Hey, guys! This is kind of a monumental chapter. A lot happens, so I'm excited to hear what you think!

To Andy the willow tree: Thank you so much for your kind words. Honestly, your review sort of galvanized me into writing 5,000 words in one go—basically all of Peter's parts, so I have you to thank for that! And to the guests who reviewed, I can't express how encouraging your words are. They keep me working through the writer's block when I get stuck on parts of the story, so thank you. I'm touched that you enjoy the story so much, and I really appreciate it!

Tell me what you think :)

Disclaimer: this world and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

"What?" James demanded, staring at his father. He had never before been held to a curfew, and to receive one now, when both he and Sirius were adults, was ridiculous. He turned to Sirius for support, but Sirius, who was rubbing the leather strap of the watch on his hand—the one almost identical to the one James had received when he turned seventeen, and a Potter family heirloom—only shrugged.

James gave him a look of irritation. Sirius had gone out of his way to defy his parents over even the most mundane things, but he had never once showed an ounce of rebellion towards Charlus and Dorea Potter. James turned back to his father.

"Will you at least explain why?"

His father sighed. "James, there are things I can't tell you. Things that are classified. But tensions are higher than ever—"

"There was one bad incident that you don't even know can be connected to this revolution or the 'Dark Lord' or whatever it is they're calling it these days," James protested hotly.

Charlus gave him a look, and James froze, his eyes narrowing. "There have been more incidents, haven't there? Things that have been covered up? I—how long has this even been happening?"

"Years," Sirius answered, and James turned to look at him. "Since before any of us children knew, and most children in those circles first knew something was happening even a couple years ago."

"James, please," said his father. "You and Sirius are at risk—anyone affiliated with the Aurors is at risk."

James hadn't had any idea it was that serious. From the look on Sirius's face, neither had he. "All right," he agreed. "We won't stay out late. We'll be careful."

James expected his father to relax, but instead he only nodded tensely before stepping into the Floo. As he vanished, James turned to Sirius. "We need to get some answers. I want to know what the hell is going on that has my father so afraid."

Sirius gave him a considering look. "Fancy a drink?"

UNREST GROWING IN WIZARDING COMMUNITIES. MINISTRY FACES DIVISION IN RANKS. FANATICS TORTURE AND KILL YOUNG AUROR FAMILY.

Peter stared at the bold headlines before tossing The Daily Prophet aside in frustration. Issue after issue came out with increasingly alarming news, and still he heard nothing from any of the Slytherins. The need to know what was happening was eating him up from the inside, and yet he was stuck at home in a neighborhood full of oblivious Muggles, unable to learn anything useful about the state of the wizarding world.

"Peter?" came a small voice, and he turned to find his sister watching him, her large eyes solemn and observant. She stepped closer to him, and he was struck all over again by how big she'd grown while he was away at Hogwarts.

"Hi, Vi," he said softly, reaching out to tug one of her braids.

"Are you angry that you have to stay inside, too?" she asked, joining him at the window. "Mum says it's only until next fall, when I can join Hogwarts, too. Then I don't have to hide my magic anymore. But a year is a long time to wait, and I hate how lonely it is, not having any other wizards here."

Peter turned to look at her. "What happened to Carly?" he asked, referring to the neighbor girl Violet had played with when she was younger.

Violet frowned. "Carly can't do what I really want to do," she said seriously. "There's so much to do with magic, but I can't do any of it because she might see. And then they'll cart me away to an institution, according to Mum. And I would rather be alone and not have to always worry about being seen than have company and wish I was somewhere else the whole time."

Peter gave her a startled look, unnerved by how similar her words were to those of the Dark Lord. "Out of the mouths of babes," he muttered.

Violet narrowed her eyes at him. "What?" she demanded.

He found it in himself to smile at her. "Nothing," he said. "You're going to love Hogwarts, that's all."

Violet nodded. "I'm going to be a Ravenclaw," she informed him. "Do you know any Ravenclaws?"

"I do," Peter confirmed. "You'd fit in."

Violet nodded. "I know. I wish I was older so I could get there faster." She gave him a look. "Why are you here if you want to be out there? I have to stay inside because I'm too small to have 'discretion,' but you can go wherever you want."

Peter froze. "You're right," he said wonderingly. "Discretion . . ." He kissed the top of her head. "I'll see you later, Vi. Tell Mum and Dad I'm at Remus's."

As he got ready to leave, Peter considered the fact that what he was about to do was very stupid and very reckless, and then he considered the fact that he didn't care. He was tired of sitting at home doing nothing. He needed action.

And if his friends would not bring news to him, he would go to them.

He remembered Juliet telling him once that the Greengrasses had a residence in Inverness where the Greengrass children spent their summers with their mother. He knew it was hidden, but he had no idea where exactly, and he knew he stood no chance of finding it on his own. He also knew, however, how to use Muggle transportation.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "This is very, very stupid idea," he told himself, and then he stepped outside, letting the front door shut behind him with a resounding thud.

"You never properly answered us in your letters," said Remus's father, looking at him seriously. "What did you mean, 'you'll be all right?'"

Remus glanced between his parents, both of whom were almost radiating concern. "I won't tell you the details," he said firmly. "The whole thing is almost entirely based on plausible deniability. But I've got sort of a security measure. I'm not signing up for the werewolf registry, and if I'm caught, I won't be sent to Azkaban. I know how vague that sounds, but I need you to trust me. I've got a future yet."

His father flinched at the words, but his mother took his hand, looking at him steadily. "Remus," she said softly, "you've changed so much."

He gave her a crooked grin. "Time tends to do that to people," he said dryly. "Although you seem to be an exception to that rule. You look exactly as you did when I first left for Hogwarts."

She threw her head back at that, her laughter filling the kitchen. "I don't know where you got your charm, but it certainly isn't from your father," she said, looking at Lyall teasingly.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lyall asked. "He got it from you."

She grinned. "I stand corrected. He's got it in him after all."

Remus lived for these moments, when his parents were genuinely happy, all their worries momentarily forgotten. In these moments, they seemed to shed ten years of ceaseless stress and struggle. In these moments, they looked like a normal family.

He hadn't noticed that the smile had slipped off his face until his mother looked at him discerningly. "What is it, Remus?" she asked, brushing his hair off his forehead. He was seventeen, a little old for such displays, but he leant into her touch anyway. "You seem sad."

Remus tried to swallow his guilt. It was easy to remember, usually, that the blame for his situation lay at the feet of Fenrir Greyback, but at times like this, when he saw what his family could have been had he not let Greyback in all those years ago and ruined their lives, it hit him all over again how much suffering he had put them through.

