Selcouth

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/49107412.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Remus
Lupin, Marlene McKinnon, Regulus Black, Mary Macdonald (Harry
Potter), Severus Snape, Narcissa Black, Bellatrix Black Lestrange,
Andromeda Black Tonks, Harry Potter
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Slytherin James Potter,
Slytherin Sirius Black, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships,
Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Sirius & James Are Blood
Supremacists, At Least Until Their Character Development, Time Travel,
Time Travel Fix-It, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Obsession,
Implied/Referenced Torture, Psychological Torture, Mild Blood, Angst
and Romance, POV Multiple, Slow Build, Mild Sexual Content, Minor
Character Death
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-08-04 Updated: 2024-08-12 Words: 76,413 Chapters:
22/?
 Selcouth
by piziels

Summary

What if James Potter, against all expectations, found himself sorted into Slytherin?

Notes

Warning: If you have a certain 'image' of James and Sirius in your head, and you do not want
that to disappear somehow, do not, and I repeat, do not read this. It is going to be a long,
painful journey (if I continue to write this) from year one to year seven, and we will get to see
the Black and Potter families up close and in person like we have never seen them before.
Please read the tags carefully before you start.

Reader discretion is advised.

English is not my first language, so you're going to have bare with me here.
 Prologue: Act Like It
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
JAMES
September, 1971
Euphemia Potter was like a long, harsh winter personified.

Her existence seemed to suck the warmth out of any room, leaving a chill that settled deep
into your bones.

It wasn’t just her cold stares or the way her voice could cut through the noise like a knife
through butter; it was something deeper, something that hinted at a lifetime of surviving
harsh, unforgiving climates.

Her laughter, on the rare occasions it broke free, had the quality of ice cracking on a frozen
lake—unexpected and startling.

People often whispered she had poison running through her veins instead of blood, a claim
her pale, almost translucent skin did little to dispel.

Fleamont Potter, on the other hand, carried the spirit of autumn's final, bittersweet days.

Leaves didn’t just fall in his wake; they seemed to wither, turning a sickly grey as if fearing
his touch. Around him, the air thickened, heavy with the scent of rot and the promise of an
unforgiving man who had way too much power, but not enough time to yield it.

Being near his father, James often felt like he was slowly fading away, losing his spark, and
shrinking inside.

For Fleamont's existence diminished him, whispering silently that he never truly belonged,
that he was lesser, unworthy of the name Potter.

His parents were pillars of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight,' an elite assembly of British wizarding
families that prided themselves on their pure-blood heritage.

James, though unknowingly, or rather unwillingly, had become a part of it all, and was one of
its 'prominent' heirs, alongside a few.

"Sirius!" Walburga Black sneered, her grip firm as she yanked down on his friend's pristine
white collar. "I explicitly told you to cease your incessant fidgeting!"

Sirius Black, one of those 'prominent' heirs, now wore a sullen pout.

"Once you are sorted into Slytherin," Euphemia gently reminded them. "Make sure to sit with
Sirius's cousins. They will help the two of you settle into your classes smoothly."

"But I don't like them," Sirius complained, trying to escape Walburga's iron grip as she led
him to the train. "I don't want to sit next to them!"

With every word he spoke, Sirius carried a distinct accent, a remnant of the years spent
speaking French.
There was a rhythm to his speech, a melodious quality that made the simplest phrases sound
enchanting, even when he was just complaining about his family.

The calm of the moment was abruptly broken by the train’s whistle, commanding attention.

Euphemia Potter’s gaze was firm as she fixed her eyes on James. “Look at me,” she insisted.
"Remember who you are. You are a Potter. There is no one more esteemed, no one more
influential. Act like it."

James's head bobbed in a well-practised nod, his body responding before his mind had the
chance to catch up.

"You will get sorted into Slytherin," Euphemia reiterated.

The sudden contact of her fingers on his shoulder sent a shockwave of cold through James, a
cold that seemed to seep deeper than skin, into his very bones.

"You will get sorted into Slytherin, James."

The tightening grip elicited a wince, but he tried his best to hide it.

"I will," he whispered, the words barely escaping him. "I promise."

Euphemia's behaviour softened as swiftly as it had hardened, her smile reappearing as though
it had never left. "Good," she said, the warmth in her voice almost convincing. "Now, go and
find Sirius."

It hadn't been that easy, finding Sirius.

The train carriages were crammed with all sorts of students.

There were the seasoned upperclassmen, the wide-eyed second-years, and a few his own age,
all buzzing with an infectious energy. He was convinced most of them must be those daft
Hufflepuffs, and more often than not, he turned out to be right. Their distinctive yellow
jumpers, sunflowers gracing their hair, and wrists adorned with bracelets were unmistakable
identifiers. Not to mention those pretentious Ravenclaws, always with their noses buried in
books, as if the world around them didn't exist.

But it was the Gryffindors he was wary of—thankfully, few in number today.

His mother had tirelessly instilled in him the belief that those adorned with the lion's crest
were nothing more than bothersome pests.

This hatred for them had settled deep within him, maturing into a profound loathing that felt
as much a part of him as his own flesh.
"Oi," Sirius called out, waving to him from the end of the corridor. "Found one."

"Why is it all the way at the back?" James grumbled, trudging towards Sirius. "Where are
Cissy and Bella?"

"Dunno," Sirius shrugged, sounding like he couldn't be bothered about them.

Nearing the compartment, a whiny voice pierced their conversation. "No! That one's chock-
full," it announced, making James pause mid-step, his hand just shy of the compartment door.

Sirius peeked into the compartment, his nose pressed against the glass in a manner that was
slightly alarming, likely unsettling anyone on the inside. He smeared his face against the
window, then pulled back to say, "Just one person in there," after a brief second look. "A girl,
I reckon."

"She's with me," the voice protested, now revealing a figure in tattered black clothes. Well, he
wasn't exactly easy on the eyes. His nose, sharp and angular, dominated his face like a
mountain peak piercing the clouds. "She needs quiet," the boy added. "Not a fan of
company."

James, taking after Sirius these days, couldn’t care less.

"Too bad," he replied flatly. "Looks like she's getting company anyway."

"Sirius?" Another voice rang out, high-pitched and distinctive. Ah, that had to be Narcissa.
Only someone like her could possess such a pleasant quality in her voice.

Narcissa Black had always been the loveliest among the Black sisters, at least in his opinion.
There was this delicate grace about her that brought to mind blooming roses, the sun peeking
through clouds, or the gentle flutter of a butterfly's wings.

"James?" Narcissa's question was gentle as she approached, her steps cautious. "Where have
you two been? Bella thought you had run off." She cast a disdainful look, a trademark
expression of the Black family—a raised brow accompanied by a scornful scowl—in Sirius's
direction before adding, "Come, our compartment is this way, right at the very front."

Following Narcissa felt instinctual, like being guided back to familiar ground. He noticed, not
for the first time, how the sea of students parted for the blonde, granting her a path with
unspoken deference. It was as though she walked in a bubble of respect that none dared to
pop.

Yet, Bellatrix Black seemed immune to her sister's charm.

"Where have you been?" Bellatrix's tone was harsh, her eyes flitting between James and
Sirius with an intensity that could stop a clock.

"In a random compartment down the corridor," Narcissa replied nonchalantly. She settled
down beside Lucius Malfoy, the newest member of their intimate circle, and, quite possibly,
the most recent addition to Sirius's eccentric family.
Andromeda Black gestured for them to sit beside her. She leaned in, her whisper a subtle
nudge. "Feeling nervous, boys?"

"Me? Nervous?" Sirius's dismissal was as flamboyant as it was swift.

"They don't need to be," Bellatrix drawled. "Do you honestly believe that a son of the Potter
and Black families could be sorted into any house other than Slytherin?"

"Bella, give 'em a break," Narcissa said. "They seem anxious as it is."

"I am not nervous!" Sirius yelled, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Of course, you aren't," Lucius retorted, playfully rolling his eyes and sharing a quick wink
with Narcissa, who responded with a giggling flourish.

Trying to focus on Lucius's words became increasingly difficult as found himself adrift in his
thoughts, his mother’s words a relentless echo.

Remember who you are. You are a Potter. Act like it.

Act like it.

Act like it, James.

He repeated the incantation under his breath, allowing each syllable, each curve and contour
of every letter, to etch itself into his senses. His hope was that the bitter taste of that wretched
chant would linger on his tongue, refusing to fade away.

The Sorting Hat hovered over his head for a mere two seconds before decisively placing him
in Slytherin.

He hadn't anticipated how swift, painless, and uncomplicated this would be—a bit like
ripping off a band-aid.

The words of congratulations and welcome washed over him, their significance muffled by
the weariness of the train journey and the weight of numerous inquisitive eyes now fixed
upon him, assessing, judging.

"See? Easy," Narcissa beamed as he joined the Slytherin table. "Aunt Walburga and
Euphemia will be thrilled."

"Just don't mention how James had a moment where his legs forgot how to function,"
Bellatrix quipped, rolling her eyes.
Andromeda, having returned from a brief visit to the Hufflepuff table, settled beside James.
"Just imagine," she pondered. "the absolute chaos that would have happened if, let's say,
Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor."

Bellatrix's smile twisted, somehow both mocking and genuine, as she savoured the thought.
"Aunt Walburga would have a fit," she remarked, clearly amused by the prospect.

"Poor Reggie would've been all on his own," Narcissa lamented, her brows furrowing. Lucius
leaned in, planting a quick kiss on her cheek in a reassuring gesture. "I can't even imagine it."

"Why would I ever be in Gryffindor," Sirius blurted out, his mouth full, spit and chunks of
food flying everywhere. "It's a house for blood traitors and bastards."

"Exactly," Bellatrix nodded. "They're nothing more than a gang of wannabe heroes, prancing
around with their inflated egos and a false sense of righteousness."

"And they're rubbish at Quidditch," Narcissa huffed, casually toying with her fork, a smug
look on her face. "We took home the Quidditch Cup last year, and they're still bitter about it."

"Remember that Weasley git? His face had gone proper beetroot!" Lucius laughed, his
amusement contagious. "His flaming hair had matched his flaming temper, I tell you."

"Where is he anyway?" Narcissa inclined her head, scanning the Gryffindor table.

"Graduated," Andromeda replied, following Narcissa's gaze.

Bellatrix let out a relieved sigh, "About time."

They were silent for a bit, and just as James was about to speak, Andromeda said, "Looks like
we have another, though."

His attention shifted to a red-haired girl seated with two girls, one blonde and one brunette,
sharing a meal together.

"Red hair," Lucius sneered, a disdainful twist to his lips. "Hand-me-down clothes...must be
one."

"Is that how you identify them?" Sirius chuckled.

"It's how my father used to," Lucius responded, his tone smug with superiority.

"She isn't a Weasley," came a voice from James's right.

It was him again. The same boy from the train, with long, black hair that fell in a curtain,
partly concealing his eyes.

"Severus Snape," the boy introduced himself, though no one had asked him to.

Was he sorted into Slytherin, then?

 "I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation," Severus swallowed harshly. "Sorry."

"It doesn't matter which family she comes from, you idiot," Bellatrix snapped. "We don't
associate ourselves with the likes of those filthy, wretched mudbloods."

"Truly?" Severus pressed, a spark igniting in his gaze.

"Of course not," James retorted tersely. "Why would we?"

"No reason," Severus answered with a small smile. "No reason at all."

Chapter End Notes

main tiktok account

selcouth updates tiktok account

So, the first chapter is just a prologue, mainly to give you some background information
on James and Sirius before they got sorted, and how the years spent as Slytherin
students ultimately changed them.

I have always been a huge nerd about time travel, and ‘what if’ scenarios, so consider
this as a gift for those who share the same passion and interests as me. I am a hard-core
Jily stan, and you will soon notice that, so if you are not fond of the ship, please don’t
bore yourself with my writing. Don’t worry, my chapters aren’t too long, so this is an
easy read.

Honestly, it would be a miracle if I continue this, because even though I have a steady
plot, I am just so lazy. We’ll see.

Any feedback is always welcome!

Year 1: Rises the Moon
LILY
November, 1971
Strange boy, that Lupin.

He was standing there, somewhat isolated, a little apart from the rest.

Like he always did.

"Remember, the key to balance on a broomstick is to keep your body relaxed and centred.
Don't tense up."

He had two scars on his right arm, pale lines etched into his skin.

"Keep your eyes forward and be aware of your surroundings. Watch out for other flyers and
obstacles."

Three faint marks on his left, barely noticeable unless she looked really closely.

"Focus your intent, channel your magic, and perform the precise movements we have
discussed."

And then there was that one near his eyebrow, a thin little spot that caught her eye.

"Up!" Marlene yelled, bringing her back to the present. "I said up!"

"Less aggression, more finesse, Miss McKinnon," Madame Hooch called out, and moved on
to another student.

"You're giving him the creeps with your staring, Lily," Marlene said with a dejected sigh. "He
already doesn't fancy being around people."

"Who are you talking about?" Mary asked, her gaze fixed sadly on her motionless broom.

"Lily has been trying to befriend Lupin for the past month," Marlene responded, rolling her
eyes. "It's rather pathetic, to be honest. I don't understand what's so special about him."

There was someone standing uncomfortably close to them now. A blond boy. Lily knew him,
she realized. He was the Pettigrew boy—Peter—her year.

"He's actually one of my roommates," he chimed in, his voice tinged with relief like he had
been waiting for the perfect moment to join the conversation. He was pretty—freckles and
pale skin, with the biggest eyes she had ever seen.

"Surely you know me," Peter countered, responding to something Mary had asked, though
Lily had been too preoccupied to catch the question. "We're in the same house, remember?"

Mary paused, her expression briefly tightening before she masked it with a polite nod. "Oh,
right, sorry, Peter."
"Anyway, Remus won't talk to anyone unless it's necessary." Peter shrugged nonchalantly.
"That's just how he is."

There was an annoying tightness in her chest every time Peter said Remus's name. She
couldn't quite pinpoint where. It was soft and aching.

"But why?"

Peter scratched his head. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think it has something to do with those
scars of his. Perhaps he had a troubled past, got into fights..."

Lily's interest in Remus sparked from more than just curiosity; it was rooted in the stories that
clung to him, the kind of stories that made you look twice. It was the unspoken parts, the
things left unsaid and the looks that darted away too quickly, that really drew her in.

Lily recognized a kindred spirit, someone else who understood what it was like to stand on
the fringes.

Becoming aware of her magical abilities had irrevocably altered her world.

Friends she once shared everything with began to drift, leaving a gap that grew wider with
every unexplained incident, every slip of magic that she couldn't control.

This sense of being an outsider, of somehow not fitting into the world she was supposed to
belong to, stuck with her. It was that same sense of being on the outside looking in that made
her want to reach out, to let him know he wasn't alone.

"It's a bit frustrating since we share the same dormitory," Peter crossed his arms over his
chest. "Though, he doesn't sleep there much, mostly in the hospital wing."

"Up!" a boy from Slytherin commanded, his voice tearing through the air like a jagged shard
of glass. With a flick of his wrist, his broom obediently rose from the ground, floating
effortlessly to the palm of his hand.

Everyone watched in awe, their eyes wide with wonder and admiration.

"Excellent, Mister Potter!" Madame Hooch exclaimed as she clapped her hands in approval.

The boy standing next to him mirrored the same feat with a lopsided grin spreading across his
face.

"Great work, Mister Black!" Madame Hooch patted him on the back.

But—they didn't stop there.

With a swift motion, they mounted their brooms and soared into the vast expanse of the sky,
ascending higher and higher with a breathtaking display of skill and confidence.

Her mind started to race with questions, starting with—

"Who are they?"

Peter let out a low whistle. "The one doing the hover spin? That's James Potter, one of 'those'
pure-bloods."

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, her eyes fixated on the soaring figures.

"He's the heir to the Potter fortune, worth millions of Galleons."

"And the other one?" Lily inquired.

"Sirius Black," Marlene scoffed. "Another entitled heir, and another bloke with a brain the
size of a pea."

James effortlessly performed another intricate manoeuvre with his broom, quite a dangerous
one. Meanwhile, Sirius defied Madame Hooch's instructions and continued to fly further into
the sky, his figure growing smaller and more distant with each passing moment.

"Show-offs," Remus snorted dismissively.

Lily's head whipped around with lightning speed, her eyes focusing on Remus as sharply as a
hawk's. It was the first time he had uttered a single word, and it caught her off guard. This
was fine, though. She was fine. Everything was going to be fine.

Remus averted his gaze and started to walk away, seemingly eager to distance himself from
her immediately.

"Excuse me," she called out, trailing behind him. "Remus?"

He stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around, his body tensing.

"Yes?"

"Have I—" Lily's voice faltered, nerves tingling in her chest.

Breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Have I done something to you?"

Suddenly, cheers and applause erupted in the background, drawing their attention away.
Before Lily could register what was happening, she found herself sprawled on the ground, the
cool, damp grass beneath her.

Remus spun around, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Lily!"

"I told you to move," James interjected, his tone a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
Remus was quick to react, rushing over with his hand outstretched to help her. "Are you
alright?" he asked. Lily, however, was momentarily stunned, lying there and gazing up at
James, who now towered over her.

"She should have moved," Sirius snickered as he appeared behind James, the tip of his nose
bright red from the high sun.

Remus's voice rose with anger. "Well, you didn't have to push her to the ground!" His
outburst drew the attention of nearby students, who turned to watch the unfolding scene.

James smirked. "But I did her a favour, didn't I?" he cooed, "Put her where she truly belongs,
in the dirt." His words were airy, drawling. He was looking at her as if she was literally that
—dirt.

Lily felt a sudden lightheadedness, her legs trembling beneath her, and her throat constricting,
as though she were about to retch.

"Oh, look at this, Sirius," James mocked with a faux pout. "She's going to cry."

"Mister Potter! Mister Black!" Madame Hooch intervened. "What is the meaning of this?"

"She threw herself on the ground," Sirius responded quickly. "Started a fight for no reason."

"Miss Evans?" Madame Hooch looked at Lily, her lips pressed into a thin line.

A sneer curled onto James's lips, but before he could say anything, Remus cut in, "They are
lying! He pushed her to the ground!"

"Enough!" Madame Hooch's voice boomed across the field. "The Quidditch pitch is a place
where house rivalries should be set aside. I don't care who started what or who pushed whom.
I will not tolerate any more of this behaviour. Is that clear?"

James was looking directly at her. He wasn't even sparing a glance at Remus.

"Good," Madame Hooch acknowledged their collective silence as a sign of agreement, her
sharp gaze sweeping over the students. "Thank you all for your participation today. You may
now make your way to the Great Hall for a well-deserved lunch. Leave your brooms safely
on the ground; I will gather them later."

While no one was looking, James deftly flicked a handful of dirt from the ground,
deliberately aiming it at her cloak. The particles scattered through the air, landing on the
fabric in a small cloud, leaving behind an unseemly smudge of earthy brown. Sirius followed
suit, trailing closely behind James.

She was not okay.

She was not okay.

She was not okay.

But when her friends arrived, they couldn't tell, and that was the most important thing.

"Slytherins," Mary gibed, settling down beside her on the plush sofa near the crackling
fireplace.

In here, in the safety of the common room, Lily had finally been able to stop shaking.

"I know," Marlene sighed, flopping down on her stomach with her legs dangling in the air
behind her. She propped herself up with her hands, her face resting against her palm.

"Don't worry," Mary reassured. "I will let Professor McGonagall know of their doing, and I'm
sure they will be punished accordingly."

"I don't think it would make a difference," Marlene said as-a-matter-of-factly. "Professor
Slughorn dotes on them tremendously, their families being a part of sacred twenty-eight and
all."

"The sacred what?" Lily asked.

"The sacred twenty-eight," Marlene clarified. "Just a fancy name for a bunch of wealthy
wizarding families who think they're better than everyone else."

Lily felt something in her stomach squirm, but she pushed it down. There was really no point
in caring about an incident that wasn't going to be solved.

Mary nodded. "I heard from my brother that he's drawn to influential families and
connections like a moth to a flame. Those pure-bloods can get away with practically anything
in his class."

"I saw Remus next to you," Marlene changed the subject. "Was he protecting you back
there?"

Lily blinked, the memory of Remus rushing to her side flooding back. "Yes, I think he was.
He came to check if I was okay."

"How nice of him," Mary mused. "Maybe he isn't as scary as people make him out to be."

Lily forced out a laugh, the sound creaky and false in her ears. "I guess so."

"He's just misunderstood," Mary frowned. "Sometimes, the people who appear the most
guarded are the ones who need the most protection."

"Didn't know you to be such a poet," Marlene teased, tossing a small pillow at Mary's head.
Mary deftly dodged it and stuck out her tongue playfully. "Jealous of my impeccable literary
skills, are you, McKinnon?"

Marlene burst into laughter. It was lovely, that sound. It made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.
But there was someone else, someone whom she felt a stronger connection with, who had a
unique way of making her worries melt away.

"I'll meet you two in Transfiguration," Lily announced, rising from the sofa.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Marlene asked, still chuckling.

"To see a friend."

She already knew where he was.

Even blindfolded, she could find Severus Snape in that silent, empty corner of the library,
engrossed in his mutterings about potions and spells. And that's exactly what he was doing
when she spotted him.

"What are you reading?" Lily asked as she sat down next to him.

Severus snapped the book shut, hiding its cover beneath his arm, ink smudging his fingers.
"Nothing important."

"Oh."

"Are you okay?"

Lily's hands were shaking.

"I got into some trouble with someone in my last class."

Severus, a boy who rarely smiled, even in Lily's company, suddenly broke into a wide grin,
his teeth peeking through.

Okay, not the reaction that she had been expecting.

"Who?"

"Two boys, James and Sirius."

"That is just—" Severus bit his lower lip, trying to contain his amusement. "That is just
awful, Lily."

Lily's nose scrunched up in disapproval. "You don't seem too upset about it."

"Well," Severus began, "It's just amusing to see how someone as insignificant as Potter or
Black can get under your skin."

He was right. Lily knew he was right. James and Sirius weren't really her friends, now, were
they? They belonged to a different house, and their paths rarely crossed outside of classes.
There was no need to dwell on them.

"Wait—You know them?"

"Who doesn't?" Severus hissed. "Besides, I'm in the same house as them."

"I feel sorry for you," Lily shrugged helplessly. "I can't imagine being around people like that
all the time."

"You get used to it," Severus's eyes darkened.

Lily didn't want to.

Surprisingly, James and Sirius seemed to forget about Lily's existence the very next day.

Not that she cared.

It took two weeks for Lily to gather up the courage to approach Remus again. Her heart
raced, knowing he might try to avoid her once more, but she couldn't let that stop her.

He stood in the dimly lit corridor, tucked away on the upper left side of the third floor. It was
a secluded spot, away from prying eyes, with a towering window that offered a breathtaking
view of the night sky.

"Hi," she said, rather shyly, rather cowardly.

He didn't answer.

"The moon looks beautiful tonight, doesn't it?" she blurted out, her words tumbling out of her
mouth without a filter. She winced inwardly, questioning the awkwardness of her statement.
"I mean, the sky, the stars, it's all so...nice."

Okay.

Maybe it was best to talk to Remus another day, when she felt less nervous and when he
wasn't standing there like a statue, seemingly lost in his own—

"Look," Remus sighed wearily. "I understand what you are trying to do, but I am not very
good at making friends. I have never been. I just...I think it's best if you stay away from me."
"Oh," Lily said, desperately trying to hide her disappointment. "I'm sorry if I pressured you
into anything."

"I am not even sure if I'll even be here next year, so..."

Without another word, he left, and in perfect sync with his departure, the crescent moon rose
from behind the dark clouds. For a short while, she just stood there, staring at the moon like it
was somehow to blame. It seemed almost unfair, how the moon's appearance had coincided
with Remus's quick exit, as if it had a hand in cutting their conversation short before it could
really begin.

She took deep breaths, waiting for her mind to settle, for her head to clear.

It had been a strange month.

The classes were so different from those back home. It was bizarre to be living at this large
castle, sharing a dorm with people she barely knew, all expecting her to—

"Get familiar with?" a voice, low, and familiar, drifted to her in the darkness.

She turned around, on alert.

"Good evening, Miss Evans," Headmaster Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "I asked if
you were having trouble getting familiar with Hogwarts?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Lily muttered, feeling her cheeks flush. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear."

"No worries, my dear girl," Dumbledore spoke with a kind smile. "I also enjoy gazing at the
sky, especially at the moon."

Lily remained silent, unsure of how to respond.

"I do hope that everything is to your liking," Dumbledore continued. "Your sister was kind
enough to write to me before your arrival, and I promised her that I would take care of you."

"Yes," Lily replied, her brow furrowing as she remembered finding a crumpled letter under
that drawer. "I read it."

"It seems something troubles your heart," Dumbledore's voice carried a warm concern.
"Would you care to share your burden with me? Sometimes, a sympathetic ear can help
alleviate the weight of our troubles."

"It's nothing, really. I think I just need some time to get used to this place," Lily stammered,
not wanting to delve into the details.

Dumbledore tilted his head, his gaze penetrating, as though he were searching for something
beyond her words.

A sudden headache gripped Lily, causing her to wince.

"I see," he murmured, his expression momentarily troubled. "Rest assured, time has a way of
unfolding new experiences and healing wounds. Tomorrow holds the promise of a brighter
day, does it not?"

He turned and left, leaving her standing there, wrapped in her thoughts, trying to guess what
had shaken Dumbledore so deeply. His expression was one of a man who had encountered
something beyond the ordinary, almost as if he had seen a ghost lingering in the daylight.

The days that came after melded into one another, each sweeping by in a rush of ceaseless
motion. Lily watched as time zipped by and Remus became even more withdrawn, often
missing classes and appearing with fresh scars. Nobody had the courage to ask why.

Peter, who had once been a constant by her side, gradually drifted away, finding new friends
named Edward or Aidan—names that didn't stick in Lily's memory. Mary and Marlene, too,
seemed preoccupied with their own lives, their attention diverted elsewhere. It was only
Severus who remained a steadfast companion, meeting with her in the library to study and
chat, much to Marlene's displeasure.

As for Dumbledore, she didn't see him again.

But tomorrow did hold the promise of a brighter day, and Lily was giddy with relief that the
old wizard had been right.
 Year 1: Don't Drown
Chapter Notes

TW: Implied/Mentions Physical Abuse.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

JAMES
December, 1971
"An 'Acceptable' in Transfiguration?" Euphemia questioned, her tone sharp.

"That's the only class I am struggling with," James responded quickly. "But I have
'Outstanding' in all my other classes."

"It's not enough," Euphemia stood up.

"I am trying—"

"Trying isn't enough!" Euphemia's voice surged, her hand instinctively reaching for her wand
resting on the table.

James closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself for whatever creative hex his mother was going
to throw at him that day, but none came.

Stop shaking, he reminded himself. Stop moving. Don't make another sound.

If he had bitten his tongue any harder, he would have bitten clean through it.

Euphemia eased back into her chair, her fingers rubbing her temples in a gesture of fatigue.
"Consider yourself fortunate that we are guests at the Black Manor tonight, James. I don't
want to cause a scene."

He didn't let himself breathe a sigh of relief; his mother wouldn't like it.

"Go," she waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Dinner is in ten minutes."

He obeyed, as usual, and marched back to Sirius's room, his heart thundering in his chest. He
hated that his mother had that effect on him—how she made him feel so small and so
helpless, yet always told him to act like she didn't.

"Not a single scar," Sirius examined him as he entered the room. "Aunt Euphemia must have
taken pity on you."

He opened and closed his mouth. Not sure what to say. There were so many answers to that
statement. So many that he couldn't believe the one that made it out of his mouth was:
"Dinner's in ten."

"But I am hungry," Regulus interjected from behind Sirius, his small arms wrapped tightly
around his older brother's waist like a clingy monkey, unwilling to let go. "I want to eat
now!"

"Patience, Reggie," Sirius said affectionately, giving Regulus's head a gentle pat.

Patience?

James's patience was at an all-time low.

Especially within the walls of the Black Manor, its cold, imposing façade seemed to encroach
upon him. Under his mother's watchful gaze, every step he took felt as precarious as
traversing a tightrope. Despite putting forth his utmost effort—truly giving his all—in every
class he'd undertaken this term, the commendations from his professors felt hollow compared
to his mother's standards. An 'Acceptable' had shattered the veneer of his meticulously upheld
perfection, casting a sombre gloom over his sincere efforts.

"When will I get my present?" Regulus's voice piped up.

"Soon," Sirius replied, a playful glint in his eyes. "What do you want this time?"

"The new Nimbus 1972!" Regulus burst forth, his diminutive hands shooting skyward with
excitement.

"That model hasn't even been released yet," James sighed.

Regulus's pout deepened, clearly disappointed. "Father said he would buy it for me."

Sirius shot James a knowing look, silently pleading with him to play along. Reluctantly,
James mustered a forced smile and said, "And I'm sure Uncle Orion managed to buy that for
you... somehow."

Regulus's smile returned to his round face, and he leapt off Sirius's bed to give James a tight
hug, clearly grateful for the reassurance. "We can both share it," he whispered softly. "Don't
worry, Jamie."

"I told you not to call me that," James grumbled, attempting to wriggle out of Regulus's
embrace while Sirius watched them with an amused grin.

At that moment, Kreacher, the ever-devoted house-elf, entered Sirius's room, bowing deeply
at their feet. "Kreacher has prepared a lavish feast for Master Sirius, Master Regulus, and
their esteemed guests."

"Finally," Sirius exclaimed, stretching his arms above his head, the satisfying sound of joints
popping filling the room.

"I want to sit next to Cissy!" Regulus declared excitedly before darting away, paying no heed
to whether James or Sirius chose to follow.

"Of course he does," Sirius muttered under his breath, but James pretended not to hear it. He
knew there was some tension between Sirius and Narcissa, though he had no idea why.

Guided by Kreacher, they descended the grand staircase to the opulent sitting room, a space
James knew all too well. Having spent the majority of his life in this house, especially during
holidays, the familiar surroundings evoked a blend of memories and emotions within him.

Beside him, his father settled into a chair, their gazes connecting.

"Well, I am still uncertain about this 'Dark Lord'," Orion remarked, his moustache twitching
slightly with irritation. "Seems to have appeared out of nowhere."
"An amateur," Walburga sniffed disdainfully, her nose elevated. "I give him a few weeks
before crumbling under pressure."

"Who are we talking about?" Andromeda inquired.

"Word is there's a protester of sorts," Narcissa whispered to Andromeda, her voice barely
above a murmur.

"Protesting what?" Sirius chimed in, dabbing his mouth with a napkin delicately.

The table fell silent.

"Half-bloods," he found himself speaking.

"Mudbloods," Bellatrix finished his sentence pointedly. "He's got supporters," she continued,
seemingly undeterred by the tension that had settled around the table. "I've heard that the
Shafiqs are backing him."

"Shafiqs throw their weight behind anyone and anything," Orion commented. "They hardly
exemplify discerning judgment."

Several of the adults at the table responded with polite laughter.

He had heard about this 'Dark Lord' they were speaking of.

Of course, he had.

Who hadn't at this point?

He had appeared out of the shadows only recently, babbling about 'purity' and whatnot, which
was quite similar to what his mother had been drilling into his brain for the past decade, so he
wasn't that all phased by a man dressed in black who shouted poems in the middle of the
street.

So what if this 'Dark Lord' had ten or twenty people who liked listening to him?

He wasn't saying anything wrong.

"You vile creature!" Bellatrix's exclamation directed James's attention to her. Kreacher lay on
the floor, rubbing his head. "I specifically told it not to include onions!"

As everyone, including Sirius, continued their small talk, Bellatrix launched a curse—
perhaps a hex—at Kreacher in sheer frustration.

No one cared.

So he returned to his meal and exchanged a brief smile with Regulus, who was using his fork
to mimic the flight of a broomstick.
"James, look," Narcissa said, her words floating like the very flakes she admired, "it's
snowing again."

"Seriously?!" Andromeda exclaimed, brushing the snow off her cloak. "Where on earth are
these snowballs coming from?"

The answer to her rhetorical question came not in words but in laughter—a joyful, unbridled
sound that emerged from the shelter of nearby bushes. Sirius and Bellatrix burst forth, their
eyes shimmering with mischief, their grins bordering on wild.

A short distance away, James shivered, a chill of longing wrapping around him. It was
strange how a boy who had been accustomed to the vast emptiness of grand mansions, now
yearned for the warmth of Hogwarts and the comfort of his dormitory.

"Cissy!" Regulus called out, his small figure gradually sinking into the snow. "Come and
make a snow angel with me!"

Suddenly, Kreacher was there, his abrupt appearance making James jump. "Master Regulus
must come inside," he said. "My Mistress worries you'll catch a cold."

"No!" Regulus stamped his foot, his small boot disappearing deeper into the snow with a soft
crunch. "Nooooo!" he protested again, the word stretching out into the cold air, filled with the
kind of mock outrage only a spoiled child could muster.

Kreacher, following at a distance, muttered his disapproval of Regulus's behaviour, yet the
corners of his mouth turned up in a smile too subtle to be noticed. It was typical of him,
really. He had always shown a soft spot for Regulus, a favouritism that James could never
quite grasp.

"When will he ever grow up?" Narcissa mused, her eyes following Regulus's retreating
figure.

"When he's sorted into Slytherin," James quipped without missing a beat.

It was the truth, after all.

"How are you handling things," Narcissa shifted the conversation. "With the classes and the
people, I mean."

"Worried, are you?" James teased, trying to lighten the mood. "It's fine," he assured her,
taking a deep breath. "Everything is fine."

"You don't seem too fine."

"Why would I lie?" James scoffed.

"For many reasons," Narcissa replied, a flimsy snowflake settling on her blond fringe. "Bella
won't be at Hogwarts next year, you know."

"Thank God," James murmured, more to himself than to her.

"Then Andromeda will be next," Narcissa persisted. "Followed by me."

"Do you think I’m unaware of how school functions, Cissy?" James sneered, feeling a twinge
of defensiveness.

"No," Narcissa acknowledged calmly. "Yet, I'm not convinced you entirely grasp the
influence you'll wield once we leave."

James felt a little blurry, so it took a moment for that to really sink in, but when it did, his
chest grew so tight that all he could do was nod stiffly.

"People will look up to the two of you," she said, her eyes briefly meeting Sirius's before
settling back on James. "You need to take that responsibility seriously."

"I do," James insisted.

"I understand that you two are still children, and I know it's a weighty burden. Believe me,
we faced similar expectations. But you must be ready to shoulder it."

"Why assume," James clenched his jaw, " that I haven't been trying?"

"Just keep your head above water, James. Don't let it all pull you under," Narcissa let out a
deep sigh. "Don't drown."

It required considerable effort on James's part not to roll his eyes.

They both observed Bellatrix's laughter as she hurled a snowball, aiming precisely at Sirius's
chest.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the snow-covered landscape,
Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda withdrew to their rooms, leaving Sirius and James to
enjoy the peaceful ambience of Uncle Alphard's expansive garden alone.

He hated it.

Every inch of it.

Loathed it as though his very core recoiled from its grasp.

"Do we have to back?" Sirius asked boredly, interrupting James's train of thought.
"Where?"

"To Hogwarts."

"We do," James responded with a hint of guilt. It felt almost wrong to admit it. Admit that he
liked Hogwarts. As if everything they needed wasn't already right here.

"It's no fun," Sirius brushed off the snowflakes on his clothes.

His words stumbled out too quickly, a verbal avalanche he couldn't stop. "Evan and Barty are
fun."

"Well, kind of."

Desperation threaded his words. "Why don't you want to go back?"

That got a proper laugh out of Sirius, loud and noisy. "Relax, mate, just pulling your leg. Of
course, I want to go back." But something came over his face, he’d call it a shadow, a fleeting
darkness that touched his features like a cloud passing over the sun.

James halted, a gust of cold breeze prickling his skin. He could sense that Sirius had also
stopped, a synchronicity that felt eerie yet comforting.

"I sometimes wish there was a school just for Slytherins," Sirius mused, motioning for James
to walk alongside him once more. "A place exclusively for us, you know, the pure-bloods."

He nodded, though a little absentmindedly, a little aloof, a little as if he didn't really care
about what Sirius was saying.

"'Oi, watch out!' Sirius yanked him with such force that he almost lost his balance. They were
on the edge of a colossal lake, its surface newly frozen and glistening under the fading light.
The ice stretched like a mirror, its transparency revealing the depths below. If Sirius hadn't
acted swiftly, James might've plunged straight through the icy barrier, disappearing into the
frigid water below.

"Wouldn't want you taking a dip or anything," Sirius joked.

No, he definitely wouldn't.

There was some—

Something wasn't right about this.

"Blimey! And I thought you seemed all right!"

What?

"Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"

Snakes slithered from all sides, their fangs sinking into his flesh, a painful grip that sent
waves of discomfort through him.

He recoiled, attempting to push them away, but his efforts were futile, his hands brushed
aside roughly.

"Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart! Like my dad!"

He was crying—he thought.

He didn't think—

This wasn't supposed to—

"Hi, I'm James."

Something was wrong.

Horribly wrong.

Drowning.

"Hi, I'm Li—"

With a start, he snapped awake.

His fingertips lightly brushed his cheeks, then trailed over his clothes before combing
through his hair. His gaze wandered the room, confirming his surroundings.

Right.

Winter break. The Black Manor. Everything was in its place. Upstairs, his parents were
lodged on the fourth floor. Everyone was here. Nothing was wrong.

The mantle clock in the corner emitted a soft chime, confirming the late hour.

With a sigh of frustration, he flopped back onto the bed. His eyes were half-shut, bloodshot
from exhaustion. If he could just rest his eyes for a moment, everything would be alright.

Shifting to his side, he vented his irritation on the pillow with a forceful punch. Yet, this
small act of defiance did little to ease his mind; the thought of those serpents invading his
dreams again filled him with dread. Odd, for someone who was supposed to embody their
very essence.

More terrifying to him, though, was the overwhelming fear of drowning, of being consumed
by an all-encompassing darkness.
Narcissa's voice rang loud in his head. Don't drown.

He didn't sleep much that night.

"We should probably discuss it," Druella suggested, deftly dividing her boiled eggs into
halves.

Bellatrix's anger seeped into her retort. "What's there to discuss?"

"You're on the cusp of marriage in just a few months," Druella persisted.

James stifled a yawn.

Sirius leaned closer, concern etching his face. "You alright?"

"Haven't gotten much sleep," James admitted with a weary smile.

"Why?"

James paused, feeling a lump in his throat. "I don't know."

"What if I'm not ready?" Bellatrix's lips tightened into a tense line.

"Then you'll make yourself ready," Druella said, arching an eyebrow.

"I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Mum, what if we consider postponing the wedding?" Narcissa murmured softly.

"Not the time, Narcissa," Cygnus interjected firmly.

Narcissa bowed her head in deference.

"Regulus, finish your tomatoes," Walburga commanded from across the table.

Regulus quickly stuffed two slices of tomato into his mouth, his cheeks puffing out as he
chewed.

"He's a pure-blood, and he's tolerable enough for producing an heir," Druella impatiently
listed. "What more could you ask for?"

"An heir?" Bellatrix's nostrils flared in anger.

Cygnus's fists thudded onto the table. "Bellatrix Black! Mind your tone!"
James flinched slightly. He didn't want to guess why; didn't spare a single moment even
trying to craft theories on why he was so uncomfortable at the moment. It was far too early
into the day for any of this.

"I don't want children!" Bellatrix's eyes welled with tears.

"It's your duty to carry on the family legacy!" Walburga exclaimed, her gaze fixating on
Sirius and James. "It's everyone's duty!"

James despised admitting it, but Walburga was right.

The idea of marriage was like a noose around his neck, an entanglement he'd dodge if he
could, postponing the inevitable at every chance. Yet, deep down, he knew he’d eventually be
tied to the ideal pureblood porcelain doll—a woman who’d cater to his every whim, smile on
command, speak only when spoken to.

It was a future that felt all too designed, too neatly arranged, and he suspected that
somewhere in the quiet corners of his parents' plans, she already existed; chosen, waiting, a
secret kept from him.

Well, not if he had something to say about it.

The sudden sound of choking snapped him back to the present. Andromeda was sputtering,
caught off-guard by her own laughter or disbelief.

"Do you have something to contribute, Andromeda?" Euphemia raised her eyebrows.
"Anything to share?"

"No, Aunt Euphemia," Andromeda forced a smile. "I simply ate too quickly."

"You're suffocating me!" Bellatrix abruptly stood from her seat. "It's like I am drowning!"

James exchanged a look of shock with Narcissa.

"Marrying a handsome, wealthy man must be an absolute tragedy," Druella declared, pushing
back her chair to stand, clearly indicating she was done with the conversation. "What a
dreadful fate!" she added sarcastically, tossing her arms into the air. The black lace of her
dress fluttered as she turned to walk away.

"Enough!" Alphard exclaimed as he descended the staircase, clad in his morning robe.

Druella halted mid-stride, her hands dropping to her sides, her eyes pinned on Alphard, the
patriarch whose word was law in their world. Beside him, Cygnus teetered on the edge of
losing his composure, veins pulsing in his neck.

"Bellatrix, dear, a word," Alphard summoned Bellatrix to his side, and she complied, casting
a glance laden with suspicion at her father before slipping out of the room.

"She'll go through with the marriage," Cygnus reassured Druella, his tone unwavering. "She
doesn't have much of a choice."
 More than ever, he wished this winter break would swiftly come to an end, allowing him to
return to Hogwarts—a place that was gradually becoming the closest thing he had to a real
home.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you enjoyed spending time at the Black Manor, because James sure didn't.
 Year 1: A Table Full of Stars
Chapter Notes

TW: Blood
LILY
February, 1972
It was beautiful.

Everything about Hogwarts was beautiful.

It took Lily some time to fully adjust herself to this new world—perhaps many weeks, but
eventually, something inside her clicked, like a veil had been lifted, and she began to embrace
the magic of this place with a heart that felt lighter.

She couldn't help but notice the stars here; they shone with an intensity she'd never seen back
home.

And while Lily found a comforting beauty in their sparkle, Severus saw them through a
different lens.

To him, the stars weren't just points of light in the night sky; they were unpredictable and
awe-inspiring.

Actually, he often remarked that the most captivating aspect of stars was—

"—their ability to explode into brilliance at the most unexpected moments. Oh, see that one?"
Severus said, pointing his index finger at a page in his book. "That's Andromeda. It happens
to be among the largest and most prominent constellations in the northern sky."

Lily eagerly jotted down the information on her parchment.

Severus turned another page. "Professor Podmore said that it had a unique spirit, whatever
that means."

"I'm sure there was one more," Lily looked up from her notes.

"There is," Severus murmured, directing her attention to a moving image. At its centre, a
colossal, sparkling star pulsed and shimmered, its radiance casting a bizarre, mesmerizing
glow. "This," he explained, his small hands tracing the star's celestial dance, "is Sirius. It's the
brightest in the entire night sky, visible from almost every inhabited corner of Earth."

"These names sound oddly familiar," she commented, tapping the end of her dip pen against
her chin.

Severus quirked a curious brow. "Probably because you happen to share a few classes with
these stars," he quipped, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Lily's eyes wandered to her history book, which was spread open beside Severus's. "Do all
the members of the Black family have names inspired by stars and constellations?" she
inquired.
Severus paused. "Not entirely," he replied. "Some of their names have Greek and Latin
origins, like Bellatrix, which means 'female warrior,' and Narcissa, which is derived from the
Greek word for 'daffodil.'"

Lily nodded, then, as if something impulsive had taken hold of her, she asked, "And the
Potters?"

The question felt foolish. Leaving her lips as they did. She should have known better than to
ask about them, but she couldn't help herself.

The more Lily heard about the Potters, especially their son, the more her curiosity grew in
recent months.

It had all started with Peter, who had filled her head with utter nonsense. According to him,
Euphemia Potter was a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Then Marlene had added that
Fleamont Potter had mastered non-verbal spells at the incredibly young age of ten. Even
Mary, out of the blue, had painted James Potter as someone who tormented house-elves for
his own amusement.

The more she learned, the more her interest grew, leading her to discreetly observe James and
his group of friends around school.

At a distance, the four boys didn't appear particularly unusual, but up close, they possessed an
arresting aura, especially to Lily, who had never encountered anyone quite like them.

James, it appeared, led this unique group, although he didn't seem to actively seek that role.

His signature round glasses were a perpetual fixture, as if they were an extension of his very
being—compact and old-fashioned, with circular black rims. He'd habitually push them up
when they slipped down the bridge of his button nose, an involuntary gesture that
demonstrated a certain unconscious grace, as his hands moved independently to ensure that
they were always in their proper place.

Then there was Sirius, who followed James around like a loyal hound, though his striking
looks were marred by a sneer that seemed permanently etched onto his face. He looked like
one of those Greek statues Lily had once seen in a museum—so precise, so immaculate, so
undeniably handsome.

The other two, Barty and Evan, always seemed to be in the background, much like annoying
flies or inseparable shadows.

Barty had once actually struck up a conversation with Lily a few weeks back when he
dropped his quill, and she had obligingly picked it up for him. The only thing that truly stuck
in her memory was his voice—smooth and low-toned.

And finally, there was Evan. Tall, blond, and perpetually sporting a magnetic yet slightly
wicked smile. While he never aimed that smile in Lily's direction, his boisterous, contagious
laughter consistently echoed from the back of the classroom with unwavering consistency.
Severus's response was reluctant, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "What about them?"

It was the look in his eyes, his voice cracking on the way out of his mouth, that urged her to
say: "Their name origins, Sev. Where do they come from?"

"They each have distinct origins."

"How so?"

"They're more modern," Severus confessed, carefully avoiding Lily's gaze. "Take 'James', for
instance," he added, turning another page in the book. "His name has varied meanings, not
just a singular one like the Blacks."

"Modern? I thought they would choose names that were a lot more traditional."

"Traditional, yes, but in their own way," Severus explained, leaning closer. "They're your
typical pure-bloods, valuing fame, wealth, purity, that sort of thing. Just look at the properties
they own," he said, flipping through the pages, each turn revealing images of sprawling
estates, grandiose mansions, and shimmering pools nestled in far-flung places.

"Peter did say something about their wealth, but…" Lily's voice faded into silence, her eyes
widening in disbelief at the scale of it all.

Severus's hand instinctively went to his nose, his fingers coming away with a smear of blood
that splattered onto the pristine pages of his book.

"Sev, your nose!" Lily exclaimed, reaching out on reflex.

Severus sidestepped her with urgency. "It's—it's fine. I told you, I ran into a wall," he
muttered, seemingly flustered.

"Yes, but how?"

In his haste, her friend nearly knocked over Lily's ink container. "I'm late for Professor
McGonagall's class!"

"Wha—Now?"

"Yes!" Severus admitted, quickly gathering his books. "I'll see you later, alright?"

"Okay!" Lily called after him as he rushed down the echoing corridor, the stone walls bearing
witness to their fleeting encounter. "Bye! Don't run into any more walls!"

Her heart sank.

Studying without Severus by her side wasn't something she anticipated with enthusiasm.

But as the silence settled, a voice broke through the hush of the library. "Is there anything
else I can help you with, Mister Potter?"
Irma Pince.

That had to be Irma Pince.

Strict, rigid, a little unfriendly, definitely tired of how much Severus and she visited the
library at the most unusual hours, but a good librarian nevertheless.

Did she just say "Mister Potter"?

Her chest gave a mighty squeeze, and for a good moment, she wasn't sure she'd be able to
move. Or breathe, for that matter.

In an instant, she was on her feet, tiptoeing to gain a few precious inches in height. She
craned her neck, eyes searching for a glimpse through the narrow space between the
bookshelves, driven by an intense need to see for herself.

"Thank you," James replied calmly. "That will be all."

Sunlight streamed in through a nearby window, cascading in a radiant pool that seemed to
orbit him like a celestial body. His silhouette stood resplendent, the edges gently blurred by
the warm glow, as if the very sun recognized him as someone worth highlighting.

Inexplicably drawn, Lily found herself imitating his steps, caught in the current of an
irresistible force.

Her heart raced like a thoroughbred, a wild gallop of emotions, as he plucked yet another
book from the shelf—an unexpected twist in their silent dance.

Then, their eyes locked, sending an electric shock of surprise rippling through her.

James recoiled slightly, clearly caught off guard.

Lily mirrored his reaction, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"What do you think you're doing?" James whispered, his movements fluid as he gracefully
manoeuvred around the bookshelf, which had unintentionally stood as a barrier between
them.

A shiver coursed down Lily's spine, her nerves on edge.

James's eyebrow arched in a bemused display of confusion. "Hold on a second. Have we met
before?"

Lily fought to maintain her composure, to keep her stare from faltering.

"Layla, right?"

Oh, not this again. "It's Lily," she corrected with a sharp tap of her foot against the floor.
"We're in three classes together."
At her words, James seemed to come to a standstill. Behind those eyes of his, something
happened, or perhaps shifted, maybe even ignited; Lily couldn't be certain.

For a moment, his confidence wavered, and his typically upright shoulders slumped. But
without acknowledging the brief lapse, he composed himself and calmly remarked, "Well,
you've managed to scrub off the dirt stains."

"Excuse me?"

James neatly sidestepped her question. "You are aware that this corner is strictly reserved for
Slytherins, right?"

"No?" Lily narrowed her eyes. "There's no sign saying that."

"It's an unspoken rule," James stated coldly. "Ever wonder why Ravenclaws guard that upper
floor like their very lives depend on it?"

She blinked, taken aback by the revelation.

"Muggle-borns like you always take a bit longer to catch up, don't you?"

A few seconds passed, and her mind went entirely blank. She could not think. Then she saw
James's smirk slowly curling up on his lips, and all her feelings curdled into anger.

"Oh, please," Lily whispered. At that moment, she felt a profound transformation, a switch
had been toggled, and whatever fascination she'd held for the boy vanished in an instant.
"You think you're so much better than everyone in this school just because you have some
sort of fortune to spend... but you're not! The world doesn't revolve around you!"

"Is everything all right, Mister Potter?" Irma Pince materialized from James's left. Her gaze,
as it fell upon Lily, carried an unmistakable disdain.

"Would you like me to carry your book, Mister Potter?" A man, likely an assistant or library
worker, approached the trio tentatively.

"Doesn't revolve around me?" James prodded, urging her to continue.

Lily nervously chewed on her bottom lip. Somehow, standing there with two adults nearby
made her feel less bold, less certain.

"You know what? I hate this book," James turned to Irma, gesturing to the book in his hand.
"So much so that I don't believe it should have a place in this library."

Irma looked like she'd been slapped, stammering, "Wh—what would you like me to do?"

James flashed a sinister smile. "Burn it."

Lily gasped audibly, her shock echoing through the silent library.
Irma's hands trembled as she extended them towards the book, ready to carry out James's
command—

"Stop," James mused, his voice taking on a creepy, almost whimsical quality. "I've changed
my mind. I want to read it."

Irma let out a small, almost inaudible screech as she handed the book back to James.

"Charles," James turned to the older man. "I don't think you should wear these clothes today.
Take them off."

