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Chapter Text

September 2, 1976

“And here I thought being in love with the sound of your own voice was a sign of mental deficiency.” Arianna Brighton’s voice rang out with considerably more confidence than she felt, especially when one keeps in mind that her body – especially that insolent part responsible for speech – decided to stage a coup against all forms of reason and merrily carry her right to the fore of this building crowd. In front of her, stood Sirius Black, an easy grin on his obnoxiously handsome face, wand trained at a visibly petrified Slytherin boy. “Or does picking on Fifth Years make you feel all strong and manly, Black?”

Way to start Sixth Year off right, Arianna thought with an inward groan.

Bloody hell, what the was hell wrong with her? It was supposed to be a quick operation. Sneak into the Ravenclaw common room while it was only slightly abuzz with life, thereby avoiding any private encounters with them again. They had a tendency to linger after class, eager to soak up all the lavish attention from their sycophantic satellites, but even that meant witnesses, which meant at least relative safety.

After what happened last year, Arianna had learned to be careful, to avoid them – avoid empty corridors where she could be isolated. Avoid the common room when it was empty. Stay surrounded by people. Stay safe, at least comparatively speaking.

Drop her books on her bed. Sneak down to lunch, undisturbed. Keep her head down, and her foolish mouth shut.

Easy-easy, right?

At least that was the idea, before that stupid vocal appendage of hers decided to take over her brain and brought her head-first into this conundrum. The scattered laughter and taunts traveling from the corridor around the corner drew her in like a Niffler to a mountain of galleons.

She knew what it was like to be on the wrong end of a bully’s wand and her feet, and voice, and admonishing index finger moved her long before her brain could catch up.

The object of her scorn looked up at her with a lackadaisical expression, like giving her his full attention was somehow beneath him. One corner of his lips was curved upward in amusement.

He was gorgeous, of course, and Arianna hated him even more because he knew it. Grey-blue eyes, like the heart of a summer storm, framed by the darkest of midnight brows and lashes, stared back at her, bewilderment quickly settling into what almost looked like grudging admiration, followed by amusement. The blasted smirk he’d donned made his chiseled cheekbones even more pronounced, and it was all Arianna could do not to fire a hex to smack it off his face.

He leveled her with a look that to her practically screamed ‘I fancy myself the school ‘bad boy’ and expect every witch with eyes and ears to fall at my feet.’ “You seem a little too interested in what makes me feel all ‘strong and manly,’ Brighton,” Arrogance Incarnate drawled. “Shouldn’t you Ravenclaws be buried nose-deep in an ancient tome you can barely lift, rather than in my business?”

“What can I say? An ego as big as yours was bound to pack a bloody impressive gravitational field, so you could say I was drawn in.”

There were some scattered chuckles and cries of ‘ooh’ in response to her quip from the gathering crowd.

Sirius’ grin only grew larger, a spark of challenge in his eyes. “'Impressive' is right, and gravity is a force of attraction,” he replied, sauntering closer, the Slytherin boy seemingly forgotten. “Isn’t that what you swots in Astronomy always like to say?”

Arianna didn’t allow the answering laughter, and the round of high-fives shared between the object of her frustration and his audience deter her and instead allowed her features to contort into a theatrical frown, before gasping for added effect as her hand jumped to her lips in mock-surprise. “Why Sirius Black! Are you telling me that brain of yours hasn’t been completely destroyed in a prank-gone-wrong?" She tilted her head to the side, giving it a little shake as though to ‘tsk tsk’ him. “Better not tell any of your loyal following. Next thing you know, you’ll have a swirly hex aimed at that ‘I woke up this way, no, really’ ensemble,” she said, gesturing broadly to the not-quite-tucked-in shirt and tie that was loosened enough to desperately tempt Prefects to deduct points for ‘disrespect toward the uniform.’

Sirius answered with a bark of laughter. “Oh, you wish, Brighton,” he said, right before the smirk turned positively devilish. “Of course, if you want to show me how to properly use a tie, I’m all ears.”

Arianna felt heat rising to her cheeks at the implication. “I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for having the courtesy to say that before lunch,” she replied acidly. “Thereby sparing me the unpleasant experience of feeling it come back up.”

He looked genuinely amused by her reply, which surprised her, tossing her a quick wink. “Not that this hasn’t been fun and all, but if I don’t get down to lunch, that mysterious ‘fan club’ you mentioned might get ornery.” The crowd started to disperse as Sirius turned to leave. “Applications start next week!” he called over his shoulder.

 “If you ever catch me pledging for membership, you can be sure I’ll need an intervention. Probably at St. Mungo’s!” she called at his retreating back, though she couldn’t quite be sure he heard her, or even cared to.

The petrified Slytherin boy finally stood, gathering his books, clearly looking to make a quick getaway.

“Are you all right?” Arianna asked gently, bending to help him pick up his belongings. “Black can be a real git, can’t he?”

“Sure can,” the boy mumbled. She couldn’t quite place him. Marvin, she thought perhaps. “Thanks.”

Arianna released her breath in shaky wisps, laughter teasing her lips as the butterflies in her stomach hummed with vivacious resonance. As annoying as Black and his tendency to turn the corridor into an impromptu performance stage was, something about the repartee – the verbal dance of quips and jabs – made her feel more alive than she had in months. It happened reflexively – but it had been so long since she’d allowed that part out of her out to play – the daring, witty, playful part she thought was gone forever. 

Reluctant as she was to admit it, that whole exchange was fun. And Black certainly seemed to enjoy it, if his consistently growing grin was an indicator.

“You’re lucky you’re a girl,” the maybe-Marvin said, tucking some of his books away into his backpack. He cast a quick Scourgify to cleanse them from the ink stains Black left to ‘entertain the masses.’ It really took nearly all of Arianna’s willpower not to roll her eyes at the idea. She idly wondered of the rest of the so-called Marauders were around, if it had been even worse.

“Why’s that?” she asked, helping him clean the covers of the remaining books.

“They’ll leave you alone,” he said, putting the rest away with a grateful nod, once the stains were spelled away. “Black and those Marauder gits don’t bully girls. At worst, they might spread a rumor about you, but they won’t actually hurt you.”

And just like that, reality crashed into Arianna with the subtlety of a rogue bludger. Her hands shook so violently, she had to grab the stone windowsill to steady herself, her knuckles turning white with the force. Wouldn’t actually hurt her. Right. She knew entirely too well just how bullies hurt girls, her mind inadvertently returning to late spring, Fifth Year.

Her lungs burned as she ran through the castle, desperate to find some place to hide. Normally, she'd feel an agonizing stitch in her side after running for this long, but adrenaline kept her moving. All she knew was that she had to get away. The footsteps drew nearer, making her heart pound so hard, she feared it would explode. “Alohamora,” she whispered quietly against the first locked door she found, casting the incantation. The locking charm held strong. Desperately she ran toward the next door, and the next, and the next, but none gave her the mercy of escape.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

The wand was wrenched from her hand, and Arianna vaguely heard an ‘incarcerous’ over the panicked pounding in her eardrums as her hands were magically bound behind her back.

“I'm sorry!” She scrambled backward, pressing herself into the wall, hoping it would swallow her whole. "Don't do this...Please!"

“You should have thought of that before, you filthy little half-blood,” d’Urberville barked, stepping out of the shadows, flanked by his two ever-present two followers. “Now you’ll need to be shown your place.”

“Are you okay?”

The world around Arianna seemingly rematerialized as she saw the worried, green eyes of her interlocutor, everything coming back into focus. She belatedly realized that she must have disappeared into her memory again, her breath shallow. “I’m fine,” she rasped.

Probably-Marvin didn’t look entirely convinced, but he awarded her with a half-shrug regardless. “Right. Ravenclaws are shite liars, but I guess I’ll see you around.”

As she watched the Slytherin boy disappear around the corner, she felt her heart pounding in her ears as reality finally caught up with her, and she asked herself the question that she feared to verbalize since the encounter with Black.

Did she just make herself the target of another spoiled pureblood?

Chapter Text

"Earth to Padfoot!"

By what must have been the third or fourth or tenth time James called to him, based on the self-satisfied look and the fact that he'd resorted to snapping fingers in his face, Sirius finally graced his friend with a modicum of attention. "What?"

"You've been staring out at the clouds for like ten minutes now, mate," James threw a roast baby potato up into the air and caught it in his mouth, leading Sirius to wonder just how many of these 'displays of showmanship' he missed, and if that's why he was getting so twitchy. Aww, was widdle Prongsy not getting enough attention? "Picturing yourself cover of Witch Weekly?"

Sirius responded with a careless grin as he examined today's lunch offerings at the Gryffindor table. His eyes scanned through the usual fare – roast chicken, lamb chops, steak and kidney pie. His stomach clenched with a quick, involuntary bit of dread that he'd not quite yet learned to ignore when his gaze landed on the haute cuisine – delicate aspics, a rosy Beef Wellington, a collection of savory mousses – the kind he'd grown up eating during quiet, pointed dinners at an absurdly long table, where every word was subject to scrutiny, like a bloody ballet in a minefield.