They deserved so much more than that. How strange it was that life saw fit to give people like his parents and James and Sirius and Peter someone like him, who carried pain and danger with him wherever he went, while he got parents who had sacrificed everything for him and friends who stood by him at the risk of their lives.

"Nothing," he said, offering them his easy smile. He reached for the chocolate bar on the table, slowly unwrapping it and using the action to distract him from his thoughts. "I love you, that's all."

Peter felt like an idiot, skulking through the shadows after Snape. He'd been trailing Snape since he'd split up with the rest of his lot as the left the bar, and he still had no idea where he was going. He was probably just going home—perhaps Peter should have chosen someone else to follow.

But from what he'd overheard, there was some sort of meeting going on, and it followed logic that Snape would lead him to it. He hastened to keep up as Snape suddenly ducked into an abandoned-looking building, pausing long enough to hear Snape's footsteps receding before following him into the building.

Snape's voice halted Peter's steps, and he hid behind a door, unable to see what was happening but straining to listen. "Wilkes," Snape greeted, and Peter's heart crawled into his mouth.

He had gone to the bar with the intention of finding Adrian or Eireen or Regulus, and when he had instead encountered Snape and Avery and Mulciber and the rest of their lot, he had decided to just go with it. But they generally ran in higher circles, more officially part of the revolution than any of Peter's friends.

What if Peter was about to walk into an official meeting? Closing his eyes, Peter struggled to control his breathing. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did not want to be caught eavesdropping on a meeting like that. As someone not officially affiliated with any of them, he had no protection in this situation, and he did not want to end up like the people in the Prophet.

Peter swore mentally. What would a Slytherin do? he thought desperately. He couldn't imagine a Slytherin being careless enough to get themselves into a situation like this in the first place.

Cautiously, Peter peered around the door, relieved to see the Snape and Wilkes seemed to be alone. "Prove you are who you say you are," Wilkes was saying, holding Snape at wandpoint.

"Ask me anything," Snape answered, but Wilkes shook his head.

"Patronus."

Snape scowled, but he withdrew his wand anyway, and seconds later, a doe was prancing around the room. He only held it for a few seconds, but that was enough—Peter's mind was already screaming, processing what he'd just seen.

Wilkes leaned forward, whispering something in Snape's ear, and after a moment Snape nodded. Seconds later, Wilkes had disapparated.

Peter only had seconds to think before he'd made his decision, stopping Snape in the doorway as he made to leave. "Stop." Peter's wand shook, but he kept it trained on Snape's back as Snape slowly turned around.

When Snape saw who it was, his mouth curled into a sneer. "Pettigrew," he said coolly. He gave the wand pointed at him a disdainful look. "I would put that away if I were you. You're going to regret following me."

"Greengrass Manor," Peter said. "Tell me the secret to getting past the wards."

Snape looked like he wanted to laugh. It was an unpleasant look on him. "How would I know?" he asked. "And if I did, why would I tell you?"

Peter took a step closer. "Because," he said evenly, "people like Wilkes might not know whose patronus you share, but I do. And I don't think you want it getting around that you're in love with—"

Snape stiffened. "I'm warning you, Pettigrew—"

"No, I'm warning you," Peter said, trying to summon the threatening air he'd seen directed at him countless times. "You're going to tell me what I want to know, and then you're going to leave and tell no one that I was here asking about this. And as for why you'd know about Greengrass Manor, well . . . I think we both know the answer to that."

Snape fixed him with a level look. "If you were meant to know, surely she would have told you herself."

Peter shrugged. "I'm still an outsider. Surely, if I want them to know I'm certain of where I want to stand in this, I need to earn it. What better way than the Slytherin way? If I prove myself resourceful enough to find them, sure enough that I want this to go to the trouble of going to them, will they turn me away?"

Snape really did laugh at that. "It seems you really did learn something at those meetings, Pettigrew." He gave him a look of deep dislike. "I'll tell you. But remember that if my secret does get out, there's nothing protecting you anymore. And I can assure you, you are not ready to have your current anonymity stripped away as you meet the Dark Lord face to face for the first time. You know what happens to people he believes have conflicts of interest."

Peter shivered, and then immediately hated himself for it as Snape noted it with a satisfied look. Gathering his courage again, he nodded and lowered his wand.

But as Snape leaned forward to whisper in his ear, he caught the signs of unease flickering in his eyes and felt a sense of satisfaction that he had not given away the upper hand in this exchange.

Sirius tried not to let the people around him set him on edge as he and James made their way to the bar. "Hello, Tom," James said as he and Sirius slid into their usual seats, and Tom wordlessly slid their usual firewhiskeys towards them.

"What's the news today?" Sirius asked briskly, taking a long gulp of his firewhiskey and savoring its burn as it worked its way down his throat.

Tom looked at them grimly. "It'll be in the Prophet soon," he said lowly, leaning in so only they could hear. "They've legalized the Unforgivables."

Beside him, James choked, and Sirius stared, sure he'd misheard. "What?"

Tom nodded, glancing over their shoulders with a dark look. "Rumor has it one of the Aurors has been pushing for it for a rather long time as a weapon against these revolutionaries. You know the Aurors have been cracking down on them, raiding their ralleys and trying to figure out who the people are that are standing behind this 'Dark Lord.'"

Sirius felt something bitter rise up inside him. "As if they can't guess," he muttered, tossing back the rest of his firewhiskey and pushing the glass towards Tom for a refill.

Tom obliged with another grim look. "Well, they can't exactly be seen arresting high ranking Ministry officials off hearsay and unproven suspicions. Besides, the lines are starting to blur. It's one thing to show consideration for some of the movement's points, but it's quite another to actually be a part of it. Nobody's sure who is and who isn't, apart from the certainty that they're there on all levels and in all divisions of the Ministry."

James shook his head. "But still," he said seriously, "the Unforgivables? There's a reason they were illegal in the first place. Azkaban is bad enough." He turned to Sirius. "Surely not all the Aurors condoned this—surely my father—"

"I don't know, James," Sirius said quietly.

James stared at him, speechless. "What?"

Sirius didn't look at him. "James, you don't know what they're like. People like my family . . . they're into seriously dark stuff. And the sort of stuff that's happening—murder? It's not as if they don't deserve it. I think the Aurors should have the right to protect themselves by any means necessary considering the other side will be using magic just as dark and nasty."

"Nothing is as dark and nasty as the Unforgivables," James said flatly.

"Maybe," said Sirius. "But the point is that there are a lot of curses you could never even fathom that will be being thrown at people like your father. And if the Unforgivables are what it takes for him and others like him to protect themselves—to protect us, the general public, by bringing these bastards in before they can do more harm—then I don't see why not."