The man, now identified as Charles, nodded without hesitation. "Surely, Mister Potter."

Charles began the process of disrobing, starting with his old and ragged coat, his hands
moved to his trousers—

Lily's eyes widened in shock.

"No, wait," James interrupted. "I think I like them, actually. Keep it."

Charles nodded once more, his movements swift and noiseless as he retrieved his coat from
the ground.

"Now, leave us," James commanded, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on hers. "Go."

Irma and Charles both lowered their heads slightly and exited the library, their retreating
figures painting a picture of subservience.

"The world may not revolve around me," James's words lingered in the air. "But I can make it
seem that way if I choose."

With that, he departed, leaving behind the distinct impression that the entire encounter had
been a carefully orchestrated performance for his own amusement.

At least this time, he hadn't thrown dirt at her like before.

But it still left Lily feeling as though she'd been dragged through the mud.

Marlene was waiting for her by the time she got back to her dorm.

"Did you meet up with him again?"

"What?"
Marlene stared at her, a cocktail of disbelief and realization swirling in her eyes. "Snape?
That Slytherin you've been hanging around with?"

Oh.

Lily let out a nervous exhale, her head shaking, trying to clear the confusion clouding her
thoughts. "I don't get why you're so dead set against him," she finally retorted. "If you could
just give him a chance..."

"He's a Slytherin!" Marlene exclaimed, her hands flailing in the air. "I don't trust any of
them."

Lily, unfazed, let herself fall back onto her bed, the mattress bouncing slightly under her
weight. "You're being a tad overdramatic."

Marlene shot her an incredulous look. "Have you forgotten about Sirius and Barty, or that...
what was her name..." She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, trying to recall. "Narcissa!"

"What about her?"

Marlene mimicked a sinister smile, pressing her index fingers to her lips. "Did you ever see
her smile, Lily? I sure haven't! Not once."

"Well, I'm not friends with them," Lily huffed, her arms crossing defensively over her chest
as she turned slightly away. "I'm friends with Severus; he's different."

"Snakes are venomous, you know."

Lily responded with a playful stick of her tongue. "But this one isn't."

Well, it wasn't entirely true.

Today, she had encountered two very different snakes—one gentle and kind, the other icy and
slippery.

Thankfully, she was smart enough to discern which one might strike and which wouldn't.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Marlene let out with a heavy sigh, grabbing her little bag off
the bed. As she walked, her duck-shaped slippers quacked with each step. Then, suddenly,
she stopped dead in the doorway, turning to give Lily a long, hard look. "You're a bit too
naive, love, and you've got this annoying habit of seeing the best in people."

Lily bristled, feeling a surge of defensiveness. "And you, Marlene, you seem to have a knack
for seeing the worst in everyone."

"Well, someone's got to watch your back. You attract trouble like a magnet."

"I can differentiate between right and wrong," Lily insisted.

"Of course," Marlene replied casually, seemingly unfazed by the conversation. But right
before she disappeared, she threw over her shoulder, "Just be careful, alright?" Her voice
suddenly had a bit of edge to it. "Because that snake," she added, getting a touch more
serious, "would love nothing more than to sink its fangs into you."

She hoped that James Potter would never get that chance.

Unfortunately, Marlene's words wrapped around Lily like vines, stubborn and hard to shake
off.

On Monday, she made a deliberate effort to position herself as far away from James as
possible in potions class.

On Thursday, she practically sprinted out of the Great Hall, her speed rivalling that of a tiger,
just to ensure she wouldn't accidentally collide with him.

On Sunday, she couldn't take it anymore.

Severus, as usual, moved through the library's dimly lit aisles with a painstaking slowness.

Her heart took off, racing like a wild stallion on open fields, leading her to stop so suddenly
she had to catch her breath.

"I can't sit there!" she whined.

Severus, his dark eyes like bottomless pools of ink, turned to her with surprise. "Why not?"

"James," she murmured. "James said that it's reserved for Slytherins only. Didn't you know?"

The way Severus clutched the book in his hand, his knuckles turning pale, said it all. "You
talked to Potter?"

The sick that crawled up her throat was hot and abrupt. "I did. But I wasn't—"

Severus's eyes went wide with fear, interrupting her quickly. "Did he say anything else?"
Yes.

"No," she lied. She prayed her cheeks did not betray her hidden emotions.

"Are you sure? Anything at all?"

A trickle of crimson began to drop from Severus's nose, slowly at first, then more insistently,
like a tear in the fabric of his composure.

"Oh, no," she blurted out, her hand reaching for him, this time armed with paper towels. "Did
you run into a wall again?"

"Kind of," Severus barely whispered, his eyes shutting tight for a moment as a grimace
crossed his usually stoic face. "I don't really look where I'm going when I'm reading."

"I'm sure Madame Pomfrey has something for this sort of thing," Lily's touch was gentle as
she dabbed the cloth onto his nose. "Why don't you visit her after Transfiguration?"

Severus's voice was muffled beneath the cloth as he asked, "He didn't say anything weird, did
he?"

"What do you mean?" Lily responded, feigning innocence.

"I don't know," he said, and gently took the cloth from her trembling hands, the bleeding
having ceased. His gaze bore into hers, haunted and searching. "I don't know, Lily. He's a
creepy bloke, and I just—you don't know—"

"It's okay, Sev, really. Let's just sit somewhere else," Lily suggested.

Severus nodded stiffly.

They did not sit at that table again for the rest of the year.
 Year 1: The Melodrama Chronicles
Chapter Summary

Oh, no!

Emotions!

Chapter Notes

TW: Mentions of Physical Abuse.

JAMES
March, 1972
He was crushing them.

All of it.

One

By

One

By

One

By—

“I think I killed them all this time!” Barty rang out.

Evan, with his arms defiantly crossed, retorted, “They didn’t even touch your stupid book.”

Barty spun toward the blond, his face contorted with anger. “My father gave me that stupid
book, and those fire ants nearly chewed through an entire page!”

Sirius let out an exasperated sigh. “How much longer must we stay out here in the sun?”

“Almost done!” Barty’s voice cracked as he unleashed a furious stomp, sending an entire
battalion of ants into oblivion. “Almost!” He stomped his foot again. And again, and again,
and again, until—

“Done,” Barty exhaled, his words emerging in gasps, like a triumphant warrior after a fierce
battle.

James examined Barty’s book wearily, holding it tightly in his hand.

Wizarding Laws and Magical Regulations: A Beginner’s Guide.

His fingers delicately traced the ornate gold lettering. “Your father sure knows how to have a
‘good time’, Barty.”

His own father knew how to enjoy himself as well, albeit in a different manner. Fleamont
Potter was a man of a different mould, one who wouldn’t be caught dead with a book like
this, let alone gift it to his son. His father’s birthday gifts were nothing short of extravagant
and grandiose, which grew more opulent each year.

“The best,” Barty quipped, jogging up to him, his forehead glistening with sweat while he
took the book from his hands.
Evan let out a tired yawn as they made their way toward the Great Hall for lunch. “Mine got
me an flat in France for my birthday this year.”

“That’s nothing,” Sirius walked backwards, facing them, his hands leisurely resting on the
back of his head. “My Uncle Alphard’s mansion is waiting for me as soon as he dies.”

Evan let out a low whistle. “You must be thrilled.”

“Can’t wait, honestly.”

“My father was just busy, alright?” Barty scoffed. “He’s on the brink of a promotion. At least
he remembered.”

Evan playfully draped his arm across Barty’s shoulders. “Well, you can always read your
stupid book in my flat. Have I mentioned that it’s in France?”

Barty retaliated with a stomp on Evan’s foot and sprinted away, prompting Evan to give
chase, though he limped heavily.

Sirius slowed his steps to match James’s pace, a curious expression on his face. “You’re
awfully quiet today, mate,” he remarked.

James hesitated, then responded with a sigh, “Aren’t I always?”

“Not really,” Sirius countered with a faint grin.

“It’s just too hot,” James answered lamely.

And really, it was sweltering.

Flying in the Quidditch pitch now seemed more like a chore than pleasure, too hot even for
the lightest cloak, making every little task feel like a struggle. The kind of heat that had you
shifting from foot to foot, seeking any sliver of coolness or a breeze.

But it wasn’t just the physical discomfort nagging at him; the unyielding heat was a constant
reminder that the school year was ticking away, drawing to a close sooner than he was ready
for.

“We’re nearly at the Great Hall,” Sirius gently nudged him. “It’s cooler there.”

And it really was.

At least their table.

Narcissa was nothing short of brilliant when it came to charms.

As James settled next to Andromeda at their familiar spot, a refreshing gust of chilly wind
ruffled his hair, a stark contrast to the sweltering atmosphere around him. He stole a quick
glance at students from other houses, their hands flailing in a desperate attempt to fend off the
oppressive heat.
“Idiots,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Sirius,” Narcissa began. “Aunt Walburga wants you to respond to her owl.”

“I already did,” Sirius scoffed, his voice muffled by a rather enormous chunk of meat he’d
shoved into his mouth.

“Last month,” Narcissa pointed out, her tone laced with annoyance.

Bellatrix cast a scrutinizing gaze at Andromeda. “—And Lucius told me you’re always
mingling with them. Those Hufflepuffs.”

“I happen to have friends in other houses,” Andromeda replied with a casual shrug.

“But why?” Bellatrix’s hissed. “Aren’t some of them half-bloods?”

“Some are,” Andromeda answered serenely.

“That’s disgusting,” James interjected, pushing his plate slightly away from him and shooting
a disapproving look in Andromeda’s direction.

Andromeda’s fingers toyed nervously with the hem of her shirt. “It’s none of your business
now, is it?”

“Oi,” Sirius cut in. “He’s just being honest.”

“You can’t keep associating yourself with them, Andy,” Bellatrix set her fork down with a
determined thud. “You’re almost about to graduate.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?” Andromeda shot back.

“It means you have to grow up at some point!” Bellatrix’s voice rose sharply, drawing the
attention of more than a few Slytherins who exchanged discreet glances.

“Oh, here we go,” Sirius mumbled to James, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “The
Melodrama Chronicles.”

The concept of ‘The Melodrama Chronicles’ was a little inside joke that James and Sirius had
come up with a few years back.

It all stemmed from the undeniable truth that Bellatrix and Andromeda had a knack for
sparking explosive fights at the most unexpected and pointless moments.

These sisterly spats usually boiled down to shouting matches, often spiced up with hexes
thrown back and forth. And, to James’s secret delight, they always ended with either
Andromeda or Bellatrix breaking into a fit of heart-wrenching sobs.

Hence, ‘The Melodrama Chronicles.’

It wasn’t that the crying was entertaining per se, mainly because the sounds they made during
their wailing sessions could be downright unpleasant. Narcissa had quickly learned to silence
them with a charm until they’d calmed down.

But the lead-up to the sobbing spectacle?

That, James had to admit, was some of the funniest stuff he’d ever witnessed.

“I think you should invest more time in your fiancé—” Andromeda snapped.

Bellatrix’s face was grim.

“—more than what the hell I’m doing!” Andromeda continued.

James couldn’t ignore the fact that a number of Slytherins had actually ceased eating
altogether, their attention now firmly fixed on the heated exchange.

“I don’t know what kind of sick shit you’ve formed with those half-bloods, but it ends now!”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Andromeda shouted back.

James bit down his laugh.

Bellatrix's hand shot into her pocket, emerging with her wand clutched so tightly that her
knuckles turned white. "I can, and I will because I'm the eldest!"

Andromeda, not one to back down, quickly pulled out her own wand, holding it up as a
challenge. "You wouldn't dare!"

“Watch me!” Bellatrix barked.

“You—you,” Andromeda muttered, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Damn it,
Bella—the world doesn’t revolve around you!”

James choked on his boiled potatoes, his face turning a shade of crimson.

Andromeda and Bellatrix abruptly halted their heated exchange, their faces shifting from fury
to concern, and both turned their attention to James, their wands now forgotten.

Sirius, always quick to react, clapped James on the back with a force that sent more potatoes
airborne.

“James,” Andromeda said, her expression filled with worry, as she handed him a goblet of
soothing pumpkin juice. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes,” James stammered, managing to regain his composure after taking a few gulps of the
juice. He offered a shaky smile as they all stared at him. “I’m fine.”

Narcissa shook her head in disapproval. “You do tend to eat rather hastily, you know.”
He took another sip from his goblet, the cool liquid a brief respite from the heat of
embarrassment that still flushed his cheeks. “Definitely.”

No matter how much he wanted to, he resisted the urge to let his eyes wander toward the
Gryffindor table.

“I didn’t even stomp on your foot that hard,” Barty scoffed.

Evan, now reclining on the hospital bed, gasped dramatically, clutching his chest in agony.
“But it hurts! It hurts so much!”

Barty stuck out his tongue. “You shouldn’t have called my book stupid.”

“Well, he was limping for a whole hour,” Sirius remarked, casually propping his feet up on a
nearby table.

“See! See!” Evan pouted. “Sirius saw it!”

James, his patience waning, sighed deeply. “Stop being such a baby, Evan.”

Evan subtly cleared his throat. “Actually, it doesn’t hurt that much.”

Sirius nodded, casting a quick look at James. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Madame Pomfrey appeared, the white curtains around them fluttering open. “Here you go,
dear. This should help with the swelling and the pain.”

Evan shot a cautious look at James, who raised an eyebrow.

“Bloody hell, just take it,” Barty hissed.

Evan accepted the small green vial from Madame Pomfrey’s hands and downed it in a single
gulp.

“Wait,” the elderly witch exclaimed. “You’re not supposed to—”

Before anyone could react, Evan suddenly retched, spraying the contents of his stomach all
over Barty’s clothes.

“I’m going to kill him,” Barty muttered, dangerously low, while Sirius erupted into laughter,
unable to contain himself.
Turns out, Barty was a man of his word, and he did try to get back at Evan that very night.
But, truth be told, his efforts didn’t go far because his spell repertoire was limited to a single
charm—‘Winderguim Leviosa,’ and it didn’t cause much havoc. However, that spell served
as the catalyst for a late-night brawl, a rather fresh spin on his notorious ‘Melodrama
Chronicles.’

“You always hog all the space in the dorm!” Evan’s exasperated shout echoed.

Barty cast a bewildered gaze around the room. “This is my bed, mate. Naturally, I take up
space in my bed!”

Meanwhile, Sirius lay sprawled on his bed, blissfully asleep with his curtains drawn.

“First, you practically squash my foot—”

“I barely tapped it!”

“—Then you lay claim to my teddy bear!”

“Mister Pink doesn’t belong to anyone! We found it when we moved in!”

James let out a frustrated groan. He yanked his pillow from beneath his head and pressed it
over his ears, muffling the ongoing commotion until it was nothing more than a distant hum.
As much as he usually got a kick out of witnessing another round of the ‘Melodrama
Chronicles,’ he was now downright desperate for some shut-eye.

Ordinarily, Evan and Barty didn’t bicker much, and neither did any of them with one another.

James figured it must be the oppressive heat, coupled with the looming stress of upcoming
exams, that had everyone on edge—even first-years like themselves.

“I can’t take this,” he muttered beneath the suffocating embrace of his pillow, and with a huff,
he climbed out of bed.

“Oh, and one more thing!” Evan’s words still pierced the room, unfazed. “I lied! I did use
your toothbrush the other day—”

James had never dared to venture into the Slytherin common room at night before, but
desperate times called for desperate measures.

As he descended the stairs, he found the entire place strangely deserted.

The room was like a tranquil aquarium, surrounded by large, rectangular windows that
offered glimpses of the dark lake’s depths, where bubbles and moss danced like submerged
spectres. Despite the summer’s warmth above, an enduring icy chill clung to this
subterranean chamber, as if it were a vault of secrets hidden beneath the castle. In the heart of
it all, a colossal fireplace commanded attention, casting its eerie greenish-white glow across
the room. Black and green leather sofas were strewn about, resembling islands in an
uncharted sea, yet devoid of occupants.

He made his way toward the welcoming warmth of the hearth, only to come to an abrupt halt
when he spotted—

Bellatrix.

She was sprawled out on the sofa facing the crackling fire, wearing a dark nightgown that
seemed to swallow the light, making her blend into the shadows. Her eyes were locked on the
ceiling, lost in thoughts he could only guess at.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare breathe. Maybe if he stood very, very still, Bellatrix wouldn’t be
able to sense him.

“I know you’re there, James,” Bellatrix sighed deeply.

With considerable reluctance, he settled beside her.

A faint flutter, almost imperceptible, stirred within his chest—a touch of discomfort, a subtle
ripple of unease. James quickly dismissed it. His relationship with Bellatrix was, at best,
distant; the gap in their ages and their differing passions had always ensured a certain
coldness between them. Yet, as the minutes drifted past in quiet unison, James, his grip firm
on his small pillow, felt his attention wane under the hypnotic dance of the flames in the
fireplace.

"I’m sorry if we scared you and Sirius today," Bellatrix finally broke the silence, her voice
carrying a hint of vulnerability that was rare for her.

James stirred from the edge of slumber, his eyelids fluttering as he barely managed to crack
one eye open. “At lunch, you mean?” he mumbled.

Bellatrix nodded, her shoulders slumping. “Yes, I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

He gave a small nod. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t,” Bellatrix replied casually. “And it’s better that you don’t, honestly. You’re
too young to be involved in all of this.”

With that, James’s eyes began to drift shut once more.

“Andy is just being immature,” Bellatrix continued. “As usual.”

James’s eyes flickered open at the mention of Andromeda’s name. However, his attention
quickly shifted, drawn to something unexpected.

There, on Bellatrix’s right underarm, a small but vivid bruise marred her otherwise
unblemished skin.
Bellatrix caught the direction of his gaze, her eyes trailing to the discoloured patch on her
arm. “Oh, that’s just the effect of a simple cruciatus curse, no big deal.”

A heavy feeling dropped into his stomach.

That wasn’t just any bruise, and it certainly wasn’t ‘no big deal.’ It conjured vivid
recollections of his own encounters with the curse, even though they were thankfully limited.
The first had been at the tender age of five when he had accidentally shattered his mother’s
cherished vase. The second, more recent, had occurred last year when he had dared to
question his father about the prospect of being sorted into a house other than Slytherin. He
had gotten his answer.

“I’ve taken every single one of the cruciatus curses meant for my sisters,” Bellatrix’s fingers
twisted a lock of hair nervously. “They still don’t know how many times it has been used on
me, but it’s fine.”

"Doesn't it hurt?"

“A bit," Bellatrix took a shaky breath. "I forget most of it.”

James didn’t.

The scars, both physical and emotional, were etched into his very being.

“You’re being forced into this marriage, aren’t you?” He didn’t know whether to laugh or
yell.

Bellatrix nodded, confirming his worst fears. “I have no choice.”

“That’s…“ James ground his teeth. “That’s madness!”

She shrugged, as if it could somehow diminish the grief he saw in her eyes, shining so bright
in the firelight. “I am mad, as well,” she whispered and turned to the fire again.

“There has to be another way!” he said, a bit sharply.

“Well,” a faint smile played at the corners of Bellatrix’s mouth. “You can promise me.”

“Anything,” James pledged.

A glimmer of pain flashed across her face, so real and endless that he felt it in his gut.
“Promise me that you’ll marry for love. No matter what happens, no matter who you
choose… marry for love. That way, at least one of us finds happiness. It's the only victory I
dare hope for."

James baulked at the notion. “But I don’t want to get married at all,” he admitted, feeling
trapped by the very idea.

“One day,” Bellatrix reassured him, “you’ll have to. When that day comes, make it count.”
"I promise," the pledge rushed out of him, almost without his control, a jumbled mess of a
vow. Then his eyes snapped wide open as he caught the weight of his own words. The
expected future, one with that porcelain doll of a future wife, poised at the end of some swift,
inevitable Hogwarts graduation ceremony, flashed before him. That image, that expectation,
it would have to wait.

Thoughts of Bellatrix crept in, uninvited yet insistent. Trying to make sense of her, her
family, the whole mess—it was too much. How had she managed, day in and day out, to face
such cruelty at her home? It was unbearable to even think about. It was horrible to imagine.
She deserved none of this pain.

Suddenly, a tear broke free, carving a wet trail down James's cheek.

He was so surprised he touched his face to make sure it was real. More tears followed, a
sudden downpour, and he found himself sobbing, breaths tearing through him in sharp,
ragged pulls. Everything blurred, his throat tight and burning, the grief and shock tangling
into a knot he couldn't untie.

Bellatrix stared at him, her eyes wide.

Oh, hell.

The ‘Melodrama Chronicles’ got to him.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Sirius started with a grin, “but I had the best sleep of my life
last night.”

“Same here,” Evan added, toothbrush in mouth, speaking to his reflection in the mirror. I
think I just needed to let off some steam.”

“No, it’s because I gave you Mister Pink for the night,” Barty mused while carefully combing
his messy, brown locks.

“For the night?” Evan's reflection frowned back at him, a mock pout forming.

“Alright,” Barty sighed, relenting. “We can share it.”

Sirius finally turned to James. “Did you sleep in the common room?”

“Yeah,” James replied, avoiding eye contact for a moment before glancing back at Sirius.

“Why?”

He washed his face with cold water, attempting to soothe his frayed nerves. “Felt like it.”
Barty frowned. “Sorry, if we made too much noise, mate, you should have said something.”

“I said I felt like it,” James repeated.

Evan stepped forward. “Oh, were you crying? Your eyes look red and swollen.”

“Don’t be daft," Sirius turned to Evan, a mocking grin on his face. "James never cries.”

Barty backed Evan up. “He looks like he might have, though.”

This was his biggest fear realized, the moment his tears had begun to fall.

It branded him as weak.

Made him feel small.

Immature.

He couldn't wrap his head around why he'd broken down like that in front of Bellatrix, only
that it seemed to make her more anxious, seeing him as just a stumbling boy, lost at the first
sign of trouble.

No.

None of that.

He wasn’t weak.

He wasn’t—

“Get up,” Fleamont gave James a sharp nudge with his foot. “Get up, you weak, insolent
child!”

He wasn’t weak!

“I said,” James retorted, channelling the harsh, stony voice that his mother often used with
others, “I felt like it.”

Evan and Barty seemed to shrink a little at that. The corners of their mouths twitched, not
quite settling into a smile or a frown, while their hands found the hems of their robes,
twisting and untwisting the fabric—a ballet of nervous fingers.

Sirius, on the other hand, remained unmoved. “You sure?”

“If you ask me why, again, I will make you regret the day you—”

“—were born!” Fleamont’s voice thundered, resonating through time. “Have you lost your
mind, boy?”

Sirius nodded, just once. “Fine,” he replied, though the tube of toothpaste in his hand
crinkled as he squeezed it a bit too tightly.
“You will get sorted into Slytherin,” Fleamont hissed. “Understood?”

He did.
 Year 1: The Winner Takes It All
Chapter Notes

TW: Blood

See the end of the chapter for more notes

LILY
April, 1972
The creature emerged from the depths, its obsidian form gliding through the water with
mesmerizing grace, disturbing the surface with minimal ripples.

“Step aside, you foolish woman, if you have any sense at all!”

Her pulse leapt—

“Step aside!”

—into a wild beat.

Then it all dissolved into darkness, and all she could see was a cold, unforgiving abyss.

It robbed her of sight, choked her breath, and muffled her hearing.

She was overwhelmed, drowning in her own—

“Lily?”

—fear.

Fear.

Fear.

Fear.

A scream that tore through the very fabric of her soul.

Growing louder with every thudding heartbeat.

A voice.

No.

Two voices.

“I didn’t do it, you fucking—Let go of me!”

Angry shouts.

Desperate tugs.

Fear.

She was so afraid.

“I beg of you—please. I need to see him. Let me see Ja—”

Lily woke up, her eyes snapping open with such force that she had to take a few seconds to
let herself breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Everything was alright.

There was no darkness, no cacophony of sound, no piercing screams.

Just the gentle echoes of morning birds outside the Gryffindor Tower, and the soothing breeze
from an open window nearby.

She could hear Mary’s soft snores and Marlene’s gentle humming.

It had all been a dream.

Nothing more.

She was safe.

She would be just fine.

All was well.

“You woke up early,” Marlene ceased her lilting humming as she noticed Lily’s attempt to sit
up, though her body shook, and her pillow was drenched in sweat.

“I know,” Lily managed to croak, her throat parched. “I had a bad dream.”

“Oh, dear,” Marlene paused in the act of tying her hair into a bun. “Would you like to talk
about it?”

“No, it’s alright,” Lily yawned. “What time is it?”

“Just past six.”

“Marlene, I told you, no loud voices before eight!” Mary grumbled, tossing a white pillow at
Marlene’s head, which she deftly avoided.

“Mary, stop shouting,” Carlotta exclaimed from her bed. Her curtains were drawn, and with a
simple flick, they opened, most likely done with her wand. She sat there, arms crossed over
her chest, a frown creasing her brow. She was, well, there was truly no other way to put it—
exquisitely beautiful. She had the air of those old-time movie stars that Lily had glimpsed on
the telly once, all grace and poise.
“Marlene and Lily started it!” Mary bellowed, her eyes still heavy. “I need my eight hours of
beauty sleep, or I’ll have dark circles when I grow old!”

“You’re eleven years old.”

“Exactly,” Mary sighed, massaging her temples.

“Well, since everyone is up,” Marlene began with an enormous grin on her face, “how about
a morning run to—”

“No!” The trio erupted in unison, hurling pillows from their beds at Marlene.

To her astonishment, the blonde exhibited remarkable agility, effortlessly evading every
single pillow once more, her hearty laughter echoing through the room.

Despite Lily’s best efforts and fervent hopes that the dream would dissipate, those disturbing
shouts persisted in her mind, while Marlene’s giggles offered little comfort.

“—I didn't do it, Barty, I’m telling you,” Sirius sauntered past her table with Barty, his hands
nonchalantly tucked into his pockets. “This is definitely Evan’s doing, you know he’s
obsessed with that teddy bear.”

“Mister Pink,” Barty corrected him, waving at someone seated at the Slytherin table. “It has a
—”

“What’s on your mind?” Mary asked, her movements gentle as she spread peanut butter onto
her sliced bread.

Lily relaxed her posture. “Nothing. Just feeling a bit tired.”

“Due to waking up so early, I assume?” Mary finished Lily’s sentence for her, a habit she
had.

“Early? You consider six early?” Marlene joined them, taking a seat beside Mary and
playfully ruffling her hair. “I usually wake up around five.”

“I know,” Mary sighed, rolling her eyes in a grand display. “The only people crazy enough to
rise at such an unearthly hour are Headmaster Dumbledore and you.”

“Dumbledore?” Lily’ asked. “How do you know?”

Mary’s voice softened. “Well, there was this one night last year. I couldn’t sleep. Missing
mum and dad back home, you know? So, I decided to sit by the window near your bed.
That’s when I saw him, just strolling around the school grounds, quietly watching the
sunrise.”
“I think he just enjoys gazing at the sky,” Lily whispered, reminiscing about the encounter
she had with him a few months back. “Especially at the moon.”

Their meeting had been unexpected, to say the least.

One moment he seemed perfectly at ease, the next, traces of worry flitted across his face,
hinting at deeper storms. Lily remembered thinking how his eyes seemed to hold a world of
their own, deep enough to look right into you, gently pulling at the threads of your most
guarded thoughts. He was a blend of curiosity and mild fear, a book written in a language she
hadn’t yet learned to translate. Why would someone like Albus Dumbledore, who’d seen so
much of life, find such simple joy in the sky's changing colours, the dance of the clouds, or
the quiet glow of the moon?

Marlene squared her shoulders.“Well, I hope he’s not considering joining the Gryffindor
Quidditch team anytime soon.” A slight smile played on her lips.

Mary chuckled, adding to the banter. “Yeah, I’m sure a hundred-year-old wizard wants
nothing more than to challenge you in the Quidditch pitch.”

Marlene tossed an olive into the air, attempting to catch it with her mouth. “You never know.
That man is full of surprises.”

Professor Crowe was smiling, each of those razor-sharp iron teeth glinting in the afternoon
light.

“Now, children,” he addressed them from a raised platform, his yellow eyes fixed upon the
gathered crowd. It was a gaze reminiscent of Madam Hooch’s, although hers bore black slits
in the centre, while Crowe’s had unusually large, round pupils. “For today’s duel,” he
continued, “as is our custom, I will be selecting names from the list.”

A chorus of groans erupted from some of the students in the classroom.

“Oh, hush, all of you,” Crowe sighed, swiftly catching a flying parchment in his palm. “You
know I can’t pass any of you officially until each and every single one has duelled, and it
seems there are only a few left whom I haven’t called upon all year.”

“Thank Merlin, I did mine at the beginning of the term,” Marlene whispered to Lily.

Lily nodded, having done the same.

She had duelled with a Ravenclaw, Sienna or something—she couldn’t quite remember the
girl’s name. Nevertheless, she had proven to be remarkably clever. While Lily had launched a
relentless offensive, the blonde girl had countered with protective spells, ultimately wearing
Lily down before landing the final blow.
“Let’s see,” Crowe mused. “Mister Potter?”

A sudden eruption of cheers broke the tense silence. Slytherins clapped and whooped,
encouraging James to rise at the back of the class. He obliged, even winking at a Hufflepuff
as he did so.

“I worry for the poor soul who will duel with that one,” Mary giggled.

“And Mister Lupin.”

Her throat bobbed.

She hadn’t found the strength to approach Remus Lupin again after that night.

In the ensuing days and weeks, she had tried several times to reach out to him, but each
attempt had met with resounding failure. This was particularly disheartening because she
could see his illness steadily deteriorating. Remus had transformed into a mere ghost of his
former self, wandering the school without exchanging a word with anyone, his face an
emotionless mask.

At this stage, even Lily felt utterly powerless.

But now…

“Does Professor Crowe not know about Remus’s condition?” Marlene whispered urgently,
sparking a wave of hushed conversations.

“No, he knows,” Mary responded quickly. “Every professor is well-informed about the
details, I'm sure. Lupin has special accommodations.”

“Quiet!” Crowe’s voice thundered. “Everyone, please rise from your seats. You know the
procedure.”

Everyone quickly moved to the sides, pressing against the walls as Crowe flicked his wand.
The desks vanished, as if swallowed by the room itself. Next, with a smooth motion of his
wand, he drew a large white chalk circle on the floor

Remus appeared visibly horrified, his small frame trembling. He was so ill, so fragile, so
helpless.

She needed to do something—but duelling James was an entirely different challenge.

Up until this point, she had managed to stay out of his way, remaining invisible and letting
him do his own thing, and he had reciprocated.

She couldn’t afford to repeat the same mistake she had made in the library…

A sharp headache seized her.

"I won’t let anything bad happen to you, you’ll see," Petunia whispered, her fingers carefully
tying Lily's hair into a neat ponytail.

“I can’t let this happen,” Lily whispered urgently.

“Lily, have you gone mad?” Marlene interjected, gripping her arms tightly, fingers pressing
into her skin.

“I’ve duelled once, and I can do it again,” Lily broke free of Marlene’s grasp. “Remus is
unwell. He can’t possibly fight, someone has to step up!”

“Someone needs to protect you,” Petunia murmured, her voice wavering.

“I’ll do it,” Lily ground out, raising her hand, commanding silence in the room.

“Miss Evans?” Crowe questioned.

“I want to take Remus’s place.”

James, now in the centre of the circle, stiffened.

“I commend your Gryffindor courage,” Crowe acknowledged with a tight smile. “But you’ve
already duelled with Miss Trelawney; there’s no need for you to go again.”

“But I want to,” Lily insisted.

Crowe took a moment to reflect, his eyes widening in realization. He shifted his gaze to
Remus, who remained by the wall, looking somewhat dazed, as if he hadn’t fully grasped the
situation.

“Very well,” Crowe reluctantly agreed. “I momentarily overlooked your condition, Mister
Lupin, my apologies for the oversight. However, this is the designated duelling period, and
just for this instance, I’ll allow Miss Evans to participate once again. I hope this arrangement
meets with your approval, Mister Potter.”

James’s pupils expanded considerably, a wide grin playing on his lips. “Certainly, Professor.
I’m all for it.”

“Lily, you can’t be serious,” Mary whispered, her warm breath brushing against Lily’s ear.
“He’s going to give you a drubbing!”

“Mary’s right,” Marlene chimed in, her expression furrowed with concern. “James is an
incredibly skilled duellist. You won’t stand a chance against him.”

Crowe’s foot began tapping impatiently on the floor, and a few Slytherins chuckled at the
delay. “Miss Evans, if you please,” he urged.

She stole a quick glance at Remus, who appeared to regain some colour in his face, and by
some small miracle, he gave her a faint, grateful smile.
Thank you.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I can handle this.”

Despite their continued protests, she chose to ignore her friends and entered the confines of
the duelling circle. A green bubble materialized around them as she did, sealing them off
from the rest of the room. The bubble shimmered and rippled before becoming transparent.

“Remember the rules,” Crowe reminded them. “Secure a decisive victory, and you’ll earn an
‘Outstanding.’ Put up a valiant fight, even if it’s not perfect, and you’ll receive an ‘Exceeds
Expectations.’ The other rankings are of lesser importance. Courage, intelligence, and
strength are all valuable. But above all, demonstrate respect for each other.”

James’s hand trembled slightly as he raised his wand. “An ‘Outstanding’? I thought that
wasn’t a grading option in this class?”

“Oh, it certainly is, Mister Potter,” Crowe chuckled. “But only a select few earn that grade.
Let that be your motivation.”

Lily was genuinely concerned that James was already motivated enough.

“On the count of three!” Crowe’s voice rang out. “Cast your charms to disarm your opponent,
and I emphasize, only to disarm!”

Lily closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep, calming breath through her nose.

“One—”

“What’s the matter, Layla? Scared?” James taunted, clicking his tongue.

"Two—"

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that my name is not—”

“Three!”

“Impedimenta!” James bellowed, unleashing the spell with such force that Lily barely
managed to evade it.

“Quite fast, aren’t we?” James jeered as he began to circle her. “Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!” Lily screamed, conjuring a flickering blue barrier around her in an instant.

“Oh, you are scared,” James tilted his head to the side, his breath heavy. “Your shield is
faltering.”

“Stupefy!” Lily shouted, causing her shield to dissipate. James expertly sidestepped the spell
with surprising ease, but his neatly framed glasses fell to the ground and shattered.

Great.
Someone yelled something at her, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“What?” She turned to the sea of onlooking students—

"Lily, be careful!" Severus warned.

“Everte Statum!”

Lily was propelled to the very edge of the enormous circle, her back slamming hard against
the protective barrier enclosing them.

It burned.

Everything burned.

She didn’t move, didn’t think she could, couldn’t remember why she ever wanted to.

James laughed, the sound bordering on manic. His hair was dishevelled, his tie nearly
undone, making him look positively unhinged.

He approached her and seized a strand of her hair.

“Mister Potter, no physical contact—” Crowe began.

“You’ve ruined my favourite glasses,” James hissed, and Lily could barely muster the
strength to open her eyes and meet his gaze. “Shouldn’t have intervened for that pathetic
half-blood of yours—”

“Mister Potter, that’s enough!”

"Professor, do something!" someone's frantic shout sounded.

“I can’t do anything until the duel is finished!”

"Oi, James, just end it already!" Sirius' yell bounced around the room, followed by Barty's
triumphant cheer.

Temper—she knew she should control it, but no one insulted Remus that way and got away
with it. Not even arrogant pure-bloods like him.

Summoning the last shreds of her energy, she pushed James back with all her might.

He staggered, anger and astonishment contorting his face.

“Okay, that’s enough! What was that counter-spell…” Crowe muttered to himself, but Lily
was beyond caring.

She was over everything.

Both of them reached for their wands, scowling fiercely at each other.
“Petrificus Totalus!” they both shouted simultaneously.

In a sudden twist, the protective bubble encasing them popped, sending their spells spiralling
out of control with newfound ferocity.

Lily found herself catapulted across the room. She crashed into Crowe’s desk, a sharp jolt of
pain shooting through her as she collided with the tough wood. She landed hard on the floor,
making her feel as though her skin had been peeled back, laying bare the ache in her bones.

Blood.

She could taste blood in her mouth.

Mary’s panicked shouts and Marlene’s urgent commands became distant echoes as her eyes
barely fluttered open. She heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Lily?”

Severus.

“Lily? Are you alright?”

Agony coursed through her.

Fear.

Fear.

Fear.

A scream that tore through the very fabric of her soul.

“Let go of me!” Sirius cried out. “James!”

"Lily, please, please, please, please," Severus's voice quivered with desperation, each word a
plea, and she felt a single, warm teardrop graze her chilled cheek, like the touch of a falling
star.

“James!” Sirius screamed. Was he by her side?

An unfamiliar hand lay nearby, not Severus’s. It was almost touching her own hand. She
turned her throbbing head to the side, shapes swimming in her blurred vision. A persistent,
high-pitched ringing plagued her ears.

It hurt, oh, how it hurt.

Meanwhile, Professor Crowe was grappling to regain control of the chaos, spells whizzing
past.

"James!" Sirius shouted. “Not again, not again, not again—”

 “Lily!” Severus, tears glistening in his eyes, forcibly turned her face towards him. “We’ll get
you to the hospital wing. Don’t worry, it’ll be alri—”

She managed to side-glimpse at James’s face, smeared with ash, lying motionless beside her,
eyes closed.

His wand had slipped from his grasp.

Then the world went dark.

Chapter End Notes

I just had to take a moment, once again, to express my appreciation for each and every
one of you.

Thank you for your interest! ❤️

 Year 1: Loathing, Absolute Loathing
Chapter Summary

"What is this feeling?

Fervid as a flame."

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
JAMES
April, 1972
White.

An overwhelming expanse of white surrounded him.

The world seemed to blur, like a dream just before waking.

Then, a realization flickered—a sense of being outdoors, of the open sky.

“As I have told Mister Snape when he was here, there is no need to fret,” came a voice,
carrying a distinct accent. “It’s just the shock of a spell, right in the face. These first-year
duels can be quite the spectacle, especially given their tender age.”

The white grew brighter, an intensity that threatened to engulf him entirely.

“He’s coming around,” someone noted, unmistakably Sirius. His ‘h’s, while still bearing a
trace of that French accent, had been gradually fading since their time at Hogwarts began.

“Give me some space! Let me see!” That voice grated on his nerves, all nasal and irritating.
Evan. It was always Evan’s voice that made him want to punch the nearest wall.

“Stop fussing, or you’ll make him dizzy!” Barty. That was definitely Barty.

James gradually pried open his eyes, and the initial room-brightening began to recede. His
hand found its way to his throbbing head.

Sirius leaned in, his face uncomfortably close. “I was so worried,” he confessed, his tears
spilling onto James’s face.

James roughly pushed Sirius’s face away, but Sirius responded with an uncharacteristically
tight embrace instead.

Oh, no.

No.

No.

No.

He absolutely despised hugging, loathed any form of physical contact, actually. The warmth
of another body pressed against his own, the pounding rhythm of another’s heart—it all felt
disgusting, terrifying, and utterly repulsive, like a secret he wished to keep buried forever. He
didn’t know why.

Evan and Barty joined in, piling on top of him, effectively pinning him down.

“Can’t—breathe—” James wheezed, ensnared beneath their combined weight.

Barty chuckled as the trio promptly released their hold.

“When that spell backfired,” Sirius continued, “I had no idea what to do. It was absolute
chaos. The moment you and that girl hit the ground, Slytherins and Gryffindors in the room
started brawling.”

Evan chimed in nonchalantly, “I managed to hex one or two of them. No big deal. They just
had jelly legs for a solid five minutes.”

“It was rather brilliant, to be honest,” Barty’s grin was infectious. “You should’ve seen it.”

Sirius’s shoulders relaxed. Just a little. “There was this one girl, kept shrieking at me to back
off.”

“Because you were screaming James’s name like a lunatic,” The drawn curtains rustled open,
revealing the sight of a blonde that startled the boys, prompting them to release high-pitched
yelps. Evan even went so far as to dramatically clutch his chest.

“Enough of the theatrics,” another girl with unruly dark hair joined the scene. “Lily is trying
to eat.”

“Layla’s here?” James sneered.

This whole situation was, without a doubt, her fault.

Duelling with that lanky bloke had been a straightforward path to an ‘Outstanding’ in
Defense Against the Dark Arts, something that would have surely pleased his mother. Then,
out of nowhere, she had intervened, ruining his carefully choreographed victory.

He had underestimated her, that much was clear now.

“It’s Lily!” a small, feminine voice corrected him from behind the half-opened curtain.

“I don’t care!” James erupted, his anger surging within him, a dormant volcano awakening.
With a swift, forceful motion, he yanked the curtain all the way open, revealing her sitting
there, rigid and proper, a partially eaten bowl of soup perched on her lap.

With her presence here, he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even breathe properly.

“Are you completely daft?” he bellowed, cutting through the backdrop of arguing girls and
Sirius.

“I could ask you the same question,” Layla retorted, her eyes narrowing into twin slits of
determination. “You’re not allowed to touch me during a duel! But you did—”

“You broke my glasses!”

“—which is a violation of rule thirty-six, chapter three, paragraph number four—”

“I was meant to duel someone else!”

“Remus is unwell!” Layla shot up from her bed with astonishing speed, her words like rapid-
fire spells. “It wouldn’t have been fair to duel him!”

He was over the edge.

So close—

So dangerously close to—

“Again,” he gritted out. “Does it look like I care?”

“You should! Any decent person, any fair person, would’ve backed off the moment his name
was announced!”

“Ah, here we go again,” James mockingly applauded, a wry smile dancing upon his lips.
“Gryffindors and their obsession with fairness. Well, let me tell you something, red. Fairness
is just a fancy word people use when they can’t handle the reality of the world. It doesn’t
bloody mean anything!”

Layla leaned in, their faces mere inches apart. “Would it truly cost you so much to utter a
simple apology?”

“Apologize? For what?”

Layla extended her fingers, counting off the charges with a growing intensity. “For
everything! First, you were absolutely horrid to me the first time we met, then, you pelted dirt
at me, you ordered around two grown adults just to intimidate me, and you pulled my hair,
nearly causing me serious harm, all because of your stupid glasses!”

“They cost more than your entire life!”

“I didn’t hex him,” a girl’s voice piped up from behind, presumably one of Layla’s friends.

Sirius, in his characteristic dramatic fashion, gasped. “You did! I saw it with my very eyes!”

“Wait—what dirt are you talking about?”

“At Madam Hooch’s class!”

“Oh, Merlin, save me,” James rolled his eyes heavenward. “That was months ago! If
anything, you’re the one who constantly interferes with everything! Back then, I told you to
move aside, and then I pointed out that you were occupying a spot meant for my house. I
made it clear that you had no business meddling in matters that didn’t concern you!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Layla protested, forcefully shoving James in the chest.

“You don't make any sense!” James shoved her back. He was burning. Burning so much. So
little. So fast. So quick. He had never been this angry before.

Layla stumbled back, planting her hands firmly on her hospital bed.
“What do you want? What do you want from me?” James threatened as he pushed her again,
testing her limits.

Layla countered his aggression with even greater force, finally getting back on her feet, her
eyes locked with his.

“T-to stay away from me!” she shouted.

“I can say the exact same thing!” James shot back.

“Enough!” McGonagall’s voice sliced through the tension, not just quelling James and Layla
but also bringing the entire room to a hushed standstill. “Look at you all, bickering like a
group of immature children.”

“But we are children,” Evan muttered under his breath, his tone almost apologetic.

“Not now, Mister Rosier,” Slughorn interjected, stepping forward from behind McGonagall.

McGonagall turned to Madame Pomfrey. “How are they, Poppy?”

Madame Pomfrey waved a dismissive hand in the air. “They’re all right, Professor. A few
scratches here and there, but nothing serious.”

Layla, her face now shadowed with guilt, seemed to physically shrink under the weight of
McGonagall’s disappointment, her defiance replaced with an uneasy silence.

The professor’s attention then shifted to the blonde and brunette. “Miss MacDonald, Miss
McKinnon, return to your classrooms; I shall take it from here.”

Without a word, they obeyed, casting a brief wave in Layla’s direction before melting into the
castle’s labyrinthine corridors.

“The same directive applies to the three of you,” Professor Slughorn’s round face was etched
with disbelief. “And Mister Black, please stop crying. As you can see, Mister Potter is
perfectly intact.”

Sirius reddened furiously. “I—I wasn’t crying again—”

Barty took the initiative to guide Evan and Sirius away, their footsteps echoing with a sense
of reluctance as they left.

Turning her full attention back to James and Layla, Professor McGonagall’s sternness
remained unwavering. “For the two of you,” she declared, “this has been one of the most
puerile, unprofessional, and unorthodox duels I’ve had the displeasure of witnessing.”

James responded with an eye-roll that he did little to disguise.

“Mind your manners, young man,” Professor McGonagall admonished. “While you may
wield a measure of influence among your fellow students, understand that it holds no sway
over me.”
In response, Layla fixed James with a pointed gaze.

“Not so fast, Miss Evans,” Professor Slughorn advised, sounding much like a disappointed
maestro addressing a musician who had missed a crucial note in a symphony. “While your
decision to substitute for Mister Lupin displayed considerable courage, you ought to have
curbed your anger. Our magic is deeply connected to our emotions, and you must have
realized that by now.”

Layla nodded with a touch of regret, her expression marked by a furrowed brow. “I’m sorry,
Professor.”

The expectant gazes of both Slughorn and McGonagall fell upon him.

They hoped for an apology, didn’t they?

Absolutely not.

He was a Potter.

And maybe for the first time in his life, he was going to act like it.

“Layla was wrong, and I was right. Good talk? Good talk,” he concluded, bestowing
Professor Slughorn with an overly enthusiastic pat on the back as he departed without a
backward glance.

He was a Potter, for Merlin’s sake!

He answered to no one.

“Answer me!” Bellatrix demanded. “I want to know her name, her family lineage, every
morsel of her deepest fears—”

Andromeda, with a deft move, commandeered James’s untouched plate. “Here, take mine as
well. I’ve lost my appetite tonight.”

James, caught between groans and protests, tried to regain control. “Enough, I’m perfectly
fine!”

Narcissa pressed her delicate hand to his forehead, her lips slightly puckered as she assessed,
“His temperature appears to be normal.”

Bellatrix pressed on, “James, you’ve not answered my question!”

Meanwhile, in a dramatic scene orchestrated for maximum effect, Sirius sat amidst other
Slytherin students, regaling them with grandeur. “I was utterly petrified! The moment I saw
him sprawled on the ground, oh,” he melodramatically placed the back of his hand against his
forehead, “the horror!”

James released a deep, heavy sigh.

“We have to do something,” Narcissa pondered aloud, her slender fingers resting beneath her
chin.

“We can set Gryffindor’s common room on fire,” Bellatrix proposed.

“We are not going to commit arson just because James lost a duel,” Andromeda chided, her
tone measured as she took a dainty sip from her goblet.

“I just—I want her to be as far away from me as possible,” James finally admitted, breaking
the silence that had settled over them. “Far, far, far, far away.”

Bellatrix’s smile grew wicked. “Ah, she’s a Mudblood, isn’t she? Not even worth your time.”

James nodded in agreement.

After all, he wouldn’t be confined to spending every waking moment with her, would he?

“Godric Gryffindor!” Layla boldly raised her hand from the front of the classroom.

Professor Binns, the epitome of monotony, responded with his usual lethargic manner.
“That’s right.” He continued, painfully slow in his delivery. “Now, who can… tell me… the
year Merlin became a trusted advisor of… King Arthur—”

James shot his hand up.

“1311!” Layla enthusiastically shouted.

Binns nodded, a rare, ghostly smile gracing his parchment-like countenance. “Correct, Miss
Evans. Five points for Gryffindor.”

James brought his quill down with a snap.

“Miss Jenkins, please trace an ‘L’ shape in the air, not a ‘W’,” Professor McGonagall gently
corrected as she paced among her students.
“I just can’t do it,” Evan grumbled. “Stupid goblet!”

In stark contrast, Barty exuded confidence. “Avifors!” he incanted, and his goblet transformed
into a graceful white dove.

McGonagall’s face lit up with approval. “Excellent, Mister Crouch!”

James leaned in. “How did you do that?”

Barty shrugged casually. “You’ve just got to relax, focus on the image of the bird, not the
goblet, and let it form in your mind.”

“Right,” James muttered, attempting to emulate Barty’s technique.

McGonagall’s voice chimed in again. “Bravo, Miss Evans!” Her laughter accompanied the
praise. “That’s the healthiest dove I’ve seen in ages!”

James nearly broke his wand in two.

“That’s it,” Professor Slughorn whispered encouragingly, his voice a warm, soothing timbre.
James carefully lowered a delicate mandrake leaf into his bubbling potion, his eyes fixed on
the emerald liquid as it absorbed the essence of the plant.

“Ah,” Slughorn beamed. “Wonderful, my boy! Quite talented, just like your father, aren’t
you?”

The praise was a balm to his ego.

For once, he had something to brag about when he returned home.

But then, Layla raised her hand, and he felt a spark of irritation flicker within him, like a
match struck in the darkness.

He was more than tempted to break that hand.

Layla’s eyes were wide with genuine curiosity. “Professor, what does it mean when it turns
pink?”

Slughorn hesitated for a moment, his bushy eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Well, that’s…
that’s perfection!”

In an explosive fit of frustration, James upended his table, sending every ingredient, his
cauldron, and his potion spilling onto the floor.
James slouched onto Narcissa’s lap, the weight of his mounting frustration pressing on his
temples, relentless drummers playing an unending beat inside his skull. His voice, trembling,
escaped his lips in a half-whispered confession. “I think I’m losing my mind. I keep seeing
that idiot everywhere now.”

Sirius lounged on a nearby sofa, looking every bit like a relaxed panther. “Well, she’s in most
of our classes. It just makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Andromeda raised her arms in a languorous stretch, and yawned deeply. “Turns out she’s a
good student. What’s wrong with that?”

But Sirius, unable to hide the acridity in his tone, couldn’t resist a sardonic smirk as he said,
“She’s too good, Andy. And a Mudblood at that.”

A mudblood, he had said. A mudblood at that.

The words lodged themselves somewhere in his throat.

A gathered force, swirling through him, electric and charged, urged him to his feet. “God, I
hate her, I hate her, I hate her—”

Bellatrix’s grin sharpened to a razor’s edge. “He’s going to kill her eventually. And what a
spectacle it would be,” she continued, savouring the idea with malicious glee, “I’d start with
an Imperius, just for the sheer thrill of it, and then perhaps something simpler, like a—”

Narcissa let out a squeaky laugh. “A good old-fashioned hex would be the wiser choice for a
first-year, Bella.”

“I wish I could,” James, still ensnared by his seething emotions, muttered to himself as he
paced the room in relentless circles. “I wish I could conjure every spell known to man, every
incantation imaginable, to make that disgusting Mudblood suffer—”

“Aunt Euphemia would be so proud,” Bellatrix said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm
as she sent a sly wink in Narcissa’s direction. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

Narcissa nodded before adding, “Oh, I almost forgot to mention, Rodolphus has been
searching for you everywhere. Could you please talk to him about the wedding? He insists on
discussing something with you first.”