Instead, he reached for a Cornish pasty. Somehow, the act still felt thrilling, despite bidding 12 Grimmauld Place a very enthusiastic sayonara when he packed nearly his entire bedroom into a small backpack with a considerably larger – and illegal – extension charm, and fled to live with the Potters.

He took a bite, savoring the spiced beef enveloped by silken mashed potatoes. This was exactly the kind of cuisine Mummy and Daddy Black would dub 'pedestrian swill,' which made him love it all the more. But the best part of taking his sweet time to relish the pasty was James' visible annoyance. He chewed slowly, watching Prongs' building agitation at his refusal to answer, then gestured broadly to himself, allowing his lips to widen into a grin so big and cheeky, it would have made the Chesire Cat gleeful with the possibility of chaos. "I just needed to recharge."

"Recharge what?" James deadpanned. "Your prat battery?"

"You think this wit – this brilliance – comes without a cost?" Sirius asked, mimicking Orion Black's condescending air with stunning accuracy, the perfect picture of a sneering aristocrat. His voice lowered to affect an exaggerated display of received pronunciation. "If I don't regularly remove the accumulating sticks – both physical and metaphorical – from up my own arse, then they'll just have to gift me an honorary Staff of Slytherin." He leaned in, stage whispering, "that's how they're made."

The table erupted in laughter, with Peter going as far as to choke on his pumpkin juice and Remus giving him a halfhearted shake of the head despite visibly stifling a chuckle, never failed to give his heart a little flutter, pride swelling in his ability to incite a crowd with words alone. Take that, Mummy Dearest!

But as the laughter eased, Sirius' eyes moved to seek out Arianna across the Great Hall, almost inadvertently. Loathe as he was to admit it, he'd been distracted because his mind was reviewing that exchange, almost analyzing the repartee, bit by bit. It'd been a while since someone was able to keep up with him this way – and bloody hell – it was fun! The most fun he'd had in a while. And while he and the Marauders never failed to manage an impressive bit of mischief, he nevertheless found himself looking for something new – something more.

Arianna sat a distance away from the rest of the Ravenclaws – not quite so far that it looked demonstrative, but enough that there didn't seem to be any evidence of ease or camaraderie. Her shoulders drooped slightly, despite her body language practically radiating tension, fork gripped entirely too tight as she stared at the plate of roast chicken and vegetables before her, not having actually moved to eat at all – her mind clearly somewhere else.

That was weird. Shouldn't those Ravenclaws be jumping out of their sodding skin just at a chance to absorb some half-useless runes into their oversized brains, or whatever got them all hot and bothered?

Almost as though she sensed him, her gaze suddenly snapped up at his, connecting across the space. He'd never paid her much attention before – but their interaction this morning gave him fresh perspective. Big, brown eyes – almost doe-like – watched him with something akin to curiosity. Her chestnut waves tumbled down her back over her uniform, but the sunlight beaming from the windows caught the auburn highlights, shining like fire in the afternoon light.

And Sirius was always drawn to the flames.

She was definitely cute, but it's not like he'd never seen an attractive witch before – hell, he'd more than earned his reputation as the resident scoundrel. Sirius might scoff at 'school spirit,' aghast at ever joining the Quidditch team, but he knew his way around the bleachers.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, a lovely blush coating her cheeks. Grooming herself, Sirius noted smugly. Now they were finally getting into familiar territory. He knew exactly what that meant – that she'd soon be putty in his hands. No doubt her pupils were blown to the size of bludgers with how attracted she was. Maybe he'd get another round with her sooner than expected. He stifled the unexpected bout of butterflies in his stomach at the thought of going toe-to-toe with Brighton again. Merlin, what the hell was all that about? Maybe someone spiked the pumpkin juice with a touch of adventurous faire – he'd have to ask Prongs about it later. Not even remotely interested in exploring that weird feeling, he decided to refocus all his efforts onto familiar ground.

Might as well give her a little push in the right direction.

So practiced a weapon that it felt like breathing, Sirius allowed the corners of his lips to curve slightly upward into a roguish smirk that he knew sent witches – and some wizards – into a frenzy.

But instead of responding with a smile of her own – or a flustered blush, or even a frustrated glare, she froze, her eyes widening in visible alarm. Her chest began rising and falling way too quickly, like she was having a panic attack. Fucking hell, she looked terrified. What was going on? Arianna quickly turned her head, shifting her gaze downward, her entire form seemingly curling in on itself.

Something in Sirius shifted uncomfortably. While he was more than used to seeing witches frustrated – even angry – with him, having one look at him like she'd seen a sodding Grim wasn't exactly his idea of a good time.

He furrowed his brow. Wait, did she know? Had she seen his transformation? Shite, this could be bad - their escapades into the world of Animagi weren't strictly legal, unregistered as they were. They'd been careful to make sure there weren't others around, hadn't they?

Nah, she couldn't have known.

She probably just realized that she can't load up on classes during a N.E.W.T. year, or forgot an Arithmancy formula or something.

Bloody Ravenclaws. Swots.

Sirius' lips twitched in amusement at his own private joke as he reached for a few flaky chips by the deep fried fish fillets. Now, would seeing his disreputable heir feast on this definitely make Mummy's forehead vein explode? Former heir, he reminded himself. Bella was all too eager to fill him in on his apparent removal from the Tapestry - in truth, Sirius wasn't sure he'd ever seen his deranged cousin quite so happy. Now Regulus would take over the Seat of Pomposity.

Still, he couldn't imagine Walburga would be too happy with him slipping even further into his 'plebeian' status.

Maybe he could owl her a photo after he gets his Apparition License? Hide somewhere she couldn't see, and aaah, entertainment for a whole month.

If he didn't get caught that was.

He shuddered, pointedly refusing to think about the last time he'd been on the receiving end of either of his parents' wands.

No, he'd just have to make sure that he wouldn't be caught, is all.

By the time Arianna made it back to the Ravenclaw common room, her hands were trembling so hard that she'd nearly knocked over one of the enchanted vases on her way in. What was with that look Black gave her? Was that a threat? A warning?

At least the room was blessedly empty. She ran into the girls' dormitory, grabbed her books, and stuffed them into her backpack.

A wink. It was a bloody wink. That's all. She forced herself to take even breaths, plopping down to take a seat on her bed, her hands digging into the mattress. For the love of Rowena, please, please calm yourself. He was probably just being a flirty prat. Harmless. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean –

Arianna's breath left in a quiet shudder as she caught her reflection in a mirror. Her uniform, charmed to be a few sizes too big as soon as she stepped foot into the castle, hung shapelessly. She once loved her hourglass form – found coquettish joy in wearing a flirty dress that accentuated her figure. But now the idea of emphasizing any part of her body filled her with shame – heat flooding her cheeks, reminding her of what happened, of what she was now. Dirty. Filthy – bile rose in her throat as she fought away the memory.

Brown eyes stared back at her – petrified, dull, listless. She remembered when they sparkled with life – though it felt like a lifetime ago – like the girl who dared, and dreamed, and sought adventure with a carefree laugh was gone forever. And yet she'd almost seen a hint of her returning, that morning during that scene with Black.

Arianna had begun to feel like herself again, if only for a few minutes – before the potential consequences of her actions rose to crush any fledgling hope.

She'd almost gotten some of herself back over the summer – the months she'd spent wrapped in love, safe in her family home.

The summer holiday she and her parents spent in Italy gave her skin a charming glow, developing into a healthy tan, bronzed under the Mediterranean sun. She'd begun to feel vibrant again, hopeful to put last year's ordeal behind her, but the second she stepped back onto school grounds, the memories assailed her. When she realized she'd share a common room with them again – would share quiet, secluded castle halls with them again – she nearly forgot how to breathe.

She could practically feel the phantom of d'Urberville's breath on her cheek from when he leaned in to whisper that if she ever told anyone, they'd do worse. "I don't think you've learned your lesson yet, Brighton – but you will."

That was when Arianna knew that the threat wasn't over. That it could happen again. That Hogwarts wasn't safe – not for her.

She was stunned to feel her cheek wet with tears, her hand rising absently to wipe them away. No, she resolutely decided – they wouldn't steal every second of every day.

For the love of learning, she was a Ravenclaw, and she'd start getting her life back – if only moments at a time.

Arianna practically growled at herself as she raced down the hall. How did she lose track of time so much that she'd be late to Transfiguration of all classes? Flitwick might give his delightfully scattered House a break, allowing leniency for head-in-the-clouds shenanigans, attributing the behavior to the whims of a creative soul.

But McGonogall suffered no such tomfoolery.

It was the first afternoon class of the semester and while Arianna normally relished in the opportunity to distract herself with learning – to go on an adventure of the imagination and fill her mind with new delights, new insights, new joyful discoveries – her schedule clearly read that they were to share the class with Gryffindor this term, and after her run-in with Sirius Black earlier today, she wasn't exactly eager to become a mainstay in his line of sight.