"You don't see why not?" James repeated, an edge entering his voice. "Why not because they're inhumane, Sirius! Because they're disgusting! How can we consider ourselves better than them if we're using magic like that?"

Sirius shook his head. "You don't understand, James. You were never part of that world. The things I've seen—"

"No, I understand," James interrupted harshly. "I don't need to be a Black to understand that there is horrible magic out there. But you can't use other people's cruelty to justify your own." He shook his head. "It's you who doesn't understand, Sirius. You scare me sometimes, you know that?"

At that, Sirius raised his eyes to James's, his gaze a dark and turbulent grey.

"You're so volatile—vindictive sometimes," James said, his voice quiet again. "This is the part of you that almost ended both Snape and Moony's lives at once."

Sirius's expression closed at that, a cold mask settling over his features, leaving him looking unsettlingly like his brother. In one violent motion, he had shoved his chair back and got to his feet. James's jaw feathered. "Padfoot—"

But before he could get more than that out, Sirius was gone.

Standing in the middle of nowhere with not a human in sight, Peter wondered why he didn't think more before he acted. "What," he muttered to himself, "possessed me to wander off with no geographical indicators beyond 'somewhere in the Scottish Highlands' on the word of Snape, of all people—"

And then he felt the tip of a wand poking into his ribs and almost breathed a sigh of relief because it meant someone was there. Slowly, he raised his hands up, making it clear that he was unarmed, and turned around.

The air in front of him shimmered, and then a scornful Nott materialized in front of him. "Pettigrew," he said, "what are you doing?"

Peter started to shrug before realizing that nonchalance was not a good idea in his present situation. "Even my little sister realizes things need changing," he said. "I'm tired of reading the Prophet and not knowing what's going on."

"How did you find us?" Evan Rosier asked, looking faintly amused.

Peter met his gaze and smiled.

"The tortures and murders and everything are all by fanatics," Eireen said. "There are people who are . . . almost obsessed with the cause. A lot of the public that objects to what we're doing have started taking active measures to oppose us."

"The Ministry is divided," Evan agreed, leaning forward in his seat. "A lot of high officials are on our side. They want to make reforms. But they face opposition, and a lot of people are lobbying for anti-progressive legislation. Some even want to make our stance illegal."

"You can't tell people what to think," Peter protested. "That's ridiculous. And how will they punish offenders of the law? They can't monitor our thoughts."

"No," Anders agreed, "but you can penalize people caught at our rallies. Rumor has it that some want to take it as far as Azkaban, although that's really just extremists. But a lot of talk has been going around about punishing people who even associate with known advocates of the cause. I've heard they want to put a price on the Dark Lord's head."

"That's right," said Nott, nodding. "The Aurors are full out ready to wage war on the Dark Lord and his direct associates. The fanatics that are torturing and killing are targeting the people who are taking active measures to cripple the cause—like that Auror behind the Unforgivables and his family. They seem to think every single person who believes in the cause is one of those fanatics, and—"

"Unforgivables?" Peter asked, horrified. None of this had been in the Prophet.

"One of the Aurors tried to push use of the Unforgivables on—well, you know what they're calling them now?" Adrian asked. "The official followers of the Dark Lord, the ones who are actively furthering the cause—Death Eaters. They have to wear masks at rallies now, so the Aurors don't actually know who to target. And they're getting desperate to bring them in, so he tried to pass it off as though it was okay to use the Unforgivables before the things the Death Eaters warrant Azkaban and worse."

Juliet huffed out a breath. "Rather hypocritical, isn't it, calling us extremists when they condone the use of curses like that? Thanks to them, murder, torture, subjugation . . . they're all acceptable, just because of our beliefs. Because we want to make the world a better place? And what do they expect us to do when they're trying to kill us, not fight back?"

"Again," said Nott, "people like that think all Death Eaters are fanatics."

"Death Eaters," Peter repeated. "What a cheery name. Who came up with that one?"

"The Dark Lord himself," said Regulus, looking grim. "It's meant to be defiant, resilient. 'We won't die—our cause won't die.'"

They fell silent at that, taking it in. "Damn," Malik murmured after a moment. "It feels like it's all escalated out of nowhere. We've been so—sheltered from it all at Hogwarts. Stepping out into the real world to realize how serious this has become is . . ."

"So what do we do?" Peter asked. "None of us are . . . officially committed to the cause yet."

Nott looked at him. "It's only a matter of time," he said. "We don't need to wear the mask to be a part of the cause. We do what we've been doing. Try to be ready for when this does hit us in full, and in the meantime, try to keep our families safe."

"But we need to keep what we're doing secret, now more than ever," Anders said. "We're not just a study group anymore. This is illegal."

Peter tried to get his head around that. The moment he became official, he'd also become a criminal. But criminal was what the law enforcement always called revolutionaries. "The law," he said quietly, feeling every head turn to him, "isn't always what's right."

"'What's right,'" Evan laughed. "Spoken like a Gryffindor."

And the words made something inside Peter settle, because he was feeling more and more Slytherin, and he had never felt particularly Gryffindor, and hanging around James and Sirius and Remus didn't exactly help with that.

"What are you doing here?" Eireen said sharply, and Peter's head shot up in confusion until he realized Killian Greengrass was standing in the doorway, his dark gold head tilted up in defiance.

"I'm only a year younger than you," he said, scowling. He gaze lingered on Anders, and Peter remembered with a jolt that they were Housemates.

"You're smarter than that, Killian," Juliet admonished gently. She stood. "Come on." As she left, the others resumed their conversation, but Peter found himself staring after her. On a whim, he stood and slipped out of the room, unnoticed.

He saw Juliet turning a corner and hurried after her, following her and her brother through her ridiculously large house. When he finally caught up with her, she was waiting for him, Killian nowhere to be seen. She gestured to the door to their left, and he pushed it open to find a large bedroom.

The walls were painted a yellow more accurately called gold, but bright enough to be unmistakable for Gryffindor gold. There was a mural of a fierce-looking badger on the wall, and despite the clear Hufflepuff pride color scheme, the room somehow fit with the rest of the house—both modern and impossibly old, with centuries of history evident in its lines.

"Your room," he said wonderingly. "Did you paint the badger yourself?"

Juliet laughed. "No," she said. "I can't paint. That was Julian Diaval—Regulus's best mate. He did it for Eireen and Killian, too."

"I know who he is," Peter said. "Are their rooms just as strongly House pride as yours?"

She nodded, crossing the room and collapsing onto her bed. "You can sit," she invited, and when he did, she leveled him with a steady look. "So. You found us."