James abruptly halted his pacing.

Bellatrix, caught off guard, stumbled over her words, “Yes, but, I—have to go—I’ll—I’ll be
right back."

But James was already in motion. “I will too.”

Andromeda, left behind with furrowed brows, sought an explanation, but her words went
unheard. Bellatrix, on a mission, strode purposefully toward the massive stone door, where a
metallic serpent slowly slithered atop. With a determined push, she swung it open.

Seizing the moment, he thrust his hand between the closing door, slipping through just in
time to follow Bellatrix outside. As he entered the corridor beyond, he felt an immediate shift
from the common room’s chilly atmosphere to a humid warmth that enveloped him.

Bellatrix knelt on the ground, her fingers pressed firmly against her temples in distress. The
dim torchlight lining the stone walls played tricks with the shadows, stretching and distorting
them until her silhouette appeared more delicate than ever. It was an unsettling sight—a
fragility that felt at odds with the strong and stubborn girl he had always known.

Tender.

Flimsy.

Frail.

Bellatrix Black wasn’t supposed to be any of those things.

James started to speak, but Bellatrix, her hand trembling, silenced him with a simple,
poignant gesture—a plea for him to hold his words, to let the haunting silence linger a little
longer.

He stood there, bathed in the ghostly, ethereal green glow of the corridor, an unwitting
observer of her gradual transformation.

Since that incident in the common room, a night he really wished he could forget, he had
become Bellatrix’s silent sentinel. He had watched as her moods shifted subtly, and her need
to withdraw from the world grew. These escapes of hers became more frequent as the school
year progressed, and an unsettling worry had taken root within him.

“Have you talked with your parents?” he asked.

Bellatrix brushed aside a strand of her raven-dark hair. “I attempted, once, in the form of a
letter,” she confessed, her voice resembling the faint rustling of autumn leaves in a forsaken
forest. “They haven’t even bothered to read it.”

He knelt beside her, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “I haven’t forgotten my
promise… at least there’s that.”

Bellatrix met his gaze, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. “Yes,” she softly echoed, “at
least there’s that.”

“How about your sisters? Do they know?” James asked casually, as if discussing the weather.

Bellatrix shook her head, her breathing still a bit uneven. “They only know I’m not close to
him, and it terrifies me," she admitted.
 James grinned warmly. “Maybe that’s it,” he suggested. “Why don’t you get to know him a
little better, make the most out of this. He can’t be that bad.”

She paused to think for a moment.

“Don’t worry, you’ve still got time.”

“But time has a knack for slipping away,” Bellatrix sighed with a hint of worry.

He wasn’t even sure where to start with that. There was only one thing to say. Only thing he
was sure of.

“I made a promise,” he repeated as he stood up.

Bellatrix followed suit, her tall figure accentuated by her black heels. She gave his shoulder
an encouraging squeeze. “I know you’ll keep it.”

Chapter End Notes

It's been quite some time, hasn't it? I've missed all of you!

Please, don't hesitate to share your thoughts on this chapter. Your feedback means the
world to me, and it's hard to gauge how you're enjoying the story unless you let me
know <3

By the way, I've got to give a shoutout to my super-smart readers. Y'all impressed me a
lot! Though I can't reply to most of you (no spoilers!), your cleverness doesn't go
unnoticed.
Year 1: Sisters Before Misters
LILY
June, 1972
“Are you listening?”

Lily’s head turned in a slow, almost resistant arc, tearing her gaze away from the world
outside the train window. A faint, misty circle marked where her breath had fogged the glass.
Beyond the windowpane, rolling hills stretched out like an expanse of emerald waves,
crowned by towering trees that swayed in a gentle, hypnotic rhythm.

“What?” Lily replied as she tried to focus on Marlene’s voice.

“I asked if you fancied anything from the trolley,” Marlene's words came with a pointed look.
“Mary and I have been trying to catch your attention for the past two minutes.”

Lily blushed. “Oh, sorry, no thanks. I’m fine.”

Marlene sighed, resettling in her seat as the trolley lady moved on. "Everything alright?"

“I-I’m just feeling a bit nervous about going back home,” Lily lied, her teeth gently worrying
her bottom lip.

“Is it because of your sister?” Mary asked, but before Lily could respond, Marlene’s eyes
widened, and she jabbed her elbow into Mary’s side, briefly diverting her attention from the
question.

“I know, how about we play a game?” Marlene suggested, gracefully shifting the
conversation. She fumbled in her bag and triumphantly pulled out a deck of exploding snap
cards.

Mary let out a playful groan, her eyes rolling with exaggerated drama. "No! You always
win!"

Marlene's grin widened as she offered a sly wink. "Well, what can I say? Brilliance has its
perks. I wish I had someone to challenge—"

"Oh, absolutely not," Mary teased, her hand pressed to her forehead. "The thought of another
you roaming around is terrifying."

Marlene, attempting to suppress a sneeze unsuccessfully, countered with a hint of pride,

"They wouldn’t stand a chance against me. I brave cold showers every morning."

Mary eased back into her seat, and her tone softened as she continued, "You never take
proper care of yourself. You really should aim for at least eight hours of—"

“Ugh, I’ve told you this a million times, Mary!" Marlene cut in. "I don't need beauty sleep.
I'm already an adult!"
Mary, not missing a beat, crossed her arms, standing her ground. "No, you're not! Adults are
way taller!"

"I am tall!" Marlene asserted, stretching as if trying to touch the sky, a young tree straining
towards the light.

"But not taller than Headmaster Dumbledore," Mary pointed out with a grin.

"He doesn't count!" Marlene dismissed, waving her hand as if to brush the argument aside.

While Mary and Marlene were locked in a lively argument, barely noticing anything else,
Lily caught a glimpse of a familiar figure slowly approaching their compartment. Her gaze
lingered on it, curious.

"I'll get you both some water," she said, her voice struggling to be heard.

The corridor was a welcome break from the noise. It was there she noticed Severus, standing
so still he might as well have been part of the furniture, his hand awkwardly hovering in mid-
air.

"Sev?" she whispered.

Severus's hand fell to his side, and he met her with a touch of bashfulness. "Just thought I'd
check in on you," he blurted out. "It's dreadfully boring in my compartment. A bunch of fifth-
years prattling on about their preferred Jelly-Weed types."

Lily's lips curled into a warm, affectionate smile. "I won't even ask what that is."

Severus, usually reserved, surprised her with a genuine laugh. "Trust me, you're better off not
knowing."

Hearing him laugh like this was rare. It had a lightness to it, like the first rays of sun breaking
through after a long night, heating her heart in a way that felt both comforting and a little bit
thrilling.

“Move.”

Her pulse surged, responding to the sound of that familiar rise and fall of the vowels.

Why did James Potter always have to show up when she least expected it?

“Come on, for Merlin’s sake,” James insisted, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground.
“It’s cramped enough in this corridor without you two hogging the middle of it.”

She teetered on the edge of an explosive retort, primed to speak her mind, but just as she
parted her lips, Bellatrix materialized right behind James.

“James, it’s okay. I’ll go find Rodolphus instead.”

A ripple of gloom crossed James's expression. Lily could have sworn she detected a hint of
emotion other than anger; he briefly resembled a startled rabbit. But in a flash, it vanished,
much like what she had witnessed in the library many months ago.

James faltered, “Are you sure? We can still hunt down an empty—”

But Bellatrix cut him off. “It’s fine. I’ll catch you at the wedding, yeah?”

The words hung in the air like a dense fog, and Lily sensed she’d stumbled upon a
conversation meant to stay hidden. Although she had watched Bellatrix Black from afar,
mostly from the safety of the Gryffindor table, she had never seen this side of her—this
softness and warmth, especially not directed at James. In an equally surprising twist, James
appeared to change before her eyes, his usual cocky demeanour yielding to a gentler, more
subdued version in her company.

Something about it felt strange.

Bellatrix gracefully glided away, her high heels making no more noise than a whisper against
the carpeted floor. James followed, attempting to match her stride, his desperate plea fading
into the distance. “Bella, wait!”

Severus muttered, “Well, that was odd.”

Lily simply nodded because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

She hated it.

Hated this feeling of not knowing.

Just when she believed she was starting to understand these pure-bloods, they slipped through
her grasp once more.

Severus, mirroring her thoughts, tucked his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got no idea what’s
happening in that little clique of theirs, do you?”

“I can never figure it out. And honestly, I’m not sure if I want to.”

In reply, Severus simply gave a sniff, his index finger instinctively rising to his nose for a
subtle rub.

Darkness had settled over them by the time they reached London.

She heaved her trunk onto the platform with a grunt of effort, turning to Mary and Marlene
for a round of tight hugs and promises of letters and visits. Ever-present, Severus stood by
her side like a faithful guide.
But as she strode forward, her steps came to an abrupt halt, her sharp eyes scanning the
surroundings, searching for—

“Lily!”

Petunia Evans burst forth, her arms open wide, her figure illuminated by the warm, ambient
light of the overhead lamps.

“Tuney!” Lily exclaimed, gently lowering her trunk to the ground as she welcomed the
enthusiastic hug.

They came together with a bit of a jolt, full of energy, but it was the perfect kind of collision.
In that moment, they fit together like two pieces of a beloved puzzle—utterly inseparable.

“Why did you arrive so late?” Petunia complained, letting go of Lily.

Severus cleared his throat, his voice low and measured, “There were some issues on the
track.”

“Oh,” Petunia whispered, her tone changing as she caught sight of Severus. “You’re here
too.”

“Thrilled to see you as well,” Severus said through gritted teeth.

Petunia rolled her eyes, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips.

"Severus, my boy, it's been far too long," her mother greeted, her hand resting momentarily
on Severus's shoulder. "Do come and visit us this summer. I'm sure you and Lily have
countless tales to share from your adventures."

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Petunia bounced on her feet. “I want to hear all about it!” She linked her arm
with Lily’s and began steering her away from Severus. “Does light come out of those wooden
sticks when you speak to them?” Her fingers mimicked the casting of spells in the air. “Were
people dressed in costumes?” She twirled around, imagining the magical attire. “Just how big
was the castle?” Petunia stretched her arms wide, attempting to capture the grandeur of the
wizarding world.

Lily shot an apologetic glance at Severus, who responded with a polite smile, although his
lips remained tightly pressed together. Then he offered a wave to someone in the bustling
crowd, a figure partially obscured from Lily’s view and focus due to Petunia’s relentless
chatter.

Lily’s father grinned as he spoke. “Tell your mother that we say hi,” he said. Severus nodded
and promised to pass on the message before bidding them goodbye and departing.

“Good riddance,” Petunia muttered under her breath, her tone less than thrilled.

Lily playfully nudged her sister’s shoulder. “Tuney!”

Petunia met Lily’s eyes, and a faint, genuine smile graced her lips. “What?”
Her father intervened with a chuckle. “Alright, my little troublemakers, let’s head home.”

Home?

It struck Lily as unusual that, upon hearing the word, her first thought had been of Hogwarts
rather than the house where she had spent the last eleven years.

The summer passed by in a hush, all things considered.

Lily spent most of her days with Petunia, sharing stories of her Hogwarts adventures—the
friends she’d made and the interesting people she’d crossed paths with. Petunia, in response,
was chomping at the bit to hear it all, hanging on to every word, her eyes sparkling with the
thrill of it all.

But in the beginning, doubts clouded Lily's mind. She couldn't shake the fear that Petunia
might feel left behind, maybe even jealous, over not getting her own letter to Hogwarts.
However, to her overwhelming relief, Petunia showed nothing less than pure joy for her. Lily
couldn’t fathom why she had harboured such doubts about her sister’s reaction. It simply
didn’t add up. In fact, it would have been quite—

“—insane!” Petunia shouted with glee as she soared through the air on the swing, her arms
spread wide. “The Ancient Egyptians supposedly built that thing in twenty-seven years!”

Lily, pushing off the ground for another arc, responded with a burst of laughter. “I can’t
believe that! Sounds like a load of rubbish!”

“What if they used the help of Headmaster Dumbledore to build the pyramids?”

“Dumbledore wasn’t alive back then, Tuney.”

Petunia giggled softly. “But he seems so old! Honestly, your world is so fascinating, Lily. I
reckon I’d have been completely overwhelmed by it all if I were a part of it.”

Lily’s swing slowed, her toes skimming the earth. “So you wouldn’t fancy being like me,
then?”

Petunia eased her swing to mirror Lily’s gentle rhythm, their gazes meeting. “Well, no,” she
began, her voice hesitant. “I think it’s all a tad too peculiar for my liking.”

“Peculiar?”

Petunia’s shoulders slumped. “Not in a bad way.”

“So, in what way then?”

Bringing her swinging to a halt, Petunia explained, “I truly admire you, Lily, I do. It’s just
that I am not cut out for something like that. All the rules, and the folks you’ve mentioned,
they do sound a bit like characters from novels, don’t they?”

The knots in her chest unravelled, like a tightly wound spring finally finding release. “A
little,” she said, feeling lighter.

“Marlene, was it?” Petunia chuckled. “Is it true she once flew on her broom so high in the
sky that when she came back down, she had a bit of a tan?”

Lily recalled the memory, her eyes lighting up. "Yes, it was absolutely brilliant."

Petunia let out a wistful sigh. “You see, this is how it should be, just us sharing stories and
enjoying each other’s company."

"You’re right," Lily admitted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I’m sorry if I
came off a bit harsh earlier. I really don’t want us to fight."

Growing up, Petunia and Lily were thick as thieves, their days filled with infinite adventures
and the kind of chuckles that could leave your sides aching.

They'd never really fought, not seriously. Lily, with her big heart, always went out of her way
to make Petunia smile, hating to see even a hint of sadness on her sister's face. And Petunia,
she was the cool head, the brave one, always there to pull Lily back with a laugh or a gentle
word. They balanced each other out, perfectly in sync yet wonderfully different.

Lily remembered this one time when they were kids, a memory that always seemed to shine a
little brighter than the rest.

It had been a lazy summer's day, and they were out in the garden, the sun painting everything
golden. Petunia had just figured out how to braid hair properly and decided Lily was her first
client. Sitting there, with her sister's fingers carefully working through her hair, chatting
about nothing and everything, Lily felt like royalty. "There, all done. Now you're a princess
fit for a prince," Petunia had declared, a grin on her face.

Hearing Petunia scoff at the idea of a fight snapped her back to the present. “Fight? That
sounds dreadful.”

She snorted. “Right?”

Both of them erupted into fits of giggles, so intense that tears started to pool in Petunia's eyes.
They both bent over as the laughter took full control. Lily reached up to wipe away her tears
with the back of her hand, and in response, Petunia gave her a playful nudge on the shoulder.

Then, unexpectedly, a voice piped up from the sidelines, interrupting their moment. “When
can I use the swings?” Severus mumbled as he sat on the roundabout, turning it slowly all by
himself. “I’m getting tired!”

Petunia sniffed with an exaggerated flair, as if she couldn’t be bothered by Severus’s

complaints. “Five more minutes,” she drawled.
Severus released a tired sigh, continuing his self-imposed spinning. With a groan, he stopped
and faced Petunia, his eyes going wide as he put on his best impression of a puppy-dog pout.
"You said that last time!" he complained, turning his plea to Lily with a look that silently
begged, "Do something!"

“Sorry, Sev,” Lily quipped, her eyebrows raised in mock sympathy. “Sisters before Misters.”
 Summer, 1972
Chapter Summary

Clean your calendar for the evening, because you are invited to a wedding.

Chapter Notes

TW: Explicit Description of Physical Abuse, Anxiety Attacks, Torture

See the end of the chapter for more notes

JAMES
July, 1972
The air inside Bellatrix’s room felt stifling, and today was no exception.

It was as if he had wandered into a surreal dreamscape, where every detail whispered bizarre
tales of the brunette’s unique tastes.

Enormous mirrors clung to every wall, like curious onlookers, reflecting her vanity and
casting an infinite effect throughout the room. Her massive bed, adorned with four tall, ornate
posts at each corner, was at the heart of this arrangement. To his left, a green platform
occupied a corner, resembling an altar of sorts.

On it, Bellatrix Lestrange, the focal point of attention, held court. She fanned herself lazily,
exuding an aura of malevolent grace, her gaze fixed upon her reflection in a full-length
mirror.

Andromeda hovered nearby, her actions precise and nearly ritualistic as she delicately
brushed a stray strand of hair from Bellatrix’s eyes.

Sirius occupied a sofa opposite him, restlessly adjusting his attire, grumbling about how the
clothes were making him itch.

“James?” Narcissa’s voice snapped him back to the present. “Why are you still here? Aunt
Euphemia asked for you, remember?”

Internally, he scolded himself, ordering the nervous shivers to subside at the mere mention of
his mother’s name.

Suddenly, Bellatrix exclaimed, “Bloody hell! That’s my skin, not the fabric!”

A woman crouched on her knees, her wrist adorned with a pin cushion bracelet, winced and
apologized, “I’m so sorry, Mademoiselle,” in a timid tone that seemed out of place. Her
accent was terrible, and she mumbled something in what James assumed was French. Both
Sirius and Bellatrix simultaneously shouted the same foreign word in response. The woman
nodded and continued with her work.

“Hello? Earth to James?” Narcissa waved her hand in front of his face, her long fingers
gliding gracefully through the air. She shot a quick glance at Bellatrix, who seemed
perilously close to kicking the poor seamstress in the face. It was clear that Bellatrix’s
patience, like her gown, was wearing thin.

“Aunt Euphemia said that it’s urgent,” Narcissa sighed. “Snap out of it.”

Urgent?

Urgent.
Which was fine. Everything was fine. He wasn’t trembling, on the brink of tears, or on the
verge of hysterics. He was perfectly okay.

“Alright,” he replied with more determination in his voice than he truly felt. “Where is she?”

Narcissa shrugged nonchalantly, her platinum-blonde hair catching the soft ambient light in
the room. “Last I saw, she was in the garden, mingling with the guests.”

“Got it. I’ll go find her.”

“Good luck,” Narcissa said, ushering him out of the room and closing the door with a gentle,
quiet sound.

With a heavy heart, he descended the grand staircase in Uncle Alphard’s lavish manor. The
journey felt endless as he weaved through the estate’s four separate floors, each teeming with
guests, bustling servants, and house-elves darting about.

Amid the crowd, some women couldn’t resist affectionately ruffling his hair, while a few men
winked at him, generously sprinkling compliments about his blossoming ‘handsomeness’.

One man even halted him in his tracks, casually extending an invitation for him and his
parents to visit their mansion later in the month, leaving him momentarily flustered and
unsure how to respond, but at last, he stepped into the garden.

The transformation from his previous visit was remarkable, as the garden now gleamed with
lush greens and vibrant flowers gracing every nook. Elegantly attired guests twirled
gracefully, their robes and dresses forming a kaleidoscope of colours, while the distant
melodies of violins contributed to the lively atmosphere.

He found it rather funny how, just a few months ago, this very place had been cloaked in
pristine white snow.

Over there, the hedge maze where Sirius and he had once explored beckoned, as did the vast
lake where he had narrowly avoided a plunge.

He absent-mindedly adjusted his collar, the heat of the moment making him long for a cool
dip in that very lake, to disappear beneath the surface and never emerge.

“James,” Abraxas Malfoy called, beckoning him over with a languid wave. The elderly man’s
eyes, one a striking shade of grey and the other bearing a subtle greenish hue, scrutinized
James from head to toe. A small, knowing smile graced his lips as he spoke, “My, my, look at
how much you’ve grown. You’re going to be quite the charmer, aren’t you? Just like your
father.”

A warm surge of pride swelled within him.

“Lucius has been telling me that you’re doing exceptionally well in Slytherin.”

James managed a thankful grin, his gaze skimming the garden for any sign of his mother’s
distinctive figure. Instead, he spotted Barty and Evan, embroiled in a game of hide-and-seek
with a group of other boys.

“Please, do tell your father that I miss our weekly conversations,” Abraxas continued,
shifting James’s attention back to him. “Give him my regards.”

He nodded eagerly. “Of course, sir.”

Abraxas affectionately tousled James’s hair, marking the sixth time someone had done that
today. “What a polite young man you’ve become,” he remarked. “Alright, off you go then.
I’m sure you have other matters to attend to.”

Just as James was poised to venture into the bustling garden, Euphemia’s hand came to rest
on his shoulder, sending his heart into a frantic race.

Her touch, though gentle, felt strangely unsettling.

“James,” she purred. “There you are, darling.”

“Euphemia,” Abraxas offered a polite nod. “Always a pleasure.” With that, he moved off to
socialise with other guests.

His mother shifted her full focus to James, her voice now a quiet murmur. “I must speak with
you, this instant.”

James sensed her hand tightening on his arm, a clear signal that something was off, as
Euphemia led him into an isolated room with its corners obscured by towering stacks of
books.

With a determined click, she firmly shut and locked the door.

“I’ve examined your academic record,” Euphemia finally declared, and an oppressive hush
permeated the room. “They are… alright.”

He stood transfixed.

“Except for one.”

Invisible bonds, reminiscent of coiling snakes, held him in place, their phantom fangs ready
to strike.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Euphemia intoned, her eyes locking onto his. “Does that
spark your recollection?”

James shook his head.

“You received an ‘Acceptable,’” she continued, her arms now folded tightly across her chest.
“Instead of the ‘Outstanding’ you should have achieved.”

His mouth turned arid, words escaping him.

"When I first saw it, I thought, ‘That’s not right.’ My James excels in duelling; this had to be
a mistake. So, I promptly wrote to Albus, demanding an explanation.”

James had buried the memory of that humiliating duel deep within him, a desperate attempt
to erase it from his mind.

He hadn’t breathed a word of it to his parents, a decision that, as it turned out, had been an
error on his part.

His mother drew in a slow, measured breath through flaring nostrils, her control slipping
through her grasp like water slipping through cupped hands. “How could you keep something
like this from me? You could have been seriously injured, or worse! And to top it all off, not
a soul in that accursed school had the decency to inform me about it!”

She was—

She was going to kill him.

“And to think you lost a duel in front of everyone! Against a Mudblood, no less!”

Kill him with her bare hands.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

A sickening sensation welled up within him, bile threatening to surge up his throat.

Guilt—thick and suffocating.

He was drowning in it.

“You ungrateful child!” Euphemia’s anger reverberated through the room, a thunderclap in a
darkening sky. “I give you everything you want, and this is how you repay me!”

“I’m sorry,” James mumbled—a stupid decision.

Euphemia’s eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. “If you can’t manage a simple-
minded Mudblood, you won’t be fit to manage anything when you’re grown!”

The words sliced through him, leaving a painful gash.

Concealing the scars they left had become a skill in its own right.

She appeared somewhat more composed now, her disposition slightly improved, as if venting
her frustrations on him had lightened her mood.

“Bellatrix’s wedding is of the utmost importance today, but I won’t tolerate any such
behaviour in your second year and beyond. Just refrain from causing trouble and making a
scene. That’s all I ask of you today.”
He nodded and suppressed a wince as his mother mussed his hair on her way out. It marked
the seventh time that day, but for some reason, only Euphemia Potter's gesture felt insincere.

Don’t cause any trouble.

Alright.

He could do—

The woman seated next to him, adorned in an extravagant pink gown, leaned closer to her
friend, whispering fervently, “Where are they?”

Euphemia’s fingers danced lightly along her elegantly attired leg, her gaze roving through the
garden’s luxurious decor.

Fleamont was engrossed in an animated conversation with another guest—something about

horses, how they sprinted like lightning, and how it cost them a pretty galleon or two.

Sirius, seated in front of James, seized the opportunity to tease him. He spun around with a
mischievous look on his face and stuck his tongue out, earning a swift and stern thwack on
the head from Walburga. He made a sulky face, massaging his head where she’d given him a
piece of her mind, before grudgingly facing forward again. Meanwhile, Regulus slept against
Walburga’s shoulder, his eyelids heavy with weariness.

Donned in a flashy hat bedecked in feathers and ribbons, his mother sighed deeply, her hat’s
embellishments trembling slightly with the motion. Leaning in toward James, her voice
barely above a whisper, she said, “James, be a dear and find out what’s causing the delay with
Bellatrix, before Druella or Cygnus decide to intervene.”

He nodded; his head was a puppet on strings.

Leaving the garden behind, he re-entered the manor, and the extravagance that had
surrounded him seemed to fade into the background. The empty corridors stretched out
before him as he ascended the marble staircase. With each step, he battled nausea and his
trembling nerves. Finally, on the fourth floor, he stood before Bellatrix’s bedroom.

The door, beautifully decorated with intricate carvings and composed of dark wood, remained
firmly closed. From behind it, voices could be heard, engaged in a passionate argument.

“What?” someone, presumably Andromeda, exclaimed with intensity. “How can you keep
this—”

James rapped his knuckles against the heavy door.

A moment of breathless anticipation stretched before the door groaned open, revealing
Narcissa with a flushed face. “What is it?”

“People are waiting downstairs,” James said urgently.

Before anyone could offer an explanation, another voice, rich with both frustration and
impatience, surged from behind James, forcefully pushing him aside as it barged into the
room.

“Rodolphus?” Bellatrix rose from her bed, her eyes revealing traces of puffiness.

Rodolphus Lestrange, a man James had yet to lay eyes on, was a mesmerizing sight in his
own right. His handsome features seemed to shimmer with an ethereal quality, as though he
had captured the moon’s glow on a crystal-clear night. He surveyed the room, a tenseness
evident in the set of his jaw as his gaze swept over the scene. “I’m not even going to ask. We
need to go. People are waiting.”

Bellatrix heaved a deep sigh. “I just need a little more time. This is important.”

“This wedding is important!” Rodolphus said, running his fingers through his dishevelled
chestnut-brown hair. “Besides, your father will kill me if we keep people waiting any longer.
Whatever it is, I’m sure you and your sisters can deal with it later.”

Several tuxedo-clad young men, likely friends of Rodolphus, stood at the door, their patience
visibly waning.

Bellatrix’s eyes darted between Narcissa and Andromeda, who appeared equally helpless and
conflicted.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go—” Rodolphus repeated insistently, seizing Bellatrix’s arm and
pulling her out of the room. Her white wedding gown trailed behind her like a long, ethereal
ribbon.

As the room cleared out in a frantic rush, Andromeda turned to James, her eyes glaring with
accusation. “You knew, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell us anything?”

“Tell you what?”

Andromeda’s face twisted in anger, her voice rising as she replied, “How bloody miserable
Bella’s been, lately! Had no idea she’s been having anxiety attacks ‘cause of this, or that she
can’t stand Rodolphus. She doesn’t want this wedding at all!”

James clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “You’re her sisters, for Merlin’s sake!
Why didn’t you discuss this with her sooner?”

Narcissa’s trembling lips barely formed a reply, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I
—I never reckoned she’d feel this strongly. Bella’s always been dead set on doing her duty,
you know.”

“Well, maybe she doesn’t want to do that anymore! If you’d just reached out to her—”
“—Cissy, James is right,” Andromeda interjected, her face flushed with anger. She sank into
a nearby chair, her back stiff with remorse. “We should have been more careful. We should
have noticed that something was wrong.”

It could have been the burden of the promise he’d made or the unrelenting dread that had
haunted him all day, but in that moment, James let slip something he never should have said.

“Wait,” he pleaded. “This could be our chance! Maybe you two can put a stop to it, stop this
wedding!”

Narcissa’s derisive scoff dripped with a withering sense of dismissal. “Our parents would
never allow it.”

Andromeda sighed in resignation. “We’ve learned about it too late. There’s nothing we can
do… We can’t… we can’t manage…”

"You won’t be fit to manage anything when you’re grown!"

In a hushed whisper, he seethed, “Cowards.”

“Excuse me?” Narcissa raised a questioning brow.

“You know Bellatrix doesn’t want this marriage, especially not to a man she doesn’t love—”

“James,” Andromeda warned. “There’s stuff about Bella’s situation she hasn’t told you.
We’ve only just found out ourselves. You’re still a bit too young to grasp all the twists and
turns in this mess.”

"You won’t be fit to manage anything when you’re grown!"

Without uttering another word, he bolted downstairs, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Andromeda’s cries echoed after him, but he paid them no mind.

All those moments when he’d quietly stood by Bellatrix’s side, sensing the weight of
helplessness, now appeared as monumental mistakes in judgment.

He knew, without a doubt, that he could manage even the most idiot of Mudbloods, and he
could definitely stop this awful wedding if he wanted. He could save Bellatrix. He could—

“Stop!” James bellowed as he stormed into the garden. The guests gasped, and his mother
hissed at him to take his seat.

“No,” he declared loudly. “This wedding can’t go on!”

His father surged to his feet, and the guests started buzzing with confusion. Druella’s figure
seemed to wilt into Cygnus’s arms, and Rodolphus appeared utterly confounded.

“James Fleamont Potter!” his father’s voice roared as he advanced. “Enough of this
foolishness!”
But none of them mattered. He locked eyes with Bellatrix, silently begging her to seize the
opportunity he was offering—an escape from a fate she clearly despised.

Instead, she shook her head.

Perhaps he was too young to truly grasp it after all.

He barely registered when his father grabbed him by the collar and forcefully dragged him
back inside.

“Stop?” Fleamont mimicked with a high-pitched accent. “This wedding can’t go on? Are you
out of your mind?” He paced around the room, a familiar habit when he was agitated. To a
man his mother swore he wasn’t anywhere near, they did have many things in common.

“Your mother asked for only one thing from you today, just one thing, and that was to avoid
causing any trouble!”

James remained silent, the memory of Bellatrix’s desperate expression haunting his thoughts.

She had silently urged him to let go, to allow the wedding to proceed, to let her get married.

None of it made any sense.

A brisk, unexpected knock on the door fractured James’s daze, and his mother strode in,
heralded by the lively applause emanating from the crowd beyond. She closed the door
decisively, and her voice, still carrying a trace of anger, resounded in the room. “You should
be overjoyed to know that Bellatrix is now happily married, thanks to your unwavering
support!” The gleam of her emerald earrings briefly arrested his attention, surprising him
with an unforeseen glint.

Fleamont’s brows furrowed deeply, his words biting and cold. “You’ve committed some
questionable acts in the past, but this one truly has to be the most vile and irresponsible one
ever, you miserable—”

“—Rebel scum,” Euphemia began at the same time.

“Disobedient brat!” Fleamont interjected.

“Disgrace!”

“Shameful child!”

“Filthy—”

He couldn’t bear it any longer.

“She didn’t want to!”

A gasp of disbelief, like an icy hand clutching his heart, clamped around James’s throat. He
instinctively silenced himself with a shaky hand, his eyes widening in shock.

How had he dared to raise his voice at his parents?

His parents?

James knew he had to explain himself, come clean, if he could find the words. But clarity
eluded him; his thoughts swirled in a maelstrom of memories—this nightmarish wedding, his
desperate plea at the train weeks earlier, the looming spectre of death lurking above him.

He couldn’t catch his breath, each inhale feeling like a lead weight on his chest.

“I was only trying to help Bella, I made a promise, and Andy said that I didn’t—that I
couldn’t manage—I don’t understand how anyone—”

“Euphemia,” Fleamont’s voice took on a low, chilling tone. “Lock. The. Door.”

“Dad?”

James’s world was abruptly consumed by a blinding, searing, green light, a scorching blaze
that burned his retinas, leaving him gasping for air as if he’d been thrust into the heart of a
relentless sun at its most unforgiving peak.

He couldn't breathe.

An ear-splitting, agonized scream tore through him, but the pain, that torturous, ceaseless
surge of suffering, eclipsed all else.

He couldn't breathe.

He found himself sprawled on the floor, his senses dulled, and his consciousness slipping
away.

He couldn’t—

And then, in response to his desperate plea, darkness engulfed him, and he welcomed the
merciful release of unconsciousness with open arms.

When he finally stirred, he found himself not on the floor but cradled by soft pillows, basking
in the comforting glow of candlelight.

“There he is,” Uncle Alphard remarked, his eyes fixed on James. The man sat in a chair
beside him, engrossed in a book that James squinted at and identified as Romeo and Juliet.

“Mixie,” Alphard addressed the house-elf who had evidently been by his side the entire time,
“please let the guests and Mister and Missus Potter know that James is safe and sound.”
“Certainly, sir. Mixie will do,” the house-elf replied with a smile and hurried out of the room.

“What… what happened to me?” James croaked, his throat sore. He recognized this sensation
all too well, a bitter reminder of the last time he had experienced the curse. It had not been a
pleasant memory.

“Well, it seems you played a bit of a prank on all of us,” Alphard chuckled. “Initially, you had
us all quite confused, appearing to prevent this beautiful wedding. But in the end, it did bring
a hearty laugh to everyone.”

“A prank?”

“Yes,” Alphard continued, setting his book down with a deliberate motion on a nearby
nightstand, his tone growing more serious. He glanced at the closed door, and a furrow
formed on his brow. “That’s what people assumed,” he said, his gaze returning to James, “and
your parents appeared to welcome the notion. But you and I both know that you, of all
people, abhor pranks, don’t you?”

His face paled.

“I understand why you did it,” Alphard sighed. “I can see that your intentions were noble, but
you must understand that you can’t wage a war with no soldiers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Although Bellatrix may have had doubts about her marriage, she married Rodolphus of her
own accord. I made sure of it.”

“But she told me—”

“Feelings,” Alphard interjected. “Those were her feelings, James, not her thoughts.”

“Wha—What’s the difference?”

“One originates from your heart, the other from your brain. You, my boy, should value your
brain just as much, or the world will gobble you up and spit you out.”

“I don’t want that,” James mumbled, his words strained by a throbbing headache. He couldn’t
be certain if Uncle Alphard was a real presence or a figment of his imagination.

“You know, I used to be much like you. Naive and full of empathy, allowing my feelings to
guide me more than my thoughts… They are intertwined, but with the right perspective, they
can diverge significantly.”

James attempted to swallow, but his swollen throat made it difficult.

“Out there, everyone believes you had a bit of fun today, perhaps disrupted Bellatrix’s
wedding to settle a score or for some other reason. No one will raise a fuss, trust me.”

That hadn’t been his intention.

“But,” Alphard sighed, “you can’t afford to repeat something like this. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“You’re only twelve, so for now, these things can be smoothed over with the right amount of
false gossip. But as the years pass, you’ll come to realize that the pedestal you stand upon
will only grow taller with each passing moment, and you’ll need to maintain your balance.”

James nodded, memories of similar advice from his father resurfacing slowly.

“Now, if you’re feeling up to it, we should let the guests see that you’re well,” Alphard
suggested.

James hesitated.

“Don’t worry,” Alphard chortled. “They won’t bite.”

“But they might gobble me up and spit me out,” James echoed, remembering Alphard’s
earlier words.

To his surprise, Alphard didn’t disagree. “They very well might. So, you need to grow a tad
stronger, and become a presence from this very moment.”

This was what everyone had wanted all along, wasn’t it?

Throughout his life, he had been preparing for the moment when he could finally step up to
be the boy his parents had always hoped for.

Somehow, he was never that.

He could never live up to their expectations.

“So?” Alphard inquired from the doorway.

He was oddly grateful for today, like a masochist savouring his own torment.

This was going to be the third, final time he would bear such a curse.

Never again.

Never.

Ever.

Ever—

Act like it.

His mother had said those words to him at the beginning of his first year, and he had tried,
but never fully committed.
 Well, that was about to change.

With newfound determination coursing through his veins, he rose from the bed as if the
unbearable curse had never laid a finger on him.

As the assembled guests began to ask about his earlier actions and how entertained they had
been, James greeted them with an enigmatic smile. Raising his glass in a toast to the
newlyweds, he acknowledged their cheers and applause with gracious nods.

When Narcissa expressed her concern, he responded with a confident silence. And as Sirius
tried to engage him in conversation, he gracefully deflected the attempts, claiming a lack of
time as he moved on.

In stark contrast, Bellatrix Lestrange didn’t even deign to glance in his direction all night. It
was as though he had turned into a ghost—unseen, unimportant, and the pain of this
realization cut him to the core.

Promises, as it turned out, were as fragile as spun glass, destined to shatter.

Within him, a snake, deadly and venomous, slithered, obscuring his vision, numbing his
capacity to feel, to think.

Its fangs bared.

He was ready to kill, aching with pain and bitterness that threatened to consume him.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter nine brings us to the end of the first arc of Selcouth, and with it, the close of our
first year at Hogwarts. Yay!?

Now, about my posting schedule: I am aiming to post once a month. But life can get
hectic, and writing is just a hobby for me. I’ve got other responsibilities to juggle. So, to
safeguard my well-being, updates may be slower for the next couple of months. Rest
assured, my mission is to provide you with the best reading experience possible,
focusing on a strong plot and character development. Quality over quantity is my
mantra.
Year 2: Growth Spurts
LILY
September, 1972
Deep breaths, she reminded herself.

Deep—

It was no use.

Her hands trembled, a fine quiver coursing through her fingertips.

Each breath seemed caught in the constricting grip of anxiety, a fluttering dance in her—

She could feel the blood burning her cheeks.

In just a few minutes, she would reach platform nine and three-quarters.

Beside her, her father wore a deep scowl, hands stuffed firmly into his pockets. His black
fedora guarded his dark, emerald eyes as he stood in silence, a striking juxtaposition to the
animated crowd in their dull coats, resembling characters frozen in an antique black-and-
white film.

She manoeuvred through the bustling crowd with her family, conversations twirling around—

“—I assure you,” a station master insisted, their words strained against the relentless
drumming of rain on the metal roof. “There is no platform nine and three-quarters—well, I—
no, in my fifty years of working here—sir!”

“Must be the hundredth person to ask that poor man the same question,” Petunia remarked
with a dry lilt.

“Probably,” Lily murmured.

Her answer seemed to amuse Petunia, who quickly bit down on her gum with increasing
intensity.

“People will think we’re mad,” her father sighed, running his fingers through wet hair as he
removed his fedora upon reaching the wall that separated platforms nine and ten. “Do we
have to do the whole running-into-it routine again?”

In the background, the station master’s words still resounded like a distant storm. “Is this
some sort of elaborate prank?!”

Her mother playfully nudged her father’s shoulder. “We’ve done this before, Frank. It’s going
to be alright.”

Petunia’s gum snapped rhythmically, a staccato beat punctuating the atmosphere, its acrid
scent mingling with the damp aroma of rain-soaked coats. “I can go first, can’t I?”
“I think,” Lily’s mother turned to her, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “it would be
better if we let your sister take the lead, darling.”

“Be careful there, Lily,” Frank Evan's voice quivered unexpectedly, pitching surprisingly
high.

Lily managed a nod.

She ran straight on, a blur of motion, her breath held.

Light and warmth embraced her, a slow unfurling of magic that wrapped around her senses
like a sunlit hug. Soon, her family followed not far behind. Their initial confusion turned into
wide-eyed amazement, and despite the surprise, they bore no visible scars.

In a futile attempt to cool himself, her father briskly fanned the air. “I’ll never get used to
this.”

“Now,” her mother began, “have you packed everything?”

Lily cocked her head to the side, green eyes alight. “Books, clothes—”

Before she could continue, her father’s voice broke through the conversation. His index
finger extended to a figure cloaked in black, standing slightly hunched beside a slender
woman—Eileen Prince Snape.

“Isn’t that Severus?” he asked.

Lily’s mind swiftly rewound to the previous year, capturing a brief image of Severus’s
mother before her journey to Hogwarts. Even in that memory, Eileen had left an impression
of delicacy on Lily; now, she seemed even more fragile.

As Lily observed, Severus exchanged a few muted words with his mother before approaching
to stand beside them. Fatigue marked his face, a weariness that seemed to have deepened
since their last meeting, etched with the weight of their time apart.

Yet, despite the heaviness of their separation, the prospect of their reunion added a subtle
light to his eyes.

You see, throughout the summer, endless hours were shared between them—sometimes at the
park, others at a local cafe, and occasionally in the cosy embrace of her home. Their warm
and carefree days, however, hit an unexpected pause in August when Severus fell ill. It kept
him indoors, away from their usual hangouts, for the entire month.

“—I had a little fever,” Severus was explaining to her parents, “but I’m all good now.”

Lily’s mother affectionately nuzzled Severus’s hair. “Oh, I wish I had known; I would have
made you my favoured soup.”

Severus quirked a brow. “Soup?”

Lily rolled her eyes heavenward. “Mum, that’s a Muggle remedy—It’s just tomato soup with
a sprinkle of grated cheese on top.”

“Well, you have your magical abilities, and I have my tried-and-true traditions. Both have
their place, I’m sure.”

The train abruptly emitted a sharp, attention-grabbing whistle, causing everyone to jump.

Her father fumbled in his pocket, extracting a handkerchief with a theatrical flourish. He
dabbed at his eyes, performing a mini-drama. “Oh, this part never gets any easier. Don’t
forget to write to us day and night, whenever you need us, alright?”

Lily’s eyes darted nervously around the platform, her heart squeezing in her chest. She
couldn’t quite find the words to respond to her dad’s little performance because—

Her sister was nowhere in sight, and the realisation laid a pall over the usual farewell routine.

Amidst her growing concern, she spotted Marlene, beckoning her with an exaggerated wave.
The blonde, a bundle of energy, enthusiastically jumped up and down while tugging at her
mother’s sleeve, pointing at Lily with uncontainable excitement.

Another shrill whistle echoed through the air.

“Lily, dearie, the train won’t wait forever!” her mother urged.

But her sister—

Severus offered a comforting pat on her back, saying, “I’ll go ahead and secure us some
seats.”

Her sister was not—

“Already off, are you?” Petunia’s frown deepened as she emerged from behind Lily,
raindrops glistening in her hair like a cascade of jewels, each one delicately descending onto
the parched pavement.

“Yes,” Lily breathed out, careful not to betray too much relief.

“Well, alright then,” Petunia whispered. “Stay safe.”

“I will,” Lily muttered in response.

“I’ll mi—”

The Hogwarts Express unleashed its final, mournful cry.

Lily’s parents gently but firmly guided her onto the train as a gust of wind swept in, tousling
her fiery hair. It cascaded over her face, painting her vision with a crimson hue.
On the platform, Petunia stood with their parents, waving. A subtle nod, a faint smile on her
rounded features—a silent promise to anticipate Lily’s return.

Deep down, Lily knew that a part of her heart would always remain in London, with her
sister, until the day she returned, a bond as unbreakable as the red strands of her hair caught
in the wind.

Severus settled into the worn seat beside Lily, a lopsided grin revealing the glimpse of a
charming dimple. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” he mused, his fingers absently tracing the frayed
edges of the seat. “Last year, I was a bag of nerves. But now, I’m actually looking forward to
going back.”

“Let’s forget about school for a moment,” Lily sighed theatrically, settling down beside him.
The weight of anxiety and sadness dissipated, reassured by the knowledge that her family
was safely back home. “I haven’t seen you in a month! How have you been?”

Severus gave a wry smile. “You missed me?”

“Well, you are my best friend.”

Severus, his lips playing on the edge of a thoughtful nibble, conjured a crimson rose with a
graceful wave of his wand. It materialized, unfolding its velvety petals in the air.

“I missed you too.”

Lily’s fingertips grazed the petals, and a gasp escaped her, her hand freezing midair as the
entire compartment blushed. “How did you do this?”

Severus mumbled something under his breath, flicking his wand with a subtle, practised
motion. Two additional roses materialized in the air, each surpassing the beauty of the last.
They hovered gracefully above their heads, trailing a delightful and enchanting scent.

“While sick, I had time to delve into some books I bought last year. Here—”

His excitement surged like a sudden spark, and he lunged for a book perched on the upper
train shelf with an eager sweep of his arm, his fingers dancing over the dusty leather cover.

Lily sprung to her feet. “Let me help you with that.”

Severus turned toward her, a puzzled frown creasing his face. “I don’t think you can—”

With nimble precision, Lily’s fingers danced toward the book Severus had been wrestling
with, plucking it effortlessly from its perch.

Severus stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly agape. “Have you grown taller?”
No?

Probably not.

But as she stood beside Severus, her eyes couldn’t help but notice how he had to look up,
ever so slightly, to match her gaze.

“Maybe?” she quipped, but the words tasted like sand in her mouth.

Severus gave her an odd look.

“What?” she prodded.

The roses overhead started to wither, their petals crumbling into a delicate dust that scattered
around.

“It’s just... strange, seeing you grow taller. I mean, we were always, you know, on the same
level. Now…”

“Jealous?” Lily teased, attempting to lighten the atmosphere. “Scared I’ll start looking down
on you?”

“It’s not about that.”

Lily nearly snorted.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll catch up.”

He continued to study her face for several moments before a slow smile curled across his
lips. “I’m sure I will. I-I’ll be taller than everyone.”

“Even me?”

“Especially you.”

Lily blinked a few times, a certain blonde flickering in the back of her mind. “Oh! Have you
seen Mary or Marlene? I told them to find us when we boarded.”

His eyes flashed faintly. “Not really,” he said.

With a deft wave of his wand, he summoned another rose, suspending it delicately in the air
above them. This time, the rose dissolved not into dust, but into a cascade of golden sparks,
swirling and dancing through the confined space like a burst of starlight.

“Nice trick,” Lily remarked, her eyes following the glistening remnants. “But I have to find
Mary and Marlene. We have so much to catch up on.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, don’t worry,” Lily assured Severus as stepped out. Her hands swung
casually at her sides, eyes dancing from one compartment to the next.
With a sudden jolt of the train, she stumbled against a nearby cabin, its curtains drawn. The
polished wood door greeted her cheek with an unexpected, sharp sting. But any pain was
quickly overshadowed by the noise that reached her ears—a heated argument unfolded
within, voices raised and emotions running high.

A girl’s voice, filled with fervour, declared, “He’s my friend!”

A commanding response thundered, “He’s not a pure-blood, Andy!”

Andy?

Lily hesitated, not wishing to intrude on what appeared to be a private conversation. But her
cheek throbbed with pain, and the cold surface offered a strange—

“What are you doing?”

That voice was chillingly familiar.

She turned around slowly, a hint of discomfort lining her movements.

Her eyes widened, as if struck by a sudden lightning flash, only to find Sirius Black.

The sickly, sweet, high-pitched tone of his words—of course, it had to be Sirius, of all
people. Unfortunately, he looked even more captivating than her memory had portrayed him.
While she had certainly noticed his looks last year, as anyone would, it seemed that this year
they had intensified twofold.

“I was just looking for my friends.”

This couldn’t be happening.

It was just boundlessly cruel.

The way he looked at her, those glances alone—was boundlessly cruel.

It made her feel diminished, smaller, like an inconsequential piece of the scenery.

How, exactly, did Sirius Black have that effect on her?

She had no idea.

Sirius raised a freshly-trimmed brow, his perceptive eyes taking in her distress. His eyes met
hers while he looked up, clearly noticing her increased height. It didn’t seem to bother him as
much as it had Severus.

Had all the boys suddenly decided to shrink overnight?

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” with unwavering resolve, she pushed past him, a subtle but
determined shoulder bump serving as her act of defiance before she strode on. It was only the
first day, mere minutes into the new term, and a brief encounter with a Slytherin had already
set Lily’s nerves on edge.

Trying to shake off the awkwardness, Lily walked down the corridor. The sound of her name
drew her attention, and she turned towards it, locking eyes with Mary, who greeted her with a
confident wave.

Finally.

Upon entering her friend’s compartment, Lily was immediately enveloped in tight embraces
—first by Mary and then by Marlene.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” Mary observed, her fingers playfully entwining with Lily’s locks.
“It looks fantastic.”

Marlene chimed in, gesturing for Lily to sit. “Absolutely.”

“So,” Mary began with eagerness, “tell us everything about your summer. I want to hear all
the details!”

Lily heaved a somewhat resigned sigh, reflecting on her uneventful summer.

However, Mary wasted no time steering the conversation in a new direction. “Okay, let me
get this started. I stumbled upon this wicked shop in Hogsmeade and snagged the most
brilliant clothes. I’m not kidding when I say I practically lived there.”

“Lived?” Marlene and Lily both exclaimed, their astonishment obvious.

“The shop expands and restocks every night. Once I found that out, I may have gone a little
overboard. Dad makes me take my brother with me when I shop now. But it was worth it.”

“So, you’re saying you already had clothes here at Hogwarts, and now you’ve added more to
your collection?” Marlene asked.

Mary beamed. “Oh, please. There’s no such thing as having too many clothes.”

Watching her friends chat animatedly about their summer adventures, Lily noticed that she
wasn’t the only one who had changed. Mary’s bouncy hair now had a life of its own,
cascading in a wild dance with every nod of her head. Marlene’s once-short wolf cut had
blossomed into a tousled mane that now reached her shoulders.

Back in Severus’s compartment, it felt like time stood still, but here with her friends, it
seemed to flow as smoothly as a meandering river.
Dumbledore’s voice resonated in the grand, resplendent Great Hall, the polished wooden
platform elevating him to a position of almost regal authority. “Naturally, this includes
adhering to fair play on the Quidditch pitch—”

“Don’t touch it!”

“Stop squirming, Pete!”

Tearing her eyes away from the old wizard, Lily’s attention centred on Peter Pettigrew,
flanked by a few of his friends. She had, unfortunately, forgotten their names, which was a
rather embarrassing situation.

Within their group, a boy with dark hair, deep as midnight, reprimanded Peter, saying, “You
shouldn’t have sat there, mate.”

“And, as you all know, Professor Crowe will be resuming his role as the Defense Against the
Dark Arts professor—”

Lily’s head snapped around so fast she nearly strained her neck.

Professor Crowe?

He was still teaching here?

Marlene bellowed across the table. “Oi, Eldric! What’s happening?”

Peter turned to face them, his eye a glaring shade of black that elicited gasps from the group.

It looked… pretty severe.

So severe that Lily had to avert her gaze for a moment.

Eldric let out an exasperated sigh, his eyes rolling as he explained, “Well, you see, this idiot
right here thought it’d be a great idea to plop himself on the bench in the courtyard that those
snooty Slytherins claim as their own.”

Marlene’s fork dropped to her plate with a loud clang. “And they—”

“—threw a punch, right in my eye,” Peter finished her sentence, his voice flat with
resignation.

Mary’s reaction was almost dramatic as she started hyperventilating. “Dear Merlin, help us!
These Slytherins have truly lost their minds!”

Marlene slammed her palm on the table, exclaiming, “It’s like they’re targeting us on
purpose!”

“I was contemplating giving that lad with the glasses a proper talking to,” Eldric scoffed, “but
then again, I didn’t want to kick off a brawl on our very first day.”
Glasses?

Something inside her was dying and decaying, but she tried to ignore the feeling.

“Potter?” she forced the name through gritted teeth. “He threw the punch?”

“Lily,” Marlene warned.

Marlene’s tone alone fueled her anger, intensifying it beyond measure. There was no need to
rein her in like some unruly horse.

Undoubtedly, she was seething.

Who, in their right mind, would deliver a punch to a fellow student with such force and
impatience that it left a visible mark? She couldn’t fathom the audacity.

Lily’s fingers coiled into tight knots, her nails pressing into her palms like hot brands. She
shot a withering look at the blonde girl across from her. “What’s his problem, anyway?” she
muttered under her breath.

