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Chapter Text

Act I - The Awakening

It was the first time he’d found himself there in years. 

The air was still thick with the sweet breath of winter roses and that warm, wet smell of earth. The light poured through the domed glass, turning the gleaming white petals into freshly fallen snow. Beyond the panes, the world was silent. All he could hear, as always, was the slow thunder of his heart as he moved towards where she stood barefoot and waiting. Waiting for him.

The pale woman’s expression never faltered as she watched him draw closer, her gaze coolly fixed upon his. He knew, though, to watch for that telltale flutter at her throat. For the rapid swell of her pupils. For the almost imperceptible nod of consent. And then he was across the room in two strides, burying one hand in her hair as his mouth found her neck. She tilted her head up and back so he could lose himself in the scent of her, and her whole body trembled, arms snaking around him, clinging to him as though he were the only solid thing in a rapidly dissolving world.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered urgently, as he brushed his lips against her jaw. “If you want me to stop, tell me to stop and…” but his words were lost as her mouth pressed against his. And then they were kissing as if their lives depended upon it. As if they wanted to disappear inside one another forever. As if it were the very first time. As if, too, it was the last.

Then, somewhere outside the greenhouse, a door slammed. The sound rolled through the glass like thunder, and Remus awoke with a start. 

***

If there was one thing that Remus had learned from years of lycanthropy, it was how to go straight from asleep to instant operation. He didn’t need a moment to wonder why he wasn’t in his comfortable quarters at Hogwarts; he remembered all too well that he’d been forced to flee before the term had ended. That he had, having so optimistically rented out his own cottage in Yorkshire, been forced to spend the night in a tiny stone bothy in the mountains behind the school. That it had been so cold, even after using the Bluebell Flame Charm, he’d been forced to sleep bundled up in his travelling cloak. That nobody knew he was here. 

So, naturally, the dream – his very favourite dream – was quickly pushed aside as he locked eyes with the large brown owl at the window. The bird stared at him meaningfully as it held out the letter tied neatly to its leg. Remus recognised the spidery handwriting on the envelope instantly, and rolled his eyes. Of course. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you,” he told the bird, absent-mindedly stroking its head as he retrieved his letter. It blinked in understanding, leaning into his hand for a moment before spreading its wings and sailing gracefully back into the sky. 

Naturally, he was curious, but Remus had never been one to rush into anything. Instead, he splashed his face with some cold water from a basin, before making himself a cup of chilly black tea. He treated himself to a square of Honeyduke’s chocolate, too (he was rationing his last few bars). Then, and only then, did he open the letter from Albus Dumbledore.

‘My dear Professor Lupin, I hate to intrude upon your summer holidays,’ it began confusingly (hadn’t Remus resigned just yesterday?), ‘but it is urgent that I speak with you at once. Please return to the castle at your earliest convenience. Your friend, Albus.’

Remus snapped himself off another square of chocolate and munched it thoughtfully. Albus could have asked to meet him at Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley – even a muggle cafe, if he’d so wished (nobody ever seemed to give those flowing purple robes a second glance) – but the headmaster had instead summoned Remus back to Hogwarts. Had granted him permission, in doing so, to cross the extensive wards and protective charms that surrounded the school grounds. Why? What on earth could be so important that the disgraced former professor would be welcomed back so easily?

There was only one way to find out, he supposed. And so, with a sigh, he began bundling up his books and belongings into his battered travelling case. As he did so, he ate the rest of the chocolate bar, and allowed himself to miss her for five whole minutes. 

***

Remus eyed Dumbledore warily from across the oak desk, shaking his head when the man offered him yet another lemon sherbet. 

“What’s this about?” he asked quietly. “Why am I back here? It can’t be for the end of term feast.”

The headmaster looked at him over his half-moon spectacles, blue eyes unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he pulled something out of one of his many pockets. “I received a letter of my own,” he said simply, “from the board of governors.”

Remus sighed. They had expected this, of course; they had known that people would be furious their children had been exposed to a werewolf. That was why, as soon as Severus exposed his furry problem to the Slytherin students, the headmaster had so readily accepted Remus’ resignation.  “If you would like me to write a statement or draft up an apology…”

“Not at all, my dear boy,” said Professor Dumbledore. “The board does not wish for you to be removed from the castle; quite the opposite, in fact. They have threatened to put a stop to some… well, let’s say some significant funding for the school if you do not remain on the teaching faculty in some capacity – and they have collected signatures from over 150 parents who have agreed to withdraw their children if you leave.”

Bloody Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, Remus thought exasperatedly to himself – although there was a fond smile playing on his lips. “I’m sure that the other Houses…” he began, but the headmaster held up his hand to stop him once again.

“My apologies, Remus, but I suspect you do not understand what I’m trying to tell you. A significant number of the parents on this list have children in Slytherin. They are, in fact, the parents of all those children who learned of your condition firsthand following Severus’ unfortunate outburst a few days ago.”

This was a genuinely startling revelation. So much so that Remus wordlessly accepted the next lemon sherbert pushed towards him and popped it into his mouth with the wrapper still on. Dumbledore, for all of his faults, was kind enough not to notice.

“I had no idea you had such powerful friends in your corner,” he remarked mildly.

“I didn’t think I had any friends in my corner,” replied Remus truthfully, wiping the hastily retrieved boiled sweet on his trouser leg. “Yourself and Minerva agreed that it was best I left; Sirius isn’t exactly in a position to campaign on my behalf. And Harry already tried and failed to keep my job for me, if you’ll remember. If the Boy Who Lived couldn’t do it…”

“And yet someone has done exactly that, Remus,” replied Dumbledore, wordlessly summoning two cups, a jug of milk, and a steaming teapot in the sort of lurid tea cosy that reminded Remus of one of the Weasley children’s homemade jumpers.  “Shall I pour?”

Remus nodded, suddenly all too aware of his two-day-old clothes and stubble. He probably smelled of damp. “I can’t possibly stay on,” he said, stirring two sugar cubes into his cup. “I was reckless, and I almost killed three students. I almost killed Severus! It’s my fault we lost Peter, and it’s my fault that Sirius…”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore simply. “Yes, all of that is true. And then there’s the fact that I’ve already offered the position of Defence Against The Dark Arts Professorship to someone else.”

Remus focused his attention on stirring his tea, spoon clanking noisily against the cup. It had been less than 48 hours. The end of term feast had yet to take place. And yet, somehow, his job no longer belonged to him. He knew he had no right to be upset, and yet there it was; it hurt. Especially as he knew that Albus had gone to such lengths to save Hagrid’s job for him. Twice.

“I’m sorry, Remus,” said Dumbledore quietly. “I had to move more quickly than usual, owing to the unusual circumstances of our next school year. But the fact of the matter remains: you must remain a member of the Hogwarts staff, or there apparently won't be any students to teach.”

“I’m sure there will be,” countered Remus, still staring at the contents of his cup. “It’s a bluff.”

“Of course it’s a bluff, but that doesn’t mean it’s a risk I’m willing to take – particularly given recent events,” replied the headmaster. “So, where to put you?” 

Remus finally looked up, hardly daring to believe that he was being offered a second chance. Especially one he didn’t deserve. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. 

“Who are we to ignore the will of our esteemed governors?” he remarked lightly. “It’s been brought to my attention that Professor Binns’ teaching methods are less than exemplary, and so I wondered if perhaps it might be time for…”

“If his dying didn’t stop him turning up to teach History of Magic each day, I doubt something as trivial as someone else taking on his job will,” replied Remus throatily, hastily dragging the back of his hand over his eyes. 

“True,” replied Dumbledore, his voice suddenly far gentler, “which brings me to my second idea. Alastor Moody has agreed to come in as our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor…”

“Mad Eye! That’s one way to instill some healthy paranoia in our inquiring young minds,” said Remus, only half joking.

“I’m sure Alastor’s experience of the Dark Arts will prove incredibly illuminating” corrected the headmaster with a patient smile. “As I was saying, he will be taking over your old position, but it has been brought to my attention –” and here, he brandished the letter again, “that we don’t have anyone to oversee our Duelling Elective.”

Remus didn’t say anything; he was far too busy watching the sheet of expensive ivory paper clutched between Dumbledore’s thumb and forefinger. It was from the board of governors, the headmaster had said – so why did he feel so drawn to it?

“Traditionally, we’ve always had staff muck in for this one, but we haven’t run any Duelling-specific lessons since Severus and Lockhart…” Remus snorted at that, and Dumbledore shot him a conspiratorial wink. “It went about as well as you’d expect, yes. But we’re hoping to run Duelling lessons more formally going forward. I feel it’s more important than ever that our students are able to defend themselves – properly – in wand-to-wand combat.”

“But Moody…”

“… Professor Moody is only signed on for a year, and will be far more focused on showing them what the Dark Arts look and feel like than how to survive a fight with a Death Eater. Remus, please; I urge you to consider this an act of mercy – yours upon yourself for once.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with my resignation before the board threatened you with financial ruin,” replied Remus, but his heart wasn’t in it. He could stay at Hogwarts. He could become a proper part of Harry’s life. He could stop running, stop hiding, and start making a real difference at long last. 

“My dear boy, I only ever did as you asked of me. I had, if you’ll recall, originally turned down your request.”

Remus let out a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh, and then nodded. “Of course I’ll accept, as you knew I would,” he said. “But only if you let me read it.”

Dumbledore glanced down at the letter in his hands. “Later,” he said gently. “If you hurry, you can tidy yourself up before the feast. We’ll announce your new post before the students leave for summer.”

Remus murmured his assent, but as Dumbledore turned toward the door, he reached out and slipped the letter from the desk. He told himself it was for record-keeping; that it meant nothing.

Then the scent hit him. Cool Sicilian lemon. Pink peppercorn. Sea salt and roses. A thread of ice and something wild beneath it.

For a moment, the office blurred as that intoxicating perfume pervaded his nostrils, made his head swim, and stirred the wolf slumbering deep inside him. Her. It could only be her. He didn’t even need to read the letter; she’d have used another name, buried her intent in chilly formality. She’d have done all she could to hide every last trace of herself from the page. Her scent, though. Her maddening scent. He’d know it anywhere.

“Lucius Malfoy,” he said suddenly in a too-loud voice, hoping he didn’t look as undone as he felt. “The letter was from Lucius Malfoy, wasn’t it?”

Dumbledore did not look back, but he paused with his hand on the door and nodded. Remus swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to think of her. He certainly shouldn’t spend any time wondering how and why Narcissa Black – no, Lady Malfoy – had persuaded her monstrous husband to keep his job for him. 

He pressed the envelope deep into his inside pocket and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.

“I’m ready, Albus,” he said, though his voice sounded strange to his own ears.

Then the scent rushed up to meet him again, like a ghost that refused to fade, and he was back in that greenhouse, her long white hair in his hands and her neck at his throat.

Chapter Text

It was the last night of his stay at Grimstone Park, and Remus had been restless. The Blacks’ ancestral home was everything Sirius despised; cavernous, immaculate, bristling with wards, and positively dripping with dark magic. Still, it fascinated Remus. He had spent the week tiptoeing around priceless heirlooms and tense dinners, trying not to notice how many portraits glared at him with thin disdain.

To mark the summer solstice, the Blacks were hosting a party. Well, their version of a party; there were far too many polished shoes and far too little laughter for the liking of the Marauders, even if James had begun a heated quidditch debate with an elderly minister, Peter had attacked the buffet with admirable levels of stamina, and Sirius had fallen eagerly into conversation with his cousin, Andi. 

Remus, of course, had been studiously ignored by everyone else there, save for another cousin with jet-black hair, dark eyes, and a laughing smile full of too-sharp white teeth. She watched him from across the ballroom as if she were the hunter and he the mark, the air between them prickling like static. For no reason whatsoever, he had the sudden, wild impression that she knew something no one else could sense. And so, the very moment her attention wavered, he ducked out of the open doors and into the gardens beyond.

Hiding in the shadows, he followed the back of the dark-haired woman’s head as she searched for him. Without warning, though, she turned and stared – almost as if she sensed he was lurking out there in the black. As if she had placed a tracking charm on him, even. 

A wave of revulsion sent Remus staggering backwards onto the wet grass, and he picked himself up hurriedly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a thread of lamplight, and he followed it gratefully along a pebble path until he found the greenhouse. Its panes glowed like a lantern in the darkness, and his hand fell upon the door hungrily. Sanctuary!