Peter nodded slowly. "I did," he agreed, and then his shoulders slumped. "Juliet . . . I manipulated someone to get here. Ever since joining this, I've discovered more and more Slytherin in me. Ambition, cunning—and I feel far more like a Slytherin than a Gryffindor, and while I no longer think that's a bad thing, I also don't—"

He sighed, taking a deep breath and trying again. "I admire the Slytherins. But I don't want to be one. All I've wanted since being Sorted first year is to feel like I belong in my House. And especially after today, it's really hard to believe that."

Juliet was quiet for a while, observing him, but Peter couldn't bring himself to return her gaze. He wondered what was going through her head. "Look, I'll be honest, Peter. I don't think you could ever have been Sorted into Slytherin. I think you're beyond a shadow of a doubt a Gryffindor. And Slytherins don't have a monopoly on ambition and cunning, you know. Just like Ravenclaws don't have a monopoly on intelligence, and Hufflepuffs don't have a monopoly on loyalty or perseverance, and Gryffindors don't have a monopoly on bravery.

"You want to know something Regulus said once? He said, 'Wanting is as common as dirt. Everybody has desires. But it's the drive to go after what you want until you achieve it that makes a Slytherin.' And I think that's what defines your House. You might have a quality, but unless it's your most dominant trait, the quality that makes you who you are and dictates your choices and actions, you don't belong to its House."

"And you're saying bravery dictates all my actions?" Peter asked doubtfully.

"Some of us are doing this because we want to change the world. Some of us believe in justice and working towards it. Some of us think the current system is unwise and needs to be bettered. Some of us just think it's the right thing to do. Almost the same sentiment, but not quite." Juliet leaned forward, catching his gaze.

"Peter, you're going against your friends for this, choosing to do what you personally believe is right and moral over loyalty to them, risking yourself in a way that takes enormous courage. I don't know what about that doesn't have Gryffindor written all over it."

Peter stared at her, some unidentifiable emotion clogging up his throat. He searched for words, and coming up at a loss, he finally settled on "thank you." And then something in the corner of the room caught his eye, and he let out an incredulous laugh.

"Is that—is that your Ancient Runes textbook?" She followed his gaze to where a thick book hung from the ceiling in a noose and let out a huff.

"Yes," she said reproachfully. "Don't give me that look. I'm surrounded by academic prodigies who have tried to tell me how simple it really is, starting with my siblings, but for some reason, as interested as I am in the bloody subject, its intricacies elude me."

Peter gave her a thoughtful look. "How fortunate," he said, giving her his Marauder's grin, mischief and charm lacing together inseparably, "that you just so happen to be speaking to an Ancient Runes expert."

She gave him a doubtful look. "That's what they all say. Hundreds have vowed to teach me its secrets. All have failed."

Peter grinned, saving the textbook from its noose. "Many a well-intentioned layman has failed where a Marauder has succeeded," he said airily. He paused before her, meeting her eyes. "Let me repay you for the therapy session I just forced on you."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Juliet grumbled. "You weren't even invited here."

Peter drew back at that, hurt. He turned to leave, but she caught at his arm, rolling her eyes. "For Helga's sake, Peter, I don't know why you have this crippling insecurity that you are somehow lesser than your idiot Gryffindor friends, but I'll have you know you're my personal favorite Marauder and I might even enjoy your company. Though I'm loathe to admit it, you could learn a lesson from their arrogant, self-obsessed selves. Sit down."

Peter looked at her speechlessly for several moments coming to his senses. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he said, and he sat.

"Keep it down," Remus murmured, glancing at his friends. There was something off about all of them, though he couldn't put his figure on precisely what it was. He supposed the current political milieu was enough to make anyone seem off.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him, and Remus rolled his shoulders, feeling the strain of the moon already pulling at him. "My parents don't exactly know that you know," he muttered. "And I think they'd have heart attacks if they found out you guys are Animagi. Not to mention they'd probably tell your parents, too."

Sirius looked amused at that. "Oh, they're welcome to tell mine."

Remus rolled his eyes. "All right, out, all of you. My parents will be down at any minute to make sure I'm okay before tonight, and if they catch you—"

The staircase creaked, and the four of them stiffened at once. "Moony," James said slowly, his eyes fixed on something above Remus's shoulder, "I hate to say this, but it's too late."

Closing his eyes, Remus reluctantly turned to find his mother's horrified face staring at the four of them. A moment later, they were joined by his father, who took in the scene slowly.

"Remus," he said carefully, his voice tense and controlled, "you know you'll be busy tonight. You can't have your . . . friends over."

Remus was silent for several long moments, wondering how he was supposed to respond to that, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was a laugh. As five heads swiveled towards him incredulously, Remus wondered how things had managed to come to this point and laughed again.

"You've never even formally met, have you?" he asked in amazement. "Merlin. Mum, Dad, this is James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew.

"I—we've heard a lot about you all," his mother said, offering them a warm smile before turning back to Remus warily. "Remus—"

"Mum," he said tiredly. "Dad. They know."

His father's hand twitched towards his wand, and Remus's eyes went to him, watching as a dozen emotions tracked their way across his face before his expression smoothened itself out. "They know," he repeated carefully.

Remus's shoulders slumped slightly. He just wanted this whole thing over with. Thankfully, James stepped up, placing a bracing hand on Remus's shoulder. "Yes," he said firmly, "we know Remus is a werewolf. We have known," he continued, raising his voice as Remus's father made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, "since second year. It's a secret that we've kept for many years, and it's a secret that we'll protect for the rest of our lives.

"I understand Remus didn't tell you that we knew because he didn't want to worry you, and I hope you know that you've got no cause to worry now. Remus is like a brother to us. I know how lucky I am. Not many people are fortunate enough to have a friend like him, and I swear to you that neither I nor anyone else here will ever betray that friendship. You have an incredible son, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin, and his furry little problem doesn't change that."

Remus's mother choked out a laugh at that, staring at James with tears in her eyes. "You're an incredible young man, James," she said softly. She looked at Sirius and Peter. "All of you."

Remus father spoke up from behind them. "As glad as I am that Remus has friends like you, you really must be going now. It's getting dangerously close to—"

"There's no need for that," James said firmly, glancing at Remus to make sure it was all right. Remus nodded, only half coherent from the pain already cracking its way across his skull. Sirius slipped Remus's arm over his shoulder and lent him support, his movements belying years of habit.

"You see, we figured out a solution to make his nights easier," James said. He paused. "We are all consenting adults, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. Can I have your word that not a word of this will ever escape this room?"

After hesitating for a beat, they exchanged glances and nodded. James took a breath, saying it aloud for the first time to someone who wasn't a Marauder. It felt strange to be spilling their best kept and most dangerous secret.