Mary toyed with her meal. “Have you thought about taking this to Professor McGonagall,
then?”

Peter, visibly uncomfortable, was quick to dismiss her. “It-it’s too embarrassing,” he replied
quickly. “I’d rather just keep my distance.”

Nods of agreement came from Mary and Marlene.

It was enough to make Lily want to scream.

She aggressively attacked her food, her knife slicing through it with unnecessary force.

Something about that boy, his friends, and the entire Slytherin house felt—

Wrong.

Bound by her relentless curiosity, Lily succumbed to stealing a glance at the table she had
been cautioned to avoid and maintain distance from.

Edging to the front of her seat, she tilted her head, hoping to catch sight of the Slytherin with
those horrid glasses.

But no matter how much she moved and craned her neck, she couldn’t see him.

Honestly, it was better that she didn’t.

At all, actually.

Possibly for the entire year.

“But it’s pink!” Marlene scrunched her nose. “It’s positively horrendous!”

“It is fashion!” Mary countered with a twirl that sent the vibrant fabric of her pink attire
swirling around her.

“It is the middle of the night!” Carlotta’s protest echoed through her bed, the sheets twisting
in silent objection.

Lily squinted a bit, and oddly enough, there was a hint of Petunia in Carlotta, if you caught
her in just the right light. Maybe that's why a small smile was forming on her lips as she
looked at her.

“Mary,” Carlotta sighed, “Don’t you have a strict eight-hour beauty sleep rule?”

Mary, still twirling, abruptly stopped, her face registering shock. “What time is it?”

“Here we go again,” Marlene grabbed a pillow from her bed and playfully suffocated herself
with it, lying on her back. Her voice, now muffled, continued, “Why did you remind—”

“We really need to—” Lily began.

A sudden, agonizing howl tore through the room, its raw intensity seizing everyone. The
sound was so deep, so filled with anguish, that it caused all four girls to freeze. Then, as
abruptly as it had begun, it ceased.

Lily’s breath caught, a sharp inhale sounding like a loud swallow. “What was that?”

Marlene, typically the most fearless among them, visibly recoiled, her eyes widening with
horror. “I don’t know.”

Mary approached the window, her steps whispering a gentle creak on the wooden floor. She
peered into the darkness outside. “I’m pretty sure it came from out there.”

“I never heard anything quite like it,” Carlotta murmured to herself, her fingers gliding
through the strands of her hair at the edge of her shoulder.

Lily joined Mary at the window, fixating on the night outside. Her hands, almost
instinctively, pressed onto the cold glass, leaving transient imprints. The late hour was
undeniable, the full moon casting a silver glow over the grounds.

Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

They waited in silence for a few more minutes, hoping to catch any elusive sound that might
break the stillness.

None came.
“I’m craving those eight hours of ‘beauty’ sleep now, actually,” Marlene admitted, a fleeting
shadow crossing her carefree expression.

Carlotta nodded hastily.

Mary, still visibly shaken, managed a small, uneasy smile. “I knew you two would come
around.”

Lily lingered by the window.

She stood calm and collected, but inside, inside she was a mess. Her brain was a tangle of
thoughts, and she couldn’t seem to pull a single one to the front.

What kind of creature could produce such a sound?

A wolf, maybe?

Or a stray dog?

“Lily?” Mary’s voice reached her from the bed. “Come on, it’s probably nothing; let’s get
some sleep.”

Despite the unsettling howl, the night outside held a hushed serenity.

She pictured Headmaster Dumbledore in his office, gazing at the sky, especially tonight’s
moon. She scanned the school grounds, hoping to catch a glimpse of the headmaster
patrolling like Mary had seen earlier, but he eluded her gaze.

Perhaps he, too, was spooked by the noise, choosing to stay hidden rather than venture out.
Year 2: Power Plays
JAMES
October, 1972
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

That thought, something's missing, would loop through his head, inviting him to inspect it
closer, to dig for a deeper meaning. He’d try to brush it away, dismiss its existence with the
logical sweep of his thoughts, but eventually, he’d grow accustomed to its quiet intrusion,
like just another grain of sand in the expanse of his mind.

But there were moments when this emptiness transformed into deep, piercing agony. He felt a
gaping hole within himself, as though something—or someone—had savagely punctured his
core, causing an unseen internal bleed.

The pain throbbed relentlessly, almost driving him to claw at his skin, desperate to reveal a
physical wound that matched the torment within. Each time he checked, however, he found
nothing.

With his body intact but his mind in pieces, James wrestled with the origins of this pain and
how to mend it. In an attempt to escape these crushing feelings, he found himself lashing out,
directing his anguish toward anything that breathed nearby.

“Colloshoo,” he whispered venomously, a cruel smirk twisting his features as he cast the
spell.

Caught in an invisible grip, Sarah Derwent fought desperately to free her shoes, squirming
and writhing without success. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bump into you!”

“You can always beg,” Sirius cocked his head to the side. “He likes that.”

James found the fear and embarrassment on across Sarah’s face intoxicating—deadly,
addictive, and perilous. The satisfaction of being the one inflicting torment, rather than on the
receiving end for once, brought an unfamiliar pleasure.

“Go on, then,” James taunted, his eyes glinting with a cold, predatory amusement. “Beg.”

Sarah’s eyes were wide with panic.

With a cruel flick, Sirius’s wand sent her tumbling, her laughter a hollow, hysterical echo in
the corridor.

“I wanted her to beg,” James turned to Sirius, his voice edging on a tone that might have
passed for a spoiled whine years ago.

“And there she is,” Sirius observed dryly, “on her knees.”

“Serioso Loco!”
As the spell reverberated down the corridor, a shadow began to take form, gradually shaping
into the familiar figure of Andromeda Black. James’s scowl deepened at her arrival—always
the saviour, always stepping in to play the saint.

Sirius spun his wand between his fingers, a yawn stretching across his face.

Sarah, with tear stains on her cheeks, let out a sigh of relief so profound, that James felt he
could hear it from where he stood, a soft sound of release.

With a composed yet caring touch, Andromeda helped Sarah to her feet. Then, turning her
attention to Sirius and James, her expression hardened. “You can’t just go hexing anyone who
breathes in your direction, James,” she said. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, then fixed on
Sirius. “That goes for you too."

Sirius, leaning back against the stone wall, shrugged. “I miss Bellatrix,” he remarked. “She
would have let us do whatever we wanted.”

There was a beat of silence.

James hesitated, the name of the older witch teetering at the edge of his tongue, heavy with
memories he’d rather forget. He felt a surge of unease but quickly smothered it. It was a
ridiculous feeling, really. Especially here, especially now, about her.

Andromeda, choosing to ignore Sirius’s snide comment with a dignified silence, turned to
Sarah. “I’m sorry about all this,” she said gently. “Rest assured, this won’t happen again
under my watch. Now, go get some rest. Leave these two to me.”

A trace of a smile flickered on Sarah’s face, but it vanished under James’s hollow, desolate
look. Once she had left, Andromeda didn’t waste time in delivering a sharp, reprimanding
slap to the back of their necks.

“What is wrong with you two? Are you mentally deficient?” You can’t go around bullying
students for every little thing, whether it’s a bump in the corridor or a shared bench, or—”

“Keep your hair on, Andy,” Sirius interrupted, rubbing his neck and smirking. “It’s all a bit of
a laugh. We’re not causing any harm.”

Andromeda, seemingly conceding the pointlessness of trying to reason with Sirius, turned her
piercing gaze on James. “Listen to me carefully because I’ll only say this once: This is not a
game, and you’re not above the rules just because you find it amusing. You’re setting a
dangerous precedent, and I won’t tolerate it, even though I care deeply for both of you.”

“Fine,” Sirius said bluntly. “Are we done here?”

Without losing her composure, Andromeda gave a nod, her calmness almost disturbing. “Yes,
you can go.”

As Sirius’s impatient footsteps resonated through the wide corridor, a hush fell—a kind of
quiet that sucked the air out of the space. Andromeda watched Sirius’s retreating figure,
maybe a beat too long.
When James spun around to go, she called out his name, desperate and loud.

He paused, his body tensing, but he didn’t turn around.

“James,” she called out, softer this time. “Would you stay for a moment?”

He slowly pivoted back towards her. “Andromeda, I don’t need a lecture.”

“There’s a difference between needing and heeding, James,” she shot back, her tone firm.
“The wedding—”

He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening. “Nothing happened at the wedding.”

“For someone so opposed to my sister’s marriage, you seemed quite chuffed once she was
hitched.”

James offered a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Uncle Alphard told you, didn’t
he? It was all a prank. Every last bit.”

“Alphard’s gone barmy,” she said. “Much like everyone else in our family, it seems.”

“Can I go?” James asked tersely.

Andromeda’s hand reached out with a certain hesitance, but James withdrew swiftly. Even
though he looked away, his eyes inadvertently drifted back to her—noticing the soft freckles
across her cheeks, the way her hair fell in a stylish, uneven cut. There was something
disarming, almost soothing, about the brunette.

“James, do talk to me,” she urged. “Pranks were never quite your style, were they? What
happened after you were involved in all this? Did something happen?”

A chill seeped into his bones, making his skin tingle with cold. “No.”

“Something’s changed in you since the wedding. You’re not yourself lately."

She stepped closer.

Her peculiar smell wafted over him, an intriguing blend of lavender, the crispness of fresh
rain, and the earthy smell of soil just turned.

It brought back memories of warmer, more tender times spent with Andromeda during his
younger years. He recalled how she used to lift him effortlessly onto her back, lead him up to
the towering branches of old trees, and wrap him in embraces so tight they turned every
breath into an adventure. Those memories brought back a distant past, a time when physical
closeness with Andromeda was as natural as the passage of seasons.

In Bellatrix’s company, James naturally slipped into the role of an older brother, a guardian to
a girl who, on the surface, seemed so delicate.
Yet, with Andromeda, things shifted. Around her, he often found himself regressing into a
more childlike version of himself, as if she still had the power to scoop him up in her arms
and spin him around in carefree circles.

“I’m simply behaving as I should,” James inched away from her. “I think it’s you who’s
struggling to accept it.”

He watched as Andromeda’s gaze locked onto him, a prolonged, searching look that seemed
to delve into his very soul. When she finally spoke, it was just a whisper, “Fine.” There was a
pause before she added, almost to herself, “Forget I even asked.”

The sting was sharper than he expected.

Seeing Andromeda, her expressions echoing those of Bellatrix—a girl he so desperately

wanted to protect but couldn’t—etched a deep sense of failure into his heart.

Each line on her face was a reminder of the things he hadn’t been able to do, of the help he
couldn’t give.

Upon entering the library, James was immediately met with Sirius’s arched eyebrow. “What
took you so long?”

“Andromeda,” James replied tersely, offering no further explanation.

Sirius’s face hardened, his features as stern as if chiselled in stone. “She’s off her rocker, isn’t
she? Acting all high and mighty, thinking she can boss everyone around, just because
Bellatrix used to.”

The Black sisters had always commanded a certain... respect, almost fear, from those around
them. To many, they were untouchable, elevated on a pedestal, not unlike revered artefacts.
For years, Narcissa and Andromeda lingered in Bellatrix’s shadow, content to let her bask in
the limelight. But now, with an almost imperceptible shift, Andromeda had assumed the lead.
James observed that this newfound authority didn't seem to sit comfortably on her shoulders.

Barty, looking more exhausted than interested, cut in. “Anyway, as I was trying to say before
Sirius butted in, mum’s dead set on me going to one of those weird talks during the winter
break. Not sure of the bloke’s name,” he admitted, “but my dad’s not keen on it. Reckons he
doesn’t like the way things are going.”

James, getting straight to the point, asked, “You mean the Dark Lord? Is he still holding court
on his little soapbox?”

Evan reclined, the chair creaking under him. “Not anymore. He’s moved on to bigger venues
—pubs, cafes. The guy’s gathering quite the crowd these days.”
Sirius exhaled with a dramatic puff, his cheeks ballooning out. “Seems a bit daft, doesn’t it?
Who’d willingly listen to some man droning on for hours?”

James scoffed. “It’s not all drivel. Some of what he says makes sense.”

“But is it really something to get worked up about?” Sirius retorted.

Their loud voices caught the attention of an older student, who shushed them with a stern
look. They instinctively lowered their voices. As she turned away, Evan, in a small act of
defiance, stuck his tongue out at her retreating back.

Barty’s eyes cautiously returned to James, wary and calculating. “Well, my mum seems to
think it’s important. She’s even got that strange tattoo to show for it.”

James leaned in, his fingers idly tapping a rhythm on the table. “What tattoo?”

Silence stretched between them.

He pressed again. “What tattoo, Barty?”

“It’s like this mark… black, kind of snakes around her wrist,” Barty revealed in a hushed
manner.

Evan, joining in, gave a subtle nod. “Both my folks are big on the guy; they’ve got the same
thing.” He glanced at Barty. “You should come with us next time.”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed, a crease forming on his forehead. “Your parents actually drag you to
those meetings?”

"Yeah, they're a bit dull," a wistful half-smile played on Evan’s face, "but it’s the only time
they can be in the same room without having a right row. So, it’s better than nothing.”

Meanwhile, Barty, absorbed in his well-thumbed book, didn’t look up as he spoke. “Sure,
count me in.” His fingertip lightly traced a small chip on the cover, following the familiar
grooves. “Just save me a—”

“—seat,” Sirius motioned, patting the space beside him at lunch.

James halted abruptly, his eyes following Sirius’s gesture.

That was Bellatrix’s seat.

The chair had been empty for a long time and now it was like an island surrounded by quiet
respect and memories. Everyone seemed to agree without saying it, even Andromeda, that
this chair was off-limits. It was like there was an invisible wall around it.
With a discreet shake of his head directed at Sirius, James subtly redirected his path, opting
for a seat across from him instead.

Sirius wisely chose not to dwell on James’s choice of seat. The recent wedding indeed had
revealed a troubling shift in James. His circle—Barty, Sirius, and Evan—had all seen James’s
futile attempt to stop Bellatrix’s wedding, only for him to reappear an hour later, eerily calm
and ready to dance. They steered clear of probing into the reasons or consequences, accepting
Uncle Alphard’s vague explanations and leaving it at that. James was somewhat relieved by
their discretion.

He only wished Andromeda would follow suit; instead, she aimlessly prodded her food, her
fork clinking against the plate in agitation.

Suddenly, a tingling sensation crawled up the back of James’s neck. He turned instinctively to
locate its source: a young first-year Hufflepuff girl, her cheeks tinged with a nervous flush,
was gazing at him with an odd, intense focus.

Sirius’s lips twisted into a wry grimace. “There they go again,” he muttered.

Lucius, about to sip from his goblet, abruptly halted, his hand frozen mid-air. “What is it?” he
asked.

“These girls,” Sirius let out a heavy sigh. “They’re driving me round the bend.”

“Girls?” Narcissa lightly covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a giggle.

Sirius, visibly exasperated, tapped his spoon against his empty plate. “It started off as a bit of
a laugh – they looked a bit daft. But now, they start squealing every time they see me. Had
one practically tripping over her tongue on the train.”

“They’re just taken with you,” Andromeda muttered, propping her chin on her hand with an
air of indifference.

Sirius’s mouth fell open, his tongue pressing against his teeth. “What?”

Lucius let out a low, amused chuckle. “Oh, definitely.”

Narcissa turned her attention to James. “And you, James? Do they pull that sort of nonsense
on you as well?”

He squirmed in his seat, feeling the weight of Narcissa’s stare. “I don’t know.”

Sirius paled. “I’m gonna’ be sick!"

Narcissa let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Sirius, they’re just keen on you. Think you’re a bit
of alright. No need to go thinking they’re plotting your demise.”

Sirius raised his voice, a hint of his French accent peeking through. “They might, you know!”
he burst out. “They look at me as if I’m top of their hit list! The very idea of someone
fancying me is just… it’s bloody repulsive!”
James, for his part, had never seen the point in dwelling on thoughts about girls.

To him, girls were a peculiar species—mysterious and, frankly, a bit off-putting.

Smelly.

Terrifying, even.

The Black sisters were an exception; they were tolerable, most of the time.

But the rest?

Absolutely not.

His hatred had only intensified since last year. The very thought of dealing with girls, of
enduring their giggly voices and watching that inevitable blush spread across their faces
when he looked their way, was unbearable. It seemed like a good idea for him to keep his
distance altogether. Especially from a selected few.

He blurted out without thinking, “How do I get girls to stop bothering me?”

Lucius gave a slight cough before answering. “Not much to be done, really. Best to just enjoy
the attention. At your age, crushes are about as dangerous as a kitten.”

At this, Sirius and James shared a look of utter dismay.

“True,” Narcissa agreed, her smile holding for a moment. Her eyes then flicked to
Andromeda, and her expression sobered. “But things do start to change as you get older.”

Andromeda let out a slow, controlled breath through her nose. “You can’t really choose who
you fancy,” she remarked, her gaze pointedly elsewhere.

It left him wondering if the words were meant for him at all.

Narcissa shifted her posture, crossing her legs with graceful precision. “You could at least be
smart,” she gritted. “Think with your head instead of someplace else.”

Andromeda countered with a sly threat, “And what place would the other one be?”

“You know where,” Narcissa retorted with deceptive calmness.

Andromeda laughed, but there was nothing warm about it. “Well, I’m not the one snogging
my boyfriend’s face off in front of half the school. Doesn’t seem like you’re using your head
much either.”

Lucius, his cheeks taking on a slight flush, took a discreet sip from his goblet.

“Melodrama Chronicles?” Sirius inched closer, his earlier panic forgotten.

James pressed his lips into a tight line. “Not this time,” he muttered. The lack of any teary
outbursts left him feeling oddly unsettled.
Just then, a Ravenclaw girl walked by, her giggle ringing out as she passed their table,
drawing a glance from the group.

“Oh, come off it!” Sirius exclaimed, throwing his hands up in a dramatic gesture. “I can’t
deal with all this for an entire year!”

“No one’s loitering at the bench,” Barty said with a sigh, shaking his head in slight
disappointment. “Was hoping you’d give that chubby fellow another taste of your fists.”

Evan let out a wry chuckle, as if James was known for his penchant for scuffles. “Which one
are you on about?”

“The one who looks a bit like a rat,” Sirius replied, his chin tilting up in a defiant angle.

James’s voice took on a steely tone. “Wouldn’t mind sorting him out again. Can’t stomach
blokes like that.”

“Oh, right,” Barty piped up from behind. “He’s a Pettigrew, isn’t he? Heard his name last
year during the Sorting.”

At this, James half-turned towards Barty, his face briefly taking on an amused look before
settling back into its usual sternness.

“Everyone knows the Pettigrews are a bit thick,” Evan said, clearly unimpressed with the
ongoing conversation. “Some of them even hitched up with Muggles, and look where that
genius move got them.”

As James settled onto the bench, he savoured the stretch that followed, a brief respite in his
otherwise busy day. “Their bloodline’s diluted,” he remarked, his tone as casual as if he were
commenting on the day's menu. “That’s why I had this bench scrubbed.”

Sirius, who took a seat next to him, looked confused. “Scrubbed? How come?”

“Dad coughed up a few Galleons to summon some house-elves from the kitchen to spruce it
up,” James explained. “Don’t usually write to him, but when I asked this time, he surprisingly
agreed.”

“Well obviously,” Evan shot back, almost hopping from foot to foot, a bundle of energy
unable to stay still. “You’re his only son, mate.”

“And only child,” Barty chimed in, now embroiled in a light-hearted scuffle with Evan, the
two exchanging playful punches.

James cracked a sly grin. “Told him I’d pack my bags and leave Hogwarts if he didn’t come
around.”
“You actually threatened your own dad?” Sirius’s eyes widened.

James knew the relationship between Sirius and Orion Black was complex, like a puzzle he
couldn’t quite solve.

He remembered, at ten years old, seeing Sirius receive a rare, firm pat on the shoulder from
Orion. Two years had gone by since that day, yet that moment remained in James’s memory
as a rare glimpse into their bond. It made him wonder if he and Fleamont had once shared
something similar, though such recollections now felt distant.

Fleamont Potter, much like James, had never been one for physical shows of affection. He
had grown accustomed to, even appreciative of, their unspoken understanding. His father’s
way of expressing care was through gifts and the occasional, meaningful word. These tokens
of affection, sparse as they were, meant the world to James, each word from his father
carrying a weight that no embrace could match.

Of course, everything changed the day Fleamont unleashed a curse so excruciating that it left
James unconscious. Since then, the mere thought of making eye contact with his father
became unbearable.

So what if he had threatened to leave Hogwarts? Compared to what Fleamont had done to
him, a small threat felt insignificant.

“Don’t you?” James prodded Sirius.

“Not really,” Sirius admitted, a tad sheepish.

“Well, you should,” James suggested, fighting back a bitter laugh that was eager to escape.

“Speaking of—” Barty started, still out of breath from his impromptu jumping contest with
Evan, which seemed more like a challenge to see who could leap higher.

He was cut off as a group of giggling girls, likely first-years, sauntered past them.

Sirius leaned towards James, his face dead serious. “James,” he whispered, “can we hex
them?”

“Just leave it,” Evan advised, finally taking a seat. “Ignoring them’s the best strategy.”

“They look a bit peaky, don’t they?” Barty remarked, eyeing the girls’ reddened faces and
dazed smiles.

“Cissy reckons some might have a fancy for us,” Sirius added, feigning a retch for dramatic
effect.

Evan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Seriously?”

“I haven’t gone asking around, Evan,” Sirius replied, rolling his eyes. He then turned to
Barty. “Didn’t your brother get tangled up with one of them?”
“Not officially,” Barty replied. “But he won’t shut up about her.”

Barty’s voice, more often than not, resembled the grating sound of crushed glass, much like
Evan’s.

Every now and then, James would tune them out, a move to carve out a moment of peace for
himself.

Today happened to be one of those times.

Casting a lazy gaze around, he entertained the notion of Pettigrew making a grand entrance,
perhaps attempting to seize his favourite bench. Such a dramatic move would undoubtedly
serve as an open invitation for James to deliver yet another gratifying beatdown.

But, no luck – Pettigrew played it smart, lurking in the shadows. Maybe he was too clever or
just too cautious, dodging a good thrashing and the shame of admitting defeat.

James grudgingly had to admit, maybe the blond wasn’t as dim as he’d first thought.

“Okay! My turn!” a high-pitched voice broke into the surroundings, pulling his attention. He
sighed and turned towards the source.

A trio of girls stood not far away, one blond, one brunette, and a redhead. His breath caught
for just a moment, a small, fleeting second was all it took to connect the dots. It had been
months since he’d seen that shade of red.

Layla.

A pang of regret hit; he should’ve gotten her expelled when he had the chance.

Having her around, especially in this school, where she could potentially cause more trouble
for him, was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. Still, she seemed to stay mostly out of
his sight, and with more pressing concerns on his plate, he found himself pushing the matter
to the back of his mind. Shaking his head to dispel the intrusive thoughts, James took deep
breaths through his nose, trying to focus on Sirius’s words instead.

“Fancy a bit of fun with the first-year lads again?” Sirius asked, his white teeth flashing.

James gave a nod in agreement.

After all, it was his sway over the younger ones that truly made his days at Hogwarts
bearable, wasn’t it?
 Year 2: Liar, Liar, Vampire
Chapter Notes

TW: Blood, Anxiety Attack.

LILY
November, 1972
“Potter’s been lurking around the courtyard again,” Mary murmured, the shadow of a frown
crossing her face. “Poor Peter’s practically barricaded himself inside.”

Lily clenched her wand.

She was completely worn out by the constant chatter about James Potter, a boy who breezed
through life, untouched by the consequences that seemed to snag everyone else. It was
always the same story, with different players. This time, Peter was the one caught in James'
orbit, overshadowed by the notorious influence of the Black sisters—a protective shield of
power and privilege.

The glaring imbalance, the way the scales tipped so blatantly in his favour, left Lily with a
bitter taste, like biting into a beautifully ripe apple only to discover it was sour.

From her lounging position, Marlene idly traced patterns in the air with her wand, making the
painted stars on the Astronomy Tower’s ceiling flicker in response. “Pettigrew’s just too
tender-hearted, that’s all,” she muttered, eyes following the celestial dance.

Professor Podmore floated into view, her gown flowing behind her like a river of silk across
the wooden floorboards.

“Let’s brighten things up a bit, shall we?”

She twitched a smirk.

There was something about Podmore’s voice, its cheerful timbre, the way it rose and fell like
a songbird’s trill. Lily half-imagined it had the power to set the very glass in the windows
vibrating, if only this part of the tower had windows to test the theory.

“If I were Peter,” Lily mused, glancing towards Mary, “I’d have legged it straight to
McGonagall by now.”

At her side, Marlene glowered. “Boys can be such muppets.”

Mary, momentarily distracted from the pages of her book, shifted her gaze towards Remus.
“They’re not all terrible, you know.”

At the back of the class, Lupin seemed to inhabit a world entirely his own, seemingly
detached, whether in blissful ignorance or burdened awareness of their conversation. He was
settled in his customary place, encircled by orange pillows that set him apart, forming a lone
island in a sea of vibrant colour.

Lily inhaled sharply, a tremor in her breath.

There, Remus was intently focused on his arm, his agile fingers delicately tracing a barely
visible line of blood across his skin.
She struggled now to know what to make of him. The more she saw of Remus, the more he
appeared to dissolve into the background, as though Hogwarts itself was leeching away his
energy. She recalled a stray conversation from last year, an offhand remark about him
possibly not returning to Hogwarts. At the time, it had seemed a mere possibility, but now,
with his every appearance, it felt like a foreboding slowly becoming reality.

Professor Podmore, with a fluid grace, descended to Lily’s level, bending forward at a sharp,
precise angle. Her presence suddenly eclipsed Remus from Lily’s sight. “Miss Evans,” she
said, “A tad less prattle, a bit more focus, please.”

“Absolutely, Professor,” Lily replied promptly, shooting Marlene and Mary a quick, sly grin.
Their Astronomy sessions with Podmore were a unique blend—a bit of stargazing, a dash of
constellation-mapping, and now and then, a light seasoning of harmless gossip.

The class, above all, had a laid-back rhythm.

Podmore shifted her attention, a trace of irritation colouring her tone. “Mister Pettigrew,
that’s not a star you’re pointing at. It’s a meteor!”

Well, for some at least.

“Some?” Mary leaned forward, her eyebrows arching in mock outrage as her hand darted
towards Marlene’s plate in a swift, playful swipe. “You’ve nicked all my peas!”

“No take-backs,” Marlene chuckled, deftly keeping her plate just out of Mary’s reach. “Fair’s
fair, you said if I pulled off a back-handed flip, they’d be mine.”

“That’s not on,” Mary’s lips curved into a half-smile. “I had no idea you were such a
gymnastic wonder!”

Lily’s focus drifted away from Marlene and Mary, her fork absentmindedly tracing circles on
her plate. Its tines scraped softly against the ceramic, mirroring the swirl of her thoughts,
which circled back, again and again, to that one moment: the unexpected warmth that flooded
her cheeks under Remus's intense look, and the shocking, vivid image of blood on his—

Peter flopped down beside her, his elbow bumping hers in a clumsy attempt to make room.
“Just had a chat with Professor McGonagall,” he announced, his words spattering slightly
across the table, his lisp colouring each syllable. “Quidditch tryouts are on for second years
and up.”

A shock of heat struck through her then; a realization so potent it nearly caused her to drop
her fork.

Peter, who usually kept to himself and certainly didn’t make a habit of joining them, was now
settling in as the most natural thing in the world.
It seemed that their recent show of concern for the blond, especially in the wake of his spat
with James, had reshaped his view of them. Maybe he was starting to see them not just as
classmates, but as potential friends. And that meant—

“Really? That’s brilliant!" Eldric Flint’s voice, charged with energy, jolted Lily back to the
present. He offered a broad, infectious grin, giving Marlene’s hair an affectionate tousle as he
claimed the seat next to her.

—Peter’s dorm mates were beginning to see them in a new light too.

Ambrose Dawlish squeezed in between Mary and Marlene, his laughter erupting like thunder.
“You lot are barking mad! Like they’d actually let us try out for Quidditch,” he chuckled, his
head shaking. “We’d be like flobberworms in a dragon’s den.”

Eldric’s chest rose with an air of confidence. “It’s not just about being old. Catching the
Snitch? That’s pure skill.”

“Skill?” Mary’s retort was fast. “Really now, pull the other one!”

It was amusing to see, how effortlessly Mary was parrying with the boys who, just last year,
had hardly given them a second glance.

“Well, I’d rather be short and nimble than a tall, easy target for a bloke in ridiculous specs,”
Elric shot back, looking at Peter.

Peter turned bright red; even the tips of his ears went scarlet. “Oi, that’s not fair! I just wasn’t
ready, is all!”

“If I’d been there, Potter wouldn’t have had it so easy,” Ambrose said. “He’s a complete
nightmare.”

Peter’s eyes lined with silver. “I can handle myself just fine!”

Eldric’s reaction was a burst of laughter through his nose. “Of course, you can Pete. We’re
just having a bit of fun with you.”

“You—you were the one advising against getting into a scrap that day,” Peter pointed out to
Eldric.

Eldric gave a dramatic upwards glance, as if seeking patience from the ceiling. “True, I’m
generally not one for stirring trouble,” he acknowledged with a shrug. “But we’ve all got our
breaking point. I wouldn’t have just taken it if he’d punched me.”

“Oi, give Pettigrew some props for his bravery before he starts sobbing his heart out now,”
Marlene said, not missing a beat.

Ambrose made a strange sound, something like a laugh. “The manliest of all, aren’t you,
Pete?” he teased.

Mary lifted her goblet in a mock toast. “Strength personified.”

That threw her, and she surprised herself by laughing.

“Absolutely dashing, too,” Marlene said, smiling.

Peter glanced around, a hopeful look in his eyes. “Do you lot really think that?”

Lily found herself caught up in the excitement, lifting her goblet alongside the others.
Together, the group raised their voices in harmony, their goblets clinking together in a toast,
“To Peter!”

Peter’s face brightened as he hoisted his drink high. "To me!" he shouted, then downed the
contents in a single, brisk move. But instantly, his expression twisted into one of sheer
disgust. "What’s in this!?" he coughed out.

Eldric burst into laughter, his hand coming down with a thump on the table. “Salt!”

“Really, how childish,” Marlene scoffed.

Mary subtly shifted her goblet an inch to the side. “Better keep that far from my drink,” she
warned.

A dark cloud fell over Ambrose’s face. “You know,” he said, his tone turning serious, “we did
that to Lupin once.” He stopped, his eyes seeming to focus on something far away. “Never
knew a person could have scars inside their mouth… but poor bloke… his whole mouth—”

“Remus?” Lily asked cautiously. “How’s he been?” She silently prayed it didn’t come across
as overly nosy. Despite having seen him that morning, she was eager to know what those
closer to him thought, to get their take on how he was really doing.

“We’re not that close with him,” Eldric confessed. “He doesn’t even bunk with us. We’ve no
clue where he vanishes to at night.”

Lily took a deep bracing breath, felt the humid air in her lungs. She experienced, for a
moment, a pang of what could be described as disappointment—a feeling that left her both
stunned and confused.

“Still the same, then?” she pressed gently.

Ambrose nodded. “Yeah. Ducks out whenever anyone’s around.”

Peter frowned. “He’s odd, keeps to himself too much.”

“Maybe he’s just lonely,” Lily muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Marlene reached across the table, giving her hand a squeeze. “Lily, we’ve been through this.”

“We did give it a shot,” Ambrose rubbed the back of his neck. “But he didn’t really open up.
Hard to befriend someone who keeps pushing you away.”

With that, the table fell silent, and a quiet minute stretched out between all of them.
Lily paused to take a small sip from her goblet, feeling the cool water slide down her throat.
As it did, her appetite seemed to dissolve with it.

She set the vessel down with a clank, her gaze drifting across the lively Great Hall until it
landed on Peter. He was laughing along with a joke someone had made, but his laughter
seemed a beat too late, a bit forced.

When their eyes briefly met, his smile faltered; it was a curve that never quite reached the
nervous flicker hiding in his expression.

He quickly looked down at his plate, as if the golden tableware and towers of food could
shield him from her.

It didn’t.

Lily was actually looking forward to her only class the next morning, a mixed house session
with Professor Crowe.

After last year’s duelling fiasco, whispers had circulated that he’d practically grovelled to
Dumbledore to retain his position. She figured everyone deserved a second—

“—chance?” Crowe was explaining as he flipped through his textbook. “Vampires,” he

continued, a trace of frustration in his tone, “are creatures of cunning, not chance. You’d have
known this, Mister Rosier had you actually opened chapter fourteen.” His gaze swept across
the room. “Now, who among you can... enlighten us with a key insight from that chapter?”

Lily sighed inwardly. Chapter fourteen was practically a breeze, the simplest read of the—
wait.

Her attention snapped to James, who was on the verge of raising his hand.

Acting swiftly, Lily cut in, “Vampires feed once a month, storing blood for extended
periods.”

Professor Crowe turned to Lily, his eyes briefly losing their tiredness, replaced by a trace of
appreciation. “Precisely, Miss Evans,” he said, nodding with approval. “Ten points to
Gryffindor.”

Lily suppressed a smirk as she sneaked a peek at James, who sat just one row ahead.

Oh, how he loathed her.

The feeling was deliciously mutual.

Ever since that duel, James had gone out of his way to avoid her, and Lily had returned the
sentiment. But that didn’t mean she was about to let him off the hook for being a total git.
Not a chance.

Lily had always been quietly observant of James in their shared classes. His brows furrowed
in concentration, his hand shooting up to answer every question. Nevertheless, she was
equally—if not more—dedicated to her studies. If direct confrontation was off the table, she
was resolved to challenge him with her wit and intelligence. Defence Against the Dark Arts,
one of the two classes they shared this year, had silently morphed into their arena. She kept
an unofficial score in her head. It was a private game, one she suspected James wasn’t even
aware they were playing.

But in every answer she gave, in every point she earned, she was determined to win.

Professor Crowe, tweaking his small glasses, offered a wry grin that made his metallic teeth
catch the light ominously. “They exhibit certain characteristics,” he said, “such as their
unusually fair skin. It’s sensitive to sunlight, but not fatally – a common misconception
among Muggles. Still, they are prone to unique scarring from sun exposure.”

Huh.

She pondered how such scars might appear on their skin. Just spots, or blemishes, or perhaps
something more distinct—long and thin.

That thought led her to Remus, with his strikingly pasty skin, almost spectral in its fairness.
His blue veins were prominent, visible beneath the surface. His appearance seemed to align
eerily with Professor Crowe’s description, which was quite funny because—

A sudden dryness overtook her mouth.

Professor Crowe’s voice dropped to a hush. “Vampires prefer the night,” he intoned. “They
keep to themselves, avoiding Muggles and our kind alike, yet they blend in seamlessly with
both societies. Generally, if you don’t meddle in their affairs, they won’t in yours.”

“Doesn’t even bunk with us anymore. We’ve no clue where he vanishes to at night,” Eldric’s
voice, distant and faint, reached her ears.

No, that couldn’t be right.

“He’s odd, keeps to himself too much,” Peter echoed.

How could Remus possibly—

“Never knew a person could have scars inside their mouth.”

—be anything but human?

“Mary,” her question almost involuntarily slipped from her lips. “Have you seen Lupin
today?”
Lily felt so much in that very moment, she found she could not move—dared not move. If
she allowed herself to shift even an iota, she thought she might crack, and if she cracked, she
thought she might drop to her knees.

“No,” Mary said, her words dragging in slow motion.

Her head spun so fast she could scarcely draw breath.

Could Remus be a vampire?

She exhaled deliberately, counting, trying to find calm.

Did Dumbledore know about this?

Breathing in, out.

Did anyone?

The remainder of the day slipped by like a stream, quick and smooth, leaving Lily suddenly
finding herself back in her bed, wondering where the hours had gone.

She closed the curtains around her bedpost and crawled back beneath the covers, but there
was no way she could return to sleep now.

The sole focus of her thoughts, the only notion gradually tightening its grip on her mind, was
that Remus was a vampire.

He was.

There was no point in trying to deny it.

She sat upright, leaning against the headboard, and rubbed her cheeks with the palms of her
hands, letting out a long, deep sigh.

Before she could take any further action, she needed more evidence.

The Friday morning air was a blanket of thick grey, hanging low as Lily slipped out of
Professor McGonagall’s class.
The word was that Remus was holed up in the Hospital Wing again. Without a second
thought, she volunteered to take notes for him.

Striding through the corridors, the muted echoes of students’ chatter faded behind her.

The Hospital Wing loomed ahead. Inside, it was strangely quiet, save for the soft hum of
magic at work. The only occupied bed, shrouded in privacy curtains, had to be Remus’s.

As she tiptoed closer, the scent of antiseptic and something faintly metallic filled the air.

Madame Pomfrey, clad in her pristine white uniform stained with tiny, startling drops of red,
popped out as if conjured by Lily’s curiosity.

"Friend of Remus, are you? Brought him his notes?" The question, sharp but not unkind,
caught Lily off guard.

She nodded, feeling sweat running down her sides.

“That’s good to hear,” the nurse replied. “Afraid he’s not up for visitors just now, but it’s
comforting to know he’s got friends who care. He’s always been on the reserved side.”

Guilt pinched Lily as she handed over the notes. Their friendship—if it could be called that—
was a flimsy thread, not yet fully woven.

Leaving with a lollipop pressed into her palm, Lily’s mind raced. The regularity of Remus’s
visits here, the closeness he shared with Madame Pomfrey—it was like a story gradually
unfolding, chapter by chapter.

Of course, Lily might be missing something.

Remus spent days away, during which she had no idea what he did.

There could be countless things he was doing that she had no knowledge of.

She had just glimpsed him, clutching a well-worn pillow, descending the marble staircase.
His hair, always a rebellious tuft of waves, seemed even more unkempt tonight.

“Lily?” Peter’s tentative voice brought her back. “Er, you’re sitting on my wand.”

Startled, Lily shifted, feeling a twinge of embarrassment as she realized she had indeed been
perched on the edge of Peter’s wand. “Oh, sorry, Peter,” she apologized, moving aside.

“It’s alright, no damage done,” Peter reassured her, casually examining his wand as he
twirled it between his fingers.
Following her gaze, he sighed. “Lupin's taken off again, has he?”

“Where’s he headed this time?”

“Not sure,” Peter replied with a nonchalant shrug, sinking into the sofa. The fabric sighed
under his weight. “Was Eldric acting a bit off with me today?”

“Um, I didn’t notice anything unusual. Why?” Lily asked, her focus drifting between Peter
and the spot where Remus had disappeared.

“Just a quip about Ambrose’s Quidditch skills, but Eldric seemed a bit put out after.”

“You might be overthinking it,” Lily suggested gently, noticing the way his fingers nervously
danced along the length of his wand.

In the fading light of the common room, Peter seemed to shrink into himself. He was, Lily
realized, like a wallflower in a dance of more vibrant blossoms, much like Remus, a mystery
of a different sort.

“I just…” Peter exhaled a heavy sigh, his eyes drifting to the embers crackling in the
fireplace. “I don’t know where I fit in with them. It all feels so difficult and it shouldn’t be.
You get what I mean?”

“Of course,” Lily replied, though she wasn’t quite sure she did.

She blinked, trying to ground herself.

What day was it again?

Monday.

Tuesday?

No, no, it was Wednesday.

Lily’s days at Hogwarts blended together in a blur of classes, spells, and potions.

But it was Remus who occupied the fringes of her mind, turning her thoughts into a maze of
questions, theories.

The proof was there, scattered like breadcrumbs: his erratic sleeping habits, the way he
shrank away from others, his skin an unnaturally light tone, and those strange scars that
seemed to whisper secrets of their own. Then there was his smile, or lack thereof. Despite the
countless hours they spent together, she had never seen his teeth, not even a peek.
Marlene had initially asked what she was so fixated on, yet they’d quickly given up when she
mentioned it was about Remus.

“Got a soft spot for him, have you?” she had teased.

But today felt different, significant.

Remus, who typically avoided Wednesday classes, was present.

So while Mary and Marlene were deep in their conversation, she discreetly pricked her finger
with her quill, drawing a small bead of blood. It stung, but she ignored it. She needed to
know.

She repositioned herself, ensuring a clear view of the blond.

His body told its own story without a word spoken. He straightened his back, his head tilted
ever so slightly upwards, and there was this almost imperceptible widening of his nostrils.
His eyes scanned the classroom methodically, yet it was the moment his pupils dilated,
becoming dark pools set starkly against the white of his eyes, that sent a shiver of realization
down Lily's spine.

He’d caught onto something—picked up on the sharp, metallic smell of her blood.

Lily kept her eyes on him, feeling a clammy unease coat her skin.

Suddenly, Remus jerked up from his seat, his movements abrupt, almost frantic. He darted
out of the classroom.

No.

She couldn’t let him slip away this time.

Springing to her feet, she barely noticed the surprised glance from Mary. “Blimey, where are
you off to all of a sudden?”

“Just need the loo,” she lied breathlessly, dashing out of the room.

The corridors were silent, the walls holding their breath. She rounded a corner—

“Got you,” Remus’s voice sliced through the stillness, shockingly near. In one swift,
predatory move, he had her against the cool stone wall, his grip on her wrist unrelenting and
strong.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away?” he hissed.

Her lungs felt as though they were on fire. The stabbing, burning need for oxygen was sharp
as her chest heaved. “Remus,” she gasped. “Your—”

“Teeth?” he cut in sharply. In the unforgiving light, they gleamed like needles, an unnerving
sight. “Bloody hell, why can’t you just leave things alone?”
“I was just—”

His words came out strangely calm, cold as ice. “Is this some twisted form of pity?”

Tears blurred her vision as panic clawed at her throat.

“I’ve tried to be fair with you,” Remus continued. “I kept my distance, even appreciated how
you stepped in during that duel, but lying to Poppy, pretending to be my friend? That’s one
thing—”

She tried to move, felt the chill of the rocks pressing sharply against her spine. Her heart
started pounding. Beating faster and faster. She could hear it.

"—And now, you’re stalking me?” Remus’s tone remained steady. “That’s entirely different.
What’s your endgame here—getting me expelled?”

“No!”

That earned her a cruel laugh from Remus. “Oh, now you choose to scream and panic. How
fitting, given you’re face-to-face with an actual vampire. And thanks to you, I might have to
up and leave.”

“I never meant for any of this! I saw your injuries, the bandages… I was just trying to
understand, that’s all!”

“Why do you even care?” Remus grunted. “We’re practically strangers.”

“I couldn’t just ignore it,” Lily insisted. “Something inside me said it was the right thing to
do, to reach out to you.”

“The right thing?” Remus’s eyes fixated on the small droplet of blood forming on her finger.
“You know, the right thing for me might just be to suck you dry of life before anyone catches
on. Sure, they’d come after me, stakes ready and all, but who knows? Maybe risking it all for
you might be worth it.”

Her hands started shaking and twitching as she thought about it. She was going to be sick.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” Remus challenged, his tone was light—almost
cajoling—though there was an edge to it.

A reason?

She struggled to find one.

He seemed so far gone, so wrapped in his anger.

But, when his gaze dropped to her shaking hands, a flicker of something softer, more
vulnerable, passed through his eyes. An ember of something human, something pained. He
looked at her so intently it felt as though he were committing her to memory.
“You’re not a monster,” Lily began. “You’re good, Remus, better than what they label you,
what the books say about you. Vampire or not, it doesn’t matter. Hogwarts welcomes
everyone, and you—you wouldn’t hurt me for saying what I think, what I feel. And believe
me, I know what it’s like to be misunderstood, to be judged for something you have no
control over.”

At her words, something in Remus changed.

His hold eased, and for a moment, he seemed utterly still, caught between actions. Lily
watched, a blend of wonder and uncertainty, as a flush of colour warmed his cheeks,
softening his menacing appearance.

Had she made him nervous?

“I…” Remus looked at her, really looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “I don’t get
that a lot. Understanding, I mean."

Lily exhaled slowly, a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. As the silence
stretched, a comforting warmth returned to her hands, previously numb from his grasp.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” he asked.

“No,” she responded with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “I promise, I won’t tell a
soul.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing at her wrists. “For grabbing you like that. I forget my own
strength sometimes… when I’m scared.”

“It—it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Remus insisted, and to Lily’s surprise, a tiny, brief smile flashed across his
face. “I may not have a heartbeat, but I know an anxious one when I hear it. Let’s get you to
Poppy for those bruises.”

Lily pressed her lips together tightly, but let him lead the way. There was so much about him
that made little sense to her. But one thing was sure, Remus Lupin did carry scars, but they
were not the telltale signs of a monster.

A stark contrast to the true monsters, who often wore no scars at all.
 Year 2: Winter Wonderland
Chapter Notes

TW: Blood, Panic/Anxiety Attack.

In this chapter, Sirius plays “Liar” by Lucas King on his piano.

I highly recommend listening to this piece in the background, especially if you’d like to
experience the Black Manor from James’s perspective and want to listen to Sirius’s
favourite song on the piano.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

JAMES
December, 1972
“That’s probably going to scar,” Sirius observed, glancing at his wounded palm as they made
their way down the stairs. “I might have to ask mum to dredge up some old spell from that
ancient wand of hers to get rid of it.”

James huffed, his eyes fixed on Sirius’s figure leading the way. His long hair cascaded down
to his shoulders, bouncing with each step. “You were practically tearing through there, no
wonder you slipped and bit the dust.”

Sirius exhaled sharply. “Can’t help it. I get restless, you know that.”

He did.

Sirius was like a live wire, sparking and crackling with unpredictable energy.

But it wasn’t just him; the trait seemed to run in the family.

Take Walburga, for instance. Her temper tantrums were so fierce she'd often yank at her hair
with such force that she left a patch completely bald—a dark secret no spell could hide.

Regulus, on the other hand, might have looked perfectly at ease, almost blending into the
background. But that stillness? It wasn't calm; it was loaded, like a deep, dark lake, still on
the surface but with currents swirling underneath.

When James and Sirius stepped into the room, a quiet acknowledgement came from Orion. A
discreet wave of his hand, no need for words, beckoned them to the dining table.

They caught the cue seamlessly, slipping into their seats without a sound.

Orion, turning his attention to the table with a casualness that belied the formality of the
setting, clapped Rodolphus on the back—a gesture that seemed more obligatory than warm.
“So,” he began, shifting the conversation with an effortless segue, “how was the
honeymoon?”

James's eye gave a tiny twitch as he picked up his spoon. He glanced at the clock, gulped
down the soup without caring that it burned his mouth.

“Wonderful,” Bellatrix responded, her smile stretching a little too wide to be genuine.
“France is delightful this time of year.”

He forced his shoulders down from his neck, forced his muscles to let go.

“It was far too cold,” Rodolphus complained, sawing at his steak. “Didn’t really take to it.”

He could get through the night, get through the week.

“That’s good to hear,” Orion said, already shifting his attention back to his food.
He’d done it a dozen times before, there was no reason for it to be any different now.

“James?” Bellatrix asked, forcing him to meet her gaze. He’d been avoiding this. Her. Since
he’d arrived at the Manor.

He took the moment to examine her. She looked different than she had at her wedding.
Except for flecks here and there, the makeup had been wiped away, and without it, she
appeared younger.

Words tumbled from the older witch's mouth, a stream he couldn't quite catch. Then,
suddenly, silence.

“What?” His response came out too sharp, too loud, breaking the rhythm of the room. A flush
of warmth raced up his neck, his heart drumming a frantic beat.

“The salt,” Bellatrix said, a sly smile curling her lips as she exchanged a knowing glance
with Narcissa, clearly sharing in some joke. “Pass it, will you?”

“Yeah, sure,” James muttered.

Bellatrix's hand, as it stretched across the table, inadvertently pulled back the sleeve of her
dark attire, revealing a glimpse of her skin beneath.

James’s hand trembled slightly.

There, on Bellatrix Lestrange’s skin, was an unmistakable black tattoo. His heart skipped
uneasily, a distant memory surfacing. A black snake… Hadn’t Barty once mentioned
something about his mum having a mark like that etched onto her?

“What’s that on your wrist?” James blurted out.

The table, which had been buzzing with conversation, fell deathly silent.

Bellatrix's wrist vanished beneath her sleeve as if she could erase the moment. "Nothing," she
snapped.

“I saw it,” James pressed, unable to let it go. He rarely let go of anything these days anyway.
If he wanted to know something, to see something, to get rid of something, he did it without
remorse—without a second thought.

“Saw what?” Narcissa leaned forward, her blonde curls spilling over.

“That tattoo,” James repeated. “What is it?”

“Bellatrix, what is James talking about?” Druella asked, her thin eyebrows knitting together.

Bellatrix released a deep, drawn-out sigh and reluctantly pulled back her sleeve, revealing the
mark once more.

Oh.
It was—

“The Dark Mark?” Cygnus gasped, his hand flying to his chest.

So it had a name.

“You foolish child! What were you thinking?” Druella’s voice thundered across the room.
Her outburst was so forceful that a speck of spit flew from her mouth, landing on the pristine
tablecloth.

Rodolphus quickly rolled back his own sleeve, revealing an identical mark. “We’ve been
attending some of his meetings,” he said, his words tumbling out in haste. “The Dark Lord
has… big plans. If only you all could—“

“What the fu—” Andromeda started.

Narcissa cut in. “You should’ve had a word with us first.”

“Why?” Rodolphus scoffed, rolling his eyes with a dismissive flick. “It’s just a tattoo. We can
get rid of it whenever we like. Watch—” He muttered an incantation and waved his wand, but
the mark remained stubbornly etched on his skin.

“I need to lie down,” Druella announced abruptly, rising from the table with a shaky breath.

Rodolphus’s gaze darted to his wrist as he stuttered, “What? But he said—it was supposed to
—Bloody hell!”

“Tattoos are permanent, you muppet!” Sirius yelled.

Rodolphus's voice escalated rapidly, verging on hysteria. "No, no, no, no, no!" he chanted,
each repetition more desperate and intense than the last.

Cygnus shot up from his seat, his eyes scanning the room. “Where’s Alphard?” he barked.
“For Salazar’s sake, we need him!”

Frenzy unfurled around him, absurd enough to draw a dark chuckle from James.

The Blacks reminded him of panicked chickens, heads bobbing, arms flapping wildly as if in
flight. But he understood their reaction, to some extent. In their world, a stain on the skin was
a cardinal sin. He still remembered his mother’s stinging slap when he’d first mocked the
idea. Since then, the Potters had adopted the same strict rule: keep your skin ink-free, keep it
pure.

Rodolphus’s eyes sharpened on James, pupils contracting into fierce points. “Think this is
funny, Potter? Did you do something? Another one of your pranks, perhaps?"

“Rodolphus, please!” Bellatrix cried.

“This is an utter disaster,” Andromeda murmured. She sank deeper into her chair, burying her
face in her hands.
In the corner, Walburga was frantically gesturing at Kreacher, desperate to restore some
order.