She snuck into the class a few minutes past the bell, whispering a hurried apology to Professor McGonogall and took an empty seat closest to the door.

"If we are quite ready to start," the famously stern instructor primly declared, "I have a few announcements to make."

Arianna allowed her mind to wander as McGonogall delivered the expected speech about the 'honor, accomplishment, and privilege' of having scored high enough on the O.W.L. to deserve placement in this advanced course – or at least something along those lines. She'd already been subjected to a version of it from Professor Vector this morning in Arithmancy.

She quickly took out her Transfiguration textbook, parchment, and quill, hardly paying attention to the first day address until a particular tidbit caught her ear, prompting Arianna to look up sharply.

"To promote inter-house unity, all N.E.W.T.-level students will be paired with someone from a different House, for the remainder of the semester." Every class? She began a quick mental count of the classes she would share with Gryffindors this semester. Transfiguration, Potions, Charms...

Arianna's stomach turned to lead as she saw Professor McGonogall cast a charm to push tables together in rows of two, and she began announcing names.

Her professor's next words, however, nearly made Arianna's heart beat out of her chest.

"Miss Brighton will be paired with Mister Black."

Chapter Text

Lily Evans grabbed her temples, shutting her eyes in a vain hope that it would also block out the noise. She felt the early stages of a migraine.

A migraine named James Potter.

If Merlin was merciful, he’d send a lively bit of magic her way to stop her from committing murder – or ‘manslaughter’ as she imagines she’ll claim – since ‘being an intolerable toerag’ isn’t much of a defense as far as the Wizengamot was concerned. Might as well make it look like an accident.

And that’s what it’ll have to be if McGonogall assigns her seat to be anywhere near his. She watched the arrogant sod exchange a high five with Black, another self-obsessed prat, as the latter moved toward his assigned seat.

“Miss Evans will be paired with Miss Green,” McGonogall crisply announced, pointing toward two seats near the middle of the right column.

Her eyes met Potter’s once more, delighted to be sitting far, far away from the biggest prat in school, as far as she was concerned. Triumphant, she sent him a bow-finger salute and promptly took her seat behind a brown-haired Ravenclaw girl and ugh, on no.

Black.

Looks like she’d be seeing more of the biggest prat in Hogwarts by her seat, after all.

From a distance, it looked almost innocuous. Two tables pushed together, in the third row – the column nearest to the window. Arianna would normally love that – being able to look at the Black Lake in the distance if she only turned her head, or observing the owls hastily deliver treats and other important packages to the castle’s inhabitants.

The entire room was bathed in early autumn splendor, lazy sunbeams painting dust motes with golden light. She wanted to hold on to this feeling so badly – to find the beauty and joy in the everyday, but ever since that night, it felt like every attempt slipped like water between her fingers.

But by the time she got there, it felt like a trap – a gilded cage with an academic skin. This is fine, Arianna reassured herself. You’ve earned your place here, and you’re in class, in front of Professor McGonogall, where it’s safe. And who says you’re not overreacting? It’s fine. It was just like every other time she freaked out this summer when a group of boys got too loud, and it turned out to be nothing – only worrying her parents into asking too many questions she couldn’t answer.

But despite her best efforts to quiet her mind and convince herself that the threat was exaggerated, her body tensed in anticipation, knuckles turning white around her wand.

“Students,” McGonogall said, her tone crisp enough to freeze a boiling cauldron. “I hope you are all back rested and rejuvenated from your summer away – full of fun and games.” She narrowed her eyes, observing the small classroom with an austerity that Arianna was fairly certain left the students with the distinct feeling of having their hands caught in the Cauldron Cakes jar. “No doubt those games were all quite intellectually stimulating, designed to widen the mind and enhance a natural aptitude for strategy.” She reached into her robes to pull out a pawn – the kind used in Wizards’ Chess. “And in that spirit, our first lesson will be to transform a pawn much like this into a queen.” She then waved her wand with impressive precision, her wrist elegantly flicking to release a cloud of evergreen smoke to engulf the pawn, within seconds revealing a queen in its place when the smoke dissipated.

Arianna allowed a soft sigh to escape, marveling at the ease with which Professor McGonogall approached such complicated magic.

The dreamy appreciation was interrupted, however, when her assigned partner leaned over to her side ever-so-slightly.

“If you think that’s impressive, wait ‘til Halloween,” Black murmured. “When Peeves ‘transfigures’ a gaggle of terrified Firsties into screaming banshees when he makes the floating jack o’-lanterns get cozy on a suit of armor and dance.”

Those antics, she recalled vividly from previous years – including her own turn at the resident Poltergeist’s infamous prank – and her lips inadvertently curled into a smile of their own accord, though she remembered the nature of the prank quite differently. “I think you’re confused, Black. Peeves merely had them recite the Sorting Hat song.

He met her grin with a wicked one of his own. “He’s changing it up this year. I’ve got insider information –"

“Mister Black,” Professor McGonogall interrupted without looking up from her parchment, her quill efficiently scribbling away. “I understand you’ve been away from school for several months and as such feel the need to reacquaint our scholarly witches with what I’m sure you feel are ‘ample charms,’ but I’ll have to ask you to please restrain yourself at least until this class has concluded.”

A series of giggles followed, matching an upward turn of the elder witch’s lips.

“I’ll endeavor to try my best, Professor McGonogall,” Sirius responded with a theatrical air of contrition.

“You’ll try to try?” Arianna whispered, amusement coloring her expression that she adorned with a raised a brow, to which her partner just shrugged carelessly, copying their professor’s wand movements.

A commotion from the hall suddenly interrupted their lesson as the sickly-sweet scent of spoiled fairy fruit permeated the space. Arianna frowned. Why would the hallway smell like fairy fruit of all things, until her eyes widened from the smoke. In her peripheral vision, she caught Sirius stifling what looked like to be the cheekiest of all smirks.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Professor McGonogall growled, shooting up to her feet with an impressive bout of energy for someone her age, and dashing toward the door. “Keep working!”

“So, when are invitations going out?” Sirius asked as soon as their professor was presumably far out of earshot.

“Excuse me?”

He raised both eyebrows in mock-astonishment. “Arianna Brighton, are you shirking your duties already?” His hand clawed at his chest. “Did you or did you not enthusiastically volunteer to graciously head my fan club, thus leading us all into an era of enlightenment?”

Arianna felt a familiar invigoration fill her, rising to the challenge.

She tutted, shaking her head an exaggerated concern. “Poor, delusional Sirius Black. That Confundus Charm from First Year never actually wore off, huh? I’m afraid this is beyond Madam Pomfrey’s abilities.” She thoughtfully tapped her chin. “Though, if you look on the bright side, they might even name a disorder at St. Mungo’s after you, studying your ego.”

Sirius grinned, tossing the pawn from side to side. “Blimey, Brighton. Why didn’t you tell me you had a mouth on you? If I knew you were this fun –"

But she didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because blood began to flood Arianna’s ears as her hand desperately gripped the table, fighting to stay upright. Perhaps unconsciously, her eyes wandered the room until she saw three pairs of eyes watching her, narrowed with implicit threat.

The hand gripping her hair twisted it, forcing her to her knees. The pull at her scalp hurt almost as much as the harsh slap that sent her to the floor only seconds prior.

“You think you’re funny, Brighton?” d’Urberville growled, his voice, barely audible over the pounding of her heart. “I’ve got a better use for that smart mouth of yours.”

She heard a loud crash and realized that she must have knocked over her ink bottle, the contents spilling all over the floor, and onto Hawthorne’s robes. The entire class grew silent, watching the exchange. She caught Evans watching her with concern, but quickly turned away.

Sirius stared at her, looking positively bewildered – and increasingly blurry. It took Arianna a few seconds to realize that he was obscured by hot, pooling tears. Her voice trembled so hard that she barely got the words out. All she knew was that she couldn’t let it happen again – she wouldn’t survive it. “I – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that – just now or in the corridor, earlier this morning.”

Sirius just stared at her, his mouth slightly agape as his brain struggled to catch up with his thundering heart.

Oh fuck. She knew about the Grim. She had to. Shite, shite, shite! He needed to deescalate this, and quickly – before she spilled his secret to that entire pack of gossiping Eagles.

And with the way she was acting, maybe she thought he actually was a sodding gigantic black dog, masquerading as a wizard? That or D’Aura ‘predicted’ she’d get mauled by one – her semi-annual favorite bit of divinatory revelation. Bloody Ravenclaws. Why were they so obsessed with that rubbish subject?

“Oi! Brighton,” he began, raising both hands in what he desperately hoped was a comforting gesture, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. “It’s fine. Just an ink bottle. No one got hurt.” He gestured to the student with a tilt of his head. “Except Hawthorne’s robes. No harm done there. Probably made him look all avant-garde. Definitely a step up from having his Mummy pick out his neckerchiefs.