"We're Animagi," he said, and he watched as the confession slackened their mouths and creased their brows. He continued before they could speak, taking advantage of their stunned reactions. "We knew animals make the wolf . . . calmer. Give him company and help relieve his pain. We thought it Remus had people to play with, he wouldn't have to attack himself instead."

He nodded at Peter, and within seconds, Peter had vanished. In his place stood a rat. James turned back to the Lupins to find that they were still speechless.

Finally, Remus's father managed to speak, giving his son a look of wonder. "I never before thought I'd have cause to call you lucky," he said softly, "but you've a rare thing in these boys, Remus."

Remus looked up from where he was leaning against Sirius, smiling faintly. "Really?" he said, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I've always thought I'm more blessed than I could ever hope to deserve."

"Want to head to the bar again today?" James asked Sirius cautiously.

Sirius looked up at that. "No," he said. "I just want—let's just spend one day like everything's normal again."

James smiled. "All right," he agreed. "Quidditch?"

It was the most fun they had had in ages. "Merlin," James said as they made their way inside again after several hours of mindless fun. "What a summer it's been already. Wish Remus and Peter were here."

Sirius nodded his agreement. "I still can't believe the whole Remus thing," he muttered.

James grinned. "I'd say we did fairly well with his parents, as far as first impressions go—wouldn't you?"

Sirius's answering bark of laughter broadened his grin, and he hefted his broom contentedly. As he neared the house, however, the smile slipped off his face and his brows furrowed. "Who's that?"

Sirius followed his gaze to the front door, where a pair of men in Auror robes were speaking to James's mum. "Let's find out," James said, and they picked up their pace. When they were within earshot, James called, "Mum, what's going on?"

The Aurors turned, and James had a split second to process his mother's horrible expression before he heard, "Your father's been killed, Mr. Potter."

Faintly, James felt the broomstick slide out of his grip and to the ground. "What?" he heard himself ask, and it was as if someone else was controlling his body as the Aurors explained that Charlus Potter had been killed in an Auror raid on one of the Dark Lord's ralleys.

"We have yet to apprehend the killer," they were explaining, but James could hardly hear anything over the ringing in his ears. He only caught snippets of the conversation. "Very sorry . . . service to the Aurors . . . highest honors . . . funeral . . ."

His vision began to blur, and James had the vague notion that he was leaving the room, and then everything went sideways and the world collided into him, hard. After a moment, he felt something warm and solid pressing against his side, and wordless, he turned his face into Sirius's shoulder and cried.

"Couldn't sleep?" a familiar voice asked, and Lily turned in surprise to find Petunia standing behind her. Tuny came closer, seating herself beside Lily and tilting her head back to look up at the stars. "Me neither," she said quietly, before glancing over at Lily. "We haven't really gotten a chance to speak yet."

"You're always busy," Lily said dully. "Never home."

Petunia shrugged. "I don't live in two worlds. My world is always here, even in the summer. It doesn't stop." She looked over at Lily again. "I got your letter."

"I know," Lily sighed. "You didn't say anything about it."

Petunia was quiet for a while, and just when Lily thought she wasn't going to say anything about it, she said, "I didn't know what to say. How to say what I—" She broke off, frowning. "That's a lie. I just—why would you ever want to acknowledge something like this aloud? Especially after I wrote that letter to Dumbledore and had my feelings practically spat back in my face. At least, that's what it felt like at the time."

Lily waited patiently for Petunia to start making sense, avoiding her gaze. "Lily," Petunia started again, clearly struggling, "I have been jealous of you for so long." Lily looked up at that, and Petunia shrugged again, looking stiff and uncomfortable. "Nothing I ever do can compare in Mum and Dad's eyes. You've surpassed anything I could ever achieve just by being who you are. And nothing I ever experience can compare to the things you'll get to. Do you know what it's like, to know that magic exists and not be able to truly experience any of it? I'd rather not know at all."

"Petunia," Lily said softly, turning to face her sister, "Mum and Dad taught you how to drive. They got to know all of your friends. They got to see you grow up. Do you understand, Tuny? You think you have nothing that could compare to my world? You have memories. Mum and Dad are a part of your entire life. They know you. Sometimes I feel like a stranger in this house."

Petunia was silent again for a long time. Lily didn't know how much time had passed when Petunia suddenly said, "If you want us to know, all you have to do is tell us." She said it without looking at Lily, but Lily couldn't help the large smile that made its way onto her face.

From Petunia, that was more than just an olive branch. From Petunia, it sounded more like a confession than an offer. So Lily leaned back, thought of everything that had happened to her over the last six years, and began to tell her sister everything.

Sirius couldn't wrap his head around how sudden it had been. He had never even entertained the idea that Mr. Potter might be killed. He and James had been hearing accounts of how dangerous things were getting almost daily at the bar, and Sirius was under no delusions that people wouldn't die. As he had told James, he knew firsthand how dangerous people from his family's world could be.

But he had still never considered the fact that the person dying might be James's father. There were very few people in the world that Sirius truly loved, and the Potters were some of them.

He knew it had to be worse for James. James had had the support and love of his parents for all his life, and he had lived a very happy, carefree existence. To lose that without warning . . .

And Dorea Potter had been married to her husband for the better part of her life. To be left suddenly alone now, and like this—it was a death that could have been avoided. It made Sirius want to hunt down every worthless member of that disgusting hate movement and make them suffer.

The moment he had the thought, Sirius wanted to break something. James's words that day in the bar had left something hateful and unsettled inside him, and ever since every violent thought he had made him question how much of him was Black and how much was Gryffindor.

Sirius cared very little about the opinion of most people—even Remus or Peter's disapproval only nettled slightly. But he couldn't handle James's low opinion. Still, he'd give anything for James to at least be present enough to yell at him about it.

James had been less there than Binns or Nearly Headless Nick over the last few days. He didn't look at Sirius, he didn't talk to Sirius, and even now, as Sirius stared out his bedroom window and tried desperately not to think, James was downstairs somewhere doing Merlin knew what.

Sirius hated the fact that he was doing—could do—nothing. Inaction had never rested well on him, and it was at war with his desire to not make things worse for James by doing something rash. James had spent years putting Sirius back together when he didn't think he could recover, and he had never needed the same in return.

Sirius didn't know how to do it, now that he did.

But James deserved far more than that.

He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, making his way downstairs without any idea of what he would do when he got there. Whenn he reached the entryway to the drawing room, however, he stopped short at the sight before him, all the words that had been clawing their way up his throat dying in ascent.

