?”

The werewolf registry was still voluntary, despite efforts to change the laws. Lupin’s eyes flashed with contempt before he nodded brusquely.

“If you were put under investigation, I fear you may be exposed and forced to register. I recommend you proceed with caution.”

Crimson lined Remus's thoughts, but Albus was swaying him. Remus Lupin, unlike Sirius or James, took care of himself first knowing no one else would.

“Did the Potters tell you they were going under Fidelius?” Albus asked.

Lupin nodded and the memory came to the forefront of his mind. Albus listened to James tell Remus in a tremulous whisper about the prophecy and Albus’s plan.

“We’ll use Sirius as the Secret-Keeper,” James said, the sound of crackling wood bracketing his words.

“Not Dumbledore?” Lupin asked.

“He offered, but—”

Lily’s voice cut in, “Dumbledore is willing to sacrifice anyone to end the war. Our son isn’t his to sacrifice.”

Albus pulled away when he heard Lupin speaking in the present.

“—know they planned to use Sirius but perhaps something changed.”

 “Sirius was the only one who could have turned them over to Voldemort,” Albus said, now confident Remus didn’t know the truth. “According to the Minister, he’s even confessed.”

Aurors had overheard Sirius mumbling "All my fault". Not exactly a confession, but combined with the witness accounts it would be good enough for the Ministry to tuck him away in Azkaban without the mess of a trial.

“And Harry?” Lupin asked, his voice wavering.

“Harry is alive and safe.”

“Where is he?”

“That I cannot tell you.”

“What?” Remus snapped.

Albus hesitated before proceeding delicately, “Most of Voldemort’s followers are still free. The story of what happened in Godric’s Hollow has spread. That has put the boy in grave danger. Keeping him safe is the priority.”

“Why can’t you tell me where he is?”

“He is safe,” Albus repeated.

“With whom?” Lupin’s tone was icy. “Sirius is locked up. James’s parents are dead. Peter is dead. Marlene is dead. Dorcas is dead. Everyone close to the Potters aside from myself is dead.”

Ideas were running through Lupin’s mind and Albus caught memories of Bathilda Bagshot on the Potter’s couch and Mary Macdonald talking quietly with Lily in the Gryffindor common room. Relief rose like floodwater in Albus's chest. The Dursleys hadn’t occurred to Remus.

Albus couldn’t tell Remus the truth. Unlike Minerva, he may have met Petunia. He may have heard from Lily how deep her sister’s fear and hatred for magic runs. He would object to Albus’s decision, blood magic or not.

“It’s safest if no one knows where he is. I can’t risk you attempting to visit him. You could be followed; Death Eaters know you were friends with the Potters.”

Lupins eyes were as sharp as knives. “So, I’m just supposed to trust you that he’s safe.”

“Minerva helped me make the arrangements. She can attest.”

Minerva glared at Albus. Albus didn’t need Legilimency to know safe would be an overstatement in her opinion. But she wouldn’t contradict him in front of Lupin.

“Yes. Harry is safe,” she said. Her tone was placating as if she feared Lupin might burst into flames. Lupin didn’t look at her.

“Lily and James didn’t make you Secret-Keeper, Albus,” Lupin said, spitting his name like an epithet. “They didn’t trust you with Harry’s safety. You cannot expect me to just take your word for it.”

“They didn’t trust many people, towards the end,” Albus made his tone as gentle as possible. “Did they share their most recent move with you?"

“They went under Fidelius because you suggested it,” Lupin snapped, not taking Albus’s bait. “They’re dead because of you. Your goddamn war. Your fucking prophecy.”

Lupin’s gaze was wild as he looked up to the ceiling. He was shaking.

“They put their faith in the wrong person,” Albus said calmly and for the second time that night. “I know it was their wish that Sirius care for Harry, should something happen. I want to honour their wish but it isn't an option anymore.”

Lupin shook his head roughly.

“Are you suggesting you should have custody of the boy?” Albus asked.

Lupin eyes widened in bewilderment. “I—I… who else?”

“With the burdens you already carry, Lupin, surely you understand why they didn’t make you his godfather.”

Albus had tried to say the words gently but Lupin flinched nonetheless. Albus kept his eyes on Lupin but felt the scorch Minerva’s glare.

Doubt swirled in Lupin’s mind, twisting around the memory of James making Sirius godfather and Sirius Secret-Keeper. Albus felt loneliness and, around the edges, relief. Lupin’s pain was different from the pain of the other former student who’d been in his office just hours earlier.

It hadn’t been difficult to extract a promise from Severus to protect his rival’s son; he was so wretched and disoriented by grief. Severus took solace in his obsession. Lily, in death, was just as unattainable as she was alive and Severus was a dog chasing a stick.

Lupin, inversely, repelled attachments. Part of him found solace in the ocean, stone walls, and metal bars now between him and Sirius Black. The battle now raging in his mind was his sentimental conscience against his self-preservation instinct.

“I know you love Harry, Remus,” Albus said, switching to the man’s first name to soften the blow. “But there are others more equipped to care for a young child than yourself. You must think of what’s best for the boy.”

With help, Lupin could adequately care for the child. Alone, however, it would be nearly impossible. While Albus had the means to assist him, there were other benefits to Harry staying with the Dursleys.

There was the blood magic. The blood of Lily’s relations would keep her sacrificial protection alive for Harry so when Voldemort returned, he would not be able to touch him. Albus had told Minerva Harry would need to reside with the Dursleys for that protection to continue. It wasn’t a strictly lie, Albus was just being extremely cautious, and it was enough to keep Minerva from revolting once she’d seen the muggles for herself.

That they were muggles was the main advantage in the Dursleys. Terrible muggles, at that. With a wizarding family, Harry would grow up pampered and adored by both the family and the community at large. With the Dursleys, Harry would be in for a difficult childhood—like Albus, like Tom Riddle, like so many wizards who did great things. He would learn skills Albus could not teach him. An orphanage would have been ideal, but Albus wouldn’t have been able to justify it when so many wizarding families would have happily taken him in.

But the muggles were acceptable because even if they grew to love him, they would never know the wizarding world well enough to interfere with any of Albus’s plans for Harry.

Sirius or Remus, on the other hand, would interfere. Sirius, worse still, would be too headstrong to manipulate. Unlike the shattered man standing before him, Albus would not be able to convince Sirius Harry was better off without him.

Moreover, Sirius had sealed his fate when he went after Peter Pettigrew. While he didn’t betray the Potters, Albus saw no reason to intervene when for all he knew Sirius’s magic had caused the explosion that killed the muggles. It was unfortunate, as he was likely innocent, but his incarceration was for the best. Like the Ministry, Albus washed his hands of the whole ordeal.

“You miss your friends deeply but now is not the time for selfishness. It’s better this way,” Albus said, his voice just above a whisper as he offered Lupin deliverance from his guilt. “Harry is safe.”

The boy had one purpose. Albus would not prioritize one child’s emotional wellbeing over the safety of his world.

Lupin grimaced. His thoughts shifted away from Harry and back to his own debilitating grief. Back to Lily and James and Peter but not Sirius.

“Minerva, will you lead Mr Lupin out?” Albus asked.

And Lupin went.