“I – I shouldn’t have started anything,” she continued as though she hadn’t heard him, wringing her hands so desperately that her knuckles were turning white.

Started!?

He took a careful step toward her, growing increasingly desperate for her to calm down, but she instinctively jumped back, prompting him to do the same, put enough distance between them. Sirius found the entire situation unnerving – something about the way her bottom lip quivered, her eyes wide and frantic, seemed almost hauntingly familiar, and he felt an almost burning need to make it go away – bring back the girl who cut him down to size with a quip, what, less than a minute ago? What the bloody hell happened?

His hands shot back up. See? Very human hands. No big dogs here. So non-threatening. He wiggled his fingers just to emphasize how human and devoid of fur or claws they were, which only seemed to summon a look of utter confusion on her face. Well, fine. He’d take that. Confusion’s definitely better than terror.

“I’m actually afraid of dogs,” he began in a rambling tone that he could swear was uncharacteristic of his normally very cool self. “Always been more of a cat person.” He winced. Real smooth.

“What?”

“You have cat, don’t you, Brighton?” She just kept staring at him, and while a rational part of him knew it would probably be better to just shut the bloody hell up and maybe just focus on the work and not look like an ickle Firstie after a cauldron exploded. “Seen you walking around with that furball. Some kind of tabby?”

“I – yeah,” she finally said, the previous stammering smoothing out, which filled him with relief that he had no interest in exploring. “She’s at home this year – with Mum and Dad.”

“Why?”

“Safer,” she replied almost too quickly, her eyes widening slightly, suggesting that it slipped out. She busied herself with charming the ink off Hawthorne’s robes, though he could see a slight tremor in her hands despite her attempts to hide it.

Why would her cat not be safe at Hogwarts – when he nearly tripped over at least three on his way to class? Oh, the gigantic, black dog. That’s why. Size of a sodding direwolf with eyes like blue flames, piercing through the night.

Merlin’s fuzzy socks, his Animagus form looked cool.

Sirius tore himself away from waxing gushily about Padfoot to focus on the matter at hand – getting Brighton to regain a friendly, working relationship with her lungs.

Oh, bloody fuck nuts. She definitely knew. Probably thought the Grim would have ripped her precious cat to bits if given the chance. Okay, you’ve got this, he assured himself, though nearly every molecule within viciously rebelled against that false confidence. “You know, some dogs get along really well with cats – love cats. So much. Especially the really gigantic ones. Gentle giants. I hear Hagrid’s got a bunch.”

And somehow, his pathetic attempts seemed to work – just not in the way he liked. No longer panicking, but clearly at the height of confusion. “I’m sorry. Are you trying to get me to help you decide on a pet?”

“Y-yes?”

“I’m sorry, Black. I don’t think they allow dogs at Hogwarts – at least not very large ones.” She looked genuinely upset for him. It was actually kind of sweet.

Well, this was probably as good as this distraction was going to get. Might as well milk it a bit more. “But Hagrid…” he trailed off sadly. Really, he should have been an actor.

“Is the gamekeeper,” she finished gently, her big brown eyes swelling over with compassion, though he could see some of the tension was still there. “He knows how to handle large beasts safely.”

It took a heroic amount of effort not to snort at that. Fun as their resident giant was, ‘Hagrid’ and ‘safe’ were practically contradictory terms – it was one of the reasons Sirius liked him so much.

Well, this was a bloody weird turn of events. Now he wasn’t sure anymore if she was afraid of the Grim or wanted to adopt it.

“So tell me about your cat,” he said, desperate to veer away from the topic of gigantic black dogs. Despite bringing it up himself. Idiot.

“Her name’s Luna.” Arianna’s entire demeanor visibly softened, practically melting under the warmth of her developing smile.

“Luna!” Sirius exclaimed, seizing the name like a lifeline. “She and I already have so much in common! Celestial names.” A scrutinizing aim drew his eyebrows together. He tilted his head to the side to study her. Maybe if he pissed her off a bit? His grin practically widened of its own accord, affecting that same familiar expression that Prongs liked to call ‘the cocky prat.’ He leaned in for good measure. “My name means ‘bright’ or ‘glowing’ – which makes sense, ‘cause I’m so brilliant. And Luna… well... she’s a cat.”

Arianna’s eyebrows shot skyward, her arms crossing over her chest. Her head inclined inward, a smile teasing her lips. “If you think ‘Luna’ means ‘cat,’ then maybe you weren’t as aptly named as you believe.”

Sirius grinned, feeling entirely too much relief at Arianna’s return to what he hoped was her normal, his own retort frozen on his lips when McGonogall swept back into the room. The rest of class passed uneventfully, at least relatively speaking. He did enjoy Brighton’s annoyance that he’d managed to transfigure the pawn into a queen first. Little did she know that he had a lot of practice in this subject.

By the time class ended, they’d found a quiet, working rhythm. An embarrassingly large part of him wanted to stay and keep talking, but he caught Prongs giving him a strange look, so best to play it cool. He grabbed his backpack, carelessly flinging it over one shoulder.

“And for the record, I hope it does happen again,” Sirius said, giving her a quick glance over his shoulder on his way out of the classroom. “I had fun.”

Chapter Text

Lily Evans.

As far as Potions partners, Arianna reasoned that she certainly could have done worse. Her eyes surreptitiously swept the room, but it appeared that neither Black nor his group of troublemakers – ‘Marauders’ as everyone knew they preferred to be called – were taking the class.

Good, she insisted. After that embarrassing display in Transfiguration, the last thing she needed was to have to face them immediately afterward. She could already imagine the conversation likely taking place. Oh, Merlin. She probably looked completely bonkers.

Prongs was in rare form by the time Sirius made it back to the Gryffindor common room after Transfiguration. He had a feeling he would be, given the scrutinizing looks James shot him in class after that whole scene with Brighton.

It was obvious the second he entered the room. Even behind the glasses, Sirius could see the mischievous glint of excitement in his eyes as a slow grin swept up Potter’s face.

Oh, brilliant.

And he found that the sentiment wasn’t entirely sarcastic. He and James liked taking the piss out of each other at times – their showmanship almost competitive – but he always knew that his friends had his back. They may fuck around with each other, but they were brothers at the end of the day.

A wistful part of him sometimes wondered if he and Regulus could have had this kind of bond if the situation with his family had been different. But Mummy and Daddy Dearest made that somewhat impossible with barmy blood-purity obsession, grooming his brother into their ‘picture perfect’ replacement heir after failing so spectacularly with him.  And Regulus, so committed to ‘filial duty’ and so eager to stay their ‘golden boy,’ practically had ‘Toujours Pur’ wafting from his Pureblood arse.

And why wouldn’t he? Regulus saw all too well the consequences of disobedience.

In quieter moments, when he couldn’t escape his thoughts, Sirius was forced to admit to himself, if not to anyone else – not even James – that he missed his little brother. Maybe even needed him. There were times when he’d pass him in the hallways, and his brother wasn’t Regulus, newly-minted heir and scion of a Sacred Twenty-Eight stronghold – the ‘Most Noble Ancient House of Black.’ Sirius could swear he developed a nausea response to that title that bordered on Pavlovian.

No, there were times when he saw his kid brother that was just Reg – someone he loved, protected when they were kids, took the blame to spare him the tip of a wand as punishment.

When he and his younger brother could almost be called ‘friends.’

Except his efforts to shift the blame to himself so that his brother could avoid the worst of what Orion Black kindly called ‘discipline’ worked a little too well, and when anything went even slightly awry, Sirius was always the primary suspect. That was when ‘discipline’ would precede questioning, and Sirius was left with scars that would transcend the physical, and nothing was more terrifying to him than 12 Grimmauld Place.

But then he’d found a new home – a new family – and even made it official when he moved in with the Potters.

His eye caught Moony poring over his Transfiguration textbook, trying to get ahead of class, despite all the noise. Wormtail eagerly watching him spar with Prongs.

Brothers. Right here, in Hogwarts. The Marauders.

One of whom was currently channeling all the magical prat energy out of the air to greet him with the tosseriest of all grins.

James shook theatrically, his eyes wide as saucers. “I mean – I mean. Some dogs love cats! Especially the big ones. Gentle giants.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, throwing a pillow at Quidditch General Git, who dodged it with a cheerful guffaw.

“Thinking of adopting a Kneazle, Prongs?” Sirius plopped into one of the plushy, red chairs, one foot casually draped over the side.

“Oh yes. A tabby,” James said importantly. He frowned pensively. “Now what should I name her? Will you help me out here, Pads? You know, since you love cats so much?”

“You should try out your comedy routine on it. I hear Kneazles just love being a captive audience,” Sirius teased, matching James’ tone. He swept one hand through the air as if conjuring a newspaper headline. “Here lies James Potter – found dead by Kneazle-mauling at Hogwarts, after annoying the magical creature to tears with his ‘sparkling personality.’”