James and his mother were sitting before the fire, heads bent over a photo album. Sirius watched in amazement as James gestured to one of the photos, his voice too low for Sirius to catch the words, and managed to steal a laugh from Mrs. Potter. James cracked a faint grin at that, and although it was a poor imitation of his real smile, for a moment, Sirius could picture James in the future, James healed.

Sirius knew he should feel relief at the sight, but something else burrowed itself in his insides—something ugly and poisonous. He looked away, clenching his jaw and desperately trying not to care.

It was the first time he had ever felt like an intruder in the Potter home. He turned, intending to slip away quietly, but James's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Sirius? How long have you been there?"

Sirius turned back slowly, guilt washing over him when he saw the understanding in Mrs. Potter's eyes. "Sirius," she said gently, and she extended a hand to him. "You're his son, too."

Somehow, the burning in his throat intensified, and Sirius went to them, carefully taking a seat on Mrs. Potter's other side. James pushed the album at him. "Look," he said, "it's the time we tried to slide down the banister on serving trays and he caught us—"

"—and we thought he was going to yell at us until he taught us the cushioning charm and told us if he were any younger he'd join us," Sirius finished, watching as the photo Mr. Potter said something that sent the photo James and Sirius doubling over each other with laughter.

He felt a steady weight settle onto his shoulder as Mrs. Potter gave it a comforting squeeze, and Sirius glanced up to find James already watching him.

He didn't smile, but Sirius felt better all the same.

Lily couldn't sleep.

This was not anything out of the ordinary. She had been having trouble sleeping for weeks, almost since the beginning of summer. But normally she could take up a book and bully herself into unconsciousness for at least a few hours of the night.

But now she couldn't escape her own life if she tried.

James's father is dead.

It was almost beyond comprehension. Lily knew it was true—it wasn't a thing someone would joke about—but the words almost had no meaning in their unfathomability. Lily had never been faced with death in her life. She couldn't appreciate the concept.

How could someone be there and gone, without warning?

It had all escalated so quickly. Lily had been snatching up any news she could obtain on the current events of the wizarding world. She knew the political atmosphere was tenser than ever. From Marlene and Hestia's letters, she knew real conflict had broken out. The Aurors were supposedly performing raids on the blood purist movement's ralleys.

In all of this, it had never occurred to her that the conflict might touch people she knew. She didn't know if it was her separation from the events grace à living in the Muggle world or if it was just as jarring for her friends, but she couldn't imagine what James was going through.

James Potter was arrogant and a bully, but he did not deserve the death of his father. Lily tried to imagine what it would feel like to have her father ripped away from her. Fathers were meant to see their children grow up.

His wouldn't even see him graduate.

Lily sat up, letting the sheets fall to her waist and scrubbing at her face with her hands. Lily was used to having all the answers. She liked surety, being certain of herself in whatever she was doing. Now it felt like all her thoughts began with what and ended with question marks.

She had asked her friends time and again what the movement was really about—they all said the same thing: elitism, blood supremacy, Slytherin prejudice. But every answer she got sounded like a different variation of I don't know.

Inexplicably, Lily wished she could sneak into Severus's bedroom the way she had when they were younger. He probably knew more about what was happening than anyone. He could tell her if her family was in danger, or if the violence was mostly contained to the wizarding world—to Ministry officials and Slytherins.

He could tell her that it would be all right. Lily had always been the daring one of the two of them—the first to approach a group of new people, the one who could make other people like her and respect her. But Severus had had the sort of sharp intellect that made him dangerous and formidable, and a way of looking at her that made her feel safe.

He might have been taken apart and stripped down ruthlessly by the Marauders, but Lily knew better than to think that the cowed Severus, the lying helpless at the feet of four bullies Severus was the only Severus that existed.

A memory rose to the forefront of her mind, unbidden: Severus showing up at her doorstep, bruised and beaten and battered, avoiding her gaze to hide not fear or shame but a desperate sort of fury. Severus refusing to tell her what had happened. Severus showing up at her window later that night, something dark and grim gleaming in his eyes when he met hers. Severus, offering only one explanation: "I took care of it."

Lily remembered how she was supposed to be the brave one, but he made her feel safe. A sudden movement outside caught her eye, and Lily grabbed her wand off the nightstand and went to the window. She didn't remember when she'd taken to sleeping with her wand at the ready, but she'd been on edge all summer and when she'd lost the Trace, it had seemed almost like an invitation—protect yourself, Lily, even the law is on your side.

But to her shock, it was only Severus, making his way soundlessly across the street. He was dressed in muggle clothing, black hood pulled up over dark jeans, but even with his back to her she recognized the way he walked, the slightly hunched but firm set of his shoulders.

She caught her breath as he was joined by another two figures—tall, dark, and probably Slytherin. She watched in disbelief as the trio paused there, discussing something seriously, and she felt inexplicably angry all of a sudden.

One of the three gestured in the direction of her house, and Severus made a threatening motion towards them, and the other two threw their heads back—she though they were having a fit before she realized they were laughing, and then the anger inside of her was warring with fear.

They separated, and by the time Severus had crossed the road again, they were gone. Before Lily could think about what she was doing, she had shoved the window open and was crawling through it. She caught up to Severus before he reached his house and snarled, "How dare you."

He whirled, only to find her wand in his face. For a moment, he just stared, incredulous, and Lily was suddenly aware of how ridiculous she must look, out of breath and wearing bright yellow pyjamas. "How dare you," she repeated, her voice shaking, "bring those bastards here."

He recovered from his surprise quickly and met her glare with a disdainful look. "I don't see what business it is of yours what me and my friends do—"

"Your 'friends,'" Lily laughed. "You mean those brainless bigots—"

His eyes narrowed. "You don't even know who they were."

"They were Slytherin, weren't they?"

He gave her a pitying look, and the condescension in it made her want to hit him. "What do you want, Lily?" he asked flatly.

Lily couldn't believe that he had the nerve to treat her like this after everything that he had done to her. Had all his apologies been lies? What right did he have to be annoyed with her?

"I want your disgusting friends to stay away from my family," Lily said coldly. "What is wrong with you, that you don't even feel the slightest bit of guilt over the fact that you've brought Muggle-hating murderers across the street from my house?"

"Murderers?" he repeated disbelievingly. "They're still in school, Lily, who do you think we've been murdering?"

"James Potter's father, for one," Lily snapped, and he drew back in alarm.

He stood there for a few moments, speechless, before stepping forward again. "We had nothing to do with that," he said angrily.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Severus," Lily said reprovingly. "You and your lot are always caught up in all this blood purism rubbish—if not you, then your families—"

He flinched at that, and then immediately looked furious about it. "My family," he repeated, derisive. "Would this be my abusive Muggle father or my passive, neglectful ghost of a mother who's supposedly going around fighting to give me a better future?"