Inside, heat fogged the glass and enveloped him like an embrace. He shrugged off his dress robes instinctively, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt he wore underneath, before he spotted the girl sitting on the flagstones among rows of white roses. She was about his age, her own ivory silk robes loose at the shoulders and pooling on the floor around her. Her wand, he noticed, was balanced across her knees like a candle. Her feet were bare and smudged with dirt – and she was utterly engrossed in her book. 

For a moment, he considered slipping back outside and leaving her alone. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to intrude, Miss Black.”

The fairest of Padfoot’s cousins looked up, startled but not frightened. “You’re one of Sirius’s friends?”

He nodded. Then, remembering the way the rest of the family had stared at him, added: “For now.”

That earned him a small smile. “Then you must be the polite one.”

Remus stepped a little closer, then stooped so he might peer at the battered book she was clutching so tightly. “Browning,” he read aloud. “Not in the Hogwarts library.”

“It isn’t supposed to be,” she said, tucking a strand of pale hair behind her ear. “My aunt calls it dangerous nonsense.” She looked at him, the challenge all too apparent in her steady gaze. “I think that makes it worth reading.”

“No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books,” he said, recalling the words with ease. “May I?”

She hesitated, then nodded, her shoulder brushing against his as he settled down on the floor beside her. For a while, they sat in companionable silence. Later, they read a few lines aloud together, voices low so the house-elves in the kitchens wouldn’t hear.

When the last word faded, she glanced sideways at him.

“You know Muggle poetry,” she said.

“I know words,” he answered simply. “They tend to behave better than people.”

The clock in the manor struck eleven. She closed the book.

“You should go before my aunt finds you here,” she said. “My family doesn’t approve of guests in the garden… or half-bloods in their house.”

“Then why are you talking to one?”

Narcissa lifted an eyebrow, ever so slightly. “Because I’m tired of doing only what I’m told.”

Her robes whispered as she passed, leaving a faint scent of rose and sea-salt behind her. He watched her go until the light from her wand faded behind the hedges.

Later, when Sirius asked what had kept him out so long, Remus only told him, “I found something beautiful in your family’s garden.”

The next morning, though, he made sure to return to the greenhouse and tuck a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Poems among the roses. Just in case that same something beautiful came looking for it.

Chapter Text

Moonlight pooled like molten silver across the floor of her bedroom. Narcissa Malfoy sat before the mirror, a beautiful statue, while the house-elf fastened a string of pearls at her throat. She didn’t flinch when the clasp caught her skin; she was long past flinching. Still, she held out a hand to stop the creature from plunging its own hand into the fire as punishment.

“Will there be anything else, mistress?” the elf squeaked miserably.

“No,” she said. “Leave me.”

When the door closed, the silence pressed close and familiar. She waited until the faintest echo of footsteps had died away before opening the drawer of her writing desk. Beneath the folded correspondence and the potion vials lay a book bound in fading blue cloth, its gilt lettering almost worn away. Her fingertips lingered on the cover, then slipped inside the front page, where a scrawl in careful handwriting still bled faintly through the paper:

For Miss Black, who knows dangerous nonsense when she sees it.

She traced the inscription once, twice, then closed the book and locked it away again. Lucius would summon her tonight, as he always did when the full moon began to wane. Calmly, she took up a fresh sheet of parchment, and uncapped her quill. The page stayed blank for a long time. When she finally began to write, the words were cold and formal, the hand neat to the point of anonymity.

‘From the Board of Governors,

Concerning the recent resignation of Professor R. J. Lupin…’

She paused, the nib hovering. That name had no right to make her chest ache, yet it did. She drew a breath and continued, writing of educational precedent, of fairness, of financial patronage. She mentioned, too, The Malfoy Endowment for the Advancement of Wizarding Education and its annual donation. She included the list of signatures that had been begrudgingly gathered at her request. She did not, however, speak of love. Not even once.

When the ink dried, she folded the letter and sealed it with green wax, pressing the signet ring gently into the surface. Then, from the drawer beneath the desk, she withdrew a small vial filled with shimmering silver liquid: a glamour-ink. Once the potion dried, the letter would carry the scent and magic of Lucius’s hand.

She poured a single drop onto the wax and whispered the spell. The seal flared once, then cooled. To anyone else, it would smell faintly of polished wood and expensive cologne. To one man in the world, she hoped it might smell of the girl he had kissed with wild abandon all those years ago.

She watched the owl disappear into the blue-black sky until it was a single silver fleck. Then, and only then, did she pull the shutters tight, compose her face, and sleep for two blissfully dreamless hours before her husband had her woken and escorted to his bed.

***

By morning, the world had righted itself. Malfoy Manor gleamed in the pale sunlight, and the scent of freshly brewed tea and polish hung heavy in the air. Narcissa, however, laid with her eyes closed until she felt her husband finally awaken and stalk from the room. Then, and only then, did she summon a house elf to draw her a bath.

She washed herself with quick, practised movements. Her pale skin darkened and reddened under water so hot it was almost unbearable, but she waved the nervous house elf away when it offered to fetch a pewter jug of cold water. Then, and only then, did she charm her hair into a tight bun and pull on the black robes her husband had selected for her. She looked perfect; he would have no complaints on that front.

Still, the moment she reached the dining room, she knew Lucius was already in one of his moods. The Daily Prophet lay scattered across the table, Cornelius Fudge glaring at her from the front page, and one of the house-elfs cowered at her husband’s feet.

“Do you know what that oaf has done?” he was saying, his voice dangerously calm. “He has aided and abetted the theft of Ministry property!”

He hurled his cane at the hearth. The elf yelped, and Narcissa’s fingers tightened on the doorframe, but her expression did not flicker.

“Good morning, husband,” she said coolly, taking her seat as if nothing were amiss.

“Good morning?” he echoed nastily. “You call it a good morning when Black is still at large and the beast who mauled my son has vanished into thin air? Dumbledore’s influence corrupts everything he touches. And now the governors – ” He broke off, breathing sharply through his nose. “The governors have chosen to ignore my recommendation for disciplinary review.”

“They are fools, but they must have their reasons,” she said evenly, pouring herself a tea. “You did say Hagrid was popular with some of the… less discerning students.”

“It will be the Potter boy; it’s always the Potter boy,” he spat. “I don’t know how he did it, but it will come back to him.” Then, he turned to stare at her, voice suddenly low and dangerous. “Perhaps the werewolf helped him. Perhaps he took it upon himself to rescue Black; he was once a friend to your cousin, wasn’t he?”

Narcissa didn’t move; she had long ago mastered the art of being very still in a storm. “Black has been struck from the family tree; he is no longer my kin,” she replied steadily. “And surely the Ministry will recover both him and the creature soon?” 

“Oh, they will,” Lucius replied, pacing. “If I get my way, they will tear the skies apart until they find them both. I can’t understand why Fudge hasn’t fired Dumbledore for this – the sentimental fool has made no secret of his love for halfbreeds and monsters.”

“And yet Hogwarts continues to function,” she murmured, pouring herself tea.

“For now,” he snapped, hurling his cup and shattering it against the floor. “But mark my words: one day it’ll cost him dearly.”

She stirred sugar into her cup until the clink of the spoon softened the thrum of her pulse. “At least the governors have you to restore balance,” she remarked.

Lucius preened slightly at that, his rage turning to pride. “Exactly so, Lady Malfoy. I’ve just finalised an announcement. Dumbledore has at long last agreed to my proposal for a Duelling elective. Proper discipline, proper hierarchy. Wizards need to know their place.”

“How gratifying,” she said, lips curved in a perfect smile.

“And,” he continued, unable to resist the flourish, “it seems our disgraced Mr Lupin will be remaining at the school after all – in a lesser capacity, naturally. The Board, I’m told, insisted. Funny, that. One wonders who came to his defence.”

“Indeed,” she said softly.

He looked at her for a moment, eyes raking across her face, but her expression never wavered. She didn’t even allow herself to think, despite knowing of Lucius’s embarrassing inability to grasp the basics of Occlumency.  Instead, Narcissa sipped her tea with impeccable calm, and her husband slowly sank into the chair opposite hers.

“Draco will be home soon,” she said, changing the subject. “He wrote that Hagrid is intolerable.”

Lucius barked a laugh. “At last, some sense from my boy! He’ll make me proud yet.”

“I’m sure he already does.”

They sat for a few moments, ignoring the yawning silence between them. Eventually, Lucius, drumming his long fingers on the table, sneeringly asked his wife how she’d slept. If she believed there might be another Heir to their great Malfoy house sometime soon. Narcissa smiled blandly. 

“We can but hope,” she said simply. 

Irritated at her unerring composure, Lucius rose, straightening his cuffs. “I have business at the Ministry. Try not to concern yourself with any school gossip.”

“Of course, husband.”

When he was gone, finally, Narcissa exhaled slowly and surveyed the wreckage of the table; the torn paper, the spray of broken china, the scorch mark where his cane had struck the hearth. The house-elf peeped nervously from behind the curtains, tears blooming in its enormous green eyes, and Narcissa sighed.

“It’s all right,” she told the creature. “You did nothing wrong.”

The elf looked up at her in shock. “Mistress?”

“Go on,” she said. “This will need to be tidied away before he returns.”

When the elf vanished with the crockery, she turned her gaze toward the window, and allowed herself a moment – just a moment – to think about a man with amber eyes being granted a second chance. 

Narcissa lifted her teacup once more. The liquid inside it had gone cold, but when she raised it to her lips, she thought she caught the faintest trace of lemon and rose and salt.

Still, she didn’t smile. Sometimes, she wondered if she would ever smile again.

Chapter Text

Narcissa had looked for him that first week back at Hogwarts, although of course she’d never admit it. She even caught herself glancing up whenever someone walked by with a red-and-gold tie, much to the amusement of her friends. 

“Please don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for lions now?” crowed Pandora.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said quickly,  praying that AndI wasn’t anywhere nearby. 

By the time the first Quidditch match of the year rolled around (Slytherin Vs Ravenclaw), she had all but given up on seeing the boy from the greenhouse again. At least she still had the book he’d left for her, although she hadn’t had a chance to even look at it since she’d arrived. She thought about it now,  hidden inside a copy of Hogwarts: A History at the bottom of her trunk, where nobody would stumble across it. About, too, how everyone’s eyes were about to be fixed on the skies for the next few hours. 

Slipping away from the crowds, she doubled back on herself, heart hammering at her own audacity. The common room was empty, save for Severus, who raised a hand in wordless greeting. He barely glanced up from the parchment he was scribbling on, and he didn’t ask why she wasn’t going to the match. He did, though, raise an eyebrow when he saw that she had a copy of Bathilda Bagshot’s heavy tome in hand.

“Off to do a little light reading, Cissy?” he drawled.

“Yes,” she replied, hugging the book tighter to her chest without thinking. Severus rolled his eyes.

“If I were looking to do so without being interrupted, I might seek an answer from the stars,” he said, quill pausing mid-stroke. For a heartbeat the ink bled wider on the parchment. “The password is ‘Corvus’.”

“Thank you, Severus.”

“Enjoy your book.”

***

Narcissa had never visited the Astronomy Tower in daylight before, and she couldn’t think why: the views across the grounds and the mountains beyond were even more breathtaking than the stars which she and her classmates stared at through their telescopes on Wednesday evenings. She considered, briefly, heading up to the battlements above, but decided it would be far warmer if she remained in the classroom.

Golden orreries hovering above her head, she curled up comfortably in the professor’s armchair, shoes discarded under the desk. She was halfway through the book when the door creaked open.

“Miss Black, well met.”

Narcissa looked up into smiling amber eyes. At last. “Ah, Sirius’s friend,” she said. “The polite one. What brings you to the top of the tallest tower today, I wonder?”

Smiling guiltily, the boy folded an old piece of parchment into squares, and tucked it deep into his pocket. “Call it a hunch,” he said with a shrug. “And it’s Remus. Remus Lupin.”

“Remus,” she echoed. “Then you may call me Narcissa, if you like.”

He gestured to the book in her hand. “You found it, then?”

“You’re very lucky I did,” she replied. “I suspect my aunt would have cursed you if she’d stumbled upon it first.”

Remus chuckled, pulling at the tie which suddenly felt too tight at his throat. Narcissa’s lips curved.

“How are you finding her – Dickinson, I mean?” he asked suddenly. 

For a moment, she considered teasing him. Then, she relented. “Beautiful,” she said simply. “It’s beautiful and strange and…”

“And the very best kind of dangerous nonsense,” he finished, grinning as he conjured a chair opposite hers.