Finding entirely too much amusement in his own theatrics, Sirius jumped out of the chair, enlivened enough by his performance to give a mock-eulogy. “Potter will always be remembered by the housemates he left behind.” Sirius pressed the back of his hand to his brow, evoking one of those despairing damsels on the covers of novels a Hufflepuff he’d dated last year kept under her pillow. A wicked grin over his shoulder at his interlocutor. “He pratted too close to the sun. His jokes were somehow even worse than his Quidditch game.”

James grinned in return.

“Well, Kneazle-torture or not,” Remus said, finally looking up from his parchment. The corners of his lips twitched. “I think you’re both prats.”

Lily was already seated and preparing her parchment and quill by the time Arianna snapped out of her anxiety-fueled stupor to join her. Everything was neat and orderly – each ingredient sorted by ingredient type and instrument, and Arianna had the distinct curiosity to see if she color-coded notes later.

In contrast, Arianna’s station looked like what could be generously described as ‘organized chaos.’ But it worked for her, she thought with an irreverent shrug. Catching her Potions partner’s subtly amused glance, she set about to quickly arrange her things just as Professor Slughorn’s boisterous voice boomed some announcements.

The Head of Slytherin House hadn’t seemed to change much over the summer – still joyfully portly, still scheming, still donning a particularly appraising gleam in his eye – as though collecting students for a kind of academic human menagerie for his Slug Club.

Professor Slughorn’s club was quite illustrious at the school – highly exclusive, comprised of students that were hand-selected by the Potions professor – and generally seen as a kind of lucrative opportunity for early career advancement, especially for those who lacked familial connections.

Even for him, though, Professor Slughorn seemed unusually excited. “Students!” He clapped his hands once, barely able to contain his glee, Arianna surmised. “As we’ve had to combine all four Houses into one class given its unusually small size, I’m delighted to announce that everyone present officially qualifies for the Slug Club!”

The classroom erupted in scattered cheering and applause – not particularly loud or boisterous due to its size, but Professor Slughorn certainly didn’t seem bothered.

He took a deep breath in preparation. “As you know, the Slug Club is a highly coveted…”

Arianna tuned out the rest of the speech she’d heard every semester for five years prior, by now being so familiar with the peacocking delivery, she could practically call every pose and pivot.

Although she would have leaped at the chance in previous years, her ordeal toward the end of Fifth left her cautiously ambivalent.

Arianna considered the opportunity. Joining the exclusive Slug Club probably would be great for her professional prospects, but it would mean showing herself in public more than she’d be comfortable with – donning her practiced ‘bright smile’ and her ‘ooh, of course I’ve been great! Just tired – if you’ll excuse me’ attitude before she finds a way to mercifully free herself to drop the exhausting mask.

Then again, she really ought to be getting out more, shouldn’t she?

She turned to Lily to gauge her reaction, and found a peculiar tightness on her face. That’s odd. From what she recalled in previous years, Evans absolutely adored Potions, and was quite the star in Gryffindor. She’d have thought Lily would be overjoyed.

That’s when Arianna noticed her sneak a glance to the right, before quickly turning away, a pained expression on her face that quickly transformed into anger with her narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

And that’s when she noticed it – Severus Snape staring forlornly in their direction.

Of course, Arianna heard the story. They all have.

Lily and Severus were an unusual pair of friends who knew each other before Hogwarts. Gryffindor and Slytherin – members of opposing Houses, who nevertheless hadn’t allowed such rivalries to come between their friendship.

Until they did. She wasn’t around to witness it, but from what Arianna heard, Lily stood up for him last year when that pack of prats, the Marauders, dedicated yet another afternoon to bullying him. But instead of thanking her, he called her the M-slur.

After that, everything between them changed.

Severus spent nights sleeping outside of Gryffindor Tower, begging for a chance to explain himself – to fix what he had broken – but Lily refused.

And, of course, the presence of a scandal – real or rumored – invited nosy parties to take sides.

But from the aching sadness in her eyes, Arianna could see that Lily was anything but indifferent.

“Are you all right?” Arianna asked, her voice gentling.

Lily looked up, a bit startled at having been caught, but quickly nodded. “Yeah, I’m – I’m sorry.” She forced a quick exhale, seemingly getting a hold of herself and smiled. Arianna wasn’t quite sure how real her sudden change of demeanor was, but she didn’t call her out on it.

“Just a bit distracted.” Lily said, clearing her throat and busying herself with rearranging her already tidy workstation. Arianna could plainly see that none of the tension melted away, despite Lily’s efforts, though suddenly, she had a fierce look of recollection about her, her bright green eyes widening in sympathy. “What about you?”

“Me?” Arianna asked, hoping her play at confusion was enough to distract from what she dreaded Lily meant.

 “Are you okay?” Lily asked softly. Before Arianna had another chance to deflect, her Potions partner continued, “Transfiguration.”

“I …” she trailed off, not entirely sure how to spin this. She looked right out of her mind, didn’t she? Black didn’t even say anything bad, but suddenly the blood rushed in her ears, and she was back in that corridor again and … “I’m fine,” she said, practiced. She made sure to crinkle her eyes just slightly to make the smile look sincere. “I just felt so awful about Hawthorne’s robes, you know?”

For a few terrifying seconds, Lily visibly scrutinized her, but must have decided against further questioning. “There’s no one here that I’m friends with,” she said, with a shrug that was just shy of a bashful wince. “Potions isn’t exactly popular with the Gryffindors.”

Arianna shook her head, unsuccessfully fighting a smile. “You’d think they wouldn’t let inter-House rivalries get in the way of the real world, but they’ll probably argue about House Points in their sleep.”

“Two sickles say you get Potter a Golden Snitch Gryffindor onesie, and he’ll find an excuse to keep wearing it until he needs actual diapers.”

The girls exploded in laughter, only slightly tempered by their professor’s curious gaze – only to then erupt even more.

“You wouldn’t want to go to the first meeting together, would you?” Lily asked, visibly braver.

Arianna was taken aback at first, surprised. But before she could stop herself, her whole face bloomed into a smile – this time for real. “I’d love that.”

The remainder of class passed amicably – considerably more relaxing than her other N.E.W.T classes since Professor Slughorn decided to dedicate the first lesson to a quick review of advanced brews from the previous year, though Arianna privately thought that he’d picked this particular course of action because it allowed him to lecture more, center of attention as always.

“I was going to wait until our Halloween soiree to make this announcement, but it simply couldn’t wait!” The Potions professor said as the students began gathering their things.  “This year, I am happy to announce that I will have the opportunity to grant three students the opportunity to apprentice with a Potions grandmaster over the summer! Now, I won’t make my decision until the end of the spring semester, so any students who manage to retake their OWLs in December and score sufficiently well certainly have a choice if they take this class next term.” But then he leaned in conspiratorially, as though sharing a closely-guarded secret with the entirety of his class. “They’ll still be behind you lot, though, won’t they?”

Remus loved his friends. Really, he did. But they could really be... A lot. Sometimes.

Perhaps a little too often.

He dipped his quill into the ink again, and forced himself to concentrate. Professor McGonogall warned them that N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration was an especially challenging subject, so it would do well to get ahead – or at least not fall behind. He had to stifle an eyeroll. Sometimes he wondered if Padfoot and Prongs would get any schoolwork done without his gentle prodding. And it was gentle, regardless of what they say, Remus thought through the barest hint of narrowed eyes before starting his third paragraph. Again. For the fifth time.

“What do you mean, you think she’d seen Padfoot?” James asked, by now looking properly worried.

“Well, I don’t know why the bloody hell else she’d be so terrified!” Sirius shot back, throwing his arms up in exasperation. He tried a shrug that Remus assumed meant to appear reasonable. “Grims are proper scary, right? And you know how much the Eagles eat up anything D’Aura ‘predicts’ in that rubbish class of hers.”

“Yeah! Divinations is the worst!” Peter finally decided to make himself known, largely echoing Sirius. “I can’t believe Ravenclaws love that class so much. I thought they were supposed to be smart?”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Prongs scoffed. “She’d seen the Grim for me three times last year. All that died was my will to live anytime I was in that classroom.”

Pads was about to respond when the common room door swung open. They were no longer alone, so they had to exercise caution when speaking.

Marlene McKinnon walked in, followed by a hyper-organized Hufflepuff girl she liked to study Herbology with sometimes, Sally Cleary.

“I can’t stay for long,” Sally said, after a brief exchange of greetings with the quartet, turning back to Marlene. “Slughorn just gave us the most exciting news, and if I want to have any shot, I have to begin preparing immediately.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius drawled, playing with a guitar pic that Remus was relatively certain he’d found in that questionable Muggle bar they snuck out to last spring. “What did Sluggy have to say that was so special? Found a potion that made everyone stroke his ego?”

Sally rolled her eyes, but even that couldn’t wipe away her obvious excitement. “Oh, please! He announced today that three students will be chosen for a prestigious apprenticeship.” Her eyes sparkled with exhilaration. “Among them – Isadora Fennel, Fiona Clause, and Damocles Belby.”

Damocles Belby.