Rodolphus pushed back from the table, his footsteps heavy with threat as he advanced
towards James. “Haven’t forgotten you nearly wrecked my wedding, you know,” he growled.

But before he could get close, James’s father stepped in, his large frame a protective barrier.

“My son is many things,” Fleamont said, towering over Rodolphus, who seemed slightly
intimidated despite his bravado. “But he certainly isn’t involved in whatever cultish nonsense
you’ve entangled yourselves with.”

Bellatrix’s fingers clamped onto Rodolphus’s arm, nails digging in. It was a silent command
—a clear warning to stand down. ‘Don’t provoke a Potter,’ her grip seemed to say.
‘Especially not Fleamont. Challenge anyone, but not him.’

“And what about the wedding?” Rodolphus asked, attempting to regain some ground.

“He was punished accordingly,” Fleamont shot back, his teeth clenched in visible frustration.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Alphard boomed, standing on the marble staircase in his night robe,
an all too familiar sight reminiscent of last year. “Can’t you lot manage one normal dinner?”

“What did you do?” Euphemia gently massaged her temples, seated in front of her dressing
table.

In the softly lit room, the candlelight cast strange shades around, illuminating only his
mother’s face. She preferred the dark; too much light strained her eyes, brought on
headaches.

James found his mother's eyes looking back at him in the mirror.

“I didn’t do anything!” he shouted, repeating the words he had begun to hate. “Rodolphus is
just looking for someone to pin his problems on!”

“Don’t you dare shout at me!” Euphemia shrieked, her words ringing, likely carrying through
the whole manor. “Not when your father’s still at it, trying to get rid of those blasted tattoos
with the rest!”

“It’s not my fault!” James threw up his hands. “I haven’t seen Bellatrix since her wedding!”

“He’s telling the truth,” Fleamont appeared and took a seat on Euphemia’s bed, causing it to
wobble slightly. “I just wrote to the Rosiers about it, and they’ve confirmed that they’re…
permanent.”
“No,” Euphemia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “The Rosiers too?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fleamont replied, lost in thought.

James stood frozen, watching the scene carefully while trying to be unobtrusive. His parents
barely spoke to each other, and he was curious to see where this would go.

“The entire Lestrange family has them as well,” Fleamont finally sighed. “Rodolphus
admitted as much.”

“That’s impossible,” Euphemia whispered, her fingers now idly toying with the end of her
dress cuffs, adorned with small green beads. It was a habit she often fell into when she felt
unhappy, disappointed—especially when James was around.

“We need to meet this man in person, Euphemia, to truly understand his influence over the
sacred twenty-eight,” Fleamont said.

“Yes, I suppose,” Euphemia agreed, her mind clearly racing with plans.

Their attention then turned to James.

“I’m not attending those poetry readings,” James scoffed.

Fleamont fixed him with a stare.

“You’re right,” his father finally said. “You shouldn’t.”

With those words, he left the room.

“Don’t give that boy another reason to target you,” Euphemia said, turning towards him. Her
fingers continued to pluck at the tiny green beads on her cuff. “You hear me?”

A harsh, broken laugh. “Oh, please! What’s he going to blame me for next? His doomed
marriage?”

“No,” Regulus sighed, his gaze lost in the swirling snowstorm outside the window. “But I
wish we could go out.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Narcissa said, half-distracted, her eyes skimming over the pages of her
book. Yet, James could tell her mind was miles away, probably tangled in thoughts of
Bellatrix. She and her ‘husband’ were mostly confined to their room, facing relentless
questioning.

The rest of the family, in their typical fashion, chose to either ignore the issue or reluctantly
accept it, hoping it would resolve itself. James was certain, though, that Bellatrix would face
consequences for her disobedience, one way or another.

“Tag, you’re it!” Sirius’s shout echoed in the quiet room, his hand landing on Regulus’s
shoulder. In a flash, he was off, his steps quick and light like a dancer evading capture.

“Oi, that’s not fair!” Regulus’s protest followed as he scampered after his brother.

Narcissa snapped her book shut. “Will you two ever quit it?” she demanded. “Bel—Andy, tell
them to stop!”

James turned to the corner where Andromeda usually spent her afternoons, only to be met
with its stark emptiness. His gaze then drifted, almost involuntarily, to the vast window that
spanned nearly an entire wall. Outside, snowflakes twirled and danced in the wind.

In the gazebo, Andromeda sat alone, wrapped in a thick coat.

“That idiot,” James whispered, a reluctant smile playing on his lips.

Andromeda’s cheeks were a rosy pink. Still, she looked calm, peaceful, in a way that James
wished he could feel. Inside the Manor, everything was noise—plates clinking, voices
arguing, and the loud chirping of caged owls.

James thought maybe he could persuade Andromeda to come inside. Then, he could enjoy
the quiet gazebo himself.

Without making a sound, he left the room and went to his own. He put on his heaviest coat,
feeling its warmth. Then, with a resigned sigh, he forced his feet into his laced leather boots.
They pinched at his toes, a tad too small, but he could bear it. Strangely, just a few months
ago, they had fit him perfectly.

Stepping outside, the cold wind hit him hard, howling around him.

The sun was a mere speck, its light diffused through a layer of clouds. Trees, cloaked in
white, bore the weight of snow on their branches. The world sparkled in an early, untouched
snow, hues of white and blue mingling. Crunching through the snow, each step a deliberate
effort, he made his way to the gazebo.

“James? What are you doing out here?” Andromeda’s eyes widened in surprise as he
approached, clutching something that looked like paper in her hand.

“I might ask you the same,” James countered, taking a seat beside her. He grimaced as the
cold of the snow began to seep through his trousers.

“Get back inside,” Andromeda said, sharply. She hastily shoved the paper into her pocket,
causing a soft crinkling sound.

“I’m not cold,” James lied, feeling the chill biting at him.

“You’re shivering.”
“No, I’m not,” James insisted, trying to still himself.

“James—”

“I just needed to escape for a bit, okay!?” James burst out. “Inside there, it’s all too much –
Rodolphus won’t leave me be, dad’s acting off, and then there’s Bellatrix. Sirius can’t sit still,
always expecting me to… And—and it’s like everyone wants something from me! I can’t
handle it right now!”

Andromeda ran her fingers through her hair. “You’ll learn how to cope, in time.”

“Cope with what?”

“With being at the top,” she said simply.

James inhaled sharply.

“And do you know the worst part of being at the top, James?”

“What, the ‘higher you are, the colder it gets’ sort of thing?”

“That’s only a part of it,” Andromeda responded as she brushed snowflakes off from her
shoulder with a gloved hand. “But it’s more about the pressure. When you’re up high,
atmospheric pressure drops, and you feel the internal pressure even more. Do you know what
that means?”

James shook his head, his teeth chattering.

“It means the higher you climb, the more uncomfortable you feel inside,” Andromeda
explained. “It’s not easy, being where we are. And it’s a long way down to the bottom.” Her
eyes drifted to something in the distance, and he noticed the lilac circles under them.

“I don’t understand you at all,” James admitted, his breath visible in the freezing air, forming
tiny clouds with each word.

There was a tense stretch of silence, during which James closed his eyes, allowing the
snowflakes to settle gently in his hair, on his clothes, and across his outstretched hands.

“No one really does,” Andromeda replied with a sad smile. Then, her expression shifted back
to one of earnest concern. “Come on, let’s get you inside before you turn into an ice lolly.”

Back in the drawing room, Sirius looked up in surprise when he saw him. “Blimey, did you
brave the storm?”

“I did,” James said, shaking off the cold and stomping his feet to remove the snow. “And I
wish I hadn’t.”
“Sirius?” came a sound, almost distant.

He faintly heard the relentless crash—

“He’s on his way, parking that motorcycle of his,” James uttered, as though the words were
from another’s lips. “So, you’re Andy?”

—of waves against the shore.

“Andromeda,” a woman corrected him, “Only Sirius calls me Andy.”

“I see,” James murmured, feeling suddenly adrift in a vast ocean, struggling to reach the
surface.

Voices bubbled up from above, muffled and foreign, filtered through water.

An invisible force seemed to pull him down, deeper into the abyss.

Snakes.

He sensed them before he saw them, slithering shadows in the dark water.

“There you are.”

He thrashed in the water, trying desperately to free himself.

They bit into him, their venom a burning fire in his veins.

“Here I am.”

Blood clouded the water around him, seeping out in thick, red ribbons.

“Is it true that he joined—”

“No!” The shout tore from James’s throat, jolting him awake.

It took a full minute to anchor himself back in reality.

He was in the Manor, his heart still racing from the nightmare’s grip. It had been ages since
he’d had dreams this vivid, this troubling.

The nerves and tension permeating the Manor must be getting to him, he reasoned. Every
blooming time he stayed here, the nightmares seemed to follow.

A knock at his door snapped him out of his thoughts.

“James,” Andromeda’s voice was soft as she peeked her head in. He’d almost forgotten her
room was next door. “Is everything alright?”
“Leave,” he managed to gasp out, still catching his breath.

“What?”

“Leave,” James repeated. “Just go.”

Wordlessly, Andromeda gently shut the door behind her. The faint echo of her receding
footsteps faded into the quiet, leaving James in silence once more.

His throat burned, a relentless fire that craved relief.

Water, he thought, desperately needing to quench his thirst.

Groping blindly in the pitch-black, James's hands danced over the cold surface of his
nightstand, desperately seeking the familiar shape of his wand. Failure led him to grasp a
small candle instead, its wick springing to life with a hesitant flicker. The frail flame cut
through the darkness, casting long, sinister shadows that danced against the walls.

Slowly, he ventured out of his room. Along the way, he passed Andromeda’s closed door,
faint light seeping from underneath. Sounds, too soft and sorrowful to be named, seeped into
the hallway. Were they sobs? Regret and doubt nibbled at the edges of his thoughts, but he
quickly pushed them aside. Maybe he had been too harsh with the brunette? No, he didn’t
care about her. He was done caring, entirely.

Two more doors awaited him down the corridor.

The first, thrown wide open, revealed an unsettling darkness—Sirius’s room. James paused at
the entrance, taking in the chaotic scene. Pillows, gutted and torn as if by savage beasts, were
scattered haphazardly across the bed. Sirius himself lay sprawled face-down on the mattress,
his body tense even in sleep.

Then he moved past Regulus’s room, a strange, almost otherworldly melody caught his ear. It
was a tune that seemed not of this world, its beauty entwined with a sense of foreboding.
Accompanying it was a hum, low and continuous, a sound no human throat could produce,
sending shivers skittering across his skin.

His heart raced, and he quickened his pace toward the stairs, his breath hitching in his
constricted throat. Finally reaching the kitchen, James’s breath came in short, sharp bursts.
His hands, shaking noticeably, reached out for—

“Ah!”

Kreacher materialized from the darkness. "Master James is up. Does Master James require
assistance?"

“W-water,” James stammered.

Kreacher’s gnarled hand shot into a cupboard, retrieving a full cup of water with efficiency.
“Here.”
James drained it in a single gulp.

Kreacher watched him, his bulbous eyes catching the candlelight in a way that lent them an
otherworldly glow. “Is Master James alright?” he asked.

"Yup," James replied, the word hollow as he forced a casualness he didn't feel. "Never
better."

"Master James is scared,” Kreacher observed, his voice taking on a creepy sing-song quality.
“Master James has never dared to venture out at this unholy hour before. He’s seen them—
see how they all unravel when the night falls upon them. Restless, agitated.”

“What? What does that even mean?” James gasped, sounding mildly confused.

“Master James should return to his room,” Kreacher whispered, His face contorted into a
grotesquely wide grin, wrinkles deepening into dark crevices. “Lest he stumbles upon things
best left unseen.” Kreacher’s laugh then followed, a low, guttural sound. “Good night.”

The rest of the night hadn’t been good.

Not one bit.

“It’s still coming down quite heavily,” Narcissa noted, her gaze lingering on the snowstorm
raging outside.

“But I want to go out,” Regulus grumbled.

James, seemingly lost in a world of his own, remained fixated on the snowy landscape
outside. He sat on the window bench, surrounded by the rich green curtains that framed his
picturesque view of the gardens. As his fingers made contact with the cold glass pane, a
numbing chill shot through his fingertips.

“Why not try reading a book instead,” Narcissa suggested to Regulus, her posture relaxed on
the plush sofa, her hand draped over the smooth, polished armrest. “You might as well get
into the habit. This time next year, you’ll be at Hogwarts, after all.”

“Cissy, you’ve been on that same page for ages,” Sirius teased playfully, his fingers moving
with ease across the piano keys. Each note he played started as a gentle, soothing sound, then
spiralled into a flurry of intense, haunting melodies. It was strange.

“What’s your book about?” Regulus asked as he settled next to Narcissa.

“It’s about a girl who falls into a rabbit hole and finds herself in all sorts of adventures,”
Narcissa replied. “Andy lent it to me. I don’t usually go for Muggle books, but this one
seemed intriguing.”
“A rabbit hole?” Sirius echoed, his fingers momentarily halting their dance across the piano
keys.

“Well, I think so, I’ve only skimmed through the beginning,” Narcissa replied, her eyes
briefly flitting back to the book.

Regulus, nestling closer to Narcissa, pressed his chubby cheeks against her arm. “Why does
she run off?”

Narcissa paused, considering. “She wasn’t happy, apparently. That’s the impression the
summary gives, at least.”

As their conversation continued, Sirius’s music resumed.

“Does she ever go back home?” Regulus followed up.

Shaking her head, Narcissa answered, “Andromeda said she doesn’t.”

Sirius halted again, his hands hovering over the keys. “Then what’s the point?” he mused
aloud, more to himself than to the others. “You can’t just abandon your life for some fantasy
world.”

“It’s not just any ‘fantasy’ world, it’s called Wonderland. Everything there is… quirky,
different. There are talking cats, a Queen who—I think—orders beheadings,” Narcissa
flipped through the pages, “Or maybe it’s something else? I’m not sure. But one thing’s clear:
everyone there is more than a little eccentric. That world is unique.”

“So unique that she decides to stay?” Sirius asked, his touch on the piano resuming.

“Why don’t you read it yourself when I’m finished?” Narcissa scoffed.

“I don’t bother with Muggle literature,” Sirius said. “But do let me know how it ends, won’t
you?”

James, for his part, had no interest in that stupid book, nor its pretentious ending. A mental
scoff, and he was up, heading back to his room. But restlessness gnawed at him with every
step. Why on earth had Andromeda picked this weird Muggle book? It made zero sense. The
brunette wasn’t known for her love of reading; her passions lay in drinks, dance floors, and
belting out songs.

James abruptly rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Bellatrix. The sight of her
sparked a visceral reaction, and before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:
“Surprised to see you walking around. Shouldn’t you be on your belly, you snake?”

She faltered for a moment, her usual composure slipping.

“Lost for word? That’s a first,” James retorted, his voice bouncing off the high walls, louder
than he had intended.

“I’m sorry about the wedding, James. I know you meant well—” Bellatrix began.
 “Don’t start with that bloody wedding.”

Bellatrix looked at him earnestly. “Please, just listen to me. You can’t keep avoiding me
forever—”

“I’ve heard enough,” he snapped, turning sharply on his heel.

She stopped him mid-stride. “Were you hurt that night? Andy mentioned—”

“Andromeda’s lost her wits,” James scowled.

“What?”

“Ask her yourself,” James shot back, not turning to face her.

“James, wait!”

He whirled around, his emotions boiling over. “All those times you were panicking—was
that just for show?” His voice rose mockingly, “‘Oh, James, I’m so torn, I don’t know what to
do!’” He gestured wildly, his frustration palpable. “And then, every time I’m about to step in,
you pull back at the last second?”

“What about your promise—”

“To hell with that promise!” James bellowed, his gaze flickering to the Dark Mark on her
wrist, unable to overlook the small droplets of blood and the surrounding deep bruising. “And
that—that mark! What were you thinking? I mean, sure, he might have a point about blood
purity, but seriously?”

Bellatrix's response was immediate and fervent, her posture rigid with conviction. "It's more
than a symbol—it's a bond. It connects us directly to him, to his cause."

The intensity in her eyes, the way her voice softened speaking of him, it was frightening. "It's
like you're enamoured with him! The man’s off his rocker!”

"He is not!" The force of Bellatrix's grip on his shoulders made James wince. "You don't
understand the first thing about him or his vision!" she hissed.

James jerked back, recoiling. “You’re mad!”

“So be it!” Bellatrix roared back as she stormed away.

In the sudden quiet, Kreacher appeared, pushing a small trolley. The corners of his mouth
stretched unnaturally, revealing a row of uneven teeth. “But we’re all mad here,” he crooned,
inching closer. “Even Master James.”

Chapter End Notes

I can imagine you asking, "Is Piziels posting two chapters in a single week?"

Well, yes!

First things first, ahem.

here's an edit I made for this chapter

(it has Kreacher's quote! yay?)

Second, I found myself thoroughly inspired by numerous books and movies this week,
and before I knew it, I had written two chapters! However, DON'T expect this sort of
update schedule from me going forward. I am literally drained. This particular chapter
happens to be my absolute favourite to write in the entire story so far. I hope you
enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
 Year 2: The Marauders
Chapter Summary

All the young dudes, carry the news: they hate each other.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
LILY
January, 1973
“Good morning, sunshine!” someone chimed in, too loud and bubbly for this early hour.

The room’s brightness forced Lily to squint, her vision a blur as a gentle tickle fluttered
across her face. A lock of blonde hair came into view, playfully invading her space—draping
over her mouth, brushing against her eyes, and tickling her cheeks.

Groggily rubbing her eyes, Lily managed a muffled, “What’s happening?”

At the foot of the bed, Mary whirled around, her skirt twirling in a joyful vortex. “Happy
birthday, Lily!” she sang out.

Marlene clapped her hands, stepping back. “Okay, on three, two—”

Lily tried to speak up, “Really, you don’t have to—“ but her words were lost in their
enthusiastic, though off-key, rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’

Above her, a banner with a bold ‘13’ shimmered in the light, filling her chest with a burst of
pride.

Right.

She was thirteen today.

It didn’t feel real, but the day itself seemed eager to join in her celebration.

The morning seemed to glow a bit brighter today, with the sun’s rays cutting through the
chill, lighting up the snow like scattered diamonds.

The usual chatter of birds was livelier, their tunes weaving through the crisp air, even as
Filch, ever the grouchy caretaker, tried to shush them with his usual grumbles and thrown
stones. But his efforts missed one particularly swift grey owl that dodged every attempt,
landing smoothly in front of her at the breakfast table. The owl held out an envelope, and
without opening it, Lily knew it came from home.

As she eventually read through the letter, the familiar handwriting of her family brought
smiles—her mum’s careful letters, her dad’s bold scrawl, and even Petunia’s writing, neat and
without her usual spelling quirks. Gone were the doodles Lily used to tease her about,
replaced with a simple message that sounded way too mature for the sister she remembered:
“Miss you so much, your dearest, Petunia.”

Chewing on her lip, Lily felt a stir of unease. Petunia’s words echoed a change, a step away
from childhood whims into something more… serious. Unlike her sister, she didn’t feel
grown-up in the slightest.

It was odd, really.

She had always pictured thirteen as a milestone, a definitive step into a world of grown-up
certainty. Yet here she was, feeling more adrift than ever, as if navigating her own little boat
across an extensive, unknown ocean.

“Maybe Peter is right,” Lily murmured, her voice a splash of colour against the courtyard’s
grey canvas. She wrapped her arms around herself, a shiver passing through her. “It shouldn’t
be this difficult.”

Approaching the towering oak at the heart of Hogwarts’ grounds, she found a strange
comfort in it.

The tree’s cold, rough surface under her fingers momentarily took her back to a familiar tree
at Spinner’s End, its shadow falling over an abandoned swing, still and silent.

Suddenly, her foot caught on something hidden beneath the snow: a soggy piece of paper,
muffled and chilled by the blanket of white. As she lifted it, the paper seemed to quiver with
an energy of its own, its iciness nipping at her fingertips. Though the snow had smeared the
ink, a few stubborn words still clung to the page: “—crucial. You shall marry someone of
standing. No concerns—”

“Lily!” Mary’s voice anchored her back to the moment, impatient and clear.

“Coming!” Lily called back, hastily dropping the soggy letter.

She turned abruptly, finding herself caught in Remus’s wide-eyed stare. He rarely went out
these days, yet there he was, wearing only a simple, thin coat. Lily briefly wondered how it
kept him warm, but then remembered Remus’s skin was always ice-cold; perhaps he wasn’t
as bothered by the weather.

“Um,” he began, knocking a snowflake from his shoulder. “First off, happy birthday,” he
said, his speech drifting upward, light and crisp. “And, uh…”

Lily caught Mary out of the corner of her eye, waving like mad from somewhere not too far
off.

Shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other, leaving a series of small, hesitant
impressions in the snow, Remus looked up with a hopeful gaze. “I got moved to your section
in Slughorn’s class and don’t have a partner yet. Would you… would you be okay with
pairing up with me today?”

Lily, who had been solo in Slughorn’s class for the entire term, blinked in surprise. Marlene
and Mary weren’t in this class, and Severus had progressed to a more advanced one.

“Yeah, sure,” she responded, brushing off her grey jumper beneath her half-zipped coat. The
fabric clung a bit too snugly, a minor discomfort she quickly brushed aside as her mind
wandered to the idea of working with Remus.

Were they friends now? She wanted to believe so. Their interactions had been minimal, but
she sensed a thaw in his previous hostility. Perhaps he knew she was keeping his secret—a
secret she intended to uphold for as long as he wished.

Her feelings towards him weren’t rooted in fear, not exactly.

It was more an adjustment to the reality of who he was, with his disarming smile and those
slightly pointed teeth that only showed when his laughter was most genuine.

An appreciative crinkle lit Remus’s eyes, quickly replaced by a bemused frown. “Thanks a
lot. But, uh, which assignment are we on again?”

“Permeabilis Spectri Elix, or the Phantom Phase-Pass Potion, allows one to transcend
physical barriers, akin to a ghost.” Professor Slughorn paused. “It was a handy tool for
espionage, though nowadays, it’s more for light-hearted mischief.”

Remus grimaced slightly, a nervous twitch in his jaw. “So, that’s what we’re working on,
then,” he muttered under his breath.

Lily, sensing his unease, gave him a confident thumbs-up. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this one.”

Remus’s head, initially held in a stiff nod, gradually tilted, easing into a more natural angle as
his expression softened.

“As I’m sure you’ve all diligently read the relevant chapter,” Slughorn continued, “we shall
proceed with—”

“Professor!” The interruption came from the back of the room. Lily looked over her shoulder
to see Peter, his hand raised tentatively.

“My partner, Eldric, is off ill,” Peter explained.

Slughorn’s jovial tone dipped slightly. “Then you’ll manage alone today, my boy.”

The colour drained from Peter’s face. “Could I possibly join another group?”

With a resigned sigh, Slughorn acquiesced. “Very well, but be quick about it.”

Peter’s eyes swept across the room, finally landing on Lily. She flashed a warm, encouraging
smile, which Peter apparently interpreted as a welcome. He started towards her, but his stride
wavered as he noticed Remus looming beside her.

Gathering around the potion’s pot, Lily jumped into the lead. “Remus is my partner, but you
can join us until Eldric’s back,” she said, making room.

Peter, who’d been pretty much hyperventilating, seemed to catch his breath at that. “Cheers,
Lily,” he managed to get out.
Throughout the brewing session, Lily found herself subtly orchestrating the process, yet her
attention often drifted to the uneasy shuffle between the two boys, an awkward tango that
seemed to fill the room.

Remus kept a wary eye on Peter, sticking close to Lily but making sure there was always a bit
of space between him and Peter.

Peter, for his part, looked like he was trying to walk across ice without cracking it. Every
time he reached for something, his hand would do this little hover, as if he was second-
guessing whether he should really grab it or not.

Despite all this, thirty minutes later, their cauldron simmered with a stunning blue hue. Lily
felt a swell of pride. Severus, she thought, would have been proud.

Eager to showcase their success, she raised her hand. “Professor Slugh—”

“Yes, Mister Potter?”

Her hand faltered, then dropped. She turned towards their cauldron, lips pursed in a small
pout, feeling a prickle of irritation.

From several tables ahead, James announced, “We’re done.”

Professor Slughorn ambled over to where Sirius and James stood, leaning in to inspect their
potion with a discerning eye. “Well, now,” he began, “This does look quite nice.” He peered
closer, his expression shifting to one of thoughtful scrutiny. “But it appears to be missing a
crucial element, doesn’t it?”

Sirius scowled. “We’ve added everything the blasted book said!”

Lily, sensing her moment to impress, eagerly thrust her hand into the air. “Professor, we’ve
completed our potion as well.”

Her eyes briefly flicked to their bubbling concoction of success. It was perfect, she knew it.
Another feather in Gryffindor’s cap. Another win.

James, overhearing her, retorted sharply from his table, “Can’t you see he’s busy with ours?”

With a fast pivot, Lily faced James, her stare piercing and as bright as the sun glinting off a
lake’s surface. A biting comeback lingered at the tip of her tongue, but Remus smoothly
sailed into the conversation, intercepting her.

“The professor’s already seen on yours,” Remus said, throwing the words out with a casual
flair that still managed to cut through the noise. Whispers died down as heads turned, almost
in unison, like a field of flowers synchronizing their turn towards the sun’s light.

Lily, touched by the gesture, smiled at Remus. A year ago, she had been the one to step up for
him, to stand by his side when he needed help. Now he was returning the gesture.

“Thanks,” Lily muttered, her gratitude flowing quietly towards Remus in a gentle hum.
But, her words, louder than intended, caught James’s notice. His features shifted almost
imperceptibly—a quick flash of surprise in his gaze, a minor quirk at his lip’s edge. Was it
annoyance? Displeasure? Lily couldn’t be sure. A flutter of uncertainty stirred in her heart.
Had she said the wrong thing?

Professor Slughorn, attempting to maintain order, raised his stout hand. “Now, let’s not have
any quarrels, shall we? I will review every potion in due course.”

At that, James’s face took on a look of annoyance. “Layla, tell your boyfriend to shove off.”

She was so startled by the words that a wildfire of embarrassment instantly raced across her
cheeks, igniting a sudden, vivid blush.

“Mister Potter! Mind your language!” Slughorn’s reprimand came snappy.

Remus blinked. “I’m not her—She is not—”

“Tongue-tied, are we?” Sirius fired off, quick, harsh.

For a brief moment, Lily actually felt bad for Sirius Black. The boy strutted around like he
owned the place, absolutely unaware of the storm Remus could unleash. Imagining Sirius
knocked flat, blindsided by a burst of Remus’s seldom-seen strength, gave her a chill.

“Mister Black!” Slughorn’s warning rang out.

Next to Lily, Peter’s fingers started a frantic tap-tap-tap on the wood.

Then, in a venomous undertone meant only for those nearest, James hissed, “Bloody
Mudbloods.”

In a flash, Peter was on his feet, his chair shrieking across the floor like a banshee. “Leave
Lily out of this, Potter!” he thundered, “You—insufferable, arrogant git!”

Sirius stepped forward. “Watch your mouth, you pathetic little rat!” he snarled, his hostility a
terse blade pointed at Peter, who quickly ducked behind Remus.

“Boys!” Slughorn bellowed, rummaging through his robes for his wand. “This is a classroom,
not a battlefield!”

Meanwhile, Peter was quietly reciting something, his lips quivering in a rapid whisper. To
Lily, it looked like he was bolstering himself, the repeated motion resembling a chant. It
sounded a lot like, ‘I can handle myself, I can handle myself, I can handle myself!’

Then, with a burst of what seemed like reckless courage, he shouted, “This is for that punch!”
and lunged at James, his arm thrusting forward.

But James, unnervingly composed, caught Peter’s wrist in mid-swing, twisting sharply. A cry
of pain burst from Peter as his arm contorted unnaturally.

Panic surged within Lily, her skin slick with cold sweat.
The faces around her—those of students nearby, and others framed by the doorway—started
to meld into a blur. Their details faded away, leaving just patches of colour and the red of
their mouths. She stumbled towards the door, her limbs trembling, every step heavy with
dread.

In the classroom’s centre, Sirius jabbed an elbow into Peter’s gut and shoved, sending him
slamming into the stone floor with a sickening thud.

“Stop pushing him around!” Remus roared and seized Sirius’s jumper.

Lily felt a wave of fear as she observed the initial signs of Remus losing control—his jaw
clenched, teeth sharp, more beast than boy.

“Remus, no!” she cried out instinctively. She made a brief, cutting motion across her lips,
miming a covering of teeth.

But Sirius, undeterred and mocking, prodded Remus. “Finally found your voice, have you?”

James, possibly sensing the mounting tension, brandished his wand and muttered an
inaudible incantation, chest heaving. Seconds later, Peter’s complexion began to change,
morphing into a startling tint of pink. Towering above Peter, he sneered, “You’ll wish I’d just
punched you!”

Peter, now sprawled on the floor, erupted in panic. “What? What’s happening?” His voice
cracked as he stared in horror at his bare arms.

“Statufrio!” Slughorn bellowed, and instantly, the four boys halted, their limbs locking in
place. A heavy silence descended, broken only by Slughorn’s heavy, wheezing breaths. After
a few moments, he finally commanded, “Liberatus Motus!”

With the spell’s release, the boys seemed to shudder back to life, each staggering slightly,
their earlier aggression dissolving into a daze of bewilderment.

Slughorn, his forehead beaded with sweat, paused to gather himself. “That’s quite enough,”
he said. “Everyone, out of the classroom, if you please. And do so quietly.”

The students ebbed from the classroom in a reluctant stream, Lily’s steps blending with
theirs.

At the back, Slughorn held James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter firmly in place—a clear
indication they were to stay behind.

For once in her life, Lily was relieved not to have intervened. The dangerous look Sirius was
giving Peter could have frozen the warmest of hearts.
“It was absolute bedlam,” Lily huddled over the rickety table at the Three Broomsticks, her
words dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They just erupted into a brawl, out of the blue.”

Severus hunched over his milkshake as though it were a precious crystal ball, using a straw to
doodle aimlessly on the frothy top. Speaking in a low mumble, he barely rose above the pub’s
hum. "That’s strange.”

Lily tossed a half-eaten cookie into her mouth. “But you know how it all kicked off. James,
as usual. He’s like a fuse just waiting to go off, I swear.”

“And then?”

She leaned back. “Peter, of all people, called James an ‘arrogant prat.’ Then Sirius got
involved, and Remus… It just—it just got out of control.”

Severus’s fingers halted their fidgeting.

“You know Lupin?”

“Yeah,” Lily responded. What a strange question, she thought. “It’s complicated, but he’s…
alright, from what I can tell.”

“Do all of them know each other well? The four of them?”

“Hardly,” Lily huffed with a soft head shake.

“Really?”

Before Lily could formulate a reply, her eyes suddenly widened in panic. “Sev, your nose—”
she blurted out, cutting off her sentence.

Severus’s hand moved to his face, his fingers coming back with a streak of blood. He showed
a touch of irritation as he grabbed a napkin. “It’s just the nippy air,” he said quietly, patting
his nose. “Going from Hogwarts’ warmth to this… it always catches me off guard.”

“How so?” she asked, her hands instinctively grappling with her jumper. It clung to her like a
second skin, far too constricting. She tugged at it here and there, hoping to coax a bit more
room from the stubborn fabric.

He averted his eyes. “Well, growing up wasn’t exactly easy for me,” he revealed. “Took a
few knocks here and there. Made my nose a bit delicate, you could say.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sev. I didn’t mean to pry.”

A small, grateful smile touched Severus’s lips as he finished dabbing at his nose. “It’s
alright,” he said. “No need to worry about it.”

Her eyes wandered to the frost-kissed window. “How about we find somewhere a bit cosier?
There’s this lovely little bookshop just down the street.”
Severus looked hesitant. “Shouldn’t you be hanging out with Mary and Marlene?”

“They’ll be fine for a bit. You matter more right now.”

“Do I?”

“To me, you do.” Lily stood, pulling her coat around her against the chill. “Come on, let’s—”

“—Go!”

Around her, bodies pressed in, a relentless, crushing tide.

It was too tight, suffocatingly tight.

“This isn’t funny!”

What?

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, it’s just a lark!” A voice rumbled right by her ear, teasing,
taunting.

Her vision blurred.

Was that laughter she heard?

A faceless figure emerged, his hair dark and untamed, he looked a bit like—

“Relax, will you?”

She felt trapped, ensnared in white fabric that felt like a predatory cocoon.

Wrapping.

Constricting.

“Whatever he says, you all follow like sheep!”

Flowers, sharp-edged and unyielding, were forcing their way out of her mouth.

“That’s because he’s our best friend.”

Her eyes watered in pain, the petals scraping against her throat.

“Even got Lupin to laugh a little.”

She reached out towards the light.

“Oi, Petey, you’ve got to see this—”

Her eyes snapped open, startled and a bit scared.

It took a moment for her to realize it was just a nightmare, one of those that cling to the edges
of consciousness a little too persistently. She found herself tangled in her white duvet, which
in her half-asleep state, felt like an entrapment. With a deep, calming breath, she nestled back
into the pillows.

This time, as she drifted off, the dream was much nicer. It was just her and Severus, enjoying
a peaceful picnic in a field full of beautiful flowers.

The following morning, there was an unusual tilt to the world, as though reality itself had
been hung slightly askew.

Lily walked alongside Severus, his voice a steady background noise to her wandering
thoughts.

The hallway around them was waking up, the light soft and spreading, casting long shadows
that stretched out lazily. Everything felt both familiar and oddly surreal, distancing her from
Severus's steady stream of words. Her attention wandered, and that’s when she spotted—

them.

James and Sirius, striding at the front, their steps bold and unapologetic. Behind them, Remus
hung back, his movements tentative, his eyes darting about like he was half in the world
around him and half elsewhere. And Peter, his hair catching the light, seemed almost to
bobble along, his movements jittery and unsure.

At the helm of this unique entourage was Professor Slughorn.

Her heart skittered like a startled bird against her ribs, a frantic, uneven beat.

“What’s all this about? Why are they lumped together like that?” Severus whispered, his eyes
fixed on the group. “They haven’t given you any bother, have they?”

“No. It’s got to be about the fight,” she said. “I—”

“—told him to put that down! I’m sorry, Lily! You know how those three are!”

Stunned, Lily blinked, her focus snapping back. A jarring headache splintered through her
skull, gripping her with such intensity that the corridor appeared to swirl around her. She
stumbled, reaching out to clutch the nearest pillar for support; its cold surface sapped the heat
from her fingertips. Gradually, her knees gave way beneath her, easing her descent to the
floor.
 “Lily!” Severus reached down to her. “You just stopped talking? What’s wrong?”

“Did you hear that?” she gasped, struggling to make sense of it. “A boy speaking, just now?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Severus muttered. “Do you need to sit down, or—” he hesitated, “—
should we visit Madam Pomfrey?”

Lily’s response was brisk, almost reflexive, as a tide of warmth rushed to her cheeks. She
shifted her gaze to the age-old stones underfoot, feeling each irregularity as if they were
pressing against her mind. Hogwarts had a bizarre way of blurring the lines between reality
and illusion.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she managed to say. “I’m just tired, probably. Got an exam in a couple of
days.”

“Right,” Severus agreed, giving a firm, decisive nod. “Look,” he said in a softer tone, “why
don’t you just forget about those four? It’s obvious they're bothering you."

“What?” Lily asked, her head still partly elsewhere.

“I said that why don’t you forget about—” Severus frowned. “Blimey, you really do need a
break.”

Lily let out a tired sigh. “Tell me about it.”

Chapter End Notes

*Taps mic* Is this thing on?

I’m back, back again.

Um, right now, I’m *kind of* obsessed with ATLA, so I haven’t been able to give
“Selcouth” as much attention as before. But no worries, I’ve got the next 3-6 chapters
either penned down or buzzing around in my head.

Also, don’t be shy to talk to me from here! I love hearing about your thoughts and
theories!

I still have people who read this… right? ❤️🤓☝️

 Year 2: Grins and Twins
Chapter Summary

Curiouser and curiouser.

Chapter Notes

*screaming into the void* Guys come back! I posted another chapter! GUYS!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

JAMES
January, 1973
Headmaster Dumbledore’s gaze swept over the group.

The room was so quiet that James could hear the ticking of a clock—that was, when it
decided to work. For something that looked straight out of an antique store, it had its
moments of rebellion.

After a dramatic pause in its ticking, catching a quick breath, it suddenly sprang back to life,
the pendulum swinging with renewed purpose.

That’s when it shifted, from a simple timekeeper to something more. A taunt. A reminder.

Tick.

The vision of Pettigrew's fist, driven by fury and aimed at James, sent a jolt through his heart.

Tock.

The image of that boy near Layla knitted itself into the fabric of his thoughts.

Tick.

Words had tumbled out of his mouth, harsh and final.

Tock.

He had gone too far.

God, Uncle Alphard would’ve had a fit if he’d seen him like that yesterday. But Layla had
ignited a firestorm inside him, her self-satisfied smirks and that ‘boyfriend’ of hers fanning
the flames. Her company was a constant, an ever-persistent echo in his life, meddling with
everything—his peace, his reputation, his very standing.

She was going to pay for every slight, every snide comment that had ever crossed her lips,
and for every way she’d sicced those two idiots on him.

His eyes, almost magnetically, were drawn to the figure beside him. Skinny as a rake, jittery,
and trembling slightly, Layla’s boyfriend seemed perpetually on edge, obsessively fiddling
with his teeth. James felt a stab of uneasiness. Could the boy be mentally unstable?

Dumbledore let out a sound that hovered between a chuckle and a cough. “Well,” he said.
“Would anyone like to volunteer their perspective on yesterday’s unexpected incident?”

The room fell into an even deeper silence, if that was possible.

“Then perhaps a bit of time assisting Argus would be enlightening,” Dumbledore offered. “I
believe Missus Norris has been rather temperamental of late. A bit of care might soothe her
spirits. Though, I must caution, she isn’t particularly fond of water. Consider it an alternative
form of detention.”

Detention?

That laugh, the one he’s been biting back for twelve years, almost slipped out. But he
clamped down on it hard; the thought of his mother’s cold disappointment and his father’s
stern disapproval kept it at bay.

Next to him, Sirius’s leg vibrated with agitated energy like a plucked string. James gave him
a quick side-eye, a noiseless message to cut it out. Catching the hint, Sirius forced his leg to
stillness.

Dumbledore, his fingers gently grazing his beard in contemplation, suggested, “How about
this afternoon?”

As Layla’s boyfriend fumbled through his denials and Pettigrew squeaked about needing the
bathroom, James stayed quiet. He had to give it to the old man; Dumbledore definitely knew
how to orchestrate a bit of chaos when it suited him.

“One at a time, if you please,” the headmaster requested. “Mister Potter, would you begin?”

Perfect.

His muscles locked before he was even conscious of it.

He knew people, knew how to charm, to persuade. Above all, he knew how to play the part
Dumbledore expected. “Professor Slughorn was inspecting our potion,” he said, his voice a
delicate balance of feigned innocence and implied blame. “Well, it’s all Layla’s fault, really.”

“Layla?” Dumbledore asked.

“Lily,” Peter corrected in a timid whisper. “Her name’s Lily.”

James casually waved away the word as if swatting a fly. “She was trying to distract the
professor while we got important feedback. I politely asked her to wait her turn. But, her
boyfriend,” his gaze shifted with a hint of scorn towards the thin blond, “rudely insisted that
their potion was more pressing. I know Gryffindors and Slytherins have their differences, but
such pettiness is beneath us, isn’t it?”

He paused, his eyelids fluttering in a slow, deliberate blink, letting a frown mar his otherwise
composed expression—a perfect picture of a wronged student.

“And to think,” he added with a sigh, “I’ve always admired Gryffindor’s courage. Shame
when they use it just to make a mess of things instead of, you know, actually doing something
useful.”

“Mister Lupin, is this accurate?” Dumbledore turned to Layla’s boyfriend—Lupin.

There was a brief interlude where Lupin's eyes seemed to change lanes, swerving into an
uncharted spectrum of colour that James glimpsed but couldn't identify. “That’s not how it
happened, Headmaster!” he countered, his voice cracking. “James is lying! He’s sore because
my friend, Lily, consistently outperforms him in Potions. He even went as far as to call her…
the M-word!”

Sirius cut in sharply. “I saw the whole thing. James is being honest here. Lupin and Pettigrew
were so worked up—I even caught one of them nearly throw a punch.”

“That’s because James punched me first!” Pettigrew blurted. “I had a black eye for a week! It
was absolutely mortifying!”

With a sigh that seemed to drag half his soul with it, James responded, “Now you’re just
making up stories.”

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes momentarily closing.

“See? This is what he does!” Lupin cried out, pointing an accusing finger at James. “He’s
always causing trouble and then blagging his way out of it!”

Sirius puffed up a bit. “Cool it, yeah? Just ‘cause a ginger looks your way doesn’t mean
you’re anything special.”

Lupin, calm and unfazed, met Sirius’s stare straight on. “Well, at least I’m not just playing
the lapdog, following around an arrogant Slytherin prince who thinks he owns everything.”

As the words flew, sharper and more biting, a trace of a smug smile played on James’s lips.
Lupin’s accusation hit close to home, not because James felt he owned everything—he
simply knew, in many ways, he already did.

Dumbledore’s brow arched in response, his eyes snapping wide open. “Have you four met
before?”

They all shook their heads in unison.

“Are you certain?” Dumbledore's words fell on James with such intensity that it felt like he
was trying to see right through him, like he was peeling away layers, waiting for James to
just—

A pounding started in his head, each pulse echoing like a drum against his brain. Yet, almost
as quickly as it arrived, the sensation faded.

A line of worry, perhaps even fear, creased the Headmaster's usually calm forehead. “But
how—” he began, seemingly lost in thought. Then, regaining his focus, he added, “I’ve been
informed by Horace about Mister Lupin and Pettigrew playing a notable part in this recent
tumult, but it appears there was a concerted effort, with physical altercations and harsh
exchanges. Quite distressing.”

Sirius huffed, but James remained motionless, aware that any reaction now could worsen
their situation.
Dumbledore brought his hands together. “Since none of you clearly want it, instead of
detention, I propose a different course of action,” he said. “Mister Potter and Mister Black,
you will return to your common room. There, I expect you to offer guidance in studies to
your peers.” He gave them a meaningful look. “Consider it a valuable opportunity to redirect
your talents toward a constructive end.”

James breathed a sigh, silent but deep. This was a far less grim fate than he’d braced for.

“For Mister Pettigrew and Mister Lupin,” Dumbledore spoke, “the same directive applies. I
encourage you to propose assistance to any student seeking help. This will not only enhance
your academic standings but also positively impact Gryffindor’s house points.” He paused,
making sure his words sank in. “Once these tasks are undertaken satisfactorily, I will consider
this matter duly resolved.”

“I can’t stand this place,” Sirius had grumbled so quietly he almost missed it.

“Would Missus Norris’s company be more to your liking?” Dumbledore asked, the lightness
in his tone making it hard to tell if he was serious or not.

“No!” Sirius burst out abruptly, his face registering surprise, seemingly unintended, then
quickly collected himself. “I-I’ll help with the assignments,” he added more steadily.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore responded. “Are you quite confident none of you are acquainted?
Your interactions suggest a rather intricate connection.”

“No, sir,” came Lupin’s reply.

Sidling up to him, Sirius whispered, “Blimey, he’s getting old.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “You are all dismissed to return to your common rooms.”

Just as they were rising to leave, Dumbledore’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “Mister
Lupin, would you mind staying behind for a moment?”

James relished the disappointment on Lupin’s face, but not for long, because that would’ve
been petty.

The common room was just as they had left it that morning.

Shadows played hide and seek among the Slytherin greens, casting shades of light and dark
across the room. Banners emblazoned with serpents draped solemnly from the walls, their
eyes seeming to follow two students.

Leading the arrival was a figure whose height rivalled that of an oak, imposing yet somehow
dishevelled, as if his hair had waged war against a storm and emerged both victor and victim.
He halted, a noticeable pant betraying his rush, before launching into an overly dramatic,
somewhat clumsy bow. “Your, uh, royal highness,” he huffed.

Sirius’s expression twisted into a scowl. “Come again?”

The boy, undeterred, recovered to his full height. “Name’s Mulciber,” he introduced himself,
his tone gruff, almost challenging.

As they were still appraising Mulciber, another boy, leaner and just a tad shorter, slid into
view. “And I’m Avery,” he said.

James let his eyes do a quick tour of the ceiling, unimpressed.

Wulfric Mulciber and Adrian Avery were names he’d heard in corridors but never attached to
faces. His hell of life had kept him too distracted to pay much attention.

Avery, stepping forward, mimicked Mulciber’s earlier bow with a flourish. Straightening up,
he greeted James with a lip-curl that spun a web of impish charm. “Your Highness.”

His response was a scoff. “What do you two want?”

“Haven’t you heard? Dumbledore’s got you on babysitting duty. We’re in desperate need of
some brains.”

Sirius quietly strung together a series of colourful curses, the words just a whisper but clear
enough for James’s ears.

The reason Dumbledore had paired them up was painfully obvious now. If intellect were
measured in explosives, Mulciber and Avery wouldn’t manage to scratch a match.

“So, what subjects are you two struggling with?” he inquired, his mind already weaving
strategies for what was to come.

“History of Magic,” Avery responded grimly.

“Well, you’re in luck,” James shot back, a quick-witted reply at the ready. “Sirius could give
Binns a run for his money as a walking, talking history encyclopedia.”

Sirius swivelled towards him, a look of surprise flashing across his face. “I can?”

“Without a doubt,” James assured, nudging Sirius towards Avery and Mulciber with a firm
pat on the back. “He’s your man.”

Just as Sirius started to baulk, James raised an eyebrow, quelling any protest with a look.
Leaning in, he whispered conspiratorially to Sirius, “Time to even the score for that
exploding snap game, remember?”

“You’re still on about that?” Sirius hissed.

James eased into a slouch against the stone wall, the edges of his lips shaping a sly, all-
knowing crescent. “It’s up to me, isn’t it?”

His gaze pinned Sirius in place, a silent challenge as he watched Mulciber and Avery whisk
him off, treating him like a trophy. James couldn’t suppress a chuckle; a sliver of sympathy
for Sirius flickered within him—but only a sliver.

Then the air shifted, carrying with it a voice James hadn’t heard before.

“And where are you off to?”

Unfolding from the wall with the grace of a cat, James turned to face the source.

He was met by a girl of his height, her aura radiating effortlessly with poise. She seemed to
dance with the interplay of shadows and light around her, her movements graceful and
deliberate, highlighting her skin’s rich, dark tones. Yet, it was her smile that ensnared him—
too wide, teeth too brilliantly white, almost surreal. As the giant squid slid by outside the
window, its silhouette ghostly against the glass, her odd grin somehow stood out even more,
glowing in the half-dark.

“Dorcas,” she announced, her name rolling off her tongue with a confidence that seemed to
fill the space. “Dorcas Meadows.”

His mouth didn’t shift a millimetre.

“You don’t expect me to grovel at your feet like those two, do you?”

“I don’t care either way,” he muttered, his eyes briefly locking with hers before shifting to
something unseen over her shoulder. Sidestepping slightly, he signalled his intention to move
past. “Got things to do, so if you’ll—”

Dorcas stood her ground, stepping smartly before James to halt his escape. “Hang on,” she
insisted. “I could use a hand with my coursework, too.”

Momentarily thrown off his rhythm, James faltered.

She tilted her head. “Dumbledore’s words, not mine. He suggested you or Black might help.”

That headmaster wasted no time, did he?

Nodding toward the hallway, James said, “Sirius is tied up with Avery and Mulciber. They’re
off to the library, most likely.”

Dorcas closed the gap between them. “What are they studying?”

“Don’t know,” he said, feeling a twitch in his fingers. “Best ask them yourself.”

Dorcas straightened a bit. “How curious,” she mused. “You play with your hair whenever
you’re lying.”
James’s hand froze mid-sweep through his hair and quickly retracted; he hadn’t even realized
it had found its way to his head. “What? That’s absurd. I don’t—”

“Listen,” Dorcas interjected. “I really need help with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Last
year, you were all anyone could talk about, especially after that duel with the redhead—”

James felt his jaw tighten. “Don’t ever mention that Mudblood to me.”

Her expression unfurled again, bold and unwavering, much like a cat's sly smirk in the
moonlight.

Strange.

In his world, girls usually responded with flushed cheeks and tangled tongues, their emotions
worn openly. But Dorcas? She didn’t give him the reaction he expected.

“Fine,” Dorcas quipped. “But I am serious about those grades and need your help.”

James was cornered.

Did he have a choice? Not really. The time? Maybe. The desire? Far from it. But weighing it
against the potential fallout from his parents if he landed in detention, tutoring Dorcas
seemed the lesser of two evils. He could spin it—helping a Meadows could be a strategic
move, a way to curry favour and bolster the Potter name.

“Alright,” he exhaled. “Where do you want to start?”

“No! You’re saying it completely wrong!” James yelled, his foot hitting the ground with
force. “And move! You’re like a pillar of wood!”

Dorcas puffed out her cheeks. “I am!” She mimicked his stance. “I’m doing exactly what you
showed me!”

“James?” Narcissa’s call interrupted their argument, capturing his focus. She stood at the
doorway, her gaze first sweeping over Dorcas, who lay sprawled on the floor amidst tangled
ropes, and then landing on James, who looked like he’d just run through a hurricane.

With a raised eyebrow, she said, "I'm not even going to ask what's happening here," then
shifted gears. "Seen Andromeda around today?"

From the corner of his eye, James noticed Dorcas twitch, as if perking up a bit.

"No?" he answered, more as a question.

Narcissa let out a soft sigh. “Mum and dad are in a frenzy again. They sent Andy a letter, and
she’s just ignored it,” she explained. “Probably tossed it away.”

“She’s likely caught up with something else,” James said, but it felt off even as he spoke.
Honestly, he had no idea where Andromeda was lately. He just wanted the blonde to go away.

“Suppose so,” Narcissa agreed. She inched closer, her nimble fingers reaching to adjust his
collar. “Look at you,” she muttered, smoothing out the fabric. Then, her touch wandered to
his hair, gently pulling at his curls. “Really, James, some effort with this untamed mop
wouldn’t hurt."

James waved off her fussing with an unconcerned shrug.

Changing the subject, Narcissa added, “Lucius has arranged a little feast for tonight—steak,
courtesy of the house-elves. Interested?”

“Sounds good,” James responded, his thoughts drifting to the upcoming dinner. The ability to
influence Hogwarts’ menu was a right only held by the Blacks, the Potters, and a select few
pure-blood families. He didn’t really delve into the hows and whys; he simply enjoyed the
occasional freedom to dine on his preferred meal.

A satisfied curve lit up Narcissa’s face. “Fantastic. See you at dinner, then.” With a final nod,
she turned, her robes flowing elegantly behind her as she exited the classroom.

Turning back to Dorcas, James resumed their session. “What?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, looking away quickly.

“Try again, then,” he said, gesturing towards her wand.