For a while, they spoke of Dickinson – of the way she framed her words like old cantrips and potion recipes, of the quiet sense of rebellion that hummed through her works, of their favourite poems (his: Tell all the truth but tell it slant, hers: I taste a liquor never brewed). Later, though, they spoke of themselves. The fact that they each hated their names. That they had both been home schooled before getting their Hogwarts letters. They spoke, too, of their favourite subjects and teachers, as well as their worst. The seemingly impossible piles of homework. The places they’d love to go. Their tentative dreams for the future. Their fears. 

“My father will have me bound by parchment and blood before long. Hopefully he lets me finish school first,” she said, only half-joking. “Or at least go on a date.” Her knees bumped against his under the desk, and Remus resisted the urge to take her hand in his.

“There’s always a loophole,” he said reassuringly. “If he tries anything like that, come find me: I’ll break it for you.”

“A career in Advocacy for you, then?” she said. 

Remus laughed bitterly. “We’ll see, I suppose. Good grades will only take a half-blood so far.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, and her knee was definitely pressing against his now. “A string of Os, maybe a new pair of robes… I think you might scrub up pretty well for a Gryffindor.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, each lost in thought. The sound of cheering carried in on the breeze; someone had caught the Snitch. 

“Where would you go?” he asked. “On that date?”

Narcissa smoothed down her robes carefully. “I suppose a lot would depend on who it’s with,” she replied. “A good pureblood Slytherin would most likely take me to Hogsmeade, maybe show me off at Madam Puddifoot’s. He could even escort me to a Quidditch game, if he liked.”

“And what about a bad halfblood Gryffindor?”asked Remus eventually, although he had to summon all of his House’s famed courage to do so.

Narcissa straightened a little in her chair, knee pulling away from his own, and he wondered, for one horrible minute, if he’d misjudged the situation. Then, she smiled faintly.

“I’d be open to suggestions,” she said, voice low, “but he’d have to understand that my family has certain expectations for me.”

Remus could live with that, he supposed. For now, at least. “Very well. Perhaps we might try to meet on purpose sometime soon, then?” he said, leaning across the desk towards her. “I could bump into you at, say, 7pm this Saturday – on the seventh floor, by the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy?”

Narcissa knew the spot all too well. “Forever is composed of nows,” she replied dramatically. “I’ll be there.”

Somewhere below them, the crowd roared again. Up in the Tower, though, the universe held its breath… and waited.

Chapter Text

“Professor Lupin!” Harry looked much thinner than he had at the end-of-year feast – and Remus was momentarily caught off guard; he hadn’t expected the boy to answer the door himself. “What are you doing here?”

Remus smiled, tapping his watch meaningfully. “I won the toss for who’d collect you. Got your things ready?”

“Not yet,” said Harry. “We weren’t expecting anyone until after 5.” He glanced nervously at the door to the cupboard under the stairs – which, Remus noticed with a jolt, was padlocked shut. 

“Alohomora,” said Remus, pointing his wand at the locked door and smiling grimly as it clicked open. Casually, over his shoulder, he uttered a polite greeting to the Dursleys. “Venon, Petunia – long time since the wedding. I am so very sorry for your loss.”

Vernon let out an indignant splutter; Remus imagined the man had gone a worrying shade of purple. Petunia, however, moved slightly closer; he could feel the whisper of a breeze as she stepped towards him. “Thank you,” she said, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible. 

Remus allowed himself to feel for the woman; it was likely the first time anyone had acknowledged that she had lost a sister all those years ago. Still, it became much harder to sympathise when he looked inside the tiny cupboard, filled to the brim with anything of Harry’s – schoolbooks, broomstick, even magazines – that might be considered “abnormal” by these narrow-minded suburbanites. When he saw, too, the posters which were still Blu-tacked to the walls and ceiling. The child-sized mattress propped against the wall.

“Have you been sleeping in here, Harry?” he asked gently.

Harry’s green eyes – so like Lily’s – widened in shock. “No,” he said. “Not since I started at Hogwarts. They just use it for storage now.”

Remus took a deep, calming breath to silence the wolf within. Not since he started Hogwarts. He flicked his wand wordlessly; everything began to pack itself away into a rucksack he’d borrowed from the Weasleys, complete with an undetectable extension charm. 

“Where’s Hedwig?” he asked, enjoying the amazed smile on Harry’s face (and the horror on the Dursleys; a squeaking Petunia had rushed to pull down the blinds, and Vernon was using his bulk to block the light from the front door).

“She’s out,” said Harry. “I sent her to see Padfoot,” and here he shot a meaningful look at Remus, “but she knows to come find me at Ron’s.”

“Do you want to go and collect her cage, then? It’s really time we get going,” said Remus. 

Harry nodded, and Remus watched him run up the stairs two at a time, to a door covered in… yes, more locks. On the outside. It reminded Remus of another little boy’s bedroom door, and he realised he was gripping the bannister so tightly his knuckles had turned completely white.

“Now listen here…” began Vernon, moving towards Remus like a shark. 

“No, you listen,” said Remus quietly, and Vernon blanched as he realised that the mild-looking man in the grey cardigan was still holding his wand. “When James and Lily were murdered, their son was still a baby, and he was placed in your care. Many others – myself included – applied for guardianship, but we were told he was safest with his family. He should have been safest with his family,” and here, Petunia let out a strangely strangled sound. 

“He has been safe,” she squealed indignantly. “We’ve never laid a hand on him; we’ve fed him and clothed him and given him a place to sleep. We’ve even…”

“Muggle prisons offer as much,” Remus cut in. “They also provide cells of adequate size.”

Petunia’s mouth slammed shut. The silence was broken only by Harry’s footsteps overhead.

Vernon jabbed a finger at Remus’s chest. “They said he had to stay here. Our business how we do it.”

“I realise you don’t put much stock in wizarding laws,” said Remus, his amber eyes fixed on Vernon, “but I am more than prepared to call muggle social services if I need to – or the police. I’m sure your neighbours would more than appreciate the entertainment .”

Both Dursleys blanched at that, and Vernon immediately took a few steps backwards. 

“We might’ve made mistakes,” Vernon muttered.

“Everyone has,” Remus said coldly. “Some of us try to make amends.”

Harry re-appeared with Hedwig’s cage and two battered bags.

“I am taking Harry away for the rest of the holidays,” Remus said. “As his teacher, I will be investigating this situation further. As one of his parents’ best friends, I will be figuring out exactly what I can do to keep him away from you. And as a concerned bystander, I feel compelled to let you know that escaped convict Sirius Black will be furious when he finds out what’s been happening here all these years.”

The last trace of colour vanished from the Dursleys.

“Come along, Harry.”

***

They reached the Burrow by evening. Remus had meant to apparate straight there but, shaken, took Harry for ice cream first. The boy scraped the bowl clean, talking about Quidditch and Sirius between mouthfuls.

He needn’t have bothered, of course; Molly immediately noticed the change in Harry’s appearance and set to work feeding him up with a heaping plate of roast chicken, minted new potatoes, and salad – all of which she’d laced with a nutrition-enhancing potion after exchanging a look with Remus. 

“Bad?” she whispered to him, as they watched the children play a game of Quidditch in the dying sunlight of the garden. Arthur, who was cleaning the last of the dirty plates by hand (“it’s called a dish brush, Remus!”), paused what he was doing so that he could listen in

“Yes,” sighed Remus, eyes fixed on Harry as the boy went head-to-head against Charlie in a dive for the Snitch. “Everything you’d both suspected, at the very least.”

“I knew it,” said Molly, two bright pink spots appearing on her cheeks. “I knew it. I told Professor Dumbledore…”

Arthur shook his head sadly, placing a mollifying hand on his wife’s shoulder. “What more could we have done, Mol?”

“We should have insisted he never went back there!” she snapped, and the kettle suddenly exploded in a cloud of steam. “I’m so sorry,” she said, abashed. 

“It’s understandable,” said Remus. “I’m every bit as angry as you are, believe me. But there’s not much we can do about it tonight. We all have a very early start tomorrow.”

That jolted her back to practicalities. Molly pointed a wand at her throat and informed the children – her voice amplified so that even the ones zooming some 20-feet above the ground couldn’t pretend they’d misheard her – that it was time for bed, no excuses, no World Cup tomorrow for anyone who didn’t have their broom on the ground in two minutes. The chorus of groans made all three adults smile. 

“I’m so pleased you’re joining us tomorrow, Remus,” said Arthur. “Even with the eldest ones on hand, I think I’ll have my work cut out for me with the others – especially Fred and George,” he added, remembering the Ton-Tongue Toffee they’d slipped Percy earlier that day. Molly had yet to find out about it, thankfully.

“I’ll do my best,” Remus smiled uneasily, rubbing the nape of his neck with one hand. He’d been pleased, at first, to win the ticket in the ballot. Of course he had. When the second letter had arrived a few days later, though, he’d quickly surmised that there was more to his winning than an unnaturally lucky streak. 

On the surface, it was all the official language of the Ministry; their ink, their signatures, their suspiciously generic congratulations from Cornelius Fudge – “I look forward to seeing you in the Top Box” – and their seal. The smaller scrap of parchment that fluttered out of the envelope, though, was once again coated in that same impossible scent.

It contained just three words, written in an achingly familiar hand:

‘Amity means friendship.’

“Remus?”

He smiled guiltily at Molly, who was looking at him in concern. “Sorry, Molly – miles away. What did you say?”

“I said you should head up, too,” she repeated, pressing a mug of hot chocolate into his hands. “Take this up with you; you’re in with Bill and Charlie.”

Remus caught Arthur risking life and limb by rolling his eyes over his wife’s attempt to send a grown man to bed, and smothered a grin. “Of course,” he said easily. “You’re right, Molly; it’s been a long day. I’ll see you both bright and early, and thanks again, both of you, for letting me tag along tomorrow. It means –” he spread his hands expansively, then shrugged. “It means more than you’ll ever know.”

As he sipped his drink in bed, though, he couldn’t help but wonder what tomorrow would have in store for him. Was friendship truly on the cards, or might there be a monster lurking somewhere beneath the surface, ready to spoil everyone’s wonderful time?

Chapter Text

Remus still couldn’t believe he’d convinced Cissa to go through with it. She was dressed in muggle clothes – distractingly tight red bellbottoms, a simple white jumper – with her vanilla-white hair loose around her shoulders. Several older boys in the queue had glanced at her appraisingly, although she’d been far too busy drinking everything in and firing questions at Remus to realise. He loved the way she was holding onto his arm.

It was their first proper date. Until now, they had managed to meet in the Room of Requirement for a few hours every other week, but only to read one of the hundreds of poetry books they’d found there. Or to sit at the desk that obligingly appeared so that they could do their homework together. Or to – and he reddened to think of it – lie next to one another on the wonderfully soft rugs and chat idly as they gazed up at the stars on the ceiling above. 

Yes, the Room had been very accommodating; he couldn’t fault it. Still, he hadn’t been able to forget that first date she’d sketched out for him in the Tower at the beginning of fourth year, particularly the idea that someone would ‘show her off’. And so, when he met with her a few weeks before Hogwarts broke for Christmas, he’d brought with him a plan.

“A muggle date?” she’d echoed sceptically. 

“Yes,” he’d replied patiently. “But only if you’re in the mood for some very dangerous nonsense?”

Naturally, Narcissa had taken the bait; she was far more like Padfoot than she knew. And, thank Merlin, the Marauders had helped him with all the arrangements; they falsified book lists, set up invitations from respectable witches, and provided the polyjuiced doppelgängers of those same pureblood companions, all so that Remus and Narcissa could slip away from Diagon Alley unnoticed. 

His friends had done all of this for him. And they’d done it in spite of the fact he’d been meeting with a girl (‘a Black?!’ ‘a Slytherin?!’ ‘my COUSIN?!’) under their noses for weeks on end. It made him smile just to think of it.

He’d assumed Leicester Square would be quieter on Boxing Day. That the muggles would be sleeping off their feasting and parties. He hadn’t factored into the equation, though, quite how many people wanted to see Steven Spielberg’s new film. It certainly added a sense of occasion to the whole affair, at least; Narcissa was shining with excitement as he paid for their tickets, along with a box of sweet popcorn and a large coke for them to share. They slid into their plush seats as the red curtains opened on the screen before them. 

A little nervously, Remus slung an arm over her shoulder. She giggled, and snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest – and then she let out a stunned squeak. The trailers had begun to play on the screen before them. “Moving pictures!”