The name tickled something in Remus’ memory. Normally, he approached Potions with as much enthusiasm as facing a blast-ended screwt, but he distinctly recalled reading something about his research with sincere excitement.

“He’s working on something for werewolves, isn’t he?”

Sally blinked, unable to hide her surprise. “Since when do you lot know anything about Potions research?”

Remus gave her a little self-conscious shrug, continually surprised at just how blunt Sally was compared to the rest of her House.

“Yeah, he’s been working on something to ease the symptoms of lycanthropy,” Sally said, giving him appraising look. “It’s honestly even offered to take anyone on – but I doubt anyone’s going to choose him.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Sally said. “Evans would probably want something useful in DADA. Brighton would look for a Healer. Codsworth would…”

As she trailed off listing each student, Remus couldn’t help but notice James and Sirius paying particular attention to what the Evans and Brighton were interested in. The former didn’t surprise him – Prongs made his interest painfully clear to everyone. The latter, on the other hand, was certainly curious.

“As great as an apprenticeship with him would look to prospective universities and jobs on parchment, he’s working on something truly revolutionary – and most in the Potions community don’t expect to see solid results for at least a few years. Besides, it’s bloody hard!” Sally complained, the tone of her voice so pitched that it knocked Remus straight out of his reverie.

“Aren’t all you Potions N.E.W.T swots supposed to be bloody ballistic about that sort of thing?” James asked, lazily releasing a golden snitch and then catching it almost immediately.

Sally shook her head. “No, the only one who could probably handle Belby’s rigor is Snape, and he’s had his heart set on working with Fiona Claus for years.”

“Didn’t realize you lot were so cozy with Snivellus’ hopes and dreams,” Sirius said, fluttering his eyelashes and cradling his cheek in his hand as his voice affected a saccharine lilt.

James and Peter high-fived Sirius for the quip, but Sally looked unimpressed. Remus felt a familiar stirring of shame every time this side of his friends came out – and he wondered, not for the first time – whether he would have been on the receiving end of this kind of mockery if he hadn’t been taken in by the ‘popular crowd.’ There were so many times when he considered stepping in, but as always, he cowered.

Coward.

“What are you so worried about?” Marlene asked. “You’re a shoo-in! Isn’t the N.E.W.T cohort tiny this semester?”

Sally sighed, taking some of her books out. “The decision won’t be made until June – and by then, anyone who retakes their O.W.L. in December and scores well enough can take N.E.W.T. Potions in the spring, so competition will definitely be thicker and I want one of those apprenticeships, Marls! I need it.”

The world around Remus zeroed in on that one sentence. He had a chance?

Yes, of course he knew that he was rubbish at potions. But he had a chance, didn’t he?

If he got the opportunity to work with Damocles Belby, maybe he’d agreed to test the potion out on him.

Remus was beyond grateful for his friends – knowing the risks they took, the effort they put in – to becoming unregistered Animagi so he wouldn’t feel so alone. But Remus was no fool. After graduation, everyone would have his own life – his own ambitions.

But his furry little problem would remain.

And even if his friends did offer help, he couldn’t force them to give so much up every month. They’d move on. Get brilliant jobs. Start families. How would they explain disappearing for consecutive days, every month?

He couldn’t do this to them.

And with the rising anti-werewolf hysteria fueled by Voldemort’s followers, the future for his kind looked especially grim, unless he did something about it.

With renewed vigor, Remus finally gave up on completing the third paragraph of his Transfiguration for the night, finding a much more compelling task ahead, and retreated to the boys’ dormitory to look for his Fifth Year Potions textbook.

December was only months away, and he needed to study.

Chapter Text

Today was the day – that was what James Potter decided the second he saw Lily Evans walk into the common room. Lily, with her determined walk, so full of power and grace. Lily, with her considerable kindness and empathy – so strong that she even extended it to a worthless loser like Snivellus. Ew. Maybe a little too strong. At least she finally came to her senses.

If ever there was a girl worthy of being a queen by his side, it was her. But no matter how hard he tried – no matter how many brilliant Quidditch moves he dared, or cool quips he effortlessly unveiled when hexing the Slytherins in the halls, it never drew her any nearer.

She didn’t even seem to notice all the effort he put into styling his hair that day – something he normally adamantly refused to do. Luckily for him, his father was quite adept at developing a certain famous hair potion, and despite selling the business, they still had an ample supply.

But if there was ever a witch who didn’t need Sleekeazy’s because she was entirely too perfect for magical modification, it was Lily.

Her flowing red hair caught the firelight so beautifully that it made her vivid, green eyes stand out like twin emeralds.

Twin emeralds that were currently glaring at him, narrowing with increasing disdain. Uh-oh. He took a quick look about the space, and his peripheral vision caught Pads laughing so hard he looked like he could have choked on his own amusement. Moony appeared to be suffering from second-hand embarrassment, his palm pressed to his forehead, covering his eyes. Wormtail had his eyes narrowed at Lily, too, for some reason?

Back to Lily, who looked like she wanted nothing more than to throttle him with an expanding bludger.

Oh, right. He was so caught up in his fantasy that he didn’t even realize he was blocking her way to the girls’ dormitory.

“Move your bloody arse, you arrogant toerag!”

“Uh, sorry, Lily!” James said, moving out of her way with exaggerated gallantry.

She rolled her eyes, breezing past him, just to come back out not even a minute later with a giant roll of parchment and her Potions textbook, making a quick beeline for the door.

“Planning to study?” James began, then winced. How is it that every time he tried to have a conversation with her, he turned into a bumbling idiot? Or some kind of sap. He couldn’t stop himself – he’d even told his Mum about her in a letter home, and of course she was supportive and embarrassingly enthusiastic that her ‘sweet little prince’ finally found himself ‘nice witch,’ asking for all kinds of details about her. Unable to stop himself, he began composing a reply gushing about her hair, and her eyes, and her voice, and before he knew it, his owl was carrying that evidence straight to Godric’s Hollow.

Oh, Merlin. If his Mum tried to introduce herself to Lily on Platform 9 ¾, Pads would never stop mocking him.

But what the bloody hell did Padfoot even know about love? His attempts at romance began and ended with a dalliance beneath the Quidditch bleachers or a handy supply closet, with a different flavor seemingly every week. A month, if he was feeling especially committed. Sometimes it felt like Sirius’ whole purpose was doing everything he could to stick it to his parents, if the Muggle cigarettes they’d nicked at that bar in Cambridge were any indication. Pads seemed to pull one out like clockwork anytime they sniffed a Daily Prophet camera nearby, just aching to get his picture taken for a publication he knew Mummy and Daddy Black read.

Lily met James with an expression that suggested that he was the biggest idiot she’d ever seen. “No, Potter,” she deadpanned. “I’m going to burn these for warmth and huddle under the ashes like a poor urchin that needs to be saved from her academic aspirations by a rich, strapping Pureblood boy.”

Ookay. Lily was definitely in a mood tonight. “Is this about the Potions apprenticeship?”

Now she looked genuinely surprised. “How did you know about that?”

“Sally was here earlier with Marlene,” Moony said, finally emerging from behind his hand. “She seemed really excited about it.”

“Yeah,” Lily replied. “It’s such an amazing opportunity! I couldn’t believe some of the potioneers willing to take on student apprentices – Fiona Clause, Amelia Greenhouse – even Damocles Belby!”

“Is that who you’re hoping to work with, if you’re chosen?” Remus asked, now looking decidedly interested. What was going on? Since when did Moony give a toss about Potions?

Lily laughed, the sound a musical cascade of notes. James stifled a dreamy sigh. “Oh no – I wouldn’t be able to handle that kind of workload, though I definitely admire what he’s trying to do for the werewolf community.”

Ah, so that’s what it was.

“No,” Lily continued. “I don’t think anyone but Sev would prosper with him.” Her eyes suddenly widened in shock, a hand jumping to her lips as though trying to stuff the words back in.

Not to be outdone, James had his own impulsive reaction, suddenly angry at her praise of that greasy git. “Since when do you care what Snivellus would prosper in? I thought you were done with that pathetic loser?”

Lily rounded on him, rage alight in her stunning, green eyes. “Severus and I may not be friends anymore, but he’s still worth ten times as much as a spoiled, privileged brat like you! At least he worked for everything he has!”

“What the hell, Evans!?” James replied, affronted. “I work! In Quidditch —”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Potter,” she seethed, stalking toward him. “Have I offended the Golden Boy of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team?”

“So now my being good at Quidditch is a problem!?”

“Half of your success on the field comes from your overpriced broom and what I’m sure are a billion private lessons from before you could walk!”

“And yet, I’m still the one scoring the points! It’s me putting the Quaffle in hoop – which is only possible because of loads of talent and practice –"

By now, Lily was directly in front of him. Close enough to smell her perfume. Close enough to kiss, if he just leaned forward, but something told James that doing so would be a monumentally bad idea. His eyes flicked to her lips for a fraction of a second, and he was stunned to find hers still downcast when they looked back up to her eyes. The second their gazes met again, however, the rage returned tenfold. “You know what I don’t get? You’re attractive, you’re rich, you’re popular, you’re athletic. You get good grades!” she snarled, counting on her fingers for emphasis. “And what do you do with all that privilege? Bully those that don’t have it – like it’s somehow their fault they weren’t handed everything you were given!”