Dorcas gave the spell another go, but again, nothing. Not even a tiny flicker.

His glance slid her way, a brief, silent chuckle without sound, questioning her magical finesse
—or the apparent absence of them at the moment. Her efforts felt like familiar lines from a
well-rehearsed script, and it looked like she caught on to his critique because she let out a
heavy sigh, admitting, “Oh, what’s the use? I can’t match up to you.”

His response came quick, too quick. “Yeah, you’re right.” The words had barely left his
mouth before he realized the impact they had. Seeing Dorcas fold in on herself, hands veiling
her face in pure dismay, James was struck by a twinge of regret. It was a sensation that
hovered close to something like sympathy. But not quite.

His shoulders lifted in a silent huff. “Get up.”

Dorcas got up, her robes swirling around her as if she were parting mist. She looked at him,
but it was different this time—like a switch had been flipped, her wand now an extension of
her resolve.

James shifted gears, his tone now edged with seriousness. “Imagine I’m the one you’re up
against, like in a duel you can’t afford to lose,” he suggested.
Her stance firmed up, shoulders squaring, as though she was bracing against an invisible
force.

“Hold onto that,” James nudged. “Aim sharp and focus.”

“Incarcerous!” she commanded. The spell didn't just fly from her wand; it surged, ropes of
grey magic snaking through the air with the precision of arrows, tangling around James's
legs, binding him as tightly as vines.

“Not bad,” he admitted as the ropes vanished into the air.

“Third time’s the charm, right?” she half-whispered, her gaze locked on her wand as she
gripped it, her knuckles whitening with the intensity of her hold. “Bet it only took you one try
to nail this spell.”

James stilled, his eyes shortly losing focus as he drifted back to the moment he first conjured
those binding ropes with ease. “Probably,” he admitted.

“Figures,” Dorcas replied hoarsely. “Privileged lads like you get the cream of the crop
spellbooks before they’re even a rumour in the library. Makes me wonder,” she drifted off,
speaking almost to the air, “what other golden tickets come with being a Potter.”

The hint of a smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. Her boldness to call him out on his so-
called “privileges”—privileges he wasn’t even sure he possessed—was both brazen and
disrespectful. Yet, he had to acknowledge that the girl had guts, brains, and undeniable talent
in magic, all tied together with her captivating smile. A question popped out in his mind:
What would Uncle Alphard want him to do?

“Seeing as you’re so interested in the ‘perks’ of being me, why not find out firsthand?”
James teased.

Sirius slid into the seat next to Dorcas with all the subtlety of an elephant at dinner. “Do you
have to chew so loudly?”

Dorcas didn't miss a beat, "And do words always tumble out of your mouth like it's got a hole
in it? I was under the impression the Blacks had a touch more grace."

“Why is she sitting here with us?” Sirius leaned over Dorcas, stretching to catch James's eye,
nearly knocking over a goblet in the process. “She’s a girl!”

Evan, who had been watching the exchange with interest, offered with a half-grin, “I fancy
her style. She’s got a certain charm.”

Dorcas let out a pointed sigh. “You do realize I can hear you, right?”
James’s eyes danced over the table’s expanse, ignoring Sirius’s question. Narcissa and Lucius
were missing, but in a nod to her word, she had orchestrated a swap from the usual bangers
and mash to steaks for him and Sirius.

Evan relaxed into his chair, amusement broadening his smile. “Starting to understand your
brother’s taste in women, Barty,” he quipped, sending a teasing glance Barty’s way, met by a
nonchalant eye roll in response.

Beside Sirius, Mulciber was practically inhaling his meal. Pausing only briefly, he asked, “So
what happened to Salazar after he left Hogwarts?”

“For the umpteenth time,” Sirius replied, “he just disappeared, alright?”

“But why?” Mulciber was like a dog with a bone.

Sirius's arms launched into the air. “I don’t know!”

“Alright,” Mulciber retreated, but not without tossing another “But why?” into the mix like a
last-ditch effort.

James finally broke. “Wulfric, give it a rest, mate. You’re doing my head in.”

To his surprise, Mulciber backed down quite readily, prompting Avery to comment, “That
shut you up quick.”

Mulciber, unfazed and still dismantling his food like it was his day job, offered a casual,
“Can’t really argue with a Potter, can I?”

He was too busy ripping apart his steak to respond. He wasn’t sure if the food was
ridiculously good, or if he was just so starved that it tasted like the best thing he’d ever eaten.

It was Dorcas who answered on his behalf. “You do have a point.”

Sirius locked eyes with James again, this time orchestrating an odd ballet of gestures, his
finger directing James’s gaze toward the Great Hall's entrance. James, intrigued, followed
him with a questioning look. Once they stepped aside, into a quieter space, Sirius didn’t just
point but practically branded him with an accusatory finger. “Seriously, where did you dig
her up from?”

James glanced over to their table. “Honestly? Couldn’t tell you if I tried.”

With a casual gesture towards the lively group they’d left behind, Sirius pondered, “They just
popped up, didn’t they?”

A nod was all he offered in response.

Sirius smiled but didn’t laugh. “What’s Dumbledore playing at? Thinks we’re some sort of
sanctuary for the hopeless?”
 He paused, a thought dawning on him. “There might be an upside to this whole thing, though.
We could spin this in our favour.”

“How?” Sirius asked.

A vision of a girl with fiery red hair ignited in his thoughts, the vibrant shade searing through
his senses and straight into his heart.

“Any way we want.”

Chapter End Notes

I have 30k hits.

👵🏻?
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

Every time I see someone engaging with my story, I have a mini existential crisis like,
“Wait, people *actually* read this? And they want to talk about it with me? WHAT?”
So, what do you think of the story so far? Any thoughts, wild comments, or unhinged
rants that keep me giggling into the night?

P.S. Forgot to mention, I have two TikTok accounts at the moment! @piziels (main)
@piziells (selcouth updates) Though I am not super active on them both, just letting you
know!
 Year 2: Dear Mudblood
Chapter Notes

TW: Physical Violence/Bullying.

LILY
March, 1973
“Not that way,” Lily suggested, straightening her trousers as she eased into a butterfly stretch,
“Trolls do not appreciate the smell of Flutterby Bush, I’m sure.”

“No!” Severus shouted as his hands roved across his backpack, quick and guarded.

“Oh,” Lily said serenely. “Do you not like them, as well?”

Severus’s already pale cheeks flushed an unusual shade of pink that spread rapidly across his
face. In a flustered tone, he stammered, “It’s not—it’s not about the plant. I think I’ve left my
book back in the dorm.”

“Which book?”

Severus’s gaze dropped to the earth; his fingers began to fiddle with the grass, almost
nervously, his skin picking up streaks of green. “The one I always keep with me.”

Lily felt a sigh bubble up inside her. That weird book was almost an extension of Severus
himself. She had caught glimpses of it more times than she could count, but whatever was
inside it, he kept under lock and key. Whether peeking out from under a pile of notes or
snugly hidden in his bag among a jumble of letters, it never seemed to leave his side. Despite
her intense curiosity, she had never dared to invade his privacy; to Severus, the book was
clearly more than just pages and ink—perhaps something as personal as a diary.

Peering at her watch, she weighed their options. “A few hours without it won’t hurt. Besides,
it’s lunchtime, and I’m not about to skip out on today’s menu.”

Severus’s face fell. “Could we quickly fetch my book before lunch?”

“Absolutely not,” Lily tilted her chin defiantly.

“It’s just a short walk,” Severus pleaded, his lips curving into a frown.

Lily had always found it difficult to deny Severus, especially when he made that face. His
eyes were dark pools of midnight and something deeper, his lips slightly pouted as if he
might kiss the next frog he encountered—like one of those princesses her mother used to read
about when she was younger.

“Fine, you win!” she relented.

“Great,” Severus beamed, hastily gathering his belongings. Offering a hand, he helped Lily to
her feet, and together, they navigated the corridors of Hogwarts until they reached the grand
entrance hall.

“Hold on,” Lily paused, biting her lip. “Where’s the Slytherin common room exactly?”
Severus continued his stride, not breaking his pace or turning to look at her as he casually
replied, “Downstairs.”

Well, of course, Lily knew that.

When she and Remus headed to Slughorn’s classes, they would often hear an array of sounds
from below—echoes of laughter, occasional shouts, the life of the dungeons.

But knowing that Slytherins were typically around, with their notorious mean streaks and
arrogance, made her cautious. She would always let Remus take the lead, especially near
corners, to avoid direct run-ins unless necessary.

“Maybe it’s not a good idea for me to go,” Lily second-guessed. “How about we meet
afterwards?”

“Our Tuesday lunch is a tradition,” Severus reminded her, stopping suddenly.

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“But what? You don’t want to eat with me anymore?” He stepped forward, reducing the
distance between them to almost nothing.

“Out of the way!” someone yelled, dodging Lily and Severus just in time. They stood rooted
in the corridor’s heart, causing a minor human tide to part and flow around them. Some
brushed past with a nudge, others tossed a “Move it, Snape” into the mix.

Severus stretched a bit, trying to catch her eyes, which danced everywhere but on him.
“Please?”

Their height difference, usually the butt of her jokes—she being notably taller than most of
her peers—drew a gentle laugh from her.

Catching the curve of her lips, a trace of triumph lit up Severus’s expression. “See? You’re
smiling,” he noted. With a subtle but assured nod, he promised, “It’ll be quick.”

Perhaps a quick detour wouldn’t hurt, especially if it meant keeping their little tradition alive.

Following Severus down, they entered cooler, shadow-laced paths, her breath shimmering
like mist in the murky light.

“Almost there,” Severus murmured, his hand brushing against the frigid, rough walls, tracing
patterns only he knew.

They stopped at a door that couldn’t be more different from the warm, welcoming entrance to
the Gryffindor common room.

With a quiet “Fallax,” Severus unlocked the Slytherin common room. Lily caught a fleeting
view of its interior—a sprawling hall where the black marble flooring gave the impression of
siphoning light from their surroundings.
“Wait here,” Severus said, stepping inside and letting the door close, leaving Lily alone with
the whispers of his footsteps.

She felt the silence press in until—

“What lovely hair,” a voice sang, each word a needle against her skin.

Lily whipped around, her heart thumping, trying to locate the source in the dimness.

“Look at her, Avery, isn’t she just precious?” The words unfurled once more, nearer now. The
darkness relinquished its hold, revealing Wulfric Mulciber in the unsettling green hue of the
torchlight.

Avery chuckled as he began to circle her. “A real beauty,” he mocked, before his tone turned
venomous. “For a Mudblood.”

Mudblood.

The word hit her like a cold slap, the way one might fling an uncooked piece of meat: raw
and chilling.

Tension grew in her face and limbs, hairs pricking upwards as her thoughts ran wild. It didn’t
make sense; why would these two suddenly take notice of her, after a whole year of
pretending she didn’t exist?

“I’m just…waiting for someone,” she managed. “I’ll leave as soon as they arrive.”

But Avery closed in, his breath a warm whisper against her neck, his words a taunt. “Really?
Can’t imagine any Slytherin stooping low enough to mingle with a Mudblood.”

Lily had barely time to speak before Severus burst onto the scene. “What’s happening?” he
demanded.

Mulciber’s puckish face soured as though something unpleasant had occurred to him, but he
retreated slightly to allow Lily some space. “Cosying up to Gryffindors now, Snape?” he
asked with a derisive lift of his brow.

Severus bridged the gap between them, challenging, “And what if I am?” Despite the
boldness in his words, Lily spotted the subtle shift in his posture, a slight stiffening, and the
quick, wary flicks of his eyes.

Avery, unimpressed, gave a snort and spun away, throwing over his shoulder, “Just make sure
your pet doesn’t get in our way,” his words trailing off as he ambled back towards the
Slytherin common room.

Lily wanted to scream.

She was nobody’s pet; she was her own person.

Instead, all she could do was whimper, too afraid to do anything else.
Severus spun towards her. “What was that all about?”

Gulping down the lump in her throat, she met his gaze. “I don’t understand why everyone in
this house has it out for me!”

At that, Severus’s reaction was immediate. He appeared frozen for a moment, as if

contemplating whether what he had just heard was correct. Then, with the swiftness of a
whip, he ran his fingers through his hair while his other hand clutched his book tightly. “You
know why? Because you’re pressing their buttons—taking jabs at Potter, getting under
Black’s skin. One day, Lily, you’re going to push too hard.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t think—”

“And that’s exactly where you go wrong!” Severus yelled. “You jump in without thinking!
You never stop to consider what might come after your actions!”

“What, you expect me to just tuck my tail and hide? Because I’ve ruffled some posh
wizarding feathers?”

“Yes! That’s precisely what I want! This world,” he gestured around them, “it’s layered,
complex. There are hierarchies that have been in place for centuries. Families like the
Malfoys, the Blacks, they’ve been ruling the roost for ages. And you… you keep challenging
them directly.”

Her emotions, simmering beneath the surface of her heart, began to cool down, especially
when Severus’s hand found her shoulder.

“You’ve got to tread carefully,” he said, “It’s not just about being bold; it’s playing smart.”

Lily’s nod was slow, thoughtful. “Alright,” she whispered. “I’ll be smarter. I promise.”

Severus gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I know you will. Don’t be—”

“—nervous?” Remus’s question drifted over, soft as the dappled shade they sat under. He
lounged in the coolness provided by a towering tree while Lily leaned into the dipping sun’s
embrace, cherishing the warmth on her skin.

“Of course not,” Lily replied, face hot with embarrassment.

“You’re lying,” Remus playfully accused, “Your heart skips every time you say his name.”

He was right, but Lily was too stubborn to admit otherwise. So, they simply sat silently for a
moment, faces upturned, not speaking.

An owl hooted softly, somewhere.

Hoot.

The noise from the castle felt far off.

Hoot.

Had Remus really heard her heartbeat just then?

Hoot-hoot!

Turning towards Remus, she pressed her palms against the soft grass. “I’m sorry for all the
mess you got into because of me. I never imagined Potter would take house rivalry so
seriously—I mean, to target Peter is one thing, but to go after you as well? None of you even
know each other well enough to have such hatred toward one another.”

Remus lifted an eyebrow, his prominent nose casting his profile in a noble slant that might
have belonged to a sculpture. “It doesn’t matter now; we have sorted it all out. But I wish you
had said something about him to me before. Had I known he was troubling you so much, I’d
have… I don’t know, sought out some advice from the adults, told them about the way he has
been treating people here.”

Lily’s attempt at humour slipped out, “Or you could’ve just bared your fangs at him.”

The moment the words were out, she wished she could take them back—rash and
thoughtless. Severus was right about her impulsiveness.

As the sunlight shifted, it seemed to wrap Remus in shadows, highlighting the contours of his
face and turning his eyes a deeper shade of amber. “I might have.”

She hesitated at that.

Hesitated at the way the words came out of his mouth.

How much did she really know Remus, anyway? Sure, she’d stood up for him against her
friends’ wary glances, insisting there was nothing to fear. But there were moments, like now,
when she saw something in his stares, heard a depth in his voice that made her second-guess.

She felt it necessary to change the subject, however awkwardly, as they were heading
towards treacherous waters. “Well, thankfully, you don’t ever need to. I have Sev with me at
all times. You know he came to my rescue,” she said, “when Mulciber and Avery cornered
me earlier today.”

“Ah, yes, you mentioned,” Remus’s response was muted, his attention seemingly elsewhere.
“Good thing he was there at the right time and at the right place.”

“You guys don’t really know each other, I take it?”

“Not really,” Remus said with a slight edge. “I’ve heard about him, mostly his knack for
potions.”
“Maybe we could all get together for a study group sometime?”

Remus gave a soft shake of his head. “Thanks, but I’ll skip. Crowds aren’t my scene.”

Acknowledging his unease with a sympathetic smile, Lily watched as Remus got to his feet,
brushing off his robes. “I’ll see you back inside, okay?”

“Sure,” she replied, watching him blend into the evening’s growing darkness cast by the
castle.

Suddenly, a voice—too calm, too familiar—broke the silence.

“Thought he would never leave.”

Lily had no time to react, no breath to gasp, as the earth beneath suddenly betrayed her.

Roots, thick and alive, burst forth, wrapping around her ankles with terrifying strength and
pulling her down to her knees.

Pain exploded in the back of her head, bare and blinding, as if her skull had cracked
open. Blinking against the discomfort, her eyes fluttered open, only to wish they hadn’t.

Once bustling with students, the courtyard was deserted, save for Sirius, wand aimed with
deadly precision, while Evan and Barty, standing a bit away, watched her with unsettling
smiles.

James stood directly in front of her, wearing a simple white shirt with its collar flipping like a
bird’s wings in the wind.

As she watched him, the roots tightened their merciless hold.

“Have you lost your mind?!” she screamed.

James’s response was a casual lift of his shoulders. “Maybe.”

As Lily fought for air, the roots tightened their embrace, now climbing her arms. “I—I don’t
understand—Why?”

Her effort to voice her thoughts was abruptly halted when a harsh spasm compelled dirt to
erupt from her mouth, the dryness smearing across her tongue.

A cold amusement flashed in James’s eyes as he retorted, “Did you really think your little
antics went unnoticed? Every attempt to best me, every small win you celebrated?” His voice
lowered to a whisper, “I’ve had my fill of upstarts like you, thinking they can fly too close to
the sun. Let’s make one thing crystal clear—” he paused, the silence punctuated only by the
serene chirping of birds in the distance “—I won’t be made a fool of, least of all by you.”

“What do you want then?” Lily yelled. “For me to stay quiet in classes? To stop earning
points for Gryffindor?”
“Why don’t we just kill her?” Evan whined, his hands flailing at his sides like balloons whose
strings had been cut.

“Tempting,” said James in a toneless voice, bending down to get on her eye level.

He was so close.

And if she could simply reach her wand, or at least feel the blood pulsing through her hands
again, she would have hexed him, slapped him, pushed him away, or pulled his hair—
anything to get him away from her, anything to see that crooked smile fall of his frustratingly
exquisite face.

“Mulciber was right,” he whispered. “You do have such lovely hair.”

Her eyes widened.

Was he insinuating—

“You can’t leave me here!” she wailed, her breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
“Potter!”

He spun around, and the others trailed after him, disappearing into the castle’s depths.

So that was it.

Mulciber and Avery had been hounding her because of him.

He was the one who had set them on her trail.

She was burning, so ticked off she felt like she might just explode. The idea of being left to
die like this was beyond madness. Severus had been right. Marlene had been right. They all
had given her the heads up, told her she was jabbing at a hornet’s nest. And now, she was on
the edge of—

Lily bit down a groan.

Mustering every bit of strength and anger, she screamed and wrenched herself free from the
roots’ hold, collapsing onto the grass, gasping for air.

The roots vanished, but the anger remained.

This wasn’t just a schoolyard rivalry surely; this was playing with fire, and she’d almost
gotten seriously burnt.
“It has already burned the entire book!” Peter was whining when she entered the common
room, her clothes shedding bits of soil, her face undoubtedly smeared with dirt. “Oh, I
shouldn’t have slept near the fireplace,” he stared at the cover, and then his eyes, almost as if
feeling her stare, found hers. His plump lips fell wide open, and with his gasp, the entire
common room seemed to follow suit.

Marlene approached her first, her voice sounding much more like a squirrel than a girl. “Are
you alright?”

“Yes,” Lily managed as she fought back tears. “I’m fine.”

Mary tried to tread her hands through her messy hair, but she gently pushed her helping
hands away.

“What in Merlin’s name happened to you?” she asked.

“Just took a bit of a tumble,” Lily mumbled, her cheeks getting embarrassingly pink. She had
no desire to share how humiliated and utterly scared she had been moments earlier. She
would not give James Potter the satisfaction of being branded as a tattletale.

Marlene looked like she wanted to say more, but Lily was already on her way up, ignoring
the other curious glances thrown her way.

Carlotta was in their room when Lily burst in, her face registering shock at the sight. “What’s
—”

“Can I… have a minute, please?” Lily’s request came out faint.

Carlotta, without uttering a sound, gave a knowing nod.

Finally alone, Lily’s strength evaporated, sending her crumbling to the floor, a wild sob
clawing its way out of her. All she ever wanted was to fit in, to be part of the magic she’d
dreamed about. But the reality? It was a lot. Too much. She held her head between her knees.
Her fists shook. None of this was fair. She was only thirteen.

Her laughter soon twisted into a stifled wail as she forced herself back to her feet, her
movements jerky. With a near-maniacal urgency, she flung open her desk drawers, her hands
trembling violently as she grabbed for parchment and quill.

The words tumbled out onto the paper like a rushing river as she began to write to Petunia. It
was her way of trying to grip onto something solid, to tell someone about the madness that
was eating her up inside.

“Petunia,” she started.

“Do you remember telling me about how peculiar this world could be? You were right, but
it’s beyond that—it’s utterly mad. The people, their twisted hierarchies… it’s alienating. It
doesn’t feel like it’s made for anyone real, least of all me.
I need out, Petunia. As soon as it’s possible, I’m coming to Spinner’s End. Do you reckon
mum could sort me out at Saint Margo’s? You’re still there, aren’t you?

Lily.”

Her mind latched onto the idea of getting away and breaking free from the chaos Hogwarts
had spiralled into as she pressed the seal onto the letter.

She needed to leave.

Return to a world where the earth stayed firmly under your feet, not around you.

Only a handful of days later, during dinner, that familiar owl that was always a sign from
home made its dramatic descent to Lily’s plate, bearing another envelope. She had kept mum
about the whole ordeal with James, torn between thinking he was genuinely after her or just
playing some of his twisted games.

Lily had pretty much made up her mind to leave Hogwarts, though she hadn’t broken the
news to anyone yet. The thought of saying goodbye to Mary and Marlene was tough; she
planned to pour her feelings into farewell letters, promising to stay in touch. Remus and Peter
were on her mind too, hoping a warm hug would convey what words couldn’t.

At least with Severus, goodbyes weren’t necessary; their shared holidays were a given, a
steady part of her life in the middle of all of this mess.

Her chain of thoughts was interrupted by Marlene’s curiosity. “A letter?” she asked as Lily
beamed at the familiar handwriting.

“Yes, from Petunia,” Lily responded, rising from her seat. She sped towards the common
room, taking the stairs two, three at a time.

This was her last night at Hogwarts; she had to make it count. She needed to ensure her steps
were even, to memorize every wall and every curve.

The dorm was empty when she entered.

For some reason, it appeared foreign and silvery under the moonlight, with the window still
open and her latest assignment lying unfinished on the desk. Beside it, a half-drunk cup of
tea, now cold, sat in a glass cup adorned with intricate flower motifs on the handle.

The room was chilly, but she didn’t close the window. Instead, she settled onto her bed, legs
crossed beneath her, and gently tore open the envelope she held with quivering hands:

“Dear Lily,
Your last letter made me worried sick! Is it the classes? Someone giving you a hard time?
Whatever it is, walking away doesn’t sound like you. The Lily I grew up with wouldn’t let
anything get her down. She’d find a way to bend the rules, make the system work for her. But
if coming home feels right, we’ll make it work. I’ll tell mum and dad right away. I’ve missed
you anyway.

With all the love in the world and then some,

Tuney.”

Breaths came in jagged bursts, each one scraping against her lungs, forcing her hand to
muffle the cries that threatened to escape.

Tears, hot and relentless, streamed down from her cheeks; she felt as if she was dying.

She longed for the life she left behind—Petunia’s easy laughter, the comforting circle of her
family, and the quaintness of Spinner’s End.

Yet, even as her heart ached and her body trembled, one phrase echoed in her heart, “The Lily
I grew up with wouldn’t let anything get her down.”

With each read, the letter’s words became a mantra, her tears blessing the paper.

“She’d find a way to bend the rules, make the system work for her.”

The so-called ‘system’ was a labyrinth of complications. Rooted in tradition. Deeply

entrenched. How could she even navigate it to her benefit?

“It’s not just about being bold; it’s playing smart.”

That settled it.

No way was she going to let James Potter, or anyone else for that matter, push her around.
Fear didn’t grip her heart. Not here. Not with her friends by her side, not with Petunia’s
stubborn bravery repeating in her mind, and certainly not with her parents’ unwavering faith
in her.

She’d fought tooth and nail to carve out her place here, and she wasn’t about to give it up.
Armed with Severus’s warnings, she vowed to tread more cautiously, to outsmart James and
his friends at every turn.

Because surrendering wasn’t an option.

Not for Lily Evans.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself off the bed, only to be immediately tripped up and
face-plant because of a broom.

“Lily!” Marlene’s voice came in a rush. Had she been outside this whole time? “Heard you
fall, are you okay?”
Brushing herself off, Lily couldn’t help but ask, “What is this doing in our dorm?”

Marlene’s guilty grin said it all. “Quidditch tryouts are next month. Figured sleeping with my
broom might give me an edge, you know?”

Only at Hogwarts.

Such an odd place, brimming with the strangest superstitions.

“Well, between your broomstick’s charm and my well-wishes,” Lily said, her spirits lifting a
bit, “good luck.”

Both she and Marlene would need it.

 Year 2: Ready, Set, Go!
Chapter Summary

Remember when I said not to expect weekly updates from me? Well, I lied, apparently.

Chapter Notes

TW: Physical Violence.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

JAMES
April, 1973
“Ready?” the announcer’s voice echoed, resonating through James with an intensity that was
almost physical. He felt it in his bones, pulsing through his veins, his heart beating louder
with each passing moment.

“He’s onto something big,” Evan shook his head fondly, not taking his eyes off the pitch as
another student zoomed up into the air.

“Set—”

“The Dark Lord, you mean?” James’s eyebrow arched.

“Go!”

“Yes,” Evan insisted. “You’ve got to hear him out, James. Meet him. And I’m not making
this up—some of the older students, they’re already branded with the Dark Mark.”

“Really? ”James’s gaze snapped to Evan.

Evan glanced around before pulling the tent curtains tight, muffling the sounds of the outside
world. “You and Sirius,” he said, “you’d be top choices for recruitment, no doubt about it.”

He said this in such a deadpan way James thought he was joking, and he laughed. “What, for
some kind of war?”

Evan nodded, solemn. “Exactly. But it won’t be long or drawn out. The Dark Lord… he’s
gathering his forces now, picking out those willing to stand with him.”

James exhaled, eyes lingering on the leather of his gloves.

“Mate, you’re not seeing the full picture,” Evan pressed. “The Dark Lord’s convinced the
Muggleborns could turn on us any minute now.”

His mind wandered back to the game outside.

Evan’s gaze darted anxiously as he bit his lower lip, a hint of blood appearing from the
pressure. “Remember that ginger you sorted out? I told my dad about that. He mentioned it to
the Dark Lord, and—you’ll love this—he laughed. Said he admired your guts.”

James paused, letting Evan’s words sink in.

The more he heard about this Dark Lord from Bellatrix and the others—how they looked up
to him with this wild, fanatic admiration—the more he questioned what he was getting into.

Was this man for real, or just another crackpot with too much power? But then, why had his
folks not mentioned anything about him? It had been some time since his father and mother
went to that meeting of his. Not hearing their take on it was weird, especially with something
this big brewing.

Evan’s smile took on a darker edge. “Imagine it, James. Really making a difference. Wiping
the slate clean of those blood traitors, that girl, all of them.”

James nodded absently, eyes tracking the Quidditch hopefuls darting above, visible through
the slit in the tent.

“Just come see for yourself at one of the meetings,” Evan urged.

“I’ll think about it,” James adjusted his green robes, a slight shift to ensure everything was
just right.

“Alright,” Evan nodded, just as Barty and Sirius made their entrance, bursting through the
tent with the usual lack of subtlety.

“Look at this,” Barty teased, eyeing his broom. “Is that the Nimbus 1973?”

Sirius laughed, clapping James on the back. “They really do spoil you rotten, don’t they?”

James gave a half-hearted shrug, not really in the mood to dive into how his parents tried to
make up for their absence with extravagant gifts. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

Evan watched the exchange with an amused smirk. “So, ready to show them how it’s done?”

“Always,” he replied.

Quidditch was his escape, the only time he felt liberated from the burdens of his legacy and
expectations. Flying, feeling the wind against his face, was where he found peace.

Sirius ruffled his hair—a gesture only he and Narcissa could get away with. “Knock ‘em
dead, mate.”

James offered a cocky grin, “I intend to.”

The announcer’s voice thundered across the Quidditch pitch.

“And that crowns Marlene McKinnon as the proud keeper for Gryffindor! Now, let’s turn our
eyes to the sky for our next match—Eldric Flint and James Potter, each vying for the glory of
catching the Snitch for their houses! They will be judged by our latest Hufflepuff team
captain.”

As a flutter of nerves danced in his stomach, James’s eyes swept over the stands.
The stands were awash with more faces than he had hoped, a sea of students from all houses,
but it was the emerald wave of the Slytherin section that caught his attention. Lucius and
Narcissa were almost too into it, their excitement coming off strong and a bit over the top.

James found it kind of funny, in a way that also made him double-check if he was still on the
ground.

Even Dorcas, along with Mulciber and Avery, had snagged spots in the stands. They were
hanging back, not as animated but still clearly enjoying themselves, chuckling over some
joke Dorcas had cracked.

Catching sight of Andromeda’s wave, though, felt reassuring, making everything else a bit
less intense.

The boy who approached wore the warmth of the morning sun in his smile, his robes trailing
behind him like the tail of a comet. “Morning, lads,” he greeted. “Name’s Ted, but you can
call me Tonks. I’ll be your judge today—Amy and Marcus are swamped with their N.E.W.Ts
prep.”

Eldric’s response was quick, a mirror of Ted’s cheer. “Great meeting you, Tonks.”

James, on the other hand, simply offered a nod and a curious raise of his eyebrow.

Ted, holding James’s gaze for an extra beat, shifted his stance. From his pocket, he drew a
golden snitch, its wings humming softly, vibrating with potential energy. “This isn’t just any
game,” he intoned. “Catching this—it’s about honour, about flying for your house’s glory.
We’re aiming for a match that’s fair and square. And just in case, remember, Madame
Pomfrey’s on hand. Though, let’s keep her bored today, shall we?”

Eldric shot James a smirk loaded with challenge, leaning in close enough for his whisper,
“This one’s for Pete,” to brush against James’s ear before giving his shoulder a push.

“Fancy a bruise to match? Just pick the time and place,” James hissed.

Perched on his broom, Eldric retorted, “Can’t wait to wipe that grin off your face as I snag
the snitch.”

“Dream on, Flint. That’s probably the closest you’ll ever get to winning.”

The announcer’s shout cut through their banter.

“Ready?”

“Just so you know, I’m not here to play your fan club,” Eldric gritted out.

“Set—"

James’s reply was a shrug, light but edged. “Shame. You had my vote for president.”

“Go!”
James took off instantly, leaving Eldric in the dust.

It was easy.

Too easy.

His gaze locked onto the snitch, the glimmer of gold darting with a speed that seemed almost
mocking. Yet, James was faster, or so he thought, until Eldric’s gloved hand shot out, nearly
seizing—

In a reflexive move, James nudged Eldric aside, making the blond wobble dangerously.

Laughter bubbled up from deep within, a sound lost to the wind. Up here, in the rush and roar
of the wind, James was in his element, disconnected from the ground, from the rules.

Eldric tried to keep pace, but his efforts seemed to drain him, each twist and turn slower, each
attempt less sharp than the last.

Dropping in a precise spiral, James zeroed in on the light that guided him home.

Yet, in the blur of speed and adrenaline, a figure emerged from the crowd, drawing his
attention in an entirely different way.

Layla.

He hadn’t seen her for weeks, or perhaps he had but didn’t recall clearly, his schedule
dominated by Quidditch tryouts and missed classes.

The dirt that once clung to her was now a memory, her complexion flushed, lips pressed
tightly together.

Her eyes met his, a moment suspended between heartbeats, the world around them dimming
to a hush. Hadn’t he tortured her? He half-expected fear, or at least some visible unease,
given their proximity.

But no, she was still here, not gone like he thought—neither buried under the ground nor
disappeared from Hogwarts like the others who crossed him. She was stubbornly, defiantly
here.

Just as he lingered on the notion, the snitch darted off, pulling James’s focus back to the
match.

Eldric, in a desperate bid to regain control, fumbled with the end of his broom, but James was
already riding the wave of his own rush, his movements strong and sure. He executed a quick
half-turn in the air, flipping his broom to hang upside down and face-to-face with Eldric.

“That offer for president still stands if you’re interested!”

Eldric’s face turned a brilliant shade of red that James found amusingly similar to a
Gryffindor banner. “I’d rather run for Minister of Magic!”
“Really now?” James’s response was a broad, unapologetic grin. Effortlessly maintaining his
upside-down stance, he drifted closer to Eldric, nearly brushing against his ear, delighting in
the visible start it gave him.

“What are you—Get away!” Eldric yelped.

“And James Potter catches the snitch!” the announcer bellowed.

The crowd’s cheers swelled like a wave cresting to its peak.

“What?” Eldric’s head snapped around. There was James, now right-side up, snitch in hand,
its wings fluttering weakly. It had been hovering right by Eldric’s ear, a fact he missed
entirely, too caught up in hurling insults to notice.

James, gliding down from his flight, couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Next time, try knocking
my smile off without making yourself look like a right prat.”

“Oh, sod off!” Eldric retorted, annoyance written all over his face as he turned his broom
towards the Gryffindor tent.

As James touched the ground, a wave of Slytherin green swept around him, their cheers
lifting his spirits higher than his broom ever could. Sirius barreled through the crowd, his
bear hug so fierce it raised James a second time, laughter and shouts resounding around them.
“And that’s how you do it!” Sirius boomed.

Next, Narcissa wove through the throng, her congratulations sealed with a kiss on his cheek
that sparked a flush across his face. “I’ll tell Aunt Euphemia the moment we’re back!” she
promised.

“Flying with the big boys now!” Lucius bellowed, clapping James on the back. “That’s the
Potter I know!”

Out of nowhere, Tonks popped up beside him, his greeting a gentle nudge back to reality.
“Well done, mate,” he said, his sight as fleeting as a breeze.

James raised his hands, a grin spreading wide. “Alright, alright!” he laughed. “I need to
change; these robes won’t wear themselves out.”

“I’m coming with,” Sirius declared as he scanned the crowd.

James, still riding the high of his victory, merely nodded. The thought of arguing or even
speaking seemed too much effort at the moment.

Their walk to the locker room was a quiet one, the noise of the pitch behind them gradually
giving way to the muted sounds of Hogwarts in the morning. Stepping into the locker room,
they were greeted by an almost concrete wave of humidity.

“This is a nightmare,” Sirius groaned, trying to shield his hair from the moisture. “Forget it,
I’ll meet you in the Great Hall.”
Left alone, James welcomed the silence.

He shed his Quidditch gear, the layers peeling away like the day’s accumulated tension, and
stepped into the shower. The stream of water felt like a clear, cleansing force, sweeping away
the sweat and dirt from the game. Once clean and changed into a fresh set of trousers and a
crisp white shirt, he allowed himself a moment without his glasses, the world around him
softening into a comfortable blur.

The unexpected sound of a crack and snap made him pivot towards the door.

“Sirius?” he asked.

The response, however, came in a nasal tone that only one person could muster. “Nope.”

He felt it then, that familiar stir of annoyance that threatened to bubble up the surface
whenever he saw Severus Snape. The boy was like a bug: squishy, slick with grease, and
repellent.

“What do you want?”

Severus’s reply was calm, his voice betraying none of the emotion that James was used to
sparring with. “Just to have a word with the winner.”

“About?”

Trying to puff himself up, Severus stood as tall as he could, though they were on even
footing, height-wise. “How you treat others here.”

James nearly snorted at the accusation. “And since when is that any of your business?”

“When it’s my friends you’re targeting, it becomes personal,” Severus replied.

“You have friends?”

Severus looked gobsmacked. “Lily?” he said, as though that name should explain everything.

“Who?”

“Lily Evans!” Severus’s foot came down in a stomp. “The one who beat you in that duel!”

That hit a nerve. “She didn’t beat me,” James roared back, forcing Severus to retreat a step.
His anger unfurled with each word, “She could never… She’s just a—” He suddenly stopped
himself, shocked by the venom in his own voice. It had been rough and ragged, like it was
coming from a place deep inside him that he didn’t even recognize, sounding almost like a
machine that had been run too hard and was starting to break down.

Calm yourself, James warned himself internally. Don't break.

“Look, she’s hardly the first one to have a run-in with me,” his mind briefly revisiting various
clashes. “She’s nothing special.”
“Then why do your mates always hassle her?” Severus pressed.

James’s snappy comeback stumbled, Severus’s accusation catching him off guard. For a
second, his usual quick thinking seemed to take a hike. “I don’t have them on a leash, do I?”
he fired back, more out of reflex than anything else.

Severus’s response was almost desperate, his body tensing as if bracing for impact. “Just
leave her out of your games. Target anyone else but her.”

The sheer nerve of Severus, a half-blood, trying to lay down rules for him, stirred a deep
annoyance in James.

Sure, he could’ve just brushed Severus off, said he didn’t care about Layla and moved on.

But that would be too simple, too boring.

“Did she put you up to this, then? Too frightened to come at me herself, I guess.”

“No!” he was quick to deny, a little too quickly for James’s liking. “She doesn’t even know
I’m here.”

As he squinted, the edges of his vision fuzzy, James reached for his glasses. Placing them on,
the world around him snapped into focus, and with it, his thoughts. He took a moment to
really look at Severus, to see the person behind the anger and the plea. His long face was
flushed, fists clenched so tightly they trembled.

He had to stifle a laugh again.

Really, this was too good.

First Lupin, now Snape?

Layla appeared to have a knack for keeping boys quite under her spell.

“I get it,” James said. “You’ve got it bad for her? Worried about someone else stepping in?”
He paused, enjoying the moment. “Well, sorry to burst your bubble, mate, but she’s already
taken a fancy to someone else.”

“You’re not—”

James laughed a dry, cutting laugh. “Me? Oh, no,” he stepped in closer, enjoying the way
Severus’s defences seemed to crumble. “It’s Lupin she fancies. Almost landed me in
detention, that one.”

Severus’s face mirrored the sheer impact of a Bludger hit, eyes blown wide in disbelief.

“You didn’t know?” James feigned a sympathetic tone as he leaned in even closer.

“I don’t believe it!”

Driven by a sudden impulse, James’s hand shot out, his fingers tangling in Severus’s unkempt
hair, and with a forceful jerk, he brought Severus’s head crashing against the nearest locker.

Severus struggled, futile, against James’s grip. “You don’t even care about her! Why can’t
you just back off?”

“You’re right, I don’t,” James retorted coldly. “But seeing how much she means to you…
maybe I should pay more attention to her, just for a laugh, huh?”

This mindset wasn’t new to him; it was a lesson ingrained from childhood.

Since he was little, younger, brighter, more eager to stand out, Euphemia Potter had woven
into him the belief that the world and all its treasures, especially those held dear by others,
were his for the taking.

The memory was dear and hazy, sepia-toned but sharp in his mind: the day he set his sights
on Regulus’s beloved rag doll. It wasn’t the doll itself that drew him—it was, in all honesty,
rather plain—but the way Regulus’s eyes lit up with joy at the mere sight of it. In the
simplistic calculus of his young mind, to take what was loved was to command attention, to
make Regulus look at him with that crooked little smile of his.

He slammed Severus’s head against the cool metal of the locker once more and whispered
threateningly into his ear, “If you dare to speak to me in that tone again, I’ll cut out your
tongue and feed it to a Nundu,” smirking as he called him, “Snivellu—”

Suddenly, a sharp pain tore through James’s head, an intense agony that robbed him of his
breath. He stumbled back, his hands instinctively shooting to his temples, pressing as if to
force out the confusion.

Severus, too, collapsed, writhing on the ground with his hands clasped over his head, blood
trickling from his nose.

The world seemed to pause for a few tense moments as they both lay there, struggling to
regain their senses.

James, recovering first, stood up with effort. “I think you got the message,” he huffed out.
“Pass it on to your redhead.”

With that, he hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and stumbled outside, the need for a
gulp of fresh air driving him more than anything else. His usual straight shot to the castle got
interrupted; he was blinking the haze away, trying to steady himself. As he approached the
back of the stands, a voice reached him—

“Good job today.”

Andromeda.

That had to be her.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, forming a smile that felt as natural as breathing.
Despite the growing tensions within, the acknowledgement from the Black sisters, especially
Andromeda, meant more to him than he could express today.

But the smile vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold knot in his chest as his eyes found
Ted Tonks, arms wrapped protectively around her.

“Tell that to your boy,” Ted said, lifting Andromeda’s chin with a tenderness that made
James’s heart sink. “He’s got a way with the crowd.”

Andromeda’s laughter, once a sound shared between just the two of them, now floated over
to Ted. “Well, I suppose he’d always enjoyed being the centre of attention. What did you
think of him today?”

James noticed Ted’s hesitation, the way he rubbed his chin thoughtfully and glanced
sideways. “He seems a bit too tough for a thirteen-year-old.”

“He wasn’t always this way,” Andromeda sighed, her expression that of a defender at a trial,
as if she were the only one who could redeem him. “He used to be the sweetest child.”

“Don’t worry too much. He’s just growing up,” Ted tried to reassure her. “Figuring things
out, finding himself.”

“I guess,” she said, trailing off, the conversation veering into what sounded like deeply
personal territory. “But he’s just so distant lately, I don’t even know how to tell him… tell
him that I am leaving.”

James’s breath caught in his throat, shock forcing him into sudden silence.

“Hey, let’s not drown in ‘what ifs,’ alright?”

“And what should we do instead?” she challenged.

Ted’s response was immediate, “I’ve got a few ideas.”

Andromeda tiptoed closer to Tonks in a gesture that reminded him of a Quidditch player
poised for action.

“Ready?” That word bounced around in James’s head, right alongside the regrettable choice
of breakfast he was now seriously thinking might make a comeback.

Ted’s hands moved up, framing her face with affection.

“Set—”

Their lips met.

“Go.”
Chapter End Notes

I know that many of you have been so patient with me and my not-so-orderly monthly

🤫
updates, so please enjoy this double update as a little treat while I try to get out of my
writer's block.
 Year 2: The Melodrama Chronicles II
Chapter Notes

James being scared of the concept of 'love,' is so real actually, can't even be mad.
JAMES
April, 1973
James felt like his heart had just been trampled by a spooked horse, all raw and jagged
around the edges. Dropping his backpack onto the grass with a thud that seemed too soft for
the hell he was about to unleash, he blurted out, “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Andromeda, lips still tingling from Ted’s, whipped around. “James?”

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, more to himself than to them, pacing back and forth like a
caged animal. “Going off with someone like him—a simple-minded half-blood!”

“Hey!” Andromeda poked him hard in the chest, trying to stop him from moving. “Don’t you
dare—”

Ted, trying to be the peacemaker, stepped in. “Let’s just sit down and talk this out. There’s no
need to—”

“Shut up!” he snapped, giving Ted a shove. Not that it did much; Ted towered over him, an
unmovable tree to James’s more impulsive squirrel nature.

“Andy, he’s just a child,” Ted started, only to be cut off.

“James, just stop!” Andromeda shouted. “Give me a moment to explain!”

“Bellatrix was right,” he said, his voice climbing into a whine he despised. “She told you to
ditch these people, but no, you didn’t listen! And now, what, you’re just gonna bail on us? Is
that why you’ve been so off lately? All this talk about the mountains, the pressure—God, I
am such an idiot!”

“We weren’t just going to leave without saying goodbye,” Ted insisted, turning to face him.
Andromeda’s hand snapped out, striking the back of his neck. “Ow!” he yelped, more startled
than hurt.

“Ted!” Andromeda’s shrieked. “Give. Me. A. Second.”

Ted gave him a pitying look before turning his gaze back to Andromeda. “Find me after,” he
said.

“She’s not gonna be there to find, mate!” James called after him, his words sharp as knives,
even as Ted walked away.

Andromeda raised her head and took a deep, shuddering breath. Her eyes were ringed with
red. “Please, James, just listen.”

At first, he thought he was sobbing, but no—he was just trying to breathe, rough gasps
rocking his frail form.

“So, that’s it?” he whispered. “You choose him over everything we have?”
Andromeda turned pale. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

He blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. “Then help me understand.”

What happened next took the breath from his lungs.

“I love him,” she said.

For a moment, the world stood still.

James couldn’t hear his heartbeat, couldn’t blink, could barely even stand. His mind raced to
make sense of her words, to find some crack in them where his understanding could fit. But
there was none.

“Love?” he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue.

“Promise me you’ll marry for love,” Bellatrix had once said to him.

Sweat beaded on Andromeda’s forehead. “I tried talking to my parents, James. Really, truly,
tried! I wanted them to see Ted the way I do, not just some name they’ve picked from a list.
But it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

James opened his mouth. No sound came out. He closed it.

“I wanted to tell Bellatrix, to confide in Cissy, and I’m sure they would have tried to help, but
it’s not enough! I cannot burden them, not when they already have so much to deal with.”

To James, Bellatrix was entangled in her dark ruses with the so-called ‘Dark Lord,’ her
husband trailing behind like a dog on a lead, panting and grunting at her heels. While she
slithered through the shadowed streets of Britain, a venomous serpent ready to strike,
Narcissa soared on wings of her daft fantasies, her cheeks flushed with the promise of her
upcoming nuptials. Every breath she uttered was filled with ‘Lucius’ or ‘wedding,’ and he
was sick of it all.

Both sisters had drifted far from reality, that much was clear.

There was some sense in Andromeda’s reluctance.

But as she herself had complained, it was not ‘enough’ and so—

“—I'll talk to Aunt Druella!” he blurted out. “I’ll tell her you’re planning to run away! She’ll
have to listen! She’ll stop you!”

The expression on Andromeda's face stunned him. She looked at him as if looking at a
stranger. She looked scared of him. “I am dying on this mountain, James! The pressure is
slowly killing me, and—and you need to let me go!” her scream hit James like a cold wave.
“You clung to Bellatrix, trying to control her choices and look where that led. You can’t hold
on to us forever!”

He knew.
He’d been down this road before, striving with all his might to prevent Bellatrix from
slipping through his fingers, confronting age-old traditions, standing up against the weight of
his own family’s expectations. It was a battle he’d lost, a lesson learnt the hard way.

But the thought of going through that pain again, of losing another person who meant the
world to him, hardened his edges. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

“Watch me,” he challenged back. “Go ahead, try to leave. See how far you get.”

“Jamie,” Andromeda whispered, making him pause. It had been ages since anyone called him
that, aside from Regulus. But coming from Andromeda, it felt different. “You hold on too
tight, love too fiercely, then you hurt too deeply. I know you’re frustrated at Bellatrix for
going through with the wedding, but she had her reasons, and she’s still the same person at
heart.”

“Like what?” James pressed. “What reasons?”

“She did it to protect us!” Andromeda said. “The Lestrange family is powerful. Uncle
Alphard told us they’ve avoided scandal and gossip for generations. They have blackmail
material on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, which, might I remind you, is stuff even our family
doesn’t have. Bellatrix married the most eligible man around, raising our family’s status—
and that of anyone connected to us—up the social ladder!”

“We are already too high up on this bloody ladder!” James shouted. “And it changed her for
the worst, love changed her!”

Andromeda’s harsh laugh surprised him. “She doesn’t love Rodolphus.”

His voice turned steely. “It’s not her husband she’s fallen for.”

Andromeda wrinkled her nose. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Don’t you understand?” James said very slowly. “This whole thing about love, or lust, or
whatever it is that drives you all mad—it changes you. It drags you away from what truly
matters. From the family. From me.”

“Love is not something that drives us all ‘mad’,” Andromeda whined. “But then again, you
are too young to fully understand it.”

“Too young,” James laughed, looking around. “Too young to do this, too young to do that,
and when will I be just the right age for people to take me seriously?!”

Andromeda's gaze fixed on a distant spot behind him. James turned to follow her line of sight
but saw nothing—just the empty Quidditch pitch.

“So,” she breathed, her eyes still a bit unfocused, “you’d rather have me miserable here with
you than out there, being with someone I truly love?”

His fingers twitched, brushing against his hair as he searched for the words. “That’s not what
I want, I just—”
“Fine, fine, fine! If you keep it between us,” Andromeda ran her pale hands through her short
hair, “I’ll end things with Ted. If it means I can stay… for the sake of the family.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” she replied softly, “to do what will be best for you.”

Close enough, he thought.

Even though promises were nothing but lies, it had to be close enough.

“But it’s not,” Sirius quipped, rolling his eyes as they sat scattered around the classroom.
“You’ve got to put some oomph into it, or the spell’s a dud.”

Mulciber dragged a hand down the side of his face. “Feels like splitting atoms, this does.”

Sirius laughed, a humourless little snort. “Maybe because you’re a bit slow on the uptake?”

Just then, Dorcas meandered over, perching on the edge of their desk with ease. “Here, let me
give it a go,” she offered, nodding towards Mulciber.

“Cheers, Dorcas,” Mulciber said, though his gratitude wavered as he added, “But, you’re a
girl.”

There was a long silence.

Finally, Dorcas arched an eyebrow. “And your point is?”

“Well, it’s just that a spell this tricky might be out of your league,” Sirius folded his arms
over his chest. “Maybe stick to simpler tricks, like turning doves into cups, yeah?”

Dorcas made a face at him. “Jerk,” she huffed, before striding back to her own desk,
Mulciber trailing behind like a cloud.

Sirius exhaled sharply, his gaze locked on her retreating figure. He clenched his jaw, a muscle
twitching in his temple. “Why can’t we just let the ground swallow her up like we did with
that carrot-head?” he muttered.

James merely shrugged, his shoulder rising and falling with a languid grace.

“I mean, really,” Sirius grumbled. “How does she even fit in with Slytherin?”

“She’s got the bloodline,” Barty chimed in with a yawn, lounging back. He and Evan had
commandeered the desk right behind.
“Oi, James, did you think over what I said earlier?” Evan leaned forward, nudging James’s
shoulder like a persistent woodpecker trying to catch his attention.

James didn’t react.

Sirius, glancing at his watch, announced, “And there we have it. Fifteen minutes of pure
silence from James Potter. A new record.”

The clatter of chairs against the scuffed floorboards snapped James back to the present, as
Barty and Evan closed in on him, their faces uncomfortably close, invading his personal
bubble like a pair of nosy vultures.

Don’t do it, he coached himself silently.

“Did some Muggle-lover get to you?” Evan pressed, half-mocking.

Don’t break.

“Or is it family trouble?” Barty asked.

Not here.

“I’m on it. Just say the word, and they’re gone,” Sirius added.

James said nothing.

“Blimey, they’ve finally done it,” Sirius exclaimed. He began to theatrically fan himself,
pretending to be on the verge of fainting, while Evan snickered at the spectacle and Barty
played along, trying to ‘revive’ Sirius.

Feeling the walls closing in, James pushed himself up, the chair groaning under the sudden
movement. He made a beeline for the door. The space felt too tight, the air too thick.

“James!” Evan’s call was a tether trying to pull him back, but he was already too far gone.

At the threshold, James’s world spun to a sudden halt, colliding not with stone but with flesh
and bone.