“I’ve always loved the cinema,” he murmured quietly into her hair. “It’s as close to magic as you can get in the muggle world.”

Narcissa was gratifyingly amazed by every single moment; by the popcorn (“it tastes like butterbeer”), the Coke (“it tickles!”), and the tale of the killer shark as it unfolded before them on screen. She buried her head into his neck whenever the music shifted, almost gleeful in her terror. And, when the credits finally rolled on the film, she turned to him with sparkling eyes and asked if they might see another right away.

The pureblood girl who loved muggle poetry was also a cinephile. Of course she was.

They still had some time, and they weren’t prepared to waste a single moment of it, so they ducked into the nearby Pizzaland on a whim. Narcissa had absolutely no idea what anything on the menu was, so Remus ordered; they wound up splitting a medium cheese with extra pepperoni. 

She stared at the food suspiciously at first, but it wasn’t long before she was licking the grease happily from her fingers; Remus thought she’d never looked so beautiful.

“What is it?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. 

“Nothing,” he said, tearing his eyes away and focusing on his second slice. “I’m just… really pleased that you liked it. I wasn’t sure if it would be too scary.”

“It was terrifying,” she replied seriously. “Well, it was until we finally saw the monster.”

“Shark,” he corrected fondly.

“Shark, then,” she agreed. “It was much more frightening  when you didn’t know what it looked like.”

“I suppose the threat of what you can’t see is always going to be more worrying than the fear of what you can, maybe,” said Remus.

Narcissus nodded, taking another bite from her last slice. “I think I hated the mayor the most,” she said absent-mindedly. “He knew the beaches weren’t safe, but he was so obsessed with keeping up appearances that he got people killed.”

Remus chuckled, unable to hide his delight at how unexpectedly passionate she’d become over the film. “Amity, as we all know, means friendship,” he said, giving his best Murray Hamilton impression – and felt his chest grow warm when she giggled. Then, her face fell, and the sun went back in again.

“I’ve loved this,” she said, smoothing down an imaginary crease in her trousers. “I wish we didn’t have to go back.”

Slowly, he reached out across the table and caught her empty hand up in his own. She watched in surprise as Remus, ever so slowly, lifted her fingers to his and grazed them with his lips. “Maybe one day we won’t have to,” he said softly. 

“You’ve heard what people are saying now? What they’re calling each other in public?” she asked, her voice low and urgent. It was as close as they’d ever come to addressing the horrors unfolding all around them. “They’re doing such awful, awful things, Remus, and they’re going to want me to do them, too.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Cissa,” he said, his mouth still pressed against her knuckles and his amber eyes locked on hers. 

“Of course I do!” she said miserably. “You have no idea, Remus, what they’re like. Andi made a joke – just a joke – a few years back. She said that I was such a bookworm I’d end up in Ravenclaw. So Mother spent an entire year preparing me for my Sorting. She made me sit and… and write lines.” Narcissa clenched her right hand – the one Remus wasn’t holding onto – so that the faint white letters etched into her skin were visible: I am a Slytherin. The letters caught the light of the pizza-lamp, ghostly against her skin, and she smiled sadly. “Everyone should have been more worried about Sirius, really.”

Remus swore under his breath, feeling the shadow of the wolf awaken inside of him. “Cissa, this is…”

“Abuse? Probably,” she replied. “It worked though; the Hat wanted to put me in… it doesn’t matter. I ordered it to name me a Slytherin, and it did, and here we are. The point I’m trying to make is this: they can force me to do whatever they want, and they will.”

Remus shook his head. “I don’t think so. You read as many banned books as you can, you sneak away to the cinema, and you spend too much of your free time with the scruffiest half-blood Gryffindor you could possibly hope to find.” His voice sounded much calmer than he felt. 

“Hardly a great rebel,” she scoffed.

“Sometimes the quietest rebellions speak the loudest,” he insisted, and he was still holding her hand. “Hope is the thing with feathers, remember? 

Narcissa smiled sadly at him. “I worry you think I’m someone I’m not.”

“Cissa, I may not have known you for long, but I know you,” said Remus. “You’re braver than you realise. If and when the time comes for difficult decisions, I know you’ll make the right one.”

Then, he pulled his battered wallet from his pocket, and slammed a £5 note and four pound coins onto the table. 

“Come on,” he said, nodding towards the door and pulling her gently to her feet. “We’re out of time.”

Together, they began the slow walk back to Diagon Alley. More than once, though, Remus caught himself looking down at her left hand. If her family had inflicted such horrors on her to avoid even the merest whisper of a scandal, if they had scarred her permanently, then what on earth would they do to Narcissa if they found out she’d been spending time with him?

What would they do for love?

Chapter Text

The very moment that Lucius realised his wife didn’t want to attend the event was Narcissa’s downfall. He stared at her pale face as she stood before him in her black silk night robe, her hand resting lightly on the table to keep herself from swaying, and clicked his tongue in irritation.

“I thought you said that you wished to spend more time with Draco before his return to Hogwarts?” he said. He sounded so pleasant; so reasonable, even.

“I do, husband, but I am not sure I’m well enough to…” she began.

“These tickets were not easy to come by; the Minister for Magic himself has invited us as his honoured guests. Would you have me tell him that my wife preferred to spend the day idling in bed?” he asked, catching her wrist up in his hand – tightly, much too tightly – and shaking it.

“No, husband,” she said quietly.

“You will return to your room, and prepare to leave within the hour,” he spat, his face suddenly too close to hers. The scent of stale coffee on his breath made her stomach turn. “Do not forget your place and your duty to this family, Narcissa Black.”

Narcissa opened her mouth to reply, before she saw Draco’s horrified face across the breakfast table. “Father,” he began, but she caught his eye and shook her head minutely. No.

“As you wish, Lord Malfoy,” she said, and swept from the room with her head held high. Once she was safely ensconced in her bedroom, though, she sank down to her knees and rested her head on the locked door behind her. How on earth was she going to make it through this? 

Narcissa took a deep, steadying breath, and glared at the outfit that had been laid out across her bed. 

“A wounded deer leaps highest,” she murmured to herself, and set to work.

***

Narcissa gleamed in crimson silk when she returned to the ground floor; it was the first thing she’d worn in years that felt like it belonged to her, not to her husband’s idea of her. Wearing it felt like remembering a version of herself she’d almost forgotten. She had painted her lips red, and her long hair was plaited down her back and secured with a golden ribbon. Her fingers had trembled as she’d tied it, for she could almost feel his hands in her hair again; careful, reverent, as though she were something precious. 

Perhaps it was reckless. Perhaps he would not even be there. Perhaps he would not want to see her at all. But her allegiance, she hoped, could not be any plainer. Not to him.

“Lady Malfoy,” said her husband, staring at her curiously. “I thought you’d be wearing the robes that I had set out for you?”

She smirked at him. “I am supporting Bulgaria,” she replied simply. “Is that not who you said you’d bet on for today?”

“Their colours are red and black,” he replied, eyes now on the ribbon.

“Indeed,” said Narcissa. “You and Draco –” and here she nodded at the pair’s robes, “– shall provide the latter.”

Draco turned away, hiding a smile. Lucius, however, glanced irritably at the clock, and ordered his wife and son to get outside. He had spared no expense in having the Portkey set up outside their front gate – and, too, for it to be arranged for a later departure time; many wizards, she knew, would have had to hike for hours in the dark without time for any breakfast or family theatrics this morning. 

Merlin, she envied them. 

The crystal vase with a single crack running through it gave her pause, until her husband snarled at her to “touch it, now”, and she pressed her finger against the oddly familiar thing. The strong, invisible hook yanked her beyond her navel, pulling her off her feet and forwards into a swirl of colours. Still, she looked impeccable when they found themselves at the stadium entrance, with not a single hair out of place – which was more than could be said for Lucius, who looked as if he’d been dragged backwards through a hedge.

Catching sight of himself in a polished Quidditch shield, he pointed his wand at his head in irritation. Narcissa watched, with idle fascination, as the white tendrils rearrange themselves like snakes, smoothing and sliding down his back until he was all chilly perfection again. 

“Come,” said Lucius, holding his arm out to her. “We should remain together, lest anyone mistake you for a Gryffindor harpy.”

She touched his sleeve as lightly with her hand as she dared, her body swimming with nervous anticipation as she scanned the faces swarming around them. Her heart stumbled once at a head of chestnut hair – a brief, foolish spark – but when the man turned, it was not him. The disappointment hit harder than she’d braced for, and her breath left her in something perilously close to a sigh.

“Are you quite alright, Lady Malfoy?” Her husband’s voice, more irritable than concerned, cut through her torrent of thoughts.

“Of course, husband. I was just momentarily overwhelmed by the crowds.”

He curled his lip in disgust. “It stinks, doesn’t it? Mudbloods everywhere.”

Once upon a time, the word would have caused Narcissa to pale. Now, though, she simply responded with silence; silence, she knew, offended her husband far more than any insult. 

“Are we really in the Top Box, father?” asked Draco suddenly, tugging Lucius’ sleeve and drawing his attention away from Narcissa.

“Of course,” smiled Lucius indulgently. “We wouldn’t want to sit among the riffraff, would we?”

The pair of them walked ahead of her up the stairs, speaking animatedly about the game to come, and Narcissa allowed herself a moment to breathe. To reconcile herself to her new plan. To think of him and hope, desperately, that he would still stand her friend.

She didn’t dare hope for more.

***

Narcissa knew it was him from the tilt of his head, even though his chestnut hair had faded and greyed in places (oh, how she had twirled her fingers through those locks and worn them like golden rings). She knew, too, that he had sensed her presence instantly – just as he had always done.

“Ah, and here’s Lucius!” said Cornelius Fudge merrily, drawing the attention of everyone on the front row to the Malfoys as they edged their way towards their still-empty seats. Three children around Draco’s age – a redhead, a girl with unruly curls, and a boy who was the spitting image of James Potter – turned quickly, and her heart sank as she saw her son sneer at them. He looked, in that moment, so exactly like Lucius.

“Ah, Fudge,” said her husband, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister for Magic. “How are you? I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?”

“How do you do, how do you do?” said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Narcissa. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk – Obalonsk – Mr – well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can’t understand a word in saying anyway, so never mind. And let’s see who else – you know Arthur Weasley, I dare say?”

It was a tense few minutes; Mr Weasley and Lucius looked at each other, hatred all too evident on their faces. Her husband swept his cold grey eyes over the other wizard, before murmuring something that caused Mr Weasley’s face to turn the same colour as his hair. “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries,” said an utterly oblivious Fudge. “He’s here as my guest. As is Remus Lupin, our lucky ballot winner – you must have had young Draco in one of your classes, professor?”

At last, finally, he looked at them, and Narcissa felt the breath die in her throat. He was older, yes – so was she – but those amber eyes were still every bit as beautiful as she remembered, and they were once again fixed upon hers as he fell impossibly still. It was as if everything around them had ceased to exist. As if they were the only ones left in the world, and all she had to do was step forward and fall into his arms. As if the nightmare were finally over. Almost unwittingly, she felt herself lean towards him ever so slightly, and she saw him grasp the railing, knuckles whitening, as the familiar spark of desire jumped in his face.

Then, the vicelike grip of her husband’s hand on her arm pulled her back to reality. 

“Sorry, husband?” she asked, shaking away the ghosts.

Lucius laughed humourlessly. “A lesser man might take offence at his wife’s complete lack of attention to him,” he joked, much to the amusement of Fudge. Nobody else laughed; they were not a part of his crowd. “Excuse her, please; she doesn’t leave the manor very often. What I said, Lady Malfoy, was that you must have spent some time with Mr Lupin during your own days at Hogwarts.”

Remus’ gaze was now on the sharp fingernails digging painfully into Narcissa’s arm, and his cheeks flushed with fury. “We may have shared a class or two,” she said carefully, as if she couldn’t remember either way. “I must admit, though, that I can’t seem to place you, Professor Lupin – were you also a Slytherin?” Every word tasted like ash in her mouth, although she hoped the tiny triumph that came from using Remus’s correct title would be taken as the apology she couldn’t utter. Even if it did earn her an even sharper dig from her husband.

“Alas, the Hat didn’t think me anywhere near shrewd enough; it placed me amongst all the other Gryffindors,” said Remus, his voice unbearably gentle. “Always courageous to a fault, mind you, in our red and gold,” he added, the spell of their old private humour glinting beneath the words as his eyebrow lifted ever so slightly at her gown. The children clustered around him grinned. Somewhere to her left, Draco scoffed.