“Given!?” What was Evans on about? Did she think galleons and Quidditch skills were things he just picked off a fucking Whomping Willow when no one else was looking? “Do you know how hard I have to train? And as for ‘rich,’ my family worked hard! Those Slytherin bigots, on the other hand –”

“What was that, oh scion of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?”

Was she barmy!? “My family may be Pureblood, but we don’t buy into all that blood-supremacy rubbish!”

“Maybe not,” she allowed. “Maybe your parents are very kind, and relatively progressive, and even care about Muggleborn rights –”

“Yeah, exactly, Evans –”

“But you’re still Sacred Twenty-Eight, Potter.” She seemed calmer now. Or at least flustered in a different way. Lily took a step back, running a hand through her ginger locks. It was trembling. “There’s so much you could do with all that power – all that privilege – but you use it to bully a rival House. You and Black,” she spat, her disdain now aimed at Prongs, who looked almost impressively unaffected, yet somehow deeply engrossed in the unfolding drama. James was tempted to ask him if he’d like a bowl of popcorn for his entertainment.

“Hey, I never claimed to be a saint!” Sirius said, raising his hands in mock-supplication, looking entirely too amused.

Lily shot him an annoyed glare before turning her attention back to James.

“So now just because my ancestors happened to be hard-working, brilliant and earned a fortune making wise investments, it’s somehow my job to take care of every sad charity case?”

Lily crossed her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows to make her point. “You need galleons to invest, Potter, and they had to come from somewhere.”

“Right, well, you already know my family is old money,” he replied.

“All old money is blood money – or at least was at some point.”

“Not mine!” How could she!? He looked around the room at his friends, expecting back-up, but all he saw was Remus unable to meet his eyes; Peter, still glaring at Lily; and Sirius shocked him most of all. There was a smirk forming on his lips, and his gaze met Lily’s with what looked almost like respect. What was going on? Why was she equating his family to the Malfoys, or the Lestranges – or the bloody House of Black!?

She looked at him with something akin to pity. “Are you really that naïve, James? Do you honestly believe that there’s an ethical way to hoard all that wealth – without any exploitation of the working class? Any at all?”

“You’re wrong, Evans,” he said coldly.

“Believe that if you want,” Lily replied, wrapping her book and parchment tighter in her arms as she prepared to leave the common room. “Like it or not, you’re undeniably benefitting off the inequalities and injustices of our financial and political system. And maybe you think you’re a big hero for doing the bare minimum and not actively joining ranks with Voldemort, and scoring some points in a Friday night Quidditch game. But you’re doing nothing to make things better, and sometimes when you’re showing off, you make things actively worse. And this!?” She gestured broadly to him, sounding almost defeated. There was something in her tone that stung a lot worse than her ire. Disappointment, he realized. “I just wish you weren’t so shallow.”

With that, she promptly left the common room, a veritable trail of ice in her path, lodging itself in James’ heart where it burned.

“What a bitch!” Peter piped up, his eyes desperately searching James’ for approval, eager to please. Normally, he reveled in that kind of attention, but now it just felt sycophantic.

“Don’t talk about her that way,” James replied, annoyed with himself at the reflex. He tried to shake it off to save face, not entirely pleased with himself for looking so pathetic in front of his mates. “Not gonna argue that she’s a bit delusional, though, right? Shallow? Me!?” His laugh sounded so nervous to his ears.

“So delusional! You’re one of the deepest people I’ve ever met, Prongs!” Peter replied. “I know! We’ll make her sorry! I’ve got a prank in –”

“I said stop!” Bloody reflex.

Peter’s response was instantaneous. His face fell, and for a fraction of a second, James could swear he looked angry, but it disappeared so quickly that he decided he could have imagined it.

“I was just saying…” Peter replied.

James didn’t hear the rest of what Peter said, however, when he realized that neither Sirius nor Remus had visibly reacted, and both seemed to be pointedly ignoring his gaze.

“Moony?” Why wouldn’t Remus look at him?

Remus sighed, but it sounded almost pained. He gave James a sympathetic look, wincing slightly. “She’s not entirely wrong, Prongs.” Right. He knew that diplomatic look a little too well. Moony was doing that thing where he scrunched his face up to look more sympathetic, which meant that he was trying to spare his feelings. So, he agreed with Evans. Unbelievable.

"Pads?” He hated the desperation in his voice.

Sirius turned to face him fully, cocking his head to the side as though to study him. “Prongs, come on, mate – be serious. You really think our families didn’t exploit a bunch of Muggles or poor wizards when initially building those vaults?”

“I know yours did –”

“You really think all that came from potion-making alone? No dirty business practices whatsoever?”

“Et tu, Padfoot?” See! He wasn’t shallow. He just quoted one of Shakespeare’s Muggle plays! And every wizard worth his salt knew that Shakespeare was so progressive that he even dabbled in writing for Muggles – while pretending to be one, of course. James preened at his own depth, but no one seemed to be impressed. Ungrateful sods.

“Well, that was entertaining!” He heard Sirius exclaim with an eager clap of his hands as James left the room. “Who wants to raid the kitchens? I fancy a spot of dinner after that show!”

Fucking prat.

James stalked through the streets of Hogsmeade, seething. How dare they!? Evans – well, she’s always had it out for him, but fucking Moony? Padfoot?

He’d show them! He’d show all of them.

He approached a sad-looking townhouse, desperately in need of repair. The red awning overhead hadn’t been painted in what might have been at least a decade. He stilled a second before making the decision to go inside. They’d better give him a bloody plaque for this.

James shoved the door with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, the attached bell evidently making the employee at the front desk jump – though that startle response seemed to turn into full-on anxiety as soon as his eyes widened with recognition.

“Potter?”

James frowned. Did he know the guy? He looked familiar. He definitely saw him somewhere before, but where? Had to have been Hogwarts, right? Based on his age? Couldn’t have been more than a year or two older. Eager to prove just what a mature, profoundly-thoughtful young man he was, James sorted through his memories. Let’s see – mousey brown hair, pimply. Scrawny. Looked like a proper dork. If he worked here after graduation, he definitely had ‘Hufflepuff’ written all over him. Ah! He snapped his fingers as soon as he figured it out, causing the man to jump. Again.

It was that Prefect! The one whose date they interrupted with a legendary amount of dungbombs in the girls’ toilet!

James congratulated himself on his deductive reasoning. Or was that inductive?

“Evening, mate!” he replied. “You’re looking …great!”

His interlocutor met him with visible apprehension. “Uh, thanks, Potter.” He glanced about the space nervously. “Your mates here?”

“Nah. Just me. Listen, Halley.” Was that his name? No, no. “Harlan.”

“Holloran,” he corrected tersely. Someone’s touchy.

“Right, Holloran,” James continued, unbothered. “It’s come to my attention that there’s more I could be doing to help the less fortunate.”

Holloran responded with open skepticism and offensively narrowed eyes. Rude. “I’m almost afraid to ask – but what exactly does that mean for you?”

“It means I’m here to volunteer!”

There. That’ll show him – show all of them. Lily, Moony. Even fucking Pads. Calling him shallow. He was the most deep! This whole place reeked of stale soup and desperation. Maybe they'll even make him Head Boy, because he's such a model of depth?

Today was the day – the day James Potter would show all of them he was as deep as the Black Lake.

Chapter Text

Sirius Black was having a bloody fantastic time.

Prongs was at his desk, speaking animatedly, projecting his voice for all its worth because Evans sat directly behind him – and he needed to make her aware what a sodding paragon of virtue he was. He’d joined a soup kitchen, apparently. Out of the goodness of his prattish widdle heart.

And he needed everyone to know about it.

Evans looked like she was two seconds away from turning him into a bowl of the finest charity gruel.

This was easily the funniest thing that happened all week, and Sirius suddenly found himself even more grateful for this seating arrangement.

“And then, because I care so much about those below the poverty line in –”

“You’ll have to regale Mister Black and the entire third floor after class, Mister Potter,” McGonogall announced as she swept into the room. “Though I do suggest giving those rather impressive vocal cords a rest, lest you gift us all a nasty headache from your …enthusiastic projection.”

The class responded to a round of giggles as Prongs finally took his seat.

McGonogall began a lesson about transfiguring flobberworms into fritters, though Sirius noted with a pang that surprised him that the seat next to him was still empty. Where was Brighton?

Not two seconds later, however, the witch in question flew into class, muttering an apology to the professor and sliding into the seat next to his. Relief and a tiny twinge of anxious energy – butterflies, he’d heard it called – instantly filled him, which he immediately attributed to nerves about a repeat of last class, when Brighton freaked the fuck out over some spilled ink and looked at him like he wanted to maul her with his bare claws. To call it uncomfortable would have to be the understatement of the sodding millennium. He ran a hand through his dark hair, smoothing it into something less shaggy and not at all Grim-like.