“Watch it,” he snarled.

There, framed by the faint light of the corridor, stood Remus Lupin, his posture stiff and
tense, and behind him, Peter Pettigrew, fidgeting nervously, both clutching their textbooks
tightly.

“It’s you who should watch it,” Remus countered, his words delivered with a quiet intensity
that took James aback.

“We’re not here for trouble,” Peter interjected hastily.

James’s hand darted to his pocket, fingers wrapping around his wand.
“This toff isn’t worth the bother,” Eldric quipped as he materialized from behind, nodding
towards the classroom. With a dismissive wave, he added, “Peter, come.”

Yet, Peter and Remus didn’t budge, their eyes glued to James, waiting for his next move.

“Pete?” Eldric repeated, a bit more urgently this time.

“Remus?” Peter asked instead.

Remus watched him, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. The light reflected in his
eyes, giving them an eerie, almost unnatural glow. Had they always been that shade of gold?

He felt it then; a shiver ran up his spine, the cold seeping into his bones. Suddenly, his eyes
flew open, heart pounding, as if he had just been jolted awake from a deep sleep.

“Let’s go, Remus,” Peter said, extending his hand to nudge Remus’s arm gently. But the
slimmer boy pulled back sharply, avoiding the contact. James watched as Peter’s hand
hovered awkwardly in the air before he followed Remus inside.

James remained rooted to the spot, his breath quickening. He watched as Sirius threw an
annoyed look at Remus and Peter disappearing into the classroom, then made his way over to
James. “You’re wandering around like you’ve lost your mind,” he noted, breaking the quiet.
“Out with it.”

Dread pooled in his stomach. He wasn’t eager to talk about Andromeda just yet, about what
he knew, about all the things eating away at his soul, nibbling at the edges of his
consciousness. So instead, he asked, “What do you know about Remus?”

“Lupin?” Sirius cocked his head to the side. “Not much, to be honest. But I can poke around,
see what comes up.”

“Do that,” James nodded, his mind already turning over possibilities. “But keep it quiet.”

“Why the interest?” Sirius probed, leaning back against the stone wall.

“There’s something about him.”

Sirius let out a long sigh. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Tired of what?”

“Of being… you. Always one step ahead, always plotting. You live in your head too much,
mate. Half the time, I can’t tell if you’re chasing something, running from it, or just plain
indifferent.”

“I’m not a lunatic, Sirius,” he joked, though a nagging doubt tugged at him.

Sirius fixed James with a penetrating stare. “So there’s no reason Snape was spitting curses
about your family when I bumped into him earlier?”
That greasy git had completely slipped his mind. “We, uh, exchanged a few words.”

“You ‘exchanged a few words’ with Severus Snape?” Sirius sounded like he couldn’t believe
his ears.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he tried to remember the details. “He was on about his
‘friend’, Layla. Told me to steer clear, among other delightful tidbits.”

Sirius snorted. “Why does it feel like she’s mixed up with every boy in this place?

“I wish I knew,” James scoffed, a sound that came up way too down from his throat. “I’m fed
up with her.”

The tension in Sirius’s face melted away, replaced by a sly glint in his eye and a slight curve
of his lips. “You know, we could just make her actually disappear. A quick letter to my dad,
and he could—”

“It’s not her that I am worried about. It’s—”

“—Evan, right? He’s been banging on about this Dark Lord stuff non-stop. Got an earful
from mum about it, too.”

James perked up. “Aunt Walburga’s been writing to you about him?”

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns on the floor. “Turns out she’s
quite taken with his ideas.”

“Anything about my folks in those letters?”

Sirius looked up, meeting his eyes. “No, not a word.”

James let out a harsh breath, feeling like he was about to explode. “Great, just what I needed.
A looming war, endless classes, and now this mess with—”

Andromeda.

He couldn’t say it.

He choked at the thought of her.

Everything felt tangled and messy at the moment, like a thousand thoughts crashing into each
other. He had this wild urge to bolt, to find some dark corner and curl up, shut out the noise,
and disa—

“Oi,” Sirius cut in, a firm hand landing on James’s shoulder, grounding him. “I’m here, aren’t
I? We’ll figure it out.”

You are a Potter. Was that his mother’s voice echoing in his head, or his own thoughts? He
didn’t want to know.
Don’t break.

His arms, acting on their own, grabbed Sirius and pulled him into a desperate hug. Potters
weren’t meant to show any weakness, yet here he was, breaking every rule.

Sirius paused for a split second, his arms hovering awkwardly, trembling. James could almost
see the gears turning in his head, the weighing of risks. Then, with a sudden, almost desperate
resolve, Sirius pulled him into a tight, encompassing hug, strong and unsteady all at once.

“Don’t leave me,” James whispered, his words catching in his throat. The strange rhythm of
another’s heartbeat so close, the confusing warmth from a body not his own, all of it made his
head spin.

“I would never,” Sirius pulled him closer, almost inhaling him. “There’s nothing in this world
that could tear me away from you.”

James forced himself to believe those words because considering any other possibility was
too dreadful to bear.

That night, he swallowed his pride and asked for Mister Pink from Evan. Gripping the bear
tightly, neither he nor the stuffed toy found rest that night.

James had kept Andromeda a secret, terrified her promise would crumble if anyone found
out. He carried the burden in silence, wandering through his days with his mind a million
miles away, his heart pounding like a drum of doom.

Letters from home were rare, each day of silence from his parents stretching endlessly.
Schoolwork piled up, a mountain he could barely scale, while the faces around him grew
colder, more hostile. Among those faces were—

“—Rookwood,” James sneered, pinning down a first-year whose eyes ballooned with fright.
“I said Barty’s handwriting is messy, not illegible.”

“I’m sorry!” Rookwood wailed. “I didn’t know!”

James’s eyes flicked to Barty. “Well?”

Barty’s smile was all teeth. “Reckon his ears need a good rinse, eh? So he doesn’t miss a beat
next time.”
“No, please!” Rookwood’s cry was swallowed by the spell’s crackle, water streaming from
his ears as he crumpled to the ground.

“Stop the fuss, will you?” he muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching as Barty draped an
arm around his shoulders. “It only lasts a few seconds.”

Barty grinned, steering them away from the scene. “Minutes,” he corrected as they started
walking.

James shrugged, his shoulders lifting in a careless gesture. Rookwood’s cries reminded James
of a tiny bird, wings beating frantically against the bars of a cage. Such a shame, that he
would keep that cage tightly sealed.

Barty threw a glance at James. “So, the word is you might be meeting the Dark Lord soon?”

James let out a heavy breath. “Nothing’s set in stone. Haven’t heard a peep from my folks,
so…”

“He’s decent, you know. You’ll get on.”

“Wasn’t your tune a bit different before?” James prodded, eyebrows raised.

“People change,” came Barty’s simple reply.

“Yes,” James agreed, the silence between them stretching before he added, “I know.”

“Dad’s still weighing his options. He’ll see sense, eventually.”

“How’s he?”

“Away,” Barty’s response was clipped, his jaw tightening for a brief moment. “He keeps
sending postcards.”

“Better than mine, who enjoys a bit of torture as a pastime.”

“I’d prefer that to be ignored,” Barty said. “That bloody Dark Lord gives more toss about me
than mine own father.”

James bit his inner cheek, feeling the metallic taste of blood.

Barty’s smile had always seemed grotesque, like a mask poorly stitched together, hiding
something far more unsettling underneath. Yet, when he spoke of his father, that smile would
twist into something warmer, almost human.

“He thinks blue is a dull colour,” he had once said, eyes gleaming with a rare softness.

“He always knows how to make me laugh,” he had confessed before.

But now, Barty's words about his father were scarce, his silence more telling than any
declaration. Mention of his father seemed to drain the life from him, leaving him wilted and
hollow, like a flower deprived of sunlight.

It didn’t matter what Barty did—acing his exams, charming his peers, preserving his image—
none of it ever seemed to catch his attention.

Barty sighed. “You know, The Dark Lord’s got time for anyone who seeks him out. It’s part
of his charm, why he’s got a following.”

“What’s he like?”

“Just a bloke, really,” Barty shrugged. “But he’s got a knack for seeing right through you.”

James hummed. “What about—”

“—Excuse me,” a voice cut through their talk, pulling their attention.

James rolled his eyes upon seeing Layla approach.

“Here she comes,” Barty’s voice carried a smirk even before his expression did, pocketing his
hands, ready for a show.

Layla’s next words came with her hands held out, palms down, as if calming a wild animal.
“I’m not here to start anything.”

“That’d be a first,” James sneered.

Ignoring the jibe, she pressed on, “Severus has missed six classes this week.” It was strange,
the way her voice didn’t waver, yet something in the set of her shoulders suggested a battle.
“Apparently, there’s been a… disagreement between you two? He didn’t tell me much, but
now he’s stuck in his dorm, nursing a terrible headache.”

“So?” James pressed, challenging her to continue, to give him a reason to care. There was a
pause, a little dance in her eyes, not quite evasion, not quite defiance.

Layla finally broke the silence. “Could you just let Slughorn know the absences aren’t his
fault with a note? He listens to you. Just say Severus’s absences are your responsibility. No
need for the whole story, but he’ll get it, coming from you.”

Barty’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. James could see Layla’s lips moving, but
the words barely registered. Her presence grated on him, every gesture, every glance stoking
a fire inside him. He clenched his fists, feeling the heat rise to his face.

She was infuriating, truly.

The more he watched her, the more his frustration simmered, a white-hot wrath burning in his
chest at her audacity, her nerve.

But they were in the middle of the corridor, a sea of students surging around them,
Andromeda on patrol nearby. He knew this wasn’t the place for an outburst, not with so many
eyes and ears around. His relationship with the brunette was already hanging by a thread; he
didn’t need any more reasons for her to be on his case.

“Sev will lose too many points if he misses any more classes. He could get kicked out for
failing a class this critical. I wouldn’t have bothered you if it wasn’t serious,” Layla pressed.

“What a loyal mudblood,” Barty remarked with a sneer. “That Snape is a lucky one.”

More than a mudblood.

A rag doll.

Lupin and Snape’s favourite.

“You owe me,” Layla asserted, stepping closer with that look she got when she decided she
was right.

“For what?” James drawled, trying to sound bored, though he felt anything but.

“I kept quiet about that time you trapped me in that cursed soil,” Layla huffed, crossing her
arms. “I could have had you expelled for that.”

James barely cracked a smile. “Yet here you stand.”

The words had come out cooler than he felt, an attempt to mask the frustration nipping at
him. He hated that Layla was taller; it made his threats seem less intimidating. But seeing her
swallow hard told him his words had struck home.

Besides, if she were as smart as she always claimed to be, she would have realized that the
spell he had cast was not meant to kill, but merely to injure—just slightly. She likely bore
dark, blue bruises afterwards, but his actions that day were intended only as a threat.
Admittedly, he could have killed her, but that simply wouldn’t have been as amusing.

“You know what, you’re right. I should grant you a favour.”

Barty choked. “What?”

“What?” Layla echoed.

“But,” James added, “that means you owe me one in return. It’s a double-edged sword, you
see, a cycle.”

Barty looked like he was about to dislocate his jaw.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted.

“Fine,” he turned sharply, his cloak fluttering slightly with the motion. “Let Snape keep
missing his classes, then.”
“Wait!” Layla’s call stopped him. “I’ll do whatever you ask. But you’re writing that note
today and handing it to Slughorn.”

Turning back to face her, James couldn’t contain the smug grin that lit up his face. “And how
will I know you’ll keep your promise?”

“What, do you want a pinky swear or something?” she retorted.

Oh, he revelled in how effortlessly people wandered into his web. At moments like this, he
envisioned himself as a spider, all gangly legs and beady eyes, endlessly feeding on the bugs
drawn to him. They came willingly, oblivious, as he poised to open his wide mouth and take
a large bite. “Actually, let’s bind it with a Sermentum Concordiae.”

Barty groaned in exasperation. “Oh, come off it, James. Your mum’s already told you not to
use that spell for every little thing.”

Curious, she tilted her head. “What’s that?”

“It’s similar to an Unbreakable Vow but far less dangerous,” James explained, enjoying the
moment.

Her response was a glare, but her nod was agreement enough.

“Stretch your hand out, then,” James instructed, his smile widening. The beauty of the
Sermentum Concordiae was its ability to bind without physical contact. Allowing the magic
to fill him, James focused on the words, “Do you vow to follow my lead when called upon,
until such time as I release this bond?”

“I do,” Layla declared, not a hint of hesitation in her voice.

A sharp intake of breath was her only reaction as slender, luminescent green threads swirled
around her hand before vanishing into nothingness.

With the agreement now in place, James offhandedly said, “And do bring Snape out, would
you? The poor boy’s got to eat at some point.” He didn’t wait for her reply, turning on his
heel to leave.

“James, what exactly are you planning?” Barty hurried to catch up.

With a chilling smile, he replied, “Just reclaiming Regulus’s little rag doll. It’s been too long
since I’ve had my fun with it.”
 Year 2: The Hunt
Chapter Summary

Are you, are you, coming to the tree?

Chapter Notes

TW: Bullying.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

LILY
May, 1973
The wait was like enduring the final overs of a county cricket match under a persistent
drizzle; long, drawn-out, with the promise of action always just one more over away.

At each meal in the Great Hall, whenever Lily’s gaze happened to meet James’s, he’d offer
up a lopsided grin and a nonchalant wave.

It was all too calm, too routine, unsettlingly so, and honestly—

“I’m not sold on it,” Marlene said, her brows furrowing. “There’s something else going on.
They’ve definitely had a tiff.”

“But over what?” Mary asked.

“Probably some daft thing. Quidditch or some silly schoolboy competition, the usual posh
boys fuss over.” Marlene guessed, dismissing the concern with a wave of her hand. Yet, there
was a peculiar look in her eyes—perhaps a touch of sorrow. Lily had noticed Marlene
observing her more closely these days, but she did not have the courage to waver on the
thought for too long.

“How do you reckon?” Lily asked.

Marlene gave her a knowing look. “Four brothers. Enough said.”

Despite her growing anxieties, a breathless chuckle escaped from Lily’s lips.

“You know, you don’t owe him anything,” Mary said quietly. She always had this air of grace
about her, making everything she did seem so effortless. Next to her, Lily felt out of place.
Her limbs seemed too long, her movements too abrupt, as if she were composed of sharp
angles and sudden starts.

“Well,” she sighed. “He did write to Slughorn for me.”

She left unsaid the fact that refusing James wasn’t really an option for her.

“That’s the bit I don’t get,” Marlene mused as they ambled down the stairs. “James Potter
doing as he’s asked? That’s not like him.”

“I asked him nicely,” Lily offered weakly, though she knew her explanation sounded weak,
even to her own ears.

Marlene scoffed. “Nice isn’t a currency he trades in. Just ask Eldric. He reckons James
almost sent him tumbling from his broom at Quidditch tryouts.”

“I’ll help him just this once with whatever he needs,” she stated firmly. “After that, we’re
done.”
Marlene looked doubtful. “I wouldn’t put much stock in that. Likely, he’s forgotten by now.”

“Definitely,” Mary concurred, linking her arm with Lily’s, their steps in sync as they finally
ducked into the Forbidden Forest, and it was like strolling into a day that was just being
painted. The sun played tag with the clouds, throwing splashes of light here and there,
lighting up moss and tree bark with a cosy, golden shine.

Lily found herself gripping Mary’s arm a bit tighter, finding something steady in the beat of
her friend’s heart.

They had barely stepped into the clearing when Peter’s “Morning!” floated over, his hand
lazily cutting through the air to wave them closer. Marlene, with a grin, nudged him gently in
the ribs, pulling a mock whine from his lips.

“You look awful,” Mary blurted out.

Peter’s face bloomed with a shy pink. “Eldric’s snoring could signal the apocalypse.”

“Stuffing socks in your ears,” Ambrose said, slinging a friendly arm around Mary, “does
wonders.”

“I do not snore,” Eldric scoffed.

Ambrose’s laugh was a sharp bark, quickly stifled but leaving a wide grin in its wake. "Even
Lupin thinks so."

“He’s back in your dorm?” Lily asked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she
glanced over at Eldric.

“Felt like he never left,” Ambrose let out an exaggerated sigh. “Two roommates were a
crowd, but three’s a circus.”

“He’s the calmest of you all,” Peter fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, his fingers pale and
restless. “We’d barely know he’s there.”

“Well, why don’t you and your dearest Remus go find a quieter room then?” Eldric asked.

Ambrose turned to Lily with a smile. “Eldric’s just sore because Dumbledore has Remus and
Peter trying to bump up our house points by tutoring him. But let’s just say, not many of
Remus’s questions are hitting the mark.”

Eldric huffed, kicking at a loose stone on the ground. “Not my fault they’re not exactly the
best teachers.”

Mary, who had been listening quietly, raised an eyebrow. “Where’s Remus now?”

“Oh, he’s with Madame Pomfrey again,” Eldric shrugged. “Another headache.”

Another headache, he had said.

Really, now?

How long was Remus going to keep repeating the same lie over and over again until one of
his roommates eventually found out the truth? They must notice how little, or how strange
Remus’s sleeping patterns were, surely. The calendar edged closer to the month’s end. How
did the approaching full moon affect Remus? And what on earth did he manage to eat during
those—

“I want to see sweat, I want to see effort, and I expect victories! No excuses, no whining!”

Around them, students groaned in unison.

Professor Zhao stood before them, his voice sharp as a whip crack. Whispered rumours
suggested he’d seen his share of action in a wizarding conflict in China before turning to
teaching. Despite his strictness, there was an almost dramatic touch to Professor Zhao’s
behaviour, like he belonged to the ranks of old-school drill sergeants rather than the Hogwarts
faculty. “This isn’t a holiday camp, people!” he’d often say, as though preparing his students
for battle.

As the boys’ squabble grew louder and Mary scampered off after a particular flower, Lily let
her focus drift. It danced over the student-filled forest, eventually finding Severus.

He was a lone figure, slightly removed from the crowd, yet when their eyes met, they
exchanged a brief wave just before Professor Zhao passed through.

“Why do we have to go through this every year?” Mary bemoaned, absentmindedly twirling
the flower she had picked between her fingers.

“That’s the way Zhao likes it,” Marlene replied, her smile spreading from ear to ear. If
anyone lived for the hunt, it was Marlene McKinnon. Last year, she’d thrown herself into the
fray with such zeal that she nearly caused a catastrophe, yanking Mary out of the way of a
particularly nasty Slytherin jinx.

But the hunt was more than a scramble for house points—though the one hundred points on
offer were hardly unimportant. It served as a primer for surviving the wizarding wilderness,
from discerning which plants were safe to eat to navigating the expanse of the forest.

Then there was the challenge of spotting the Wingbeast, a creature so beautiful it seemed
more dream than reality. Lily had only seen its image on the pages of her textbook, but even
there, its fur seemed to capture the essence of moonlight.

“I’m just hoping the Slytherins decide to play nice for once,” Ambrose mumbled, his mind
clearly on last year’s chaos. “Spent half my time fending off two of them, all because my
wand decided to take a dip in the swamp.”

Eldric nodded in agreement, his eyes darting toward the cluster of students in green. “Same
here. But let me tell you, if any of them tries anything today—” His words dissolved into a
menacing hiss.
“Oi, don’t even think about it,” Ambrose broke in. “Now’s not the time.”

Meanwhile, Professor Zhao was trying to corral the students. “I need four house captains,” he
barked, scanning the crowd. “Let’s move it, I haven’t got all day!”

Two students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw quickly volunteered, while the Gryffindors
descended into squabbles over who would lead.

“I should be the one this time,” a voice spoke up, belonging to a classmate Lily hadn’t
interacted much with. “Remember, Fox’s mistake cost us fifty points last year, and we’re not
even supposed to lose points during the hunt!”

“Because Ashbourne had me in a bloody headlock, that’s why!” Fox retorted. “I was this
close to catching that beast!”

“I should do it,” Eldric declared, stepping forward with a confidence that bordered on
arrogance. “Clearly, none of you know where you’re going.”

Peter snorted at the comment.

“Got something to say, Pete?” Eldric puffed up, his chest swelling like a peacock’s.

It was a classic Gryffindor showdown. Too many dancers, not enough dance floor.

Mary’s eyes flashed as she stood straighter. “Why don’t we let Marlene lead? She’s on the
Quidditch team; she knows how to—”

Eldric stepped forward, crushing a dry leaf underfoot. “She’s a team member, not the captain,
Mary.”

“No, I really think Marlene should lead,” another suggested, a sentiment quickly mirrored by
the rest.

“I vote for Lily,” Marlene’s calm declaration caused heads to snap in her direction.

Lily’s mouth fell open. “What?” she whispered, her gaze darting to Marlene.

Marlene moved closer, her steps barely making a sound on the mossy ground. She leaned in
and whispered, “I’ve seen it, you know.”

“Seen what?”

“The letter your sister sent you,” Marlene sighed.

Ah.

Well, there was her answer. If Marlene McKinnon gave you those sorrowful eyes, it was a
sure sign she had glimpsed something forbidden, something she wasn’t meant to see,
something that was—
“—supposed to be private,” Lily hissed.

“I didn’t mean to snoop! It was just there on your bed, and I thought maybe you’d forgotten
it,” Marlene rushed to explain. “I only wanted to make sure you saw it.”

A lump formed in Lily’s throat.

“I don’t… I don’t want you to even think about leaving, Lily. I’m not sure what got to you
enough to pour it all out to Petunia, but she nailed one thing—you’re way stronger than you
might believe. And remember, you’re not alone. You’ve got me, you’ve got Mary. We’re here
for you, no matter what,” Marlene continued. “I think a small victory might just be what you
need to lift your spirits. I know you can lead us to win this.”

She bit her lower lip. “It’s been rough for a bit, is all.”

For a moment, Lily feared Marlene might laugh, but instead, her expression softened. “Why
didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice quiet.

Because admitting you were right feels like swallowing bitter medicine.

“I don’t know,” she lied. “But I’m not going anywhere,” she added, watching as Marlene
threw her a thin smile. “And you’re right, a win… might be just what I need.”

Turning back to the group of Gryffindors, Marlene yelled, “Lily’s up for it!”

A ripple of cheers went through the crowd, with Peter letting out an enthusiastic whistle.

“Professor!” Marlene called out to Zhao, who looked over, “We’ve picked our captain!”

“And so have the Slytherins,” Zhao replied with a weary sigh. “Finally.”

James Potter sauntered forward, not even sparing Lily a glance. His robes swayed with his
steps, catching the glimmers of sunlight filtering through the trees. With a smirk playing at
his lips, he casually flicked some dirt off his sleeve, the motion almost lazy in its confidence.

That selfish prat.

“Sirius is his second, no doubt,” Marlene said under her breath, her eyes narrowing as she
watched Sirius confidently gather a group of Slytherins, barking orders. “I’m standing with
you as your second,” she gritted. “There’s no way I’m letting him snag the Wingbeast
without a fight.”

That was good to hear.

It gave Lily that extra bit of courage she needed, much like how she was making her way
over to Severus now, hoping to exchange a few words before things kicked off.

“Try not to hoard all the glory,” she teased Severus.

“As if I give two hoots about house points,” he mumbled. Taken by surprise, Lily let out a
short laugh before quickly recovering, trying to look shocked. Of course, out of all people,
Severus Snape was the one who cared the least about competition—any kind of competition,
really. He didn’t like to lose, or at least that’s what he had told her when she asked why he
withdrew from it so often.

Running a hand through his slick hair, he said, “But seriously, Lily, going up against Potter,
especially when he’s like this? He's not holding back.”

“What do you mean?”

“He's in a foul mood."

Lily raised a mocking brow.

"More than usual," Severus clarified. "He’s already hexed two students this morning. One of
them is in the Hospital Wing because his legs turned to jelly—the poor bloke can't walk, and
I reckon he won’t be able to for a few hours. The other’s mouth is sewn shut because he made
the mistake of telling James to have a 'good morning.' Amateur behaviour, if you ask me."

Lily’s response was a shameless shrug.

Marlene’s vote of confidence had lit a fuse in her. She was no longer the timid first-year,
awestruck and stumbling. No, she had a plan this time—a plan to make James Potter taste a
bit of humiliation, just like she had when she ended up face-first in the dirt a month ago. But
her approach would be… stealthy? Yes! Stealthy. A manoeuvre executed with such finesse
that he wouldn’t see it coming from a mile away.

“I’m just keeping an eye on things, Sev,” she reassured him. “I’m not going to throw myself
at him.”

“Good,” he exhaled, visibly relieved.

“Directly,” Lily added quickly, her smile widening as she turned to join the others.

“What?” Severus called after her.

She sidled up to Marlene, adjusting the sleek, red straps of her gear. The fabric was tough,
meant to withstand the brambles and branches of the Forbidden Forest, yet it felt as light as
air against her skin.

“You have forty minutes,” Professor Zhao bellowed. “Bring me that despicable beast! Go!”

Instantly, a wave of nearly seventy students surged toward the forest, diverging into various
directions. Lily quickly directed her Gryffindor teammates to the left, organizing them into
three groups.

She remembered reading that the Wingbeast had a fondness for Sunspire Blossoms, which
thrived in spots kissed generously by the morning sun—areas mostly found on the left side of
the Forbidden Forest.
The Hufflepuffs immediately knelt to feel the mud, dampening their fingers to gauge the
wind’s direction.

The Ravenclaws, ever methodical, began to study the oak trees’ patterns, pulling out
parchment—Lily hadn’t realized they were permitted to bring—and started sketching
intricate symbols and signs.

The Slytherins, meanwhile, showed no hesitation in bulldozing their way through, shoving
anyone in their path and trampling the undergrowth beneath their boots.

Turning to her classmates, Lily took a deep breath and called out, "Maxime, Cattermole, and
the rest," she pointed to her left, "go and confuse the Hufflepuffs by stomping all around.
Make sure they can’t figure out the real direction of the hoofprints."

Lily could sense the reluctance among her friends—they had never taken orders from her
before, not now, not ever—but no one spoke up, none of them wanting to appear as though
they were against her.

The entire situation suddenly felt overwhelming and dangerous, the responsibility too big.
They had less than an hour to catch a beast as elusive as expensive silk slipping through her
fingers.

A part of her wondered if they didn’t take her seriously because she was a Muggle-born,
because she had entered Hogwarts through pure talent, because Dumbledore had sent her a
letter himself, requesting her presence. Was she simply privileged because Dumbledore had
chosen her? Or was she underprivileged because he had done so?

Marlene stepped forward and shouted, "Shut it!"

Jumping at the chance, Lily quickly said, "Murk, Higgs, and the rest," she gestured to her
right, "some Ravenclaws have brought a map with them. I’m not sure if it’s against the rules
or not, but I want you to take it," she paused, "and get rid of it."

"A bit harsh, eh, Captain?" Mary asked.

"Sometimes you need to be," Marlene replied for her, watching as their group began to
disperse. She turned to Lily. "What else do you need, Lil?"

Lily glanced around, assessing the situation. "Follow my lead. Keep quiet. Move slowly.
Don't draw unnecessary attention."

Mary wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, nodding in agreement, but Marlene’s
response was nothing more than a scoff, the sound rasping like a drowning man gasping for
air. “Lily, I signed up for some thrill, not to tiptoe around!”

“Patience,” Lily echoed the advice Severus had tirelessly imparted to her, shielding her eyes
from the bright sunlight.

“But—” Marlene’s protest was cut short as three Slytherins emerged from behind a towering
tree. Leading the two stout and stumbling boys was Dorcas Meadows, her long wand now
pressed firmly to Marlene's throat.

“Meadows,” Marlene exhaled, a tense smile curving her lips. “Always a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Dorcas retorted coolly, while Avery stepped closer, like a hyena
circling prey.

Mulciber had already ensnared Mary, his arm clamped tightly around her waist. “Hello,
pretty half-blood,” he whispered right into Mary’s ear, making her visibly shrink away.

Lily’s hand flew to her wand faster than she thought possible. “So much for patience,” she
muttered under her breath. “Let her go!” she demanded, locking eyes with Dorcas. She tried
to mimic Dorcas’s confident stance, the smooth roll of her shoulders, and that lazy smile that
seemed glued on her face.

“Afraid I can’t do that,” Dorcas countered. “Taking out the second makes nabbing the captain
all the easier.”

Mulciber’s grin twisted into something cruel as he pressed the tip of his wand against Mary’s
wrist, leaving behind the searing imprint of a yellow tick—the symbol of disqualification.

The mark glowed faintly, a small, pulsing reminder of her failure. Of Lily's failure to protect
her classmate.

Mary’s shoulders slumped as she stared at the mark. She wanted to rush over, to wipe it away,
to tell Mary it didn’t matter—but the mark was permanent for two hours. As Mary turned to
leave, Mulciber’s smirk deepened and that made Lily’s blood boil.

Think, she urged herself.

Think, think, think—

Her eyes found Marlene’s across the clearing, and she gave the smallest of nods, a silent
signal that a plan was forming in her mind. Marlene’s eyes narrowed in understanding.

As Dorcas’s attention drifted back to Mulciber, Marlene subtly shifted her weight.

“Confringo!” she shouted. The spell shot forward, colliding with a low-hanging branch. It
erupted in a violent blaze of orange and yellow, the flames roaring to life, sending a shower
of embers spiralling into the dusky sky like a swarm of frantic fireflies.

“Bloody hell!” Dorcas staggered back, her hand flying to her mouth as she released Marlene,
her eyes wide, the fire reflected in them like molten gold.

Lily’s plan, however, backfired slightly as the smoke thickened, making it hard for her to see
as well. The thick, acrid smoke billowed up from the flames, quickly cloaking the clearing in
a dense, suffocating fog.

And then came a new sound. A low, rhythmic pounding, like the heartbeat of the forest itself.
Hooves. The beast was—
“—near!” Lily called out, breathless. “Marlene, go for it!”

Marlene didn’t hesitate. With a final, sharp glance at Lily, she darted into the thickening haze,
her form quickly swallowed by the smoke.

“Get them both!” Dorcas tried to rally Mulciber and Avery, who were too busy coughing to
respond.

Instinctively, Lily started running, her legs carrying her deeper into the forest’s heart without
a moment’s hesitation. Left, right, up, down—it didn’t matter; she was propelled forward by
sheer will.

Eventually, when her lungs screamed for mercy, she collapsed against a rough, gnarled tree,
pressing her back against its trunk.

“It’s to the north,” she overheard a voice say. Peeking from behind a thick tree root, she
spotted a small blonde Ravenclaw girl, her delicate features pinched with concentration as
she conferred with a boy at her side. “If we align our path with the azimuth of ninety degrees
and proceed towards the sector marked by the Canis Minor constellation, we should be able
to find it.”

God.

Leave it to a Ravenclaw to turn a simple task into a convoluted riddle.

Lily turned and ran in what she hoped was the opposite direction.

By now, she was hopelessly lost, far deeper into the forest than she’d ever ventured before.

“They’ve probably caught them by now,” Sirius’s words floated through the trees, halting
Lily in her steps.

With no clear path in sight, she ducked into the nearest bush, the brittle branches snagging at
her clothes, tearing small holes in the fabric as she crouched low, trying to make herself as
small as possible.

“I sent Dorcas after the second in command and the captain,” Sirius was saying. “That blonde
one, Marlene, she’s all fire and panic.”

“A daft one too, if she’s running around with Layla and Remus,” James added dismissively.
“And speaking of him, I’m still waiting on anything you can dig up about him. Is there really
nothing we can use?”

Seriously?

Even out of sight, she wasn’t free from their scrutiny, nor was Remus spared their schemes.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” James sounded unconcerned.

“Someone’s nearby.”

How on earth did Sirius hear her? She hadn’t made a sound. Watching through a gap in the
foliage, she saw Sirius do something odd—he sniffed the air like a tracker. Slowly, he started
towards her hiding spot.

Her breath caught.

But before Sirius could get too close, Dorcas burst onto the scene, gasping for air. “James! I
lost them!”

“What?” Sirius’s attention snapped to Dorcas, thankfully diverting him away from Lily’s
bush. “I told you—”

“I know what you said!” Dorcas was nearly shouting now. “A branch fell, and in that mess,
we lost sight of them. I heard Lily call out to Marlene about the beast being close.”

“Who?” James seemed lost.

“Layla,” Dorcas corrected herself with a heavy sigh. “My mistake.”

“Then chase her down, you fool,” Sirius snapped back.

“Why don’t you go? You’re the second in command,” Dorcas retorted.

“Just go together!” James’s voice rose above their bickering. That’s when Lily noticed his
limp; he was hurt, which was rare. He always seemed immune to the usual scrapes and
bruises. This vulnerability, this slight chink in his armour, gave Lily a sliver of hope. Maybe,
just maybe, she could actually get her long-awaited revenge.

Sirius thought this over, but then insisted, “I’m not leaving you here."

“I’ll stay with him,” Dorcas said, maybe a bit too quickly.

Sirius let out a frustrated huff. “Not happening.”

James’s patience seemed to snap. “Dorcas, track down McKinnon. Sirius, find Layla. I’ll
shoot up a flare with my wand. Others are bound to come for me. After that, we clinch this
win and shove it down the Gryffindors’ throats, understood?”

Lily noticed the way Sirius and Dorcas glanced at each other, their brows furrowing slightly.
But James wasn’t offering them a choice.

His count began, cold and clipped. “You’ve got three seconds,” the words fell like ice, “One
—”

He didn’t need to finish. Sirius and Dorcas were already bolting through the trees.

Tucked away in her bush, Lily watched, her heart thumping hard. James was weak yet still
fiercely in control. How did he do it? Was it perhaps a trait that came with being born into
wealth? To power? It was hard to tell with that calculated look in his eyes and the slight,
almost arrogant pout of his lips.

With a swift move of his wand, he launched a bright green flare into the sky.

Be stealthy, a tiny, annoying voice inside her head urged. Be smart about this.

She shook her head violently, trying to banish the thought completely. This was her chance,
possibly her only one. She hoped Marlene had secured the Wingbeast by now.

Springing from the bushes with a cry, she cast “Expelliarmus!” at James.

His wand spun out of his grip, his face registering genuine surprise. As he spoke, the colour
left his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be hunting a Wingbeast?”

“We’ve already won,” Lily shot back. “Marlene’s got the beast; your game’s over.”

“Sirius might end up with a few broken bones, but he won’t let us lose,” James scowled.

“Well, Marlene’s no stranger to breaking bones herself,” Lily mocked. The words were a
bluff, and she knew it. Marlene was hot-headed, yes, but she was also incredibly smart, too
smart to risk everything against an aristocratic pureblood who could ruin her with a snap of
his fingers.

Lily, however, was done with being smart.

Especially when James looked at her with that insufferable mix of pity and taunt, all she
wanted to do was pin him to the ground, perhaps with the very spell he’d used on her, roots
bursting from the earth to strangle him.

She was just beginning to grasp the revolting effect he had on her at this very moment.

The way his lips moved so quickly, the words spilling out in that posh, impenetrable accent—
so polished, so self-assured, as if he believed—God! She wanted to kill him. Rid of him. To
make him stop looking at her.

So, she raised her wand, hands trembling, but lowered it in an instant when she heard the
sound of hooves in the distance.

James caught the sound too. “Don’t tell me that thing’s charging here,” he shouted.

“Your light!” Lily realized with frustration. “It thinks it’s a threat!”

Wingbeasts mistook bright lights for predators, and even an idiot would know this
information as crucial as this.

“Can you even move?” Lily asked, eyes widening.

“Clearly not,” James snapped back.

Well.

This was brilliant!

She could leave him, let the beast trample him—maybe even kill him as she so wished. It
would be easy to claim she was too late. But as she turned, every instinct screamed against it.

Sermentum Concordiae.

The words whispered in her mind, binding and intense. Was he using it on her? Could he? It
felt like that very vow was drawing her towards him, insisting, demanding action.

And so, she ran—not away from James, but towards the danger he faced.

Each step felt like an eternity, her heart pounding as if it might burst from her chest.

Her body moved instinctively, a shield of flesh and bone, her magic summoned from a place
of pure desperation.

“Protego!” she shouted, the word tearing from her throat.

She felt the impact in her bones as the Wingbeast collided with her shield, the force of it
nearly knocking her off her feet.

But the barrier held, and the Wingbeast halted its assault. Its rancid breath washed over her,
the stench of rotten fish filling her nostrils. She gagged, feeling a faint grip on her sleeve—
James, his hand trembling.

“What is it doing?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

“I don’t know,” Lily whispered back, struggling to keep her voice steady, resisting the urge to
let it become high-pitched with fear.

The beast’s beady eyes locked onto them, darting back and forth in a disconcerting rhythm.
Its gaze was intense, almost hypnotic, an as she stared into the dark, glassy depths, something
strange began to take shape, an image, hazy at first, then sharpening into focus: a baby,
perhaps a boy, with a scar on his—

The Wingbeast neighed, the sound a harsh, guttural wail, somewhere between a horse’s cry
and something more ancient, more mournful.

It stepped back, its massive form shifting as it lowered its neck in what almost seemed like a
gesture of respect—or was it curiosity? Then its attention drifted to the Sunspire Blooms
nearby, and with a huff that felt like a begrudging acknowledgement, it turned away, leaving
them in an unexpected peace.

As the magical shield dissipated, James took a deep, shaky breath beside her.

“You… saved me.”

“You shouldn’t have used the Sermentum Concordiae on me.”

“I didn’t,” James gulped, his hands now clutching a nearby tree trunk, fingers digging into
the bark, turning pale. Lily had never seen James Potter truly scared or horrified before, and
the strange look on his face left her feeling deeply disturbed.

“I take back any vow,” he said quickly, and for a moment, Lily thought she saw green strings
flicker around her wrist before they vanished. “Okay? It’s taken back.”

She felt as though she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs, yet she was taking in too
much at the same time.

Her cheeks burned with a rush of embarrassment and something else she couldn’t quite name.
She wanted to talk about something else, anything to get her mind off the thoughts that
threatened to pierce her heart.

“Look, at least we’ve caught it,” she gestured towards the subdued Wingbeast.

James, still catching up to the rapid change in their conversation, nodded. “You must want
something for this, right? Money? A higher status?” His offer stumbled out, half-hearted and
awkward.

“Statu—What?” Lily mumbled. “It had to be the vow. Even if you didn’t directly command
me, perhaps you thought it!”

James pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “I’ve told you, I didn’t
use it!”

“It was the vow, I’m sure!”

“Just tell me what you want to keep this quiet! How many galleons? I can’t let the word of
this spread.”

Her reply was swift; she uncrossed her arms only to place her hands on her hips, leaning
forward slightly. “Because a girl saved you?”

James mirrored her exactly, hands on his hips and leaning forward, even attempting to match
the inflexion of her voice. “No, because a mudblood saved me!”

“You’re unbelievable—Ow!” Lily yelped as James threw a mushroom at her head. Instantly,
she scooped up a nut from the ground and hurled it back at him.

James’s next move was to pluck a leaf from a nearby bush, shredding it between his fingers.
It seemed to calm him. Ground him. And he stopped trembling. “Fine, I’ll get you a new
Nimbus then!”

She poked him in the chest with her wand, once, twice, thrice, each poke sharper than the
last. “I. Don’t. Want. Anything!”
James, always ready to push back, attempted to shove her away. But this time, Lily wasn’t
having it. Her height gave her a slight advantage, and she pushed back harder, sending him
tumbling to the ground. She wheezed, ready to turn back to the Wingbeast—

But James was quick to retaliate, his hand snaking out to catch her leg. “I’ll buy you a
mansion in Italy! France! Bulgaria, by Merlin’s beard!”

“Buy yourself some dignity!”

Their scuffle intensified, with James yanking her down to his level.

The ground beneath them, muddied from their tussle, offered no foothold as they slid, their
attempts to overpower each other sending splatters of dirt in all directions.

“You idiot! Why do you always ruin everything?” James’s accusation was more a gasp for air
than a coherent thought.

“Oh, sorry for saving your life!” Lily exclaimed as she pushed his face into the mud.

She smiled in satisfaction as she watched him struggle to breathe. However, her triumph was
short-lived as James’s fingers found themselves tangled in her curls, pulling with an urgency
that made her eyes line with silver.

“I should have let that beast kill you!” Lily spat out, feeling as if her scalp was being torn
from her head.

“I should have buried you when I had the chance!” James whined, his hands moving to her
neck and squeezing with a burst of power she didn’t know he possessed.

“Well, don’t stop on our account,” Dorcas whistled, looming over them with a grin that
curled like the edge of a crescent moon.

Mud-drenched and breathless, they paused, the world beyond their struggle snapped back
into focus, surrounded by a semi-circle of wide-eyed classmates.

Professor Zhao, arms folded against his chest, shook his head. “I hate children.”

Sirius hobbled over, looking like he’d just emerged from a duel with a particularly vengeful
bush.

Marlene, barely a beat behind, tripped into the clearing, her hair a wild tangle, dotted with
mud and a streak of blood that she seemed oblivious to. She opened her mouth, then paused,
her eyes darting between them, and the ground they were entangled on.

Lily, meanwhile, was coming to the realization of her rather compromising position:
sprawled in the mud with James Potter, as if they’d decided to take a relaxing mud bath in the
middle of the forest. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause on its axis.

Then, Lily let out a scream—a sound so piercing it seemed to ruffle the leaves on the trees.
Marlene walked over to Lily, but soon, everyone realized the scream hadn’t come from Lily
at all.

Severus, with a look of anger that seemed to belong only to him, was the actual source, being
yanked away from the scene by his collar.

Zhao clicked his tongue. “Mister Snape, calm yourself, they are not dead!” But then, his
academic curiosity seemed to win him over. “Wait—is that the Wingbeast?”

As the dust settled, everyone’s attention shifted to the Wingbeast calmly munching on the
ground, seemingly indifferent to the human drama unfolding around it.

Lily watched as Professor Zhao raced toward the creature with a shout, “Hagrid’s going to
love this!”

“Get off me!” James’s hands slammed into Lily’s shoulders, sending her sprawling toward the
dry grass beneath them. “Filthy mudblood!”

His insult barely registered through the ringing in her ears. As she struggled to catch her
breath, she saw the Slytherins, led by Barty and Evan, rushing to his side, their hurried steps
blurring past her vision.

Just as she was about to seriously consider throwing another nut at his head to see how riled
up he would get, Marlene’s thin arms found her hands and helped her up. The warmth and
calluses of her grip somehow managed to calm Lily’s nerves, especially as she heard the
blonde ask, “So, who snagged it?”

“Marlene! How about checking on Lily first?” Mary sighed, approaching the two of them.

“Yeah, you’re… fine, right?” Marlene gave Lily a quick once-over, brushing away the
branches and leaves from her hair as if they were mere trifles. “But seriously, who caught it?”

From the background, James’s voice rose, warning Evan against any misdirected spells.

“We both did,” Lily found herself saying.

Eldric stepped closer, his smirk replaced by a curt nod. “Fighting alongside the Slytherin
captain for the win? Evans, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Marlene slapped her forehead.

“This means we both win fifty points!” cheered Mary as she playfully dragged Marlene away,
who was still grumbling about her missed chance to outdo the Slytherins.

Severus joined Lily as the crowd dispersed. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he suggested, eyeing
James with undisguised disgust.

Lily moaned, shaking her head at the sight. “A fuse waiting to explode. That’s James for
you.”
 “What exactly happened?” Severus probed.

Their conversation paused as Professor Zhao’s voice boomed nearby. “This is brilliant! A
Wingbeast is never this calm around humans!”

Curious, a Ravenclaw student stepped closer, reaching out to gently stroke the creature.
“What makes them quiet down?” she asked.

Zhao chuckled. “Legend says that they are gentle around those who share a special
connection. They’re thought to sense harmony and understanding between souls.”

“Ridiculous,” Sirius added as he walked past, having caught Zhao’s words. He moved
quickly to James’s side, slipping under his friend’s arm to support him with the care one
would give the sun itself—irreplaceable and central to his world.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed this chapter because it was a very, very important one. Not only did
it establish James and Lily's early relationship, transitioning from the 'enemy' territory to
the 'frenemies' zone, but it also laid the groundwork for their development into friends
and, eventually... *drumroll please*:

🎀 lovers 🎀
😮‍💨🤌🏻
There's still a long way to go until we reach that point, but as you can see, progress is
being MADE, however slow it might feel.
 Summer, 1973 - PART I
Chapter Notes

I gave you approximately six days to get over the last chapter; I know, I am actually

🥸
Alex Hirsch's evil twin in disguise. You are going to be fed a spoonful of DOUBLE
updates, whether you like it or not!

Bone Appleteeth, or whatever French people say.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

LILY
June, 1973
Lily’s world, on the other hand, had always been centred around her family, more often than
not.

On Monday nights, her father used to make shadow puppets with his hands under the covers
of Petunia’s bed, all while weaving tales of faraway lands and rabbits too late for tea parties,
and a girl who ran after them with great speed.

On Wednesday mornings at precisely 9 o’clock, her mother used to switch on the telly for her
favourite pirated Spanish series, a dramatic telenovela filled with ‘drama’ that she was ‘too
young’ to understand fully. Her mother always sat in her favourite spot on the couch, the left
side that stayed in the shade. Lily remembered it well because, from her seat, the sun often
glared into her eyes, making it hard to see anything on the small screen.

On Fridays, just before lunch, Lily used to play hide and seek with the neighbour’s dog,
Rufus. His golden coat shimmered in the sunlight until she accidentally turned him a ghastly
shade of red one day. Poor Missus Winston had fainted at the sight, her wide-brimmed hat
tumbling to the ground.

Saturday evenings, though, had been, and still were, for Severus and her.

They’d take walks in the park, and play tag. Inevitably, they’d end up lying on the damp
grass, the cool blades tickling their skin, talking about anything and everything as the twilight
hues painted the sky.

But lately, Severus’s interest had honed in on one question, one he repeated with an almost
obsessive frequency.

“What?” he’d press, each time as if expecting a different answer.

Exasperated, Lily replied, “I’ve told you. I asked him to write a note to Slughorn—”

“That’s not what I’m after!” Severus sighed, his eyes bulging, seemingly on the verge of
popping from their sockets. Then, in a rush of words that seemed to spill out all at once, he
mumbled, “I want to know what you two were really doing, stumbling around in the mud.”

Lily’s jaw dropped. “So, that’s been your burning question for the past three weeks? Not
whether Potter hurt me, or how we ended up catching the Wingbeast?”

“Forget the blasted Wingbeast!”

She reeled back slightly.

“It has to be some kind of jab at me,” Severus muttered, more to himself than to Lily.
“Because I pushed too far with my… questions.” he hesitated, realizing she was paying full
attention. “About the latest assignment. He was annoyed and saw an opportunity to exploit
our friendship, surely.”
“Maybe give your lie another thought before trying it out on me,” she said, sitting up
straighter and propping herself up on her elbows.

Severus’s face flushed pink. “Forget that. I just want to know—why was he practically on top
of you?”

“He was trying to choke the life out of me! And honestly, I doubt he wanted to be that close;
he probably finds me as repulsive as he says.”

“Bloody hell, he despises you that much?”

“Sev!” Lily shouted.

“What? I’m just asking! ”

“You’re asking if Potter has a penchant for treating me poorly?”

“No, I was only curious about his opinion on you—or rather, on all Gryffindors,” Severus
clarified awkwardly.

Lily shook her head. “He couldn’t care less about us, trust me.”

There was a shuffle, a look away. “I’m sorry. It was just so jarring seeing you with him. It’s
common knowledge the two of you mix about as well as oil and water. It unsettled me. It
unsettled everyone. But,” he cocked his head to the side, “you did whatever you did, for me,
to get that note, and I’m grateful. You didn’t have to, especially not after how he’s treated you
and your friends. I appreciate it.”

She lay back down on the grass, the cold wetness seeping into her hair. “You don’t have to
worry about me,” she said.

“But I do,” Severus confessed. “About who you’re with, what you’re doing—sometimes I
wish I could be by your side, always.”

“We have the whole summer,” Lily reassured him. “Just you and me. We can make the most
of it.”

“Of course,” Severus threw her a thin smile. “But promise me you’re being careful,
understanding the game better?”

“I am trying to,” Lily lied.

Actually, she was a terrible liar, but what she had done in the forest with James had been a
pure impulse. She hadn’t meant to attack him, which had led to a series of consequences she
would rather forget. She had promised Severus she would think with her head, but the second
she had seen James’s eyes—those sharp, mocking eyes—every sensible thought had
vanished.

Severus’s next question came out hesitantly. “So you’re avoiding James, then?”
Lily paused. “As long as he doesn’t harm me or my friends, yes, I am.”

There.

That should be enough to—

“And Lupin?”

“What about him?”

Severus had that look again, the one where his eyebrows did this little dance, like they were
trying to figure out if they were more at home furrowing in worry or arching in curiosity. “I
mean, I heard that he’s dangerous as well.”

“From whom?”

“People.”

She stood a bit straighter, feeling that familiar fire sparking up in her. “Well, I like him,” she
rushed to add, “Not like that,” as her cheeks decided it was a great time to heat up. “Remus is
my good friend, nothing more.”

Severus’s expression tightened, almost imperceptibly, but she caught it.

“And I’m stronger than I look, Sev. I can handle boys like James.”

“I know,” Severus sighed. “That’s what I am scared of the most.”

“Oh, now that is utter nonsense, and you know it,” Petunia scoffed, her eyebrows knitting
together as she loomed over Lily’s shoulder. “There is no such thing as a ‘Quidditch World
Cup’—or whatever that means.”

Lily turned around, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

Petunia’s complexion paled. “Is there?” She snatched the letter from Lily’s hand, her eyes
flicking rapidly across the lines. “Oh, of course, there is; this is from that McKinnon girl.”

The letter that Petunia was holding in her manicured hands was a two-page description of
how a Quidditch player had almost fallen off their broom, hanging on by one hand as the
crowd had screamed. Two teammates had dived in, catching him just in time and pulling him
back up, the stadium erupting in cheers.

Lily lunged for the letter, her balance wavering as she stood on tiptoes, fingertips just
brushing the edges of the wrinkled paper Petunia held with a firm grip.
“Sorry, Lil,” Petunia teased, stepping back, “you need to be at least this tall”—she gestured to
her own height—“to play with me now.”

“Rubbish,” Lily retorted, lunging at her sister. She felt the jolt as they both hit the bedroom
floor.

“My hair!” Petunia yelped, her hands flying to her head to secure the stylish headscarf that
had slipped askew. “Alright! Enough!”

Lily’s laughter faded into breathless giggles as she lay on the floor. “You always liked
playing ‘bear-goes-where’ with me,” she said, her voice softening.

Petunia sat up, huffing as she meticulously dusted off the invisible lint from her clothes. She
wore a crisp white blouse tucked into a high-waisted plaid skirt, her polished Mary Janes
reflecting the light.

“I still do,” her sister glanced down at Lily’s outfit—faded bell-bottom jeans and a worn
Beatles T-shirt—and asked, “Is that what you’re wearing?”

She looked down at her outfit, her fingers nervously twisting the ends of her braids. “Yes?”