“I should have guessed,” said Narcissa, the smallest of smiles on her face. “Dumbledore has always preferred to surround himself with lions.”

“Don’t you mean wolves, dearest wife?” said Lucius softly, finally releasing her arm. Her stomach twisted, but her face remained serene. Perhaps she had passed whatever humiliating test he had decided to subject her to. He nodded sharply at Mr Weasley and Remus, before continuing down the line to his seats with Draco at his side. 

Narcissa turned to follow them, poised and elegant as ever… until her heel caught on the wooden step and she stumbled. Instantly, strong fingers closed around her own; Remus was holding her up, steadying her as he had had done hundreds of times before. The shock of his bare skin on hers sent a pulse of old magic shuddering between them, and, for a heartbeat, the world fell away just as it had in every stolen moment they’d ever shared.

It was deliciously fleeting. As soon as she regained her balance, his hand was back at his side and clenched into a tight fist. She kept walking, her own hand curled into a mirror of his, and didn’t dare look back at him. She didn’t thank him, either, for she knew her voice would crack on the words. 

She hoped, though, that he would wait until the match began and all eyes were on Viktor Krum before he allowed himself to even so much as glance at the tightly rolled piece of parchment she had slipped into his palm.

***

Lucius was deep in conversation with Fudge, but Draco smiled at her as she sat down beside him. His usually white-blonde hair looked like burnished gold under the mysterious light that seemed to come from deep within the stadium itself, and she absently reached out to brush a strand of it away from his face. It suited him, she thought. 

“Are you alright?” Draco’s voice was quiet. “I saw you slip. It was –” he paused, mulling over his next words. “It was kind of the professor to help you.”

Narcissa nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak aloud. Then, her son leaned closer towards her, so that his father couldn’t hear them. “You did know Lupin at school, didn’t you?” he asked. She had forgotten quite how attuned to her emotions Draco could be, and wondered again – as she had done a thousand times before – how the boy had managed to maintain such a wealth of hidden sensitivity, in spite of Lucius’ influence. 

Narcissa looked at Draco, not certain how best to answer, but then she decided to offer him a version of the truth. “Professor Lupin and I are… better acquainted than I allowed, yes,” she replied.

“Did you know that he was…” and here, Draco once again checked to make sure his father still wasn’t listening, “… you know, a werewolf?”

She nodded, pressing her shoulder against his in reassurance. “I did, yes. But I knew, too, that Severus was providing him with Wolfsbane each month. I knew you were safe, Draco. And I trusted them both enough to keep you that way.”

Her son nodded, eyes glittering strangely as he gazed back at James Potter’s son and his friends. Narcissa startled as she recognised the little redhead girl who had fallen foul of her husband’s plotting a few years ago. “He’s actually a really good teacher,” said Draco suddenly. “Much better than Quirrell and Lockhart were – not that it’s hard, I guess. But he doesn’t treat me differently for being a Slytherin, like McGonagall and the others do. He always treats me like I can be… I don’t know. Good, or something.”

Narcissa clenched her left hand, covering it instinctively with the other. “A lot of people will tell you that you’re destined for darkness,” she told him fiercely, “but a Sorting Hat doesn’t know everything. Sometimes the quietest rebellions speak the loudest. And you don’t have to be enemies with everyone the great Lord Malfoy hates, either – you can make your own choices. Good and bad.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but she caught the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth and knew she’d made at least a little progress. Before she could press the point further, though, Ludo Bagman’s echoing voice boomed into every corner of the stadium. 

“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

The spectators screamed and clapped, as thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. When the Bulgarian Team Mascots began gliding onto the pitch, though, Narcissa risked glancing back at Remus. Immune to the Veelas’ charms, his head was bent studiously over something – her note, she hoped; now was as good a time as any – and she saw his broad shoulders stiffen. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his head and found her eyes with his own. She held his gaze across the swarm of teenagers and grown men doing their best to impress the shimmering dancing women on the pitch before them.

Narcissa nodded once, heart in her throat. Then, the music stopped, and the stadium exploded into a chorus of angry yells, shattering the moment. Remus turned to pull one of the Weasley children away from the edge of the edge of the box; Narcissa coolly remarked to her husband that he ought to sit back down. Draco, she was pleased to notice, had not been influenced by the women with moon-bright skin. He was, however, watching her closely with a puzzled expression on his face. 

“And now,” roared Ludo Bagman’s voice, “kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

***

Even Narcissa, who didn’t follow Quidditch closely, could appreciate the magnitude of what had happened: Krum had taken the Snitch, but Ireland had won the game – and she smiled as she imagined the galleons her husband would have lost as a result. Thousands, probably: he did so love to show off.

“Lady Malfoy, we should go,” barked Lucius. He leaned over Draco and yanked her to her feet; she supposed he must have spotted the look on her face. “I want to find our Portkey and return to the manor early.”

“Steady now, Lucius,” chided Fudge playfully. “You don’t want to knock her over.”

Lucius glared at her, and she stared back at him until he looked away first. The bright lights of the stadium had cruelly exposed the thinning patch of hair at the back of his head. “My apologies, wife,” he said, ducking his head into a mock bow with a half smile on his lips. She knew, without looking, that Remus was watching, and willed him to stay quiet. “The Minister is quite right; I should be much more careful with you.”

The unspoken threat was palpable, humming between them. Draco stood up suddenly, creating a barrier between Lord and Lady Malfoy, and her heart ached for her troubled son. 

“Are you still feeling unwell, mother? Let me help you,” said the boy, offering her his arm. Narcissa took it gratefully, marvelling again at how his hair shone like a lion’s mane in the stadium’s light.

“Very well,” said Lucius, raising an eyebrow at Draco. He would, she realised, remember this perceived slight later. “Thank you, Minister – and to everyone else here, I wish you a very good evening.” He stalked along the row ahead of them, mother and son following him with their eyes lowered to the floor. 

Above them, fireworks burst in green and gold – the colours of victory, Narcissa knew… but of cages, too. And, even though she kept her eyes firmly focused on the wooden boards beneath her feet, she knew exactly when she passed Remus; it was as if every single sinew in her body was attuned to his own. 

She risked it, and looked up for just a heartbeat. When she caught the sad smile on his wonderful face, though, she almost wished she hadn’t; it still hurt every bit as much as she remembered.

***

Narcissa had known that Lord Malfoy would never let her, or Draco, leave the campsite. They found their Portkey, of course, but he activated it without them and forced them to sit in a tent with several of his more despicable friends. There were just three rooms inside, and they all stank of tobacco smoke. There was nowhere to sit that didn’t make her head swim and her stomach roll. 

“There’s a mask here for you, Lady Malfoy,” Lucius told her, smiling as if daring her to challenge him. “Will you be at my side this evening?”

“As I have told you several times, husband, I’m unwell. I do not wish to put you or any of your associates at risk of detection,” she replied simply. She knew that Goyle, coward that he was, would overhear from the next room. That he would, too, insist she be left behind. Narcissa was counting on it, in fact; she absolutely did not want to wear another mask over her true face.

Lucius bent lower, so their eyes were level. “And as I have told you several times now, Lady Malfoy, you are my wife by parchment and blood. Remember your place.”

“I remember it every single day.”

“Then join me,” he snarled.

Narcissa shook her head. “No, husband. I am sorry, but I shall retire for the night and await your safe return.”

She watched his white fingers tighten on his wand and wondered, not for the first time, if he might curse her. Instead, he smoothed a lock of her hair, and leaned close enough to breathe into her ear.

“You will remain here, then. Myself and Draco will represent House Malfoy this evening instead.”

“No,” she said immediately, her blood suddenly like ice in her veins. 

“Yes. The boy will wear your mask, and you can sit here –” he shoved her roughly into a wooden chair, “– and hope for both of our safe returns.”

“Please, Lucius,” she began, hating the pleading tone in her voice. “You can’t do this. If he’s exposed, think of all he will lose; they’ll have him expelled. They’ll take his wand away!”

“They will do worse, if he’s exposed. But the boy will march at my side this evening, and that is final,” he replied softly. “I hope it shall remind him who his father is; his lack of respect today suggests he needs the lesson.”

You are a petty man, thought Narcissa, imagining for one dangerous moment what might happen if she decided to scratch her husband’s cold eyes right out of his face. To tear open his pale throat. To rake the truth across his skin like claws and watch his power drain away with every lie he’d ever told her. You are a petty, powerless man.

Aloud, she merely said: “I will join you, husband, and we shall leave Draco here. Please.”

“Oh no, wife,” he replied, wagging his finger at her with a hideous smile pasted on his face. “You’re far too unwell to fulfil your duties to me, if you’ll recall – and I did promise Fudge that I would be more careful with you.”

“Lord Malfoy…”

“I shall leave it to you to instruct the boy to listen to me and do exactly as I say; I’d hate for him to find himself in an Azkaban cell tomorrow morning.”

Narcissa sat like a statue, staring deep into Lucius’s flinty gaze and wishing, for the thousandth time, that the man would drop dead before her. Behind him, the sands of the hourglass continued to tumble into the glass bulb below.

There were only a handful of hours until the trap she’d laid for her husband snapped up around her precious, precious boy.

Merlin, what on earth was she going to do?

Chapter Text

For several weeks now, the Room had looked the same: towering oak bookshelves, heavy with the scent of leather and aged paper, and two plush armchairs drawn close to a cracking fireplace beside an arched window. Beyond the glass was the vast blackness of the Forbidden Forest, dusted with the same fresh white powder that laced the windowpane and made shimmering patterns in the moonlight. Every so often, the crescent moon would break through the clouds and light up the frosted scene below.

Narcissa arrived first, wearing silk pajamas beneath her school robes; she also had on the white jumper she’d worn to Leicester Square; it still smelled ever so faintly of popcorn, and she had grown surprisingly fond of it. Despite this, and despite the warm glow of the little library, she still imagined she could hear the howl of the wind outside as she waited for his familiar footsteps, and shivered slightly. Then, she began scouring the shelves, plucking out tomes and creating a haphazard pile on the table between the velvet chairs, where – just like always – two steaming hot chocolates also sat waiting. 

The lamplight shifted slightly as Remus appeared with the wind at his heels, shaking snow from his chestnut hair. 

“You’re late,” she told him, her tone playful. 

“I had to double back on myself and come round the quad,” he replied with a grin; he looked half-frozen. “I didn’t realise that McGonagall was on the prowl tonight.” 

Narcissa gently steered him towards the squashier of the two chairs, and he shook off his robes before he snuggled down into it. He was also wearing pajamas; a black t-shirt emblazoned with a large purple Q – she squinted closer and realised the rest of the letters, ‘ueen’, were minuscule and hidden inside it – and red plaid trousers. She handed him one of the mugs, and settled into her own seat as Remus took a deep glug of the velvety drink. 

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” he asked, the ice on his shoulders melting away as the hot chocolate warmed him from head to toe. 

Ever since Jaws, Narcissa had been obsessively reading up on natural history (“How can it be that nobody’s taught me anything about sharks? What if I wanted to go swimming?” she’d asked despairingly, much to Remus’ amusement). This time, however, the stack of books looked a little different. Less poisonous snakes and spiders; more fairytales and pulp horror. 

“Well,” she said, taking a deep glug from her own mug. Remus smiled as she resurfaced with a blob of cream on her nose. “I was talking to Severus earlier – he’s a half-blood, too, you know –”

“Oh, I know Severus,” said Remus. 

Narcissa was momentarily diverted. “You don’t sound enamoured?”

“I suspect it’s more that he’s not enamoured with me, actually, but go on.”

She eyed him suspiciously over her mug, but continued. “He told me that muggles have their own version of magic – that they tell stories about witches and dragons and potions, but that they’re all completely different to the truth.”

“That sounds like him,” Remus said dryly, with a faint edge that Narcissa couldn’t place. “Always half in one world, half in the other.”

“He always seems quite certain of himself when I talk to him.”

“Perhaps his certainty shifts depending on who he finds himself with,” he suggested, finally giving into the urge to lean forward and wipe away the white smear from her nose with impossibly gentle fingers. “But what does this all have to do with your plan?”

Uncertainly, she plowed on. “I thought it could make for a fun experiment or two…”

***

The idea was charming, Remus thought; Narcissa had found several examples of “imaginary magic” – the potion from Macbeth, Dorothy’s silver slippers, Cinderella’s coach (“But surely that one’s just basic transfiguration, Cissa?), and the changelings of European folklore, to name just four – and wanted to try to recreate them in the real world. Using real magic.