Brighton definitely looked nervous, too, but he couldn’t be sure if it was from embarrassment or something a lot worse.

They’d barely said a word to each other as the lesson continued, though she seemed to be in better spirits when her flobberworm turned into a perfect fritter. Then back to flobberworm. And back to fritter again. Okay, now she was just showing off.

He leaned over to whisper conspiratorially. “What do you think, Brighton?” He gestured subtly to Adams, several desks behind them, who’d been sneaking nibbles of his partner’s transfigured snack. “If someone were to cast the spell post-ingestion, do you think it’ll still work?” At her chiding expression, he raised his hands on mock-supplication, looking like a bloody cherub. “I’m asking for purely scientific reasons, of course!”

“I don’t know, Black. Why don’t you exercise some of that famed Gryffindor bravery and try it out on yourself.”

Now this was getting fun. Sirius gave her one of his most charming grins – bloody Circe incarnate – and took an ostentatious bite in challenge. “Do it.”

This teased a giggle out of her, and the sparkle in her bright brown eyes made her look so pretty that his stomach did that flipping thing again.

“Come on, Your Swotness.” He spread his arms wide in invitation, his grin growing cheekier by the second. “Let’s conduct this little experiment. We can publish our findings in one of those journals you Eagles love to salivate over.”

“Mister Black!” McGonogall somehow materialized directly in front of him. Merlin, that old witch was sneaky. “While I couldn’t imagine stifling a bright young student’s scientific endeavors under normal circumstances, you’ve shown a rather impressive tendency to make me question what I previously considered to be the safest of convictions.” Her voice was dripping with such crisply sweet mockery that Sirius was tempted to ask if she’d taken lessons in sarcasm from Beedle the Bard himself. Privately, he rather liked the bite – and there was a reason McGonogall was probably his favorite professor. “Please carry on with the Transfiguration lesson, without any improvised study.”

Arianna bit her lip adorably to keep from laughing, but as soon as McGonogall left their side, a charming blush coated her cheeks. She leaned over slightly, watching their professor engrossed in correcting Evelyn Wilde’s form a few rows over, and surreptitiously tore a piece of parchment off. Within a few quick flicks of her wand and some whispered words, the parchment transformed into a little, spotted puppy – tiny enough to fit into his hand.

He looked at her quizzically when it climbed onto her palm, and she extended the tiny creature to him. “You said you wanted a dog, right?” Oh, that's precious. “Peace offering, for going barmy on you last class?”

Well, this certainly provided an opportunity to rule out a theory or two.

With an irreverent wink, Sirius flicked his wand and the puppy transformed into a miniature version of Padfoot - all black fur and mischievous blue eyes. He watched Arianna carefully for a reaction. Moment of truth. If she had, indeed, seen him transform as he suspected, her face would immediately give it away.

Instead of fright, however, Arianna immediately met him with laughter. “You can’t be serious, Black. A Grim? Are you trying to traumatize my entire House?”

“Arianna Brighton, I haven’t the foggiest of what you could ever mean,” he replied, the picture of innocence, clutching his chest dramatically. So, it didn’t look like she’d seen him transform into Padfoot, after all. Huh. So, what was it that had her so scared, then?

Arianna reached over and scratched behind the miniature puppy’s ears, laughing when it playfully nicked at and licked her fingers.

Giving in to those annoying butterflies – just this once, really – he grabbed a spare quill from his backpack and transformed it into a cat, just about mini-Padfoot’s size. “In case you’re missing Luna too much.” Did his voice shake a little? Oh, Merlin help him. He needed to get his groove back, and fast.

Brighton’s delighted gasp and smile when the miniature furball jumped into her hand more than made up for it, though. “Sirius!” She inspected it in wonder, gently petting the creature with her index finger as it arched its neck, demanding more affection. Greedy little thing. “You’ve a pretty impressive memory for all her markings!”

Sirius shrugged, desperately searching for something flippant to say about all tabbies basically looking the same, but for once, wit and words and any semblance of fucking cool seemed to have abandoned him entirely.

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “Now if only you’d stop hexing poor Slytherins in the halls, I’d almost be tempted to call you ‘sweet.’”

His hand jumped to the bridge of his nose. “Fucking hell. Not you, too.” Though this did instantly put him in better spirits as he was vividly reminded of Prongs’ embarrassingly hilarious quest to prove his ‘profundity.’ More like ponciness, but Sirius wasn’t about to complain.

“How do you know Muggle swear words?”

“Potter taught me.” Oh good. Getting away from his very impulsive stupidity with the cat would be great. “On our first time on the Hogwarts Express.”

She looked surprised for a split second, then laughed, before her expression turned devious. “And why ‘not you, too?’”

Perfect. He couldn’t have asked for a better diversion. He smiled, oh-so-genuinely. “Evans chewed our Fearless Gryffindor Quidditch Captain out for being shallow, so now he’s on a quest to prove her wrong. No soup kitchen is safe.”

The effect was instantaneous. Brighton responded with utter delight. “No!” She cast a quick grin to Evans in the row behind them, whose expression suggested that she was definitely proud of her handiwork, and heard everything. Arianna resumed petting her mini-tabby. “I really like Lily. She’s my partner in Potions this semester.”

Oh really? Sirius filed that information away for later. Maybe Evans could enlighten him sometime about why it sometimes felt like Brighton seemed to swing from playful to jumpy at the drop of a hat. That is, if Evans ever acquiesced to speaking to him like a normal person, and not the school’s Delinquent Number One. Come to think of it, have they ever even had a normal conversation?

“Why didn’t you take N.E.W.T. Potions?” Brighton asked, visibly scrutinizing him. There was a sparkle back in her eyes, like she was solving a mystery. “I remember you being good at it last year.”

After that gauntlet with the Animagus potion, Sirius couldn’t help but privately concur. Privately. He cast a quick glance about the room to see why McGonogall didn’t see fit to interrupt their conversation again, but was amused to find that she was far too engrossed in helping Wilde restrain the fritters who were heroically trying to crawl toward the classroom’s exit, vying for escape.

“I’ve got loads of talents,” Sirius finally replied, donning that practiced charming smirk, laced with flirtation, that he’d spent so long practicing. “Potions is the least of them.”

“Okay, then, Man of Mystery,” Arianna replied with a raise of her brows. “Keep your secrets.”

All too soon, however, the lesson ended, and McGonogall ushered them to their next class, saving him from having to answer Brighton’s question. Seemed his secret was safe, after all.

Hours later, Arianna sat in her favorite spot in the castle – a little alcove on the north wall of the Astronomy Tower. It was cleverly hidden, obscured by vine and shadow – built into the wall itself – and practically invisible except when flying directly in front of it by broom.

It was a spot she’d discovered by accident, though she often wondered who created it, and for what reason. Was its purpose romantic and dreamy – to gaze wondrously upon the stars without interruption, or to have a secret, place to ensconce oneself with their beloved? Or did it have a more practical reason for existence? Was some astronomer of yesteryear to study the movements and formation of the stars without interruption?

Perhaps it was invented by a founder – maybe even Rowena Ravenclaw, herself – to hide away and marvel at the heavens.

Arianna had come here so much since last spring that she'd begun to furnish it with fat, colorful pillows and a tea set stored in the corner. A warming charm kept her comfortable as she let her gaze settle on the reflection of the stars on the Black Lake.

She took out her mini-kitty-who-was-once-a-quill and scratched the top of its tiny head, delighted as it purred for more. Lunette, she’d decided to name her. A perfectly miniature version of her Luna, down to the stripes and patch on her right paw. She’d been shocked at first at the accuracy in the depiction, but now she was just touched. Her heart fluttered traitorously as she recalled how he’d managed to make her laugh, even through her panic – returning her to the present from the clutches of her worst memories.

But then she chided herself. Idiot. Stupid, stupid girl.

Her heart sank when she considered that Sirius would never be interested in someone like her – at least in that way. She doubted anyone would, if they knew what happened. The mess that she was.

But at least she was safe with him. And maybe she’d even make a friend.

This gesture was certainly sweet.

Lunette purred in her hand, nuzzling against her cheek, the hope for a more peaceful year filling her heart. She turned her gaze to the sky, gasping at the unusually clear night. The stars shone overhead, sprinkled in a glorious expanse along the dark velvet of the Milky Way – but none as luminous as Sirius.

Stop it.

Lunette jumped off her palm to rest on her lap, kneading her stomach with its tiny paws. Then, something in her peripheral vision caught Arianna's attention. She saw some cloaked figures, their identities obscured by hoods, sneaking off the grounds. She nearly brushed it off as teenage mischief and rebellion when one of them raised his arm to catch something thrown by another. On his forearm, she saw a tattoo - vivid in the starlight.  A skull with its mouth open wide, a coiling serpent for its tongue.