Petunia shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. “Oh, bless. But we really need to get going.
Mum and Dad are probably beeping the horn by now.”

Ah, of course.

Sunday mornings meant visiting their grandmother in Maplewood, a quaint town a bit farther
from Cokeworth.

Normally, Lily loved these visits. They were a cherished escape, a chance to reconnect with
the world she left behind during her eight months at Hogwarts—a world that grounded her,
offering a glimpse of a simpler, more familiar future.

But today’s journey felt different.

Off, even.

Petunia claimed the front seat, pointing out directions and landmarks with surprising
confidence, leaving Lily to ponder and stare through the window. The familiar streets of their
neighbourhood seemed different. Houses she had once known now felt unfamiliar, their
details blurred. The paint seemed more weathered, the grass a bit wilder.

“So,” her father said, his eyes on the road ahead, “how is that little school of yours?”

Lily cleared her throat. “Hogwarts?” she replied, the name tasting both familiar and distant,
like a forgotten tune remembered suddenly.

“That’s the one,” her father muttered, his knuckles pale against the steering wheel.“You know
you can leave that place whenever you want.” His eyes caught her mother’s in the rearview
mirror, a fleeting exchange before he added, “Right, Claire?”
Petunia’s eyes darted over her shoulder, a gaze laden with meaning that needed no words.
“They read the letter,” her look seemed to convey, a silent message sent with the precision of
a finely tuned instrument.

“I can see that! It would have been nice to inform me!” Lily widened her eyes a fraction,
ensuring Petunia got the message.

Truth be told, from the moment her parents picked her up at the train station, Lily had sensed
an unsettling undercurrent. Her mother hadn’t asked about her classes, and her father hadn’t
made his usual jokes about her height. Instead, there was a brittle silence, like the stillness
before a storm.

“Oh, absolutely, darling,” Claire said, her voice carefully controlled. She patted the seat
beside her, beckoning Lily closer. “If anyone’s giving you grief or you’re unhappy, there’s no
shame in calling it quits. I spoke with Headmaster Brown, and he’s fine with you switching
schools this year.”

“That’s Brown for you,” Frank nodded with approval. “Solid bloke. Been a rock for you and
Petunia, hasn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Petunia piped up, turning to her with a grin. “He was the one who egged me on
to finish that history project. The one about the Tudors I mentioned in my letter a few months
back?”

“Oh, I remember that,” her mother laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “All this time, I thought
Henry VIII had five wives, not six.”

“Mum, don’t you remember that advert we saw on the telly? How did it go again—”

“—divorced, beheaded, survived—”

“The only royal fuss I keep up with is Princess Margaret,” her mother sighed, shaking her
head. “Honestly, that woman’s everywhere these days. You’ve seen that bit, haven’t you,
love?” her mother asked, glancing her way.

“We don’t exactly have telly at Hogwarts,” she mumbled, her voice barely rising above the
hum of the car engine.

“Well, what’s new over there, then?” Frank chuckled, trying to keep the mood light.

“Oh, well, we had the Quidditch tryouts between Slytherin and Gryffindor not too long ago.
Professor Binns is his usual self, though he gets quite animated with tales of Merlin and King
Arthur. Severus and I even nicked off to Hogsmeade; had ourselves some butterbeer there.”

Silence fell over the car for a few heartbeats.

“The what tryouts?” her father finally asked.

“What’s a Slytherin?” her mother’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“King Arthur’s real?” Petunia’s voice overlapped.

A nervous giggle slipped out. “Never mind,” she whispered, sinking deeper into her mum’s
arms.

“Well, I’m glad you’re learning what you need to at that school,” her father said. “But you
don’t need to prove anything to those people by putting yourself under immense pressure.
Just say the word, and you can come home.”

“I know, Dad,” Lily sighed. The car lapsed into silence once more. She could feel her
mother’s questioning gaze, saw Petunia chewing her bottom lip, and sensed her father’s
words hanging in the air with a bad scent—like spoiled milk.

This was bad.

Her parents thought she was failing at Hogwarts. Thought she wasn’t cut out to be a witch.
And if there was one thing she hated more than failing, it was pity. Especially from her
family.

If her family didn’t truly believe that she belonged at Hogwarts, did her friends—did Potter
think the same as well?

Had that been why he had been so horrible to her?

She didn’t quite want to know.

Just—

“—look at how much you’ve grown, my dearest,” her grandmother, Daisy Evans, exclaimed,
hugging Lily tightly and swaying her gently from side to side. “They must be feeding you
well at that school, aren’t they?”

“It’s a very expensive one,” her mother clarified awkwardly.

“I still don’t understand why you haven’t gone there as well, Petunia,” Daisy sighed, patting
Petunia’s back with a kind gesture.

Petunia stiffened, the colour rising in her cheeks. “I… well, I just couldn’t get in,” she said,
forcing a smile that barely reached her eyes.

“I’d like to see it,” Daisy turned to Lily. “The school, I mean. Perhaps I can come to your
graduation in a few years?”

“Sure, Gran,” Lily said, trying to sound reassuring. The idea was absurd—her grandmother
couldn’t step on the grounds of Hogwarts without triggering all sorts of magical alarms. Her
feet would melt off her body the moment she crossed the threshold. But that was a problem
for her future self, not for now.

“Come,” Daisy said, beckoning with a wave of her hand, “let me show you my garden!”

Daisy Evans’ infamous garden, a riot of colours and life, was the envy of all London, at least
in Lily’s humble opinion.

Roses climbed trellises with reckless abandon, their blossoms like blushing secrets whispered
in the twilight.

Dahlias stood tall and proud, their petals unfurling like the skirts of dancers caught in mid-
twirl.

“Look here,” Daisy said, pointing to a cluster of peonies, their lush, heavy heads bowing
under the weight of their own beauty. “These are my pride and joy this season.”

“It’s beautiful, Gran,” Lily said softly.

Though, it was a wonder these flowers thrived in London’s perpetual gloom.

They wandered deeper into Daisy’s garden, which seemed to stretch endlessly, a lush oasis
shaped by the wise investments of Lily’s late grandfather. He had been one of those fortunate
few who bought land for next to nothing and later sold it for a tidy sum, securing a
comfortable life for his family.

Her father, being an only child, had no siblings to share the inheritance.

This meant the entirety of the garden and house would one day be hers and Petunia’s.

Frank Evans, however, had always been indifferent to money, and Lily was certain his mother
would gladly turn it down when the time came. Not that it was a vast fortune, but enough,
Lily suspected, for her father to squirrel away for her and Petunia’s university fees.

Right.

University.

She had no dreams beyond graduating from Hogwarts.

At eleven, she had hoped to immerse herself fully in the wizarding world.

But two years later, with all the trouble she had faced, she wasn’t sure if her mental health
could handle a lifetime among the purebloods and their rigid expectations.

She imagined a future back in the mundane world: the drone of a monotonous job that dulled
her senses, the grey walls of an office pressing in on her.

Meeting a nice man whose eyes lit up politely when she recounted the prosaic details of their
dinner.
Their children trudging to the local school, backpacks slung over small shoulders, faces blank
with routine.

Casual chats with co-workers about how the week was going to be ‘rough’ because the boss
had just gotten divorced—empty words filling empty spaces.

Still, she thought, she could handle it.

There would be moments of warmth that made life seem less tedious, surely.

The comforting press of her lover’s hand in hers, the gleam of their wedding rings catching
the light, the peals of laughter from her children. The delight of visiting Petunia after a month
of busy work.

But could she really spend seven years at Hogwarts, only to return to a life so devoid of
magic?

She stared at the sky for a second, trying to make sense of her thoughts, as the sun, for the
first time in weeks, peeked through the clouds.

“I shall get you two some tea,” Daisy said, heading back inside.

“Look,” Petunia said, pointing at a cluster of flowers. “Petunias!”

Three petunias stood out, their soft pastel purple petals adorned with sparkling raindrops.

“This is so strange,” Petunia said, her fingers lightly brushing the petals. “These flowers are
usually not this tall.”

Lily’s gaze followed her sister’s hand, noting how the petunias towered over the lilies,
casting long shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally.

Her sister paused, noticing Lily had gone quiet. She turned to her, eyes darting around the
garden, before leaning in to whisper, “Perhaps it’s time we talked about that letter you sent
me.”

There it was.

The elephant in the room—or the garden, whichever fit this already horrendous day.

“Why did you tell our parents?” Lily demanded, her breath quickening.

“I told you in my letter that I would,” Petunia replied, her back straightening as she spoke. “I
thought you were having a manic episode!” She glanced around, her fingers tapping a rhythm
on her thigh. “And besides, how else were we supposed to transition you to Saint Margo’s?”

“I don’t know,” Lily’s shoulders sagged as she scuffed the toe of her shoe against the ground,
a tiny cloud of dust rising. “I wasn’t thinking clearly when I wrote that letter. I was scared
and angry at James—”
“James?” Petunia’s eyes narrowed, and she took a deliberate step back, as if physically
distancing herself would help her understand. “Who is James?”

Lily coughed, her hands twisting together. “I mean—”

“Who is James?” Petunia repeated, her blue eyes sharp and searching. “Is he the one causing
you trouble? Did he hurt you?” Her gaze swept over Lily’s bare arms, as though expecting to
see marks that weren’t there.

Lily hugged her arms to her chest.

God, she should have told Petunia about James. She really should have. But what good would
it do? A privileged boy in a world detached from Muggle laws would face no consequences
here. The wizarding world had its own minister, its own system of justice, far more insular
and powerful than anything the Muggles could offer. And if she did tell Petunia about James,
their parents would find out immediately. Goodbye Hogwarts, hello Saint Margo’s.

“He’s just one of those posh boys at school,” Lily said, trying to keep her explanation simple.

“Posh?” Petunia repeated, her brow furrowing. “Thought Hogwarts was just a place for
oddballs—and the occasional proper witch like that McKinnon girl.”

“I am also a proper witch,” Lily defended herself. “But there are plenty of wealthy wizards
and witches there. Getting into Hogwarts either takes natural talent or a lot of money.”

“How much money?”

“Picture a dragon’s hoard,” Lily said hurriedly. “Mountains of gold, jewels spilling
everywhere. Enough to buy a small country.”

“Oh my God,” Petunia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “So when you said that world
felt alienating—”

“Tuney,” Lily whispered.

Petunia turned away, “—you mean to say you were mingling with old money? Fortunes
beyond our wildest dreams? What on earth were you thinking, writing that letter?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she whined. “I thought
by the time I turned thirteen, I’d be wiser, stronger, more certain. But it feels like I know
nothing at all. I’m changing my mind faster than a cat on a hot tin roof. One minute, I want to
run away from Hogwarts; the next, I want to stay there forever.”

Petunia chuckled, her face briefly obscured by shadows as the clouds above turned a moody
grey. “Lily,” she sighed, “no one knows what they want at any given time. Do you really
think Granny has it all figured out? Or Mum? Or Dad?”

A distant rumble of thunder promised a downpour. Lily’s eyes, wide and searching, met her
sister’s. “Don’t they? They are adults.”
Petunia shook her head, her hair catching the breeze. “Being an adult doesn’t mean life
magically—” she paused, her lips curling slightly in irony, “—well, it doesn’t mean life
magically falls into place, at least not in our world. You constantly go through changes.”

“That’s the problem because I don’t,” Lily murmured, her fingers nervously scratching at her
chest. “God, I feel daft.”

Petunia reached out, grasping Lily’s hands firmly. “You are not daft,” she said. “You’re one
of the smartest people I know and for Heaven’s sake, Lil, stop—you’ll scratch yourself raw at
this rate!”

Petunia’s fingers paused for a moment. “Maybe it’s time for those new bras with better
support,” she suggested, scowling. “Your posture is terrible.”

Lily automatically wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers tracing the soft, worn fabric
of her shirt. “Tuney!”

Out of the corner of her eye, their grandmother, materialized from behind the rose bushes, a
china teacup balanced in her hand. “I agree,” she said, “those sports bras you love might be
getting a bit snug, dearest.”

“Granny!” Lily’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Where had she come from? Stil, it didn’t
matter, the last thing she wanted was this conversation in front of her family.

Petunia ignored the tension, her gaze set on the storm clouds gathering overhead. “You say
you are not changing,” she continued as she watched Daisy return to arranging flowers. “But
you are. Physically and mentally.”

A gust of wind picked up.

“You are wrong,” Lily huffed.

“And you are stubborn,” Petunia sighed, bending down to help their grandmother pull a
withered flower from the soil. The petals crumbled in her hand. She paused, then glanced
back over her shoulder at Lily, her expression softening. “Just because you don’t feel like
you’re growing up doesn’t mean you aren’t.”

The sky opened up and fat raindrops began to fall, splattering onto the garden with a
satisfying plop.

Over dinner, her mum posed the question, “So you are sticking with Hogwarts, then?”

Caught mid-sip, Lily lowered her glass, water beading at the rim, and shared a quick,
knowing look with Petunia. “I believe so.”
Her mum’s reaction was one of quiet satisfaction, a nod of approval as she continued, “Good,
I hoped you’d complete your education there before deciding what comes next. Mister Brown
is nice and all, but he appears to be contemplating retirement soon. As you know, Petunia is
almost done with her schooling there, without her and Headmaster Brown, I wouldn’t want to
send you to another school I’m unfamiliar with; I’d much prefer Hogwarts.”

Her father chewed thoughtfully on a forkful of shepherd’s pie, his raised eyebrows the only
sign of support.

Petunia broke the silence, her eyes narrowing as she pointed to a small black box sitting on
the counter behind them. “What’s that?”

Her mother glanced over. “While cleaning the attic at your grandmother’s today, I found
some trinkets you and Lily played with when you were younger. Thought you two might like
to see if there’s anything you want to keep.”

A sceptical smile twitched at Frank’s lips. He leaned back, crossing his arms. “That’s awfully
nice of you.”

“Mum told me to throw away everything that wasn’t hers,” Claire sighed wistfully.

Her father chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, shaking his head as he placed his fork
down. “And there she is.”

“Let me see,” Petunia sang as she sprang from her seat. She lunged at the box, tearing it open
with eager hands.

The excitement in her eyes quickly drained away, leaving a look of disillusionment as she
peered inside.

She brought the box to the table, her movements now slower and more subdued.

Two bracelets woven from strings in various shades of green lay on top, accompanied by
painted rocks, a wilted flower crown, and two small socks with googly eyes.

“When did we even make these?” Petunia’s smile was tight, a mere twitch of her lips, holding
up the items for everyone to see.

But within Lily, a spark of warmth kindled, spreading through her chest like the first rays of
dawn.

Memories drifted back—

Had she been seven? Perhaps six? It was before her powers had started to emerge. Her eyes
shone with unshed tears.

Maybe the ordinary life she feared wouldn’t be so bland after all.

Colour had always been a part of her world, long before Hogwarts.
She whispered, “I love it.”

Petunia leaned in, her voice barely more than a sigh. “You do?”

“Yes,” Lily replied, her fingers deftly fastening one of the bracelets around her wrist. It was a
bit loose, but as she looked at it, she saw the greens intertwined like the tendrils of a vine.

The conversation hiccuped when a sharp thud echoed against the glass. Forks hovered,
suspended in surprise, while her dad squinted towards the sound, “Was that a bird?”

Feathers, a brief white flurry, confirmed his guess.

Lily’s heart raced. Her friends’ letters usually trickled in by mid-summer, not like this,
unannounced and urgent. Could it be something about Remus? Was he kicked out? In
trouble?

While Lily was tangled in her worries, her mum had already risen from her chair, moving
with a purpose to the window. She slid it open just in time for their visitor to swoop in, an
owl with manners as serious as the package it carried.

With a practised motion, it released a sleek, black suitcase onto the kitchen table, where it
landed with a soft thud before vanishing back into the night.

For a moment, they all just stared at the suitcase, taking in its out-of-place elegance.

Then, without warning, the absurd happened: the suitcase blinked.

Eyes, clear and undeniably alive, emerged from the black leather surface, adorned with silver
trimmings, and looked straight at them.

“It’s alive!” Petunia was on her feet, her chair scraping back violently as she dashed towards
the safety of the door.

The moment the suitcase said “Layla” in a tone sounding of a late-night radio host, her dad
was on the floor as quickly as if someone had pulled the rug from under him.

“Lily!” her mum blurted out, her gaze ping-ponging between her toppled husband and the
luggage. “What in the world is this?”

The suitcase relentlessly repeated, “Layla Something Something. Gift for Layla Something
Something,” like a song stuck on a loop.

“Who’s Layla?” her mum shouted, attempting to rouse her father. “Frank!” she urged.

Petunia stormed back into the kitchen, gripping a giant broom with both hands. “I’ll kill it!
Everybody move!” she shouted.

Lily’s thoughts zeroed in on a baffling fact. There was only one person who had ever
mangled her name into ‘Layla’ over and over, a detail so specific it couldn’t be ignored.
Through clenched teeth, she admitted, “That’s me,” to the suitcase.

A hush fell over the kitchen, the kind that amplified every small sound.

Lily took a deep breath, straightening up as much as she could. “That’s me,” she said again,
louder this time.

To her surprise and everyone else’s, it clicked open.

What they saw inside was astonishing: gold spilling out—not just any gold, but coins, each
curve and edge reflecting light, turning the room into a miniature sun.

“How did that owl carry all this?” her mother hissed.

“What on earth,” her dad grunted, stumbling to his feet, his face pale and drenched in sweat.

Petunia’s broom clattered to the floor, forgotten, as they all stared at the open suitcase in
shock.

Lily gingerly picked up the letter nestled among the coins. The paper felt heavy, luxurious,
almost laughably fancy for what felt like an extravagant joke:

“It’s a double-edged sword, you see, a cycle. We’ve swung it, and now it’s come full circle.
We’re even.

— James Fleamont Potter.”

But how?

How did James even figure out where she lived?

Petunia gasped, her eyes locking onto the card in Lily’s hand. “James Fleamont Potter?”

Claire turned sharply, her eyes narrowing. “Who?”

“It’s from him, isn’t it? That posh boy you were so furious with?” Petunia’s fingers grazed
the coins.

“Who got furious at whom?” Claire demanded, hands now firmly on her hips. “Oh, Frank,
get up!”

The card in her hand felt like it was burning through her skin.

James Potter had somehow managed to transport the chaos he excelled at in school right into
her home, the one place she had hoped to escape him.

Her stomach churned, a bitter taste rising in her throat.

That inconsiderate swine.

Chapter End Notes

‘Bear-goes-where’ is not a real game, by the way. Simply a game that I came up with
because I wanted Tuney & Lily’s childhood games to be unpredictable and strange-
sounding, just like them.

Also, happy one-year anniversary! (Sort of? I forgot 😭)

You're not going to like the next chapter, so here’s some Q&A because why not? (most
of these came from TikTok!)

+ Will there be Jegulus?

- No.

+ Where is Harry Potter?

- You JUST met him; read chapter nineteen CAREFULLY. 🤗
+ How mature is this fic?
- I wouldn’t recommend anyone under the age of fifteen/sixteen to read it; trust me, this
is to keep your sanity intact.

+ How did you come up with it?

- Here is the link to my edit from 2023, the very same date I came up with the idea of
Selcouth, and possibly to give you the early draft of this story. (The comments I received
got me thinking, so you can say my followers played a huge part in shaping this story
into what it is today.)

click to watch the edit

+ When will Jily happen?

- *sweats* That’s a great question! A brilliant one, even. And the answer is—

+ Do you have any recommendations for writing tools?

- Absolutely! Here are my go-to's because I don’t gatekeep: Grammarly, Google
Translate, and ChatGPT: Perfect for spell checks, punctuation, and sentence structure,
especially if English isn’t your first language. Sometimes, I write one of the most toe-
curling, mouth-watering sentences in my native language, but then I have a hard time
translating it because my TikTok brainrot has ruined English for me, so these tools help

🎀
platform.) But I’m just a bit of a perfectionist, and I might be a little
don’t mind me using 1304 tools for writing.
🎀
a lot. (These are the super duper secret weapons for me and my friends who write on this
insane so

Remember that fanfiction is all about you, about what you want, and how you want to
do it. Write for yourself first and foremost.

Now, let’s talk business. 🤓🤌🏻

Thank you to those who have been nothing but kind in this comment section. Your
comments make me very, very, very happy, and I feel like I cannot express my love for
you enough here.

I'm very sorry for what you are about to read next, and what the Author's note will be
right after!

A double update awaits, my dear Watson, brace yourself.

 Summer 1973, PART II
Chapter Notes

TW: Emetophobia (Fear of Vomiting), Physical Violence, Graphic Descriptions of

Torture, Blood, Death.

Any silly goose that might get easily affected by the trigger warnings listed should stop
reading from this point forward! We are meeting ‘the man of the hour’, so buckle your
seatbelts and enjoy the ride.
JAMES
July, 1973
The first month pretty much went how James figured it would. Despondent. Terrified.
Grieving. Take your pick, he’d cycled through every bad emotion he could think of.

He was deep in the library’s heart of the Black Manor, his wand casting a beam that danced
across the spines of countless books that seemed to swallow any glimmer of hope that might
ignite inside him.

“Where is it,” he found himself murmuring again and again, the soft light tracing his focused
face.

You see, he was after more than just a book.

After the fiasco he had endured in the forest with Layla, he was now searching for a legend
whispered in the hidden corners of the wizarding world. It was an old diary of a rather
renowned wizard—William, or something like that—who had written his insights on
‘magical vows.’ These were the kinds of vows you could supposedly bring to life with
nothing but a thought.

A far-fetched idea, possibly, but desperation had driven him to seek out even the most
unlikely solutions.

As the evening wore on, time seemed to fold into itself, the outside world retreating into the
background. It wasn’t until Sirius’s hand landed on his shoulder that he realized how long
he’d been searching.

“James!” his voice whined one moment and then dropped to an unusually deep register the
next as if his vocal cords couldn’t decide on a pitch. “James, I’m bored! How much longer
are you going to hide in here?”

James brushed his hand off. “I’m not hiding! I’m looking for a book.”

“Ah, of course,” Sirius drawled, casting a dubious glance around the library. “And you’ve
chosen the peak of Cissy’s engagement bash for this ‘academic pursuit’?”

A sigh escaped him as he turned to face Sirius. “Do you think Lucius has noticed I’m gone?”

“Take a wild guess,” Sirius quipped, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

Guided by Sirius’s relentless complaining, James made his way back to the Walpurgis
Banquet Hall, pausing at the entrance to gather his composure.

The hall emitted a sweet, musty odour and was barely lit, giving the impression of gaslight
illumination. The creamy-white, gleaming walls stretched up to high ceilings decorated with
chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds. Someone in the back was playing the piano.
Regulus, probably.
“Everyone is quite squiffy,” Sirius said, scanning the room.

He could tell.

Rodolphus hovered near the piano, stumbling slightly to the left and right, his off-key voice
grating like a crow’s caw.

With Bellatrix off doing who knows what with the ‘Dark Lord,’ it left him a bit more curious
about how her and Rodolphus’s marriage was going.

“No, really, listen—listen, my dad’s been obsessed with that mansion in Wiltshire for years,”
Lucius’s slightly slurred voice carried across the room.

Spotting James, his expression shifted to a devilish grin. “When’s your formal objection to
this engagement scheduled?” he joked.

Great.

You almost ruined one wedding, and now everyone expected you to ruin another.

He drew a strained laugh and played along, despite the awkwardness. “Sometime this
evening!” he shouted back, and that was that.

Eventually, the night wound down—or rather, James, Sirius, and Regulus were herded away,
deemed too young to socialise further with the night’s wild crowd.

Once secluded in Sirus’s bedroom, Regulus immediately complained, “My stomach’s in

knots. Too much caviar, I reckon.”

James, finding comfort on the bed beside him, stretched out leisurely. It had a charm to it, a
canopy overhead sprinkled with a constellation pattern that seemed to glow faintly, casting
soft starlight upon them.

“Should have listened to Sirius, he warned you, didn’t he?” he asked as he side-eyed
Regulus.

Regulus shifted uncomfortably, his young face scrunching up slightly. “I don’t have to listen
to everything he says.”

Hearing this, James couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, a sound as light and carefree as the
faux stars twinkling above.

Regulus, though only eleven, was already so fiercely determined to forge his own path,
stepping out from the larger-than-life shadow Sirius cast.

“Fair enough,” James conceded. “But having Sirius in your corner at Hogwarts isn’t half bad.
He’s got a way of making things go your way.”

“Does he really look out for you?”

“Always,” James answered, finding himself smiling without even meaning to.

They lapsed into a quiet, filled only by the sound of Sirius brushing his teeth, and the distant,
muffled laughter still making its way up from the party.

“Jamie,” Regulus said hesitantly.

“What?” James’s reply was a whisper, the tiredness making him less bothered by the
nickname.

There was a moment, brief and almost missed, where Regulus fidgeted, his fingers picking at
the edge of the blanket. “What if I don’t end up in Slytherin?”

That question had James sitting up abruptly. “Reggie,” he began, voice cracking in surprise,
prompting a quick cough to find his steadier tone again.

Sirius’s entrance, with a towel slung casually around his neck, momentarily paused the
conversation. “That’s not going to happen,” he said, like he was stating the obvious.

“But what if it does?” Regulus pressed. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?”

Sirius’s usually calming grey eyes—reminding James of the soft hues of dawn—sharpened,
becoming like stone unyielding under a harsh waterfall.

In moments like this, James was painfully reminded that Sirius was a Black, a force that
could silence a room with a look, command attention without a word.

“James had asked the same question once,” he said. “Uncle Fleamont lost it with him, Reg. If
I hadn’t jumped in… it was bad. Could’ve been much worse.”

James raised a curious brow at that. He hadn’t realized Sirius had been of help that day. But
there was a faint, hazy memory, the sensation of arms wrapping around his own, guiding him,
urging him to stand, to snap out of the fog.

Sirius yanked the towel from around his neck, his hands working it back and forth as he
spoke. “I can’t stand by and let something like that happen, to James or to you. I hate it when
you two get hurt, again and again…” His voice trailed off, the towel now a knotted mass
between his clenched fists. “So trust me, you’ll get into Slytherin. I’ll see to it myself if I have
to.”

“Did it hurt, when Uncle Fleamont…?” Regulus’s voice faded into a hush.

“Yes,” James admitted, catching Sirius turning away briefly, a hand sweeping through his
hair.

“Was it worth it?”

“Yes,” James whispered, a simple word. “Yes, it was.”

The morning came with a kind of discomfort James couldn’t quite place, a strange dance
between feeling too warm and yet shivering, as if the manor itself was caught in a battle
between seasons.

This feeling remained as he padded softly across the cold, dark marble floor, the chill seeping
through his socks.

He was aiming for the early morning outside, eager to catch the first glimpse of sunrise.

However, his sleep-muddled brain miscalculated, drawing him not towards the grand
entrance but into the confines of Uncle Alphard’s study.

While it wasn’t exactly messy, the room teetered on the brink of disorder. Books piled up on
every conceivable surface, and the tables were a jumble of papers, ashtrays, whiskey bottles,
and chocolate boxes.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, the word barely escaping before he turned to leave, the door handle
cool under his tense grip.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Alphard’s tone drifted through the room, calm and steady.
Around him, swirls of smoke from his cigar moved like mist, a veil that parted just enough to
reveal the sharp twinkle in his eyes.

“Just woke up too early,” James’s response came hesitantly, his throat tightening as the
smoke seeped in, a fine mist that seemed to claw at his airways. “I always used to wake up at
this hour for Quidditch.”

“Ah, yes,” Alphard observed, pausing to savour another deliberate puff of his cigar. “I’m
aware, congratulations.”

“Thank—” he coughed, wildly, “—you.”

“You can open the window, if you’d like,” Alphard suggested with a chuckle.

James, at Alphard’s nod, drifted to the window and eased it open. A rush of cool dawn air
embraced him.

This window, unlike his, offered an view unrestricted, a slice of the world without bars or
locks. “Why doesn’t mine do that?” The question slipped out, more to himself than Alphard,
as he took in the grounds bathed in the hesitant light of dawn.

“Because your parents fear you might find the ground too tempting,” Alphard replied, his
tone matter-of-fact that suggested window-jumping was a regular concern in this household.

James made his way to a cushioned seat, absorbing the unexpected candidness of the room.
“Heard your mum hasn’t given you the third degree over your marks yet,” Alphard
mentioned, leaning back into his chair with ease.

“That’s ‘cause I aced them. Top marks,” James shrugged. “I don’t make the same mistake
twice.”

Alphard’s response came with a knowing smirk. “Taking a leaf out of my book, then?”

“Every page.”

“That’s good,” Alphard’s words emerged between a soft cough, sunlight casting a golden
sheen on his seasoned face. “You should be prepared,” he added.

James scrunched his nose. “Prepared for what exactly?”

“The Dark Lord.” A pause stretched. “I know your parents have been unusually reticent on
the subject, but it seems he has expressed an intense desire to meet you.”

He remembered Evan’s relentless nagging about the Dark Lord, the invisible strings pulling
him towards that idiotic figure. Now, it seemed, those strings had been finally cut.

“When?”

“Tonight,” Alphard’s answer fell like a stone in the quiet room.

“Tonight?” James could barely wrap his head around it, his heart hammering. “Nobody said a
word to me!”

Alphard leaned in. “It’s a test,” he mumbled. “They’re gauging your response.”

The revelation sent James’s mind into a tailspin. “You’ve actually seen him?”

“Once, more than enough for any lifetime.”

James’s breath caught in his throat. “But I thought everyone despised him.”

“I do,” Alphard was quick to affirm. “I can’t stand the man. But my influence only stretches
so far, child. I can’t make the entire family look away from him; they’re drawn to the Dark
Lord’s power like it’s heroin. But don’t fret, I’ll be with you tonight. We’ll see how things
stand, make sure you and Sirius don’t get too caught up in it.”

Too caught up in what?

A knock at the door disrupted their exchange. Without hesitation, Alphard ordered, “Enter.”

The door creaked open to reveal Euphemia Potter, whose gaze skipped immediately to
Alphard, zeroing in on the cigar between his long fingers.

“Smoking with him, really?” she chastised.

Alphard swirled his cigarette holder like a conductor’s baton. “I’m smoking in front of him,
my dear. There is a difference.”

Euphemia rolled her eyes, but her tone softened with worry. “He could fall ill from the scent
alone, he’s too valuable to risk.” She didn’t press further, recognizing the battle was already
lost. Turning her attention to James, she whispered, “Come with me.”

As they stepped out into the hall, James caught a quick, conspiratorial wink from Alphard.

They wove through the manor’s corridors, the sound of Euphemia's heels drilled into the
quiet. It was like a pulse quickening—click-clack, click-clack—each beat a notch tighter
around his chest, making it harder to draw a full breath. Another reason why reaching the
heavy door of his parent’s bedroom felt like surfacing for air, yet he came to realize, the
atmosphere inside was just as suffocating.

The room was draped in the soft gloom of sunrise, the rising light struggling through the
windows.

His father was sprawled in an armchair, looking as though he was moulded from frustration
and a deep-seated annoyance. He inhaled sharply, his face pale, his lips an alarming shade of
faint blue rather than the flush of anger James expected. “You had us worried out of our
minds! You can’t just wander off without so much as a word!” he snapped. “Have we taught
you nothing? What will the Dark Lord think when he sees you tonight if you keep
disappearing when we need you the most?”

James could tell his father was fishing for some sort of reaction, just as Uncle Alphard had
hinted might happen. Yet, he managed to keep his expression composed. “I was just looking
for some fresh air,” he shrugged. “And already I’m aware of tonight’s meeting with the Dark
Lord.”

Euphemia’s eyes seemed to grow wide at his response.

“I agreed to tonight because Evan insisted, and Uncle Alphard saw it fit,” he kept his voice
even.

“Alright,” his mother began, her fingers playing with the cuffs of her dress, already picking at
a loose bead, “We just want you to approach this with an open mind. His methods, his
ideology, it’s different, and—”

“I will,” James cut in, suppressing a yawn. “Is there anything else?”

His parents offered no response.

James raised a curious brow. “I guess that’s it.”

He turned to leave, but his eyes caught a reflection in the mirror—his mother’s arm, marked
with an intricate symbol.

The Dark Mark.

His mouth went dry, the words sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Fleamont unveiled his own arm, the same ominous symbol lying dormant on his wrist.

His mind reeled, bits of memory snapping into place—the long sleeves that had been the
norm in the Manor for weeks. So caught up was he in Andromeda’s situation, he hadn’t
noticed the signs right before his eyes.

How had he missed it?

“I thought branding your skin was a sin!” His vision blurred momentarily, the edges of his
sight darkening. “Bellatrix was ostracized for far less!”

“It’s the absence of it that’s the sin now!” Euphemia’s voice matched his in intensity.

“What?” James reeled. “You can’t be this daft, surely!”

“Watch your tone,” Fleamont cut in, but his words were quickly followed by a violent cough.

“Fleamont,” his mother moved toward his father, perhaps to offer assistance, but he simply
held out a hand, a clear command to stop.

“No!” his father rasped, a violent cough punctuating his words. Even in front of his wife,
Fleamont Potter hated to appear weak. Even in front of his own flesh and blood, he would
rather choke on his own fury than accept help.

James scoffed at the sight.

Euphemia stared at him for a moment, her chest heaved with each laboured breath, nostrils
flaring as she fixed her gaze on him. James saw the tremor in her hands, the fury that made
her whole body seem to vibrate with—

She reached for a fine piece of vase near the table, and she hurled it at him with all her might.
He ducked just in time, feeling the rush of air as it sailed past his head and exploded against
the wall, sending shards scattering like shrapnel.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, breaths coming so fast he feared he might collapse.

The woman grew madder each time he saw her.

First his father, and now, surely, his mother had lost it too. Their moods swung wildly,
changing within minutes, sometimes seconds. Either this Dark Lord was truly worsening
their state, or they were simply losing it. Perhaps it was both, which was—

“—Odd, isn’t it?” He gestured to the broken pieces lying in disarray. “You call me a child,
but I’m not the one resorting to tantrums!”

His words barely had time to hang in the air before his father’s response came not in words
but in magic, a spell that struck James with such force it sent him crashing to his knees.
Too far.

He went too far.

Again.

The memory of the last time his father had used an unforgivable against him, leaving him
unconscious from the pain, crushed him. And with Sirius not by his side this time, who
would come for him?

“Do you think we enjoy this? Being bound to a half-blood like the Dark Lord or whatever he
calls himself, who endlessly pontificates? But we are powerless to oppose him. He’s
significant, James. He wields power, and the Potters align with the powerful. That’s our way,
how we’ve endured for centuries. We’re merely safeguarding your future, ensuring your
protection.”

“I find that hard to believe,” James hissed, biting down on the inside of his cheek to contain
his anger. To stop himself from saying something else that might get him killed at the hands
of his parents.

As Fleamont approached and leaned in, the room felt as cold and desolate as a forest floor
covered in decaying leaves.

“Believe as you wish,” he said. Their faces were mere inches apart now. “But bear in mind,
should you decide to defy us tonight, I assure you, it would take me no more than three
seconds to flay the skin from your bones and crush them into dust, only to heal you so I
might start over.”

The harshness of his father’s warning left James completely mute.

The day felt endlessly long, burdening him with its weight until he was nestled in a carriage
beneath the gathering twilight, sandwiched between Sirius and Narcissa. Opposite him,
Andromeda seemed to take up more space than was possible, her legs stretched out.

“Stop moving so much,” Narcissa hissed, fussing over her dress, which threatened to crease
under Sirius’s constant shifting.

“Why wear a bloody dress to this thing anyway?” Sirius shot back.

Narcissa huffed, giving the fabric a swift, irritated tug. “I want to look presentable!”

“You look like a wedding cake!” Sirius squeaked, his pitch drawing an exasperated sigh from
Andromeda.

“Enough!” Andromed rubbed her temples. “Can we please have some quiet until we arrive?”

Sirius and Narcissa’s constant bickering was irritating, but Andromeda’s reactions had
become downright alarming.
James wasn’t sure if Andromeda had officially ended things with Ted, but whenever he saw
the brunette in the corridors, he looked gaunt and haunted, and honestly—James found it
rather funny. It was what he deserved for trying to steal Andromeda away from him.

Andromeda, meanwhile, had transformed into a colder, harder version of Bellatrix in the
remaining of their term.

Her patrols increased, and she began punishing students with unsettling frequency. She
adopted Bellatrix’s scowl, the same disdainful eyebrow raise at anything she disliked, and the
cruel laugh at Narcissa’s jokes.

James had memorized it, actually.

Her manicured hand would cover her small mouth, and a high-pitched, breathless sound
would escape, followed by Narcissa joining in, then Sirius. Their laughter was like the
clinking of glass bells, each note precise and carefully released.

Though, to be honest, Andromeda had grown wicked, glimpses of her old self still surfaced.
James saw it when their eyes met and she gave him a brief, genuine smile. He saw it when
she playfully tousled Sirius’s hair, making the already wild locks even more chaotic, or when
she carefully fixed Narcissa’s lipstick, her fingers deft and precise, as if she were handling a
delicate work of art.

Bellatrix Lestrange had let love alter her, but James had intervened to ensure that Andromeda
wouldn’t suffer the same fate.

All things considered, he believed he had done a good job.

He let out a sigh, and found himself staring out the window, where the rhythmic tap-tap-tap
of horse hooves on the cobblestones below kept time.

It was Narcissa who eventually broke the silence, sharing something with Andromeda that
James hadn’t heard before.

“Bellatrix sent me an owl earlier. Looks like I might be getting the mark soon, now that
Morgana has hers,” she fanned herself lazily.

“Who’s Morgana?” Sirius asked.

Andromeda, with a slight shake of her head and a knowing look in her eye, replied, “She’s
basically Cissy in another guise. Only louder.”

Laughter erupted from Sirius, only to be silenced by Narcissa’s swift elbow to his ribs, her
glare enough to freeze any further chuckles in their tracks.

“You are still young, Cissy,” Andromeda interjected. “How about I get the mark tonight, and
you can wait until after you graduate next year.”

“Are you sure?” Narcissa mumbled. “I’ve heard it’s quite an unpleasant experience.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Andromeda said, her hands clenching into fists on her lap, jaw set.
“Things change as quickly as the weather around here. Just last year, mum couldn’t even look
at Bellatrix’s wrist without breaking into a sweat, and now look at us.”

“People’s views evolve,” Narcissa countered gently, smoothing her dress. “She must have her
reasons now.”

“They always do,” Andromeda muttered, her words nearly drowned out by the sound of the
carriage pulling up to a foreboding house. It loomed up like a nightmare, all twisted metal
and broken windows.

As they disembarked, Sirius cast a wary glance at the silent figures dotting the front lawn.
“Why do they all look like they have never seen us before?"

“Maybe they haven't,” Andromeda joked.

“Hilarious, really,” Narcissa gathered her skirts delicately, careful to keep the fabric from
grazing the damp earth beneath them.

As they walked into the house, Euphemia appeared beside James, giving him a firm pat on
the back—a silent order to stand taller, be braver.

The room hit James with a blast of heat and the tang of sweat, the kind that clung to your
clothes and made your skin prickle.

Seasoned Ministry officials, battle-hardened Aurors, and wizards of legendary repute filled
the room, their forms casting shadows that twisted and writhed along the walls, making them
appear more like ghosts than men.

A whisper drifted through the crowd, brushing past James and leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“He’s upstairs.”

The floorboards groaned beneath their weight as they ascended.

They took a left, then a right, finally stopping in front of a door with peeling green paint. It
creaked open on neglected hinges, revealing the infamous Dark Lord, coiled like a snake on a
sunlit rock, the only one afforded the luxury of a chair.

His command was a silken thread, pulling—

“Come.”

The crowd parted, their movement reminding him of a flock of birds veering away from a
predator.

Strange.

James struggled to place an age on him; the man’s face seemed untouched by time. His eyes
were deep pools of darkness, with slicked-back hair that had a strand teasingly obscuring one
eye.

Beside him, Bellatrix leaned in, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on the Dark Lord’s arm, a
wicked smile on her lips. Her eyes flickered with a manic intensity as she whispered
something only he could hear, her focus entirely on him.

Rodolphus stood a step back, almost blending into the background, his gaze distant.

Then—

“It seems we’re missing a guest,” the Dark Lord chuckled, and James felt his muscles
shifting under his skin as he spoke.

At his signal, a flurry of activity: Basille Rosier stepped forward.

“Rosier, your son has proven to be quite useful,” the Dark Lord’s voice slithered through the
air, a hiss that seemed to coil around Evan, who shifted beside his mother.

The brief meeting of their gazes—a hint of regret in Evan’s eyes—made him choke. The
gears in his mind started to turn, though not with much speed. Had the Dark Lord
commanded Evan to influence him? To convince him to come here?

He had no time to dwell on the thought for too long, but he had to admit, it was quite cunning
of Evan to have done so.

“And I am a man of my word,” the Dark Lord continued, his proclamation about the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement position a bone thrown with generous indifference.
Basille’s response, a breathless whisper of gratitude, was the sound of a man drowning,
clutching at straws.

Fleamont’s voice, when it came, was a jarring note. “My lord, we’ve also persuaded my son.”
His father seemed desperate, eager to please. Had this been the person who had threatened to
torture him a few hours ago?

“Yes, I am aware,” the Dark Lord replied curtly. “Well, at least you managed to bring him in
one piece. Small mercies, I suppose.”

Fleamont’s face fell like a raindrop from a swarthy cloud, slowly hitting the wet soil and
dissolving within seconds.

Druella Black’s heels struck the wooden floor with a sharp thud as she took a step forward,
possibly trying to steer the conversation to her. “My Lord,” she sing-songed, “My daughter
stand ready for your marking.”

In an instant, all heads turned to Andromeda, who now looked paler than ever. The
confidence she had exuded in the carriage had vanished, replaced by fear, anger, and
something James couldn’t quite identify.

Despite this, however, she bowed her head slightly towards Bellatrix and the Dark Lord.
“Ah,” the Dark Lord’s eyes gleamed with recognition. “Your sister?” He turned to Bellatrix, a
cunning smile playing on his lips.

“Yes,” Bellatrix nodded, yet her head moved in an anomalous manner, as if propelled by
metal sticks protruding from the corners of her ears. Bizarre, how she seemed terrified.
Horrified, even. Scared, almost. And that was all he needed to see to know what was going to
happen next. Something messy.

“I would indeed like Bellatrix’s ‘dearest’ to receive the Mark,” the Dark Lord mused, turning
to Druella. “But first, let us remind ourselves of the purpose of tonight’s gathering.”

A few people nodded.

“Bring her in,” he commanded.

The door swung open, and with it, a scene that clawed at his chest. A woman, barely more
than a shadow of herself, stumbled in, her sobs breaking the heavy silence. Her lips were
ruined, pouring blood.

“This one,” he began, “thought her Muggle-born son worthy of our world.”

Sirius, beside him, was muttering prayers under his breath. His rapid breathing only began to
steady when Uncle Alphard placed a reassuring arm around his shoulder.

“Close your eyes when I tell you to,” Alphard instructed James and Sirius.

Sirius nodded, pressing himself deeper into Alphard’s robes.

With a single motion from the Dark Lord, several figures in dark cloaks and grotesque masks
moved swiftly, grabbing the woman and forcing her onto the large table in the centre of the
room.

“Bellatrix, would you do me the honour?”

“Perhaps someone else?” Bellatrix gritted.

“She has attempted to taint the bloodlines of the pure,” the Dark Lord hissed. “Surely, you
cannot let such insolence go unpunished?”

Bellatrix swallowed hard and stepped forward, her wand trembling in her grasp.

“I know you can do it,” the Dark Lord cooed, his voice now soft and almost affectionate, as if
he were speaking to a lover.

“Crucio,” Bellatrix whispered, and the woman on the table began to—

“Close them,” Alphard commanded, and Sirius buried his face in Alphard’s robes, his body
shaking with sobs.

Next to him, Andromeda and Narcissa covered their mouths, eyes wide with horror.
The Dark Lord pointed his wand at the woman, and her mouth was forced open, her body
convulsing as she gagged.

James wished he didn’t know the sickening sound of teeth being ripped from their roots. He
also wished Sirius would stop crying, the sound tearing at his nerves, coupled with the
squelching pop that escaped when the Dark Lord twisted his wand in the air once more.

The incisors came first, little white squares torn out with a brutal snap. Then the canines,
their pointed edges dripping with blood. Soon the front of her mouth was a gruesome mess of
red.

“Child,” Alphard’s other arm found James’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You should look
away.”

But James was too shocked to even respond.

So this was the ‘Dark’ Lord? The man who recited poetry in the middle of the street? The
man who wielded influence over the Twenty-Eight? He was murdering Muggles! James had
never been above killing someone to get what he wanted, sure, but only if they deserved it!
Oh, my God, he thought. What if the Dark Lord killed him tonight? For no reason at all?

His head pounded with a relentless ache, as if it might explode. One phrase echoed inside his
head, repeating like a deranged parrot, screaming and gnawing at the edges of his sanity:
OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod—

The woman’s sobs faded, her head lolling around like an empty puppet, her eyes closed.

The Dark Lord turned his gaze to Sirius. “Don’t think I have forgotten you, young Black,” he
slightly bowed his head, “My Lord, I trust you found this little display I arranged for your
family… entertaining.”

James stiffened.

Alphard Black was the true ‘Lord’ of the Black family, the inheritor of all their fortune—not
Sirius Black. The Dark Lord had erred in referring to Sirius as such, but, as James looked
around, it seemed no one cared about the mistake.

“I can’t let all the pleasure be enjoyed by your cousin and myself. How about you finish what
we started? Deliver the final blow.”

Silence enveloped the room, the kind that screamed louder than any protest. James, frozen,
saw the world through the terrified eyes of his younger self, searching his mother’s face for
any sign of objection, a plea for intervention. But she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the
ground.

Bellatrix’s jaw shut with a click. “Tom, he’s a child.”

But the Dark Lord’s rebuttal was swift and cold. “He’s a Black.”
Sirius faced the woman, his wand raised—like a black quill trembling in the hand of a
hesitant writer. “Wh-What’s her crime?” he dared to ask.

“Her existence,” the Dark Lord sneered.

It was Alphard who broke the standstill, stepping forward. “Enough,” He didn’t sound angry.
He sounded scared. “I can tolerate many things, but I will not let my nephew be part of this!
You said you only wanted to observe them, not force them into murder! They are only
thirteen,” he begged. “They are my responsibility—”

The Dark Lord’s wand moved sharply. A burst of cruel, bright light leapt from its tip,
colliding with Alphard. The impact sent the aged man reeling before he hit the ground.

A scream tore from James, surprising even him with its intensity. It was only when he found
himself next to Alphard, feeling the pressure of Sirius’s hand on his shoulder, that he realized
he had moved.

“Uncle, no!” Sirius’s voice dwindled into a pitiful whimper as Orion dragged him away. He
thrashed weakly against his father’s grip, his kicks landing feebly on anyone within reach.
“James! Help me!” he cried out, looking around frantically, his arms bruising with each
struggle.

“Uncle Orion, please think this through!” Andromeda screamed, chasing after him as he was
dragged out of the room.

A smile, warm yet utterly out of place, graced the Dark Lord’s face while he regarded Sirius,
mirroring the pride one might show at a child’s initial, wobbly steps.

“It’s going to be alright,” James whispered, kneeling beside Alphard. “We will get you
home.”

“I have been a fool, child,” Alphard urged, a terrible cough wracking his body, spilling blood
in gasps. “I failed.”

A few Death Eaters knelt and attempted to pull Alphard away, but James refused to let go.

“No! He is not dead!” he snarled.

Alphard’s body twitched under James’s touch, his hands slick with blood that was too warm,
too real.

“Uncle,” James’s voice broke as he gently held Alphard’s face, desperately trying to catch his
gaze. “Focus on your breathing, it’s going to be okay. It's going to be okay. It's going to be
okay.”

In the back of his mind, he clung to the hope that his parents, or anyone from his cursed
family, would have the means to halt the bleeding once they got home.

But Alphard’s gaze was distant, his expression frozen.

Time stretched out—a second, then another. His eyes, losing their focus, drifted upwards.
Then he stopped breathing.

“You told me he was not weak,” the Dark Lord turned to Bellatrix.

James fought the urge—

“I said he was an acceptable student, not a murderer!” she retorted.

To rage.

“I used to be much like you,” Uncle Alphard had once told him, a lifetime ago.

To shatter.

“Naive and full of empathy, allowing my feelings to guide me more than my thoughts.”

He steadied his breath, his thoughts sharpening into focus until—

“I failed.”

His father’s words emerged sharply. “You impertinent boy! What did I tell you? Let him go!”
Turning to the Dark Lord, who seemed momentarily unsettled, he attempted, “I assure you
—”

“No, I assure you,” he yelled. “It would take me no more than three seconds to flay the skin
from your bones and crush them into dust, only to heal you so I might start over! No one
touches Alphard Black!”

His father staggered, looking as though an unseen fist had connected with him.

Across the room, the Dark Lord’s dark eyes widened. “Exceptional,” he praised.

Suddenly, James’s body revolted, a harsh, gut-wrenching spasm forcing everything up and
out.

He doubled over, his insides erupting onto the floor, the acrid stench of bile filling the air
around him, while Alphard’s corpse emitted a grotesque noise, a blend of strangled groans
and choking gasps.

“Truly exceptional,” the Dark Lord remarked as he rose from his seat and approached.

James’s vision swam, dots and shadows blurring together. His mother was screaming at him
—was she asking something? Her words were lost in the shrill ringing in his ears.

“James Fleamont Potter,” the Dark Lord intoned, whispering each syllable as if it were a rare
delicacy. “Forgive me for overlooking you for a moment,” he said, lifting James’s chin with
his wand. “Do you realize how eagerly I’ve awaited this meeting?”

His gaze darted to Evan, who was being ushered away, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Top of your classes and quite the star on the Quidditch team; what a charming young man
you are,” the Dark Lord taunted.

He retched.

The smell of—

Alphard’s blood was soaking into his clothes.

Around him, curious eyes watched.

“I sense a fierce spirit within you,” the Dark Lord leaned closer. “Your disdain for the world
as it stands intrigues me,” he mused, his free hand tracing invisible patterns in the air. “Do
you possess the resolve, the strength I seek?” he insisted. “Enlighten me.”

Without warning, a glass orb materialized, and James’s hand shot up to catch it instinctively,
the smooth surface cool against his trembling fingers.

“Remarkable reflexes,” the Dark Lord observed with a twisted smile. “My boy,” he breathed
deeply, savouring the rancid smell that permeated the room, “you have the makings of a true
soldier.”

James gagged again, his stomach heaving from the stench.

No one moved to help him.

The only one who could have, after all, was dead.
 Summer, 1973 PART III
Chapter Notes

TW: Arachnophobia (Fear of Spiders), A Sky Full of Stars.

SIRIUS
August, 1973
"Sirius!"

what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? I wanted what did
you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you
do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
what did you do? to fix what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you
do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do?
everything what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did you do? what did
you do? what did you do?

"SIRIUS DON'T—"
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!