Some, of course, were relegated to mere thought experiments; after poring over the ingredients of the witches’ hell-broth, for instance, they realised it would make for an incredibly dark concoction – more poison than potion (it certainly wouldn’t win them any favours with Professor Slughorn if they brewed it up in his classroom). Dorothy’s silver slippers, too, proved tricky, until Narcissa opined that they could be a rhythm-activated portkey. 

“Rhythm-activated?” teased Remus.

“She clicks them together three times, remember?”

“And the fact that the shoes transport her to the place she’s thinking of in her mind’s eye?” he countered, for Remus wasn’t top of his class for nothing. “They sound more like an apparition focus aid, if anything.”

“I’ve heard of focus potions; never focus aids.”

“Well, it’s usually something you hold to keep your mind on target,” he replied. “But apparition is fiendishly tricky, apparently. Having something to do each time could help you to get the destination clearer in your mind’s eye.”

Narcissa quirked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever had trouble focusing on anything in my life.”

“Then I suppose I ought to make it my mission to distract you,” he replied thoughtfully. “If only to gift you a unique experience.”

She felt the blush warm her cheeks; he was already rattling off the pranks he could inflict on (“Sirius has been working on something that involves a banshee’s cry and a quill, apparently”) though she barely heard him; she was too aware of how close he was, of the faint scent of parchment and winter on his skin, of the way her fingers itched to touch him. It didn’t escape her that her own mind had immediately leapt to… well, to more amenable distractions.

She changed the subject quickly to Cinderella’s coach. 

It was – Remus had, as usual, been proven correct – a very simple form of transfiguration. The Room had happily provided them with a pumpkin to test the theory on, too, although neither were confident the resulting carriage would be structurally sound enough for a very long or bumpy journey.

“Perhaps that’s why she was given such a strict time limit?” mused Remus. “Midnight always felt a little too early to me; if I’d been invited to a palace ball, I’d want to…”

“Sneak out to the greenhouse?”

He grinned guiltily. “Something like that. Make the most of it, rather than duck in for two hours and leave without my shoes.”

“It reminds me of all those old stories, where the princess changes into a swan when the sun goes down,” said Narcissa. “Maybe there was more to Cinderella than the historians knew?”

“It’s just a fairytale, Cissa,” he said, unable to stop the fondness seeping into his voice.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not rooted in some small truth. Do you really think it so impossible that a lowborn witch could win the heart of a prince? Especially if she had help from –” she checked the book again, “– a fairy godmother?”

“I like to think love conquers all divides,” replied Remus. “Although I’m still not entirely sure that the fairy godmother wasn’t just a pushy old aunt with a wand.”

Their twist on changelings had proven most fun, of course, as Narcissa had pulled out a book on glamour magic. They’d sat together crosslegged on the floor, changing one another’s hair and eye colour (“I think I prefer them amber, Remus”) as well as their own. 

“I don’t think you could use charms to mirror somebody as well as you could with polyjuice,” he said regretfully, his hair a vivid shade of purple. “James and Sirius looked exactly like those Slytherin prefects when they used it.” Sirius, naturally, had thought it hilarious; Severus, however, had been so angry that he hadn’t even looked at them for a week after.

Narcissa caught the tone of his voice; the way the memory sounded like a smile. “You speak about them as if they’re kin,” she said, from somewhere behind a cloud of copper curls. 

“They’re my brothers,” he replied simply. “I’ve never known a family like them – we’re like a pack, almost.” He rubbed his neck as she stared at him, suddenly embarrassed. “You must feel the same way about your actual sisters?”

She let out a surprised giggle, covering her mouth with one hand. “Sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me there. Andi – yes, I suppose so. She’s in her fifth year now, so she’s been very busy with exam prep. I think; she’s barely ever in the common room anymore. Bella, though?” Narcissa paused, her eyes still a shimmering kaleidoscope under the gleam of the fireplace. “She’s always been… different, but she’s become pretty monstrous since she left school.”

“In what way?”

“She’s been running around with a bad crowd,” said Narcissa lightly, thinking of the Lestrange brothers and giving an involuntary shudder. She’d hated the way the older one’s eyes had followed her around the parlour. “Anyway, I suspect her loyalty to me would be more of an obligation nowadays, not proof of anything like love. She looks at me like she wants to… I don’t know, like she wants to gobble me up. Like she’s the big bad wolf in the fairytales.” 

Flinching ever so slightly, Remus ducked his head, suddenly very interested in the book on his lap. “That sounds awful, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, leafing through the pages. Narcissa watched him carefully.

“I suppose changelings are a bit out there,” she said at last, wrinkling her nose so it reverted back to its original tilt. “But muggles aren’t as clueless as I first thought; they seem to know everything there is worth knowing about vampirism and lycanthropy, at the very least,” and she tapped the battered Guy Endore volume beside her meaningfully.

Remus snorted. “I don’t even think wizards know everything worth knowing about lycanthropy,” he said. “Where does it come from? Why do some change when others don’t? Will anyone ever bother to try and find a cure?”

“Perhaps they might learn a great deal more,” she said, “in time.”

He looked up at her quizzically just as her lips – so soft, so gentle – pressed against his. Remus closed his eyes and forgot to breathe, as the smell of roses and sea salt washed over him, and the taste of the chocolate on her breath awoke an unknown hunger in him. For a heartbeat he froze; not from shock, but from the terrible, dizzying relief of finally touching what he’d been trying so hard not to want. Then, he was kissing her back before he could even think about it, one hand settling on her shoulder, the other in the small of her back.

When they finally parted, it wasn’t far; she closed her eyes as his lips pressed against her forehead.

“If that was our version of the frog prince’s kiss, then I think it absolutely would have worked,” said Remus breathlessly. 

Narcissa laughed, just a little too quickly. “I’m sorry; I just thought you’d always be too much of a gentleman to do it yourself,” she whispered, hand half-covering her mouth. Her hair rippled between shades of vanilla and caramel, the glamour magic still fizzing between them.

Remus leaned his head back just far enough to smile at her, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. “May I, then?” he asked, and she nodded wordlessly as he gently lifted her hand away and pulled her just a little bit closer.

As their lips moved against one another, the crescent moon swelled into a full orb in the false window and bathed them in silver.

Neither of them noticed.

***

It may not have transformed a frog into a prince, but Narcissa honestly believed there was some magic behind that kiss. Perhaps she had been asleep for many years, and now, at long last, had woken up. 

Colours burned brighter, certain sounds were more crystalline (she could hear Remus’ quiet voice from all the way across the breakfast hall, and yearned to turn towards him), and her senses felt keener And it was much the same for him, she suspected; they only shared one class together, but Remus’ head would spin as soon as she entered the Herbology greenhouse as if he’d caught her scent. That was always her favourite part of the school day, watching for him to smile that devastatingly honey-sweet smile of his.

Their evenings together became more precious, even as they became more daring by daylight. She was able to take a few trips into Hogsmeade with him, thanks to her cousin’s presence – although Sirius made a point of linking arms with her whenever they passed any of their classmates, loudly joking about his intent to carry on the Black family tradition of pureblood inbreeding. The rumour wound its way unhelpfully back to Narcissa’s mother, who wrote immediately urging her daughter to let her broach the possibility of a marriage contract with Uncle Orion before officially announcing anything. Sirius had thrown his head back and roared with laughter at that; Remus, however, had stepped a little closer. 

Still, the mortification was worth it for that extra handful of hours with Remus. It also gave her the excuse she needed to make polite chitchat with him whenever she ran into him between lessons, rather than having to frostily ignore him as she once did. They were careful, though, to never seem as if they were anything more than passing acquaintances, for Narcissa’s awakening wasn’t all wonderful. In fact, she was more keenly aware of the terrible lines being drawn across the school than ever before. 

Some groups whispered and smirked behind their hands; others were openly hostile – to students and professors alike. Professor Flitwick, who was always so eminently fair to everyone, had lost his temper when he’d overheard an older Slytherin girl calling someone (Narcissa still shuddered at the cruelty of it) a “Mudblood”. The Charms teacher had pointed his wand at the teen without even a second thought, and cast ‘silencio’ – much to the ire of her parents, who had demanded his dismissal as a result. The headmaster had politely declined to do so, and she was glad of it; Flitwick was her favourite professor by far.

***

“Your cousin keeps the strangest company,” remarked Portia once, as they passed by the Marauders on their way to Arithmancy. “All half-bloods and mudbloods and muggle lovers.”

Narcissa hadn’t been able to speak for a moment; the ease with which the slur had rolled from her friend’s tongue had left her shaken – but nowhere near as much as the sharp realisation that she herself would have used it once upon a time. “James Potter is a pureblood,” she managed weakly.

“I don’t think it counts for much if he keeps sniffing around the likes of Lily Evans,” replied Portia, popping another jellybean into her mouth. “Honestly, it’ll be a crime to sully bloodlines like that someday.”

There was a loud bang, and Portia squeaked in terror as her parchment – covered in smudged numerical diagrams – suddenly burst into flames. 

“Aguamenti,” said Narcissa sharply, directing the jet of water into the burning papers. Even so, though, the smoldering soggy mess was absolutely unsalvagable; even a hasty ‘reparo’ did nothing.

“Such a shame,” drawled Severus,overtaking them without breaking stride. “Professor Knightley has never looked kindly on those who fail to hand in their homework on time – especially those who are on track for a Poor grade.”

He flicked a brief look at Narcissa, something unreadable passing over his face, before he swept around the corner with a sweep of his robes. Portia burst into noisy tears. Silently, Narcissa handed the girl a silk handkerchief, without taking her eyes off the pile of black soot and ash. 

“I’m not on track for a Poor,” insisted Portia miserably – although not, Narcissa suspected, entirely truthfully. “Who does he think he is, anyway, talking to me like that? He’s a halfblood, you know. He might run around after your cousin like a lost puppy, but that doesn’t make him anywhere near my equal.”

“Severus doesn’t run around after Sirius,” replied Narcissa. 

Portia sniffed, chin lifting. “Perhaps you don’t know your cousin half as well as you think you do, Cissy. You should probably do a bit more research before you sign that marriage contract.”

Narcissa was sick to death of hearing about her and Sirius’ fictional engagement. “I’ll bear it in mind,” she reassured her friend. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

They hurried down the corridor after Snape, though neither girl was thinking about Arithmancy. One was wondering if her friend had started keeping strange company of her own. The other was remembering something a boy with golden eyes had once told her about Severus… and wondering.

When, exactly, had she become someone who could see beneath masks?

Chapter Text

Remus had always known that there were others out there who relished the idea that their wolf – the beast who broke free each month at the peak of the lunar cycle – might hurt someone. Kill someone, even.

Not Remus, of course. He believed it was abhorrent to knowingly allow a dangerous creature anywhere near innocents. He believed it with every fibre of his being. He believed it so much that, whenever he couldn’t get hold of any Wolfsbane (which was often; the ingredients were expensive), he had manacled himself to a wall with silver chains and awoken the next day bleeding, sickly, and horribly weak.

Yes, Remus had always sworn that he wouldn’t allow his wolf to hurt anyone. Ever. Tonight, though, he would give anything for an unexpected full moon to shine out from beyond the dark clouds gathering above… so long as he was granted a few moments alone with Lucius Malfoy.

Merlin, he wanted to hunt.

“Remus, we have to be absolutely sure about this,” said Arthur, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We only have one chance.”

He supposed a part of him had known, deep down, that Narcissa Black would never do something so inelegant as stumble. She’d been so pale, though, and she’d looked so frail next to her monster of a husband, that he’d found himself anxiously watching her every move. And so, when she began to fall, Remus had stepped forwards to catch her. Just as she’d known he would.

The small piece of parchment had issued a stark warning: The Death Eaters march at midnight. Lucius would be among them, of course – Remus knew the crowd which the pureblood had run with back in the day. If they timed this just right, they could probably get him at least a few years in Azkaban. It would be more than enough for Narcissa to finally escape his clutches and disappear. More than enough time for her to…

No. He didn’t dare let himself hope for that.

“They’d most likely be targeting Muggles and Muggle-borns,” said Bill. The eldest Weasley, along with Charlie and Percy, had joined Arthur and Remus in the back room of the tent. Through the doorway, they could hear Harry and the others laughing and excitedly talking about Ireland’s win.