Even through her anger, Lily had the sense to feel ashamed at her carelessness with the matter of his family. The words had to have hurt him as much as the word mudblood thrown at her had. "What do you mean, a better future?" she asked quietly.

Severus took a step toward her. "Look around, Lily," he said intently, but he didn't take his eyes off her and she didn't look away from his gaze. He took another step, until he was close enough to touch her. His hands stayed carefully at his sides.

"Do you remember," he said quietly, "when we first met? And you were terrified because you didn't know what was happening to you, and all you knew was that you had to keep it a secret or else, except you didn't know how to control it and when you told your sister she was scared and hateful—"

"I'm sorry for bringing up your family," Lily cut in, "but you needn't bring up mine just to get back at me—"

"That's not what I'm doing," he said impatiently. "Just listen. You were lucky because you had me." She didn't disagree with this. "I taught you who you are. I taught you to not be afraid of it. And when you got to Hogwarts, you weren't as overwhelmed trying to catch up on the fundamentals of a world everybody else had grown up in."

He paused, just looking at her, and for a moment all Lily wanted was to close the distance between them.

She didn't.

"Isn't it lonely?" he said quietly. "Being here, separate from the rest of the world?"

It was. Lily scowled. "I have my family," she said. "Tuny is speaking to me again now."

He gave her a bitter smile. "For how long? She'll never stop being resentful of our world, Lily, and our world is all over you. Who we are is not something that we should have to suffer for. Don't you believe that, too? You're a Muggleborn—how could you not?"

Lily wasn't used to feeling out of her depth intellectually, but she couldn't fathom where she had lost the threads of logic and allowed him to present blood supremacy to her in these inarguable terms. Because that was what he had done, wasn't it? She wasn't even sure anymore.

She opened her mouth, but he spoke before she could. "Lily, you know how I grew up. That house—it choked the life out of me. Magic was my only escape from it all, and I wanted so badly to show it to you, but even then we had to be so careful. And then I came to Hogwarts and thought everything would be different, and we were Sorted differently and I thought I would be alone all over again."

"Our Sorting is not what brought us to this point—" Lily began, and the look he gave her was almost tragic.

"But it was," he said. "I've never been naïve, not even then, but Hogwarts was a hope I'd clung to all my life as my salvation and I was desperate for it to be proven everything I had dreamt it to be. And you thought James Potter and his prejudiced, bullying gang were vile and my Housemates told me we were family now and that wherever we came from, where we were going would be entirely in our hands—would be better.

"Do you understand, Lily? Slytherin saved me. I have become stronger, better. I've gained people who won't let me be alone—not when my father decides to come back from wherever his long absences take him, and not when James Potter decides he needs a target to get out his aggression on.

"You look at Avery and Mulciber and you see the worst of them, the worst of Slytherin—the parts that are just as cruel as the Marauders. But you don't see the parts of them that took a beating for a friend, or signed away their lives to protect their families. And believe me, Avery and Mulciber are not the only two people in all of Slytherin."

"They enjoy it," Lily said flatly. "They're sadistic."

"Sirius Black enjoys cruelty, too," Severus said in frustration. "You're not listening to me. That has nothing to do with Slytherin and everything to do with the individual. Some people are made like that. But one quality is never all of a person, even a quality as heinous as that. Lily, you grew up spoiled and loved. But place a man in different circumstances, premises that force him to survive, and you'll find that he can sport all manner of dark and terrifying tendencies."

"Do you have a point, Severus?" she asked tiredly. "Because I've heard this 'Slytherins are good' speech dozens of times from you, and I think just now you excused sadism as a product of humanity."

"I didn't excuse anything," he snapped. "All I said was people are as much nurture as nature, and you'd be an arrogant fool to think you might not be the same if you had been put through the same experiences. My point is that we are not killers looking for our next target, so you can stop looking for reasons to attack me."

Lily finally looked away at that. "All right," she said, taking a few steps back. He turned to leave, but she lingered, something still bothering her. "So maybe this whole thing is about some perverted, 'noble' version of blood supremacy. Maybe all these 'revolutionaries' think they're carrying out the vision of Merlin or something. But why kill Mr. Potter? How does that contribute to a better world?"

Severus turned back. "Mr. Potter was not murdered," he said. "He was killed in battle, as Aurors often are. If you were being attacked, wouldn't you defend yourself?" He didn't wait for her reply. Before Lily could do much more than process the words, he was gone, leaving Lily staring after him, more confused than ever.

"Protego maxima. Fianto duri," Lily murmured, building up the wards around her house. She would take no chances. She still wasn't certain how Severus had managed to make his argument so compelling—how did one convince a Muggleborn of blood supremacy?

But she knew the words had a conviction born of conviction; a compulsion that came of quoting a man far more eloquent and charismatic than most people could endure. Whoever the Dark Lord was, he was a stunning orator.

The only way to guard against it was to remember Mr. Potter, and try not to wonder. She was a Gryffindor—she had to first and foremost think about what was noble, what was honorable, and nothing about the death of an Auror said honorable, murder or otherwise.

"What are you doing?"

Lily turned to find Petunia frowning at her. "I thought you don't use magic outside of school?"

"I'm seventeen," Lily answered, shrugging. "I can do whatever I want."

"But why?"

Lily hesitated before deciding to tell Petunia the truth. Their new cordiality was too fragile to risk breaking with lies. "The wizarding world is in turmoil right now," she said quietly. "Things are getting dangerous." She began to explain, telling Petunia the most concise version of events.

When she was done, Petunia was stiff, looking at her with undisguised anger. Lily's brow furrowed. "What?"

"You're putting us in danger," Petunia said slowly. "Do Mum and Dad even know?"

". . . no," Lily said awkwardly, "but—"

"And you don't you they have the right to know that their daughter is risking their lives? Don't you think that I had a right to know?"

"But—"

"No, forget it," Petunia snapped. "I can't believe I thought you seriously cared about us enough to try and share your world with us. You're so selfish, Lily."

"Petunia—"

"Don't!" Before Lily could say another word, Petunia had stormed off. Lily stared after her, and Severus's words came back to her. For how long? She'll never stop being resentful of our world.

Lily tightened her grip on her wand, and as the last straws of the tenuous relationship she had salvaged with her sister slipped through her fingers, Lily bent her head and continued warding her house.

"Yours is heavier than usual," Sirius remarked, hefting the package before tossing to James.

"Probably just my Quidditch Captain badge," James said dismissively, opening the envelope with unusual care. He glanced inside, frowned, and opened the envelope wider to peer at its contents in alarm.