“The farmer who owns the field, maybe?” suggested Percy. “I remember seeing the plans for the place when they passed through Mr Crouch’s office; Roberts lives with his wife and children in a cottage on the campsite.”

Arthur nodded grimly. “Bill, Charlie? If you could head down there and… just keep watch, for now. If anything or anyone shows up, for Merlin’s sake, don’t engage; cast Periculum and wait for backup.”

They didn’t waste any time and Apparated away with a crack.

“And me, Dad? What should I do?” asked Percy, looking very pale behind his freckles.

“I want you to come and speak with Crouch and a few others. We can’t reveal our sources, so they’ll have to take our warning on faith. It’ll go better if you’re with me, I think,” said Arthur, placing a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. Then, he looked at Remus. “I’m trusting you to keep the rest of my children safe,” he told him. “There are no Portkeys available until tomorrow, and they’re all underage. I’d ask you to get them off the campsite, but…”

“But we don’t know where the danger is coming from,” agreed Remus. “I can set up protective wards as soon as you have both left; I’ve become something of an expert at them over the years – anything that can stop a wolf getting out should prove more than capable of keeping any Dark wizards from getting in.”

Arthur looked at the younger man carefully. “And you really don’t know how the parchment ended up in your pocket?”

Remus rubbed the back of his neck, and shook his head. “There were so many people in the Box with us,” he replied. “And we walked past countless others on the way back here; it could have been anyone.”

The older man nodded, briefly resting a hand on Remus’ shoulder. Then, he shared a look with his son, and the pair of them Disapparated without another word.

***

She had worn red and gold. She had worn red and gold and she had looked for him, even after all these years. Surely that had to mean something.

***

The night outside was still and silver under a half moon. All around him, Remus could hear the sounds of people celebrating; the crackle of bonfires, the clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation and laughter and merriment. It was unfathomable to think that someone could be prepared to shatter this world of happy calm.

He stepped out into the cool air and lifted his wand in a slow arc through the dark. Pale threads of light unfurled and looped together, weaving into a shimmering wall around the tent. When he pressed his palm against his invisible cage, the magic trembled back at him; it was alive, pulsating in time with his own heart.

Remus took a steadying breath as the runes sealed with a final hiss. The truth of what he’d done gnawed at him, but he forced himself to return to the tent, where a rowdy group of teenagers awaited him with a pack of Exploding Snap cards and a table laden with food.

“Have you got an army of house-elves hidden away somewhere?” he asked, doing his best to sound jovial as he surveyed the mountain of bread rolls, the plates of sausages and fried onions, the huge tureen of tomato soup, and the teetering, tottering, triple-layered chocolate cake.

“Mum might’ve got a bit carried away,” said Ron indistinctly, his mouth bulging with the sausage sandwich he’d fixed himself.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Nobody wants to see half-chewed food rolling around your mouth, Ronald,” she chided, sounding surprisingly like Molly.

Harry snorted beside her, and pulled a seat out for Remus. The boy’s eyes flicked briefly toward Ginny as she laughed at Ron – just a quick, unconscious glance that Remus might have missed on any other night. It was hard to eat when adrenaline was coursing through his body, but he helped himself to a small bowl of the soup, which he nursed as he listened to the children wax lyrical about the hero of the hour: Viktor Krum.

“There's no one like him, anywhere at all,” said Ron breathlessly. “He’s like an eagle the way he rides the wind!”

“He’s not a very good athlete if he puts himself before the rest of his team,” argued Hermione. “Catching the Snitch when they had no chance of winning? Glory hunter.”

She was drowned out by a chorus of protests, but none louder than Ron’s. “He's more than an athlete! He's an artist,” he snapped, much to the amusement of his siblings.

“I think you’re in love, Ron,” teased Ginny.

“Shut up,” said the boy, almost as red as his hair.

Fred and George began singing a song that snagged an old memory of Remus’ (“Ron and Viktor, sitting in a tree…”) as the younger Weasley insisted that nobody else understood good Quidditch, that he wasn’t getting married, and that someone like Viktor would be far too famous to ever look at someone like him anyway. An argument which, naturally, only prompted more giggles and added further fuel to the fire.

“Are you alright, Professor?” asked Harry quietly, as Fred jumped onto a bench and started up a rousing and entirely original verse of the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song. Ginny was bent double with laughter – and her peals of giggles only grew louder when George decided to unexpectedly throw himself into the role of Viktor Krum. (“But ve could be so good together, Veasley!”)

“Me? I’m fine, thanks; just shattered. It’s been a long day,” replied Remus, finally giving in and slicing himself a piece of the cake. If ever a night called for chocolate, it was this one. “And I’ve told you a thousand times now; call me Remus – or Moony, if you prefer.”

The boy grinned, looking more like his mother than his father at that moment. “Except when we’re at school.”

“Well, yes,” admitted Remus. “Unless we’re speaking privately – it probably wouldn’t be a good idea during lessons.”

“I’m so excited to study Duelling properly,” chimed in Hermione, who always became more animated when she heard the word ‘school’. “I’ve been reading up on the theory behind it all, but…”

“Of course you have,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. He still looked flushed, but was slowly going back to his normal colour now that the teasing had dissipated (for now). “It’s Duelling, Hermione, not History of Magic! There isn’t going to be a textbook that tells you what to do.”

“Actually,” said Remus, seeing Hermione’s face drop, “she’s quite right; we will absolutely be studying each of the spells and curses before we cast them. It’d be carnage otherwise.”

“How many people have signed up for it?” asked Ginny. “We all elected to take part when the letter came through over the summer.”

“Poor bird was barely able to fly with all the permission slips taped to its leg,” agreed Fred. Or George. It was getting tricky to tell them apart in the candlelight.

“I think it’s proven surprisingly popular, even in spite of what happened last year,” said Remus, trying (and failing) to prevent a note of pride entering his voice. “I’m going to be running classes across all year groups, and the majority of students have signed up.”

“Even the Slytherins?” asked Ron. “Can’t imagine Malfoy and his cronies will be up for it.”

“You won’t need to imagine it,” replied Remus. “Draco and many of his peers will be studying alongside you all.”

Fred grinned. “Slytherin or not, I bet everyone knows it’s bloody cool to say you’ve been taught to duel by an actual werewolf. Malfoy included.”

“I actually feel a little sorry for Malfoy,” said Hermione unexpectedly, causing Ron to splutter his Butterbeer over the table.

“You feel sorry for Malfoy?” he echoed in disbelief. “Why?”

Before Hermione could reply, Harry was there with the answer. “Because his dad’s a bullying git,” he said. “Malfoy looked afraid of him earlier, I thought. So did his mum.”

“And Draco kept looking at her,” Hermione added, quieter this time. “Like he was… checking she was alright.” She bit her lip, as if she’d surprised herself by saying it aloud.

“I loved her outfit,” said Ginny indistinctly; she was devouring her own piece of cake between yawns. “She looked like something out of Witch Weekly.”

“I thought Mr Malfoy was going to break her arm at one point.”

“She married him!” argued Ron. “She must’ve known what she was getting into. I bet she’s just as bad as he is, looking down her nose at us all. She didn’t even bother to say thanks when Remus stopped her going arse over tit.”

“She looks at least twenty years younger than him, Ronald. Have you ever heard of an unequal power dynamic?” snapped Hermione.

Ron folded his arms, still scowling. “Then she should bloody leave him.”

Remus had promised himself he wouldn’t speak about her, but he felt something in his chest twist, and the words came bubbling out before he could stop them.

“She can’t,” he said. “Haven’t you ever been taught about the parchment and blood contracts?”

“I’ve heard of them,” said George surprisingly. Then, when everyone looked at him, he added: “I have a friend who’s trying to get out of one at the moment.”

“There’s always a loophole,” said Remus, his voice hollow. “If they need help, let them know they can come to me. I’ll find a way to break it.”

“But what is it?” asked Hermione. “What is a parchment and blood contract?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” said George, before Remus could answer her. “It’s blood magic. Old, ugly stuff. Break it and it kills you.” He drew a finger across his throat grimly.

“Basically correct,” agreed Remus, jaw tense and aching. “Your magic tears itself apart. That’s why people stay. Obviously it’s most common in pureblood families – you wouldn’t believe how many of my classmates got bound up in marriages they didn’t have any say in.”

“But that’s barbaric!” said Hermione. “How is that even legal? Didn’t the teachers stop them?”

“They usually got dragged out of school just before it happened, without any warning,” replied Remus. “It happened a lot when Voldemort was at his most powerful; a lot of wizards got swept up in the idea of preserving what they called the sacred bloodlines. It’s one of the reasons Sirius ran away from home, Harry – your grandparents took him in.”

“Really? Sirius lived with my dad?” asked Harry eagerly.

“He did, yes. The Potters were unwaveringly kind people,” smiled Remus. “As unlike Sirius’ family as could possibly be. They sheltered him during the holidays and helped him keep his place at Hogwarts, and they even…” But he drifted off, his face thoughtful. Then, seeing the rapt faces before him, he added: “I highly doubt any of you have to worry about parchment and blood contracts, though.”

Hermione still looked troubled. “But do you really think Lady Malfoy is bound by one?”

“I know she is. Narcissa was…” Everything, he wanted to say. She was everything. He swallowed. “Well. She was Sirius’s cousin. They were the same age, and they were close growing up. She wouldn’t have wanted to marry a man twice her age, and I really don’t think she would have wanted to marry one like Lucius Malfoy. Narcissa was a bit like Sirius, actually; the odd one out in a family of blood purists.”

He sighed, then spread his hands expansively. “Enough of this. I thought we were going to play cards?”

It was only around 10pm when Remus urged them to go to bed; he’d caught Ginny nestling her head on a buttered roll, much to the twins’ amusement, and insisted they all turn in, no arguments (although there were, of course, arguments, even as they all yawned behind their hands). He decided to stand watch over the two tents as they slept, and paced the length of the barrier tirelessly for what felt like hours.

And then came the first scream.

***

Remus looked up sharply. In the distance, tents were blazing; green and crimson flashes cutting through the dark. Spells cracked like gunfire. The air filled with the metallic tang of fear.

“Stay inside,” he ordered, ducking back through the flap. The children’s frightened, still half-asleep faces turned to him. Ron moved before anyone else, grabbing Ginny by the shoulders and pulling her behind him in a purely instinctive older-brother gesture. Harry, so very like James, was already gripping his wand, Hermione was pale but steady, and Fred and George were loudly demanding to know what was happening.

“Death Eaters,” he told them. They were old enough. “No one leaves the tent. No matter what you hear. Understood?”

They nodded, wide-eyed.

Outside, another explosion rocked the campsite. As the ground quivered under his feet, Remus threw up another ward, thicker this time, and the barrier shimmered faintly blue. The wolf inside him strained restlessly; every muscle was screaming at him to run, to find her. Every scream outside sounded like her name.

“Merlin, keep her safe,” he muttered to himself.

Through the oil-slick sheen of the wards he could just make out shapes: masked figures moving in formation, flashes of curses, the chaos of terrified families scattering into the woods. Then, through the distortion of the magic, he saw a smaller figure stumble from between the tents; a little girl, surely no older than eight, barefoot and running the wrong way. Her parents’ shouts were lost in the din. 

“Remus, hurry!” cried Hermione, suddenly at his side. Of course the girl who’d set Severus Snape on fire would be the one to disregard his order to stay inside.

The little girl beyond the barrier bolted straight towards them, a jet of green light arcing after her…

… and a second figure darted out of the smoke, robes flying. A boy’s voice shouted, “Protego!”

The shield didn’t just appear; it flared, brighter and broader than anything a fourth-year should have been able to conjure. It buckled, then domed outward in a shower of sparks. For a heartbeat, the barrier between Remus’ ward and the boy’s shield became one blazing sheet of golden light. Through it, Remus saw him clearly: Draco Malfoy. No mask, wand trembling, his pale eyes shining yellow in the glow. Still, Remus’ gaze darted past the boy, searching the smoke for her silhouette (stupid, impossible) but the shadows had swallowed everything. The boy was alone. 

Hermione gasped. “He… he saved her,” she whispered, disbelieving.

Remus pressed a hand against the inside of the ward. He wanted to reach through, to pull them both in, but the moment broke before he could do so. Someone shouted his name from the smoke, and Narcissa’s child spun, dragging the little girl back toward the shadows. The light collapsed into darkness again. Then came the smell; smoke and ozone… and underneath it, that same sharp, cold note he remembered from years ago. Lucius.

Remus’ pulse quickened; if he could find him, then he could end it for her. Narcissa would finally have the freedom she so desperately deserved. He moved closer to the edge of the magical barrier, the wolf clawing up his throat. One step, just one, and he could be hunting again. As he prepared to lower the wards, though, a spell struck them from the other side. Hard. Hard enough so that, behind him, the entire tent shook.

“Professor Lupin – Remus! Please don’t.” Harry, proving he was James Potter’s son through and through, had also disregarded Remus’ warnings to stay inside.

“Harry, Hermione! Get back in the tent,” barked Remus, eyes still fixed on the horizon.

“But they’ll kill you.” Harry’s voice was fierce. “Please, Remus. I can’t lose anyone else.”

Harry’s hand curled into Remus’s sleeve. The wolf inside him snarled, then stilled, the rage folding in on itself as if Harry’s touch had thrown a chain around its throat. He stared at the fourteen-year-old boy with Lily’s eyes and realised, in spite of all that Potter bravado, he was terrified. So Remus turned away from the stench of his enemy, and away from the storm outside. Briefly, he wrapped Harry in his arms. The tent shuddered as another curse hit the wards, but they held – thank Merlin, they held.

And then, silence.

For one terrible moment, he dared to believe it was over. Then light flared across the sky: green, vast, and curling into the shape of a skull. The Dark Mark bloomed, swallowing the faint silver of the moon. Just as it had done that terrible Hallowe’en night in 1981, when Remus had lost almost everyone he had ever loved. 

Hermione whimpered, the same tiny, broken sound she’d made when Draco vanished into the smoke with the little girl. Somewhere behind him, Ron swore softly. But Harry, ever watchful at his side, didn’t make a sound.

Remus stared up through the wavering wards, throat tight and eyes burning. She’d been right about everything. Once again, the world was splitting open, and they were on opposite sides of the fault line. 

His fingers found the parchment in his pocket, and he pressed it hard against his heart, as though he could send her a pulse that spanned the distance between them.

If Narcissa couldn’t be free, let her be alive. Please.

Chapter Text

The full moon had risen at the worst possible time: a week before the summer holidays. Remus hadn’t been able to visit Narcissa or wish her a proper goodbye, and he might’ve been driven half-mad with grief over it, had his friends not joined him in the moonlight. 

Watching them shift into their own shadow selves alongside his? It had been transformative, in every sense of the word. For the first time in his entire life, he hadn’t felt as if he’d been torn apart from the inside out; he hadn’t bitten and scratched at his own flesh, he hadn’t woken up with a blank slate where his memories from the night before ought to have been, Instead, his wolf had found comfort in his pack, however motley the crew, and laid down in the Shrieking Shack like a dog might. He had felt the warmth of Padfoot against him, the gentle nudge of Prongs’ antlers whenever it seemed he might forget his humanity and try to rip his skin from his body. And when they had awoken there in the morning? They’d all… they’d all laughed about it. Like it was a great game, or a sleepover, or a funny story they might all tell their kids someday. 

Amazingly, Peter was jealous. He was still struggling with his animagus form, and the others had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be allowed to join them until he could remain a rat for longer than 30 minutes. (“I doubt he’ll manage even that,” Sirius muttered behind his hand). That envy, though, felt… well, it felt like a strange elixir to Remus, who had been an outsider for as long as he could remember. 

If he could go back in time and talk to his 11-year-old self, if he could tell that frightened little boy that he was going to excel in all his classes, find friends who felt like brothers, start dating the prettiest girl in the year, and survive a full moon without pain? He’d never have believed himself. Not in a thousand years. And then, as if the universe wanted to see how much joy one lanky werewolf could handle in a single week, James had slung an arm around him at breakfast and said: “Mum says you’re coming to ours for two weeks before you head home for summer. Non-negotiable. She’s already baked your favourite biscuits, and Sirius has decided we’re all going to learn an instrument. It’s going to be chaos.”

He’d said it loudly, too, the way James always did when he was excited, and Remus had nearly choked on his toast. The idea of walking into the Potters’ bright kitchen, of being folded straight into their noisy, ridiculous household, felt almost impossible. Impossible… and wonderful.

He practically floated through the days that followed; every single time he remembered the invitation his whole body felt a little lighter. Still, that happiness didn’t stop his thoughts drifting toward Narcissa in the quiet moments, or him wishing he could see her before they all left their fourth year behind them. And it certainly didn’t stifle the tiny, shamefully hopeful part of him that wondered whether she might try to slip away from her world long enough to find him.

Strangely, even that ache felt different now. It wasn’t the sharp, lonely hurt it used to be, but something tender and almost sweet, like the memory of a favourite song. He was hooked on a feeling, high on believing, and it meant that missing her didn’t hollow him out anymore. 

“I don’t need no cure,” he hummed thoughtlessly, catching up the clothes he had missed and shoving them deep into his trunk. “I just stay a victim if I can for sure.”

“Ooga-Chaka, Ooga-Ooga!” chuckled Peter from across the dormitory. “Moony’s got it baaaad!” The boy had been determinedly cheerful since he learned the others were heading back to the Potters’ without him. Of course, James’ mum had extended the same invite to his family, but they’d politely rejected it. “We’re taking a trip to Benidorm,” Mrs Pettigrew had told Euphemia matter-of-factly, much to the older woman’s bewilderment. (The wizarding world, it seemed, had a great deal still to learn about package holidays).

“I suppose I do,” said Remus. 

And so, on the last morning of term, he had walked down to Hogsmeade feeling like two versions of himself at once: the boy who had never felt more alive, and the boy who scanned every group of students… just in case he caught a glimpse of pale hair in the sun.

***

The station was always a riot of colour and noise on the last day of term, and this year was no exception. Remus, still recovering from the full moon’s pull, was overwhelmed by the bustle of trunks, the hissing steam from the engine, the gentle hoots and screeches of caged owls. Above all else, the excited chatter of those students who loved going home – and to their own families, no less – for the holidays. Remus wondered, fleetingly, what that must be like.

Still, he wasn't prepared to waste his final hours of the term moping. Not when the Marauders were in such high spirits; James was showing off in front of Lily Evans. Again. Sirius, forever reckless, was lazily flicking his wand to levitate books out of people’s bags and up onto the roof of the train. And Peter was once again tagging along at their side, chatting eagerly about waterparks and tapas bars and airplanes. (“A big metal bus that flies higher than a broomstick? Sounds mad,” said James at one point, earning himself a genuine giggle from Lily in the process. The colour drained from Peter’s face, though, as he turned the words of his adrenaline junkie friend over in his head). 

Remus kept time with them all, but his mind was elsewhere. At long last, his eyes found her; Narcissa stood a little further along the platform, laughing with Andromeda. Severus was at their side, flicking lazily through a copy of NME and occasionally glancing at the Marauders to see if any of them had noticed. Or, rather; if one in particular had.

“Ah, so Snivellus is a rockstar now, is he?” said Sirius, sounding amused. “The Dark Lord would probably faint dead away if he saw one of his precious Slytherins reading muggle magazines.”

Momentarily distracted from Lily, James laughed. Remus didn’t, though; Narcissa had looked up at the sound and allowed her gaze to linger on his face just long enough to capture his attention. Without breaking her conversation, she tilted her head prettily to the side – and he caught her meaning immediately. 

“Catch up with you in a minute?” he said to his friends, but only Peter heard him. Padfoot was suddenly talking far too loudly about Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart (judging by the smirk on Severus’ face, Sirius didn’t know as much about rock music as he apparently thought he did) and Prongs was trying, for the thousandth time, to convince Lily that she wanted to go on a date with him. Just one. Even if it was just to better understand why she hated him. Please.

“Don’t be too long,” said Peter knowingly. “We’ll be boarding soon.”

***

Remus had only been lurking behind the stone pillar for a few moments before Narcissa’s scent – roses, sea salt, clean lemon, and something he still couldn’t quite place – washed over him. 

“I’m sorry about this week,” he began hurriedly. “I’ve been desperate to…

“I only have a minute,” she interrupted, but her voice was soft. 

“Then promise you’ll write to me?”

“You know I can’t.”

Remus sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to read everything and pretend it’s you,” he said, leaning forward to press his lips against her hair. 

They stayed like that for a few seconds, breathing each other in. Gently, her little hand found his big one, and he felt her press a piece of parchment into his palm; small, folded, still warm from her skin. “I was desperate to see you, too,” she murmured. And then, turning on her heel, she left – back to her sister and the rest of her Slytherin friends. The steam rolled from the train and swallowed her up as she went.

Although he wanted nothing more than to tear it open so he could read it there and then, Remus slipped the note into his pocket. He sensed that she had intended for him to keep it safe; to treasure it for later. Still, it felt as if it were burning a hole in his robes, and all Remus could think or focus on was the slight weight of it – yet he didn’t startle when the train whistle let out its shrill scream. Instead, he forced his feet to walk back towards the sea of red and gold, and his friends in the midst of it.

Somehow, in just those few moments he’d been gone, Sirius and Severus had found time to lock themselves into yet another furious standoff – they hadn’t raised their wands yet, thank Merlin, but it was only a matter of time.

“You can’t run around with those pureblood gits and still listen to muggle rock ‘n’ roll.” Sirius’ voice was tight. Seeing Remus’s eyes upon them, he added: “Your big greasy nose doesn’t have a place in both worlds, Snivellus; pick a side and stick to it.”

Severus blinked. Then, he rallied. “It must be so freeing to have such a simple outlook on life, Black,” he said sneeringly. “I almost wish I could be so anserine.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Every end-of-term, the same theatre,” he muttered to James, who was still manfully fighting his losing battle with Lily. This time, however, things seemed different. Sirius wasn’t shouting loud enough for everyone to enjoy the performance, for starters; instead, he was stepping closer to the Slytherin boy and speaking to him in hushed tones. 

“They’re going to come for people like you and me, you know,” he said. “They’ll want us to run around with them and hurt people because they’re different from us. We might be the old blood they need to make their stupid ideologies stick, Sev, but you’re mad if you think they’re going to love you for anything more than that.”

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Something passed between them, a flicker too brief to name, and Remus wasn’t sure if it was anger, or recognition, or the ghost of something more dangerous. Sirius’ voice broke slightly as he attempted to continue the argument, and he covered it with a cough. Severus opened his mouth to reply, his black eyes sliding over Remus, Peter, James, and Lily, before landing back on Sirius. “Black, I don’t know what you think you know about me, but…”

“No, Severus,” said Sirius wearily; whatever the fight was that’d been blazing within him, it had suddenly been snuffed out. “Don’t; we’re both smarter than that. Just think about it, OK?”

It was at that moment that Lily looked up and saw what she believed to be yet another example of Sirius baiting her best friend. Immediately, the redhead dropped her playful back-and-forth with James to go and loop her arm through Severus’ – who had two very faint pink spots blooming on his cheeks – and glare back at the Marauders.

“C’mon, Sev,” she said, in her coolest voice. “Let’s find a carriage with a more civilised company, shall we?”

He nodded, his eyes still on Sirius. Then, they were climbing into the train, and James was rounding on Sirius to ask him why he couldn’t have given him five more bloody minutes, and Peter was laughing that infuriatingly high-pitched chirping chuckle of his, and Sirius was looking… well, Remus thought he was looking quite queasy, actually. 

“Are you alright?” he asked him quietly, as they followed the others onto the train.

“I’m fine,” said Sirius, although his voice sounded oddly hollow to Remus. His smile seemed a little forced, too. “I’m just not looking forward to the summer, that’s all.”

“We have the next two weeks, at least,” replied Remus, although the bedroom that awaited him at home loomed large in his mind, with all of its silver locks and bolts on the door. With its charmed bars on the window. With that loaded silence that came every month, and every bit as faithfully as the full moon. 

“Two weeks doesn’t feel anywhere near long enough, Moons,” said Sirius, but then he shrugged off the cloud that had settled over him. “Oh, give it here,” he muttered, taking Remus’ trunk and shoving it on top of his own. Then, he clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and the pair of them half fell into their seats beside the others.  

***

They played a game of Exploding Snap for a while, just the two of them, until James eventually stopped sulking and asked to join in. Peter preferred to watch, distracting them all every so often with his endless string of questions about their plans for the next six weeks – particularly the two that the others would be spending together. 

“I wish I could come,” he moaned. “I don’t know why mum decided this is the year we’re going to Costa Bloody Blanca.”

“Ah but Wormy, you’ll have a great time,” said James, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “And you know mum; she’ll