Sirius's brow furrowed. "What is it?" he asked warily.

"They accidentally put the Head Boy badge in here, too," James said incredulously. Sirius looked at him blankly before doubling over in laughter. After a moment, James joined in, looking more animated than he'd been all summer.

"Must've meant it for Remus and accidentally sent it to you," Sirius said, grinning. He reached into the envelope and snatched up the letter inside. "Congrats on captaincy . . . book list . . ." he muttered, casting them aside as he went, and then he paused. ". . . congratulations to Mr. James Potter on being selected for the position of Head Boy?"

"What?" James seized the letter from Sirius's grasp, eyes scanning the print rapidly. When he was done, he looked up at Sirius. "Is this Dumbledore's idea of a joke?"

Sirius watched him, considering. "Do you want it?"

James opened his mouth to object—he would have scoffed at the idea the previous summer—but something stopped him. ". . . yeah, I do, actually," he said after a moment. "It's one more thing to keep me busy, isn't it?"

"You can take points off Snivelly now."

James gave him an exasperated look, and Sirius grimaced. "Stop that. You look like Moony. If this position makes you—"

James shoved him. "I don't know why they gave it to me over Moony, but if they have, I'm not going to neglect it. It was fun to watch Moony abuse his position a little when we were younger, but things have changed. Before playing pranks, hexing Slytherins—it lightened the mood. Now, in light of everything that's happened—it just seems obscene."

James brushed his fingers over the badge. "Besides . . . I think Dad would've been proud."

Who wouldn't be? Sirius thought, but all he said was, "Yeah. He would've been."

"Do you ever think they favor Gryffindor?"

Whatever he had expected Peter to say when he saw the badge, it wasn't that. James studied the serious set of Peter's features, the way his gaze was steady and his shoulders were straight. He didn't know why there seemed to be such a vast difference between sixteen and seventeen, but that summer had somehow aged them all, and when their sixth-year selves seemed unexpectedly childish in retrospect.

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked, his eyes narrowing on Peter. Peter looked unfazed by the expression.

"I mean that James now holds two positions of leadership, and he got Head Boy with an abysmal record of disciplinary issues and without previously having held the post of Prefect. You're telling me there's no one else in all of Hogwarts they could have chosen for the position? I'd have thought Prongs wouldn't even want this, considering how much you ribbed Moony for it two years ago."

James shrugged. "He has a point," he said carelessly. "Do you think Moony will mind?"

Sirius hesitated. "I think it makes sense that you'd get it over him," he said after a beat. "Head Boy is far more of a leadership role than Prefect, and Moony's the sort to let things go. You aren't. He's too easygoing for the role. Besides, he isn't the jealous sort."

As if on cue, Remus strolled into the compartment, letting Sirius help shove his trunk onto the rack above them before collapsing onto the seat next to Peter. "What took you so long?" Peter asked him as the train began to move.

Remus stretched, and James noted that he had somehow grown even taller—he was now taller than Sirius by a solid few inches. "Nothing," he muttered. "It's unimportant. Bloody hell, I've got to go to the stupid Prefect meeting now, haven't I?"

Wincing slightly, he got back to his feet, eyeing James strangely when he stood as well. "What are you doing?"

Running a hand through his hair, James showed him the badge, feeling a bit sheepish. Remus stared at it for a moment before letting out a disbelieving laugh. "Well, at least you'll be working alongside Lily for the whole year, right?"

James blinked. "What?"

Remus shoved the compartment door open and gestured for James to go ahead of him. "You didn't know?" he said conversationally as he slid the door shut behind him. "She's Head Girl."

James didn't know how to take that. He knew he should have expected it—Lily was one of the smartest witches in their year, and she was well-liked almost universally. She had done an excellent job as Prefect, and was the right mix of authoritative and friendly—with everyone except him, that was.

He had done his best to avoid Lily ever since that disastrous argument at the end of fifth year, when Lily had made it clear that she had a very low opinion of James. And James liked and admired Lily quite a lot, but he had enough pride to stop throwing himself at her feet for her to step all over. He knew when to quit, and he was done giving her unwanted attention.

But it would have been a lot easier to give her space and ignore the urge to ask her out if he wasn't going to be forced to spend hours with her performing their Head duties. Ignoring Remus's discerning gaze, he slid the Prefect compartment door open, pausing in the entrance when he saw Lily shuffling a sheaf of parchments.

She looked up when she heard the door slide open, a smile on her face. "Potter," she said in surprise. "Ah—I was sorry to hear about your father. He was a brave man."

"He was," James agreed, unsure of what else to say.

Lily looked at him awkwardly, waiting for him to say something else, and when he didn't, she looked to Remus, her smile automatically warming. "Hi, Remus. Are you Head Boy, then? I hoped it'd be you. Come in—I was waiting for you to show up so we could go over a few things before the meeting started."

Remus restrained a smile. "It's good to see you, Lily. Congrats on Head Girl—but I'm actually not Head Boy. James is."

Lily stared. ". . . come again?"

James ruffled his hair, putting his hand down abruptly when he noticed Lily following the motion with a slightly displeased look. "Dumbledore appointed me Head Boy," he told her, finally pinning to badge to her chest. "See?"

Remus glanced between the two of them before quietly slipping out of the compartment, and James tried not to fidget under Lily's stare. He hadn't felt this uncomfortable in a long time. "Why?" Lily said finally, fixing him with an unreadable look. "Why you?" Her eyes narrowed. "Potter, if this is some strange way of attempting to ask me out again—"

"I'm not asking you out, Evans," James said quietly. "I don't know why they decided I'd be a good candidate for this after the way I've spent the last six years, but they did. It has nothing to do with you."

Lily's expression didn't change. "Look, Potter—I know you don't take the rules seriously and you think people who do are boring or swotty or whatever. But being Head Girl is important to me, and I intend to take it seriously—"

"Hey," James interrupted, feeling irritated for the first time. "Stop. I know your opinion of me is ridiculously low, Evans, but I don't intend to ruin this or approach it irresponsibly or whatever you seem to think I'll do. When I do something, I do it well. And whatever you think of me being given this position, it's not for you to question McGongall and Dumbledore's judgment in giving it to me, so I'd thank you to keep your feelings about it to yourself. And rest assured, I have absolutely no intention of asking you out again."

Lily stared at him, clearly taken aback, and after a moment, she nodded, some unidentifiable emotion crossing her face before she schooled her expression into something more neutral. "All right," she said, carefully polite. She pushed the sheaf of parchment at him. "So I was thinking . . ."

And as they set to work detailing the patrol schedule, James felt the numb depression of the last months recede as determination took its place. Summer was over.

The year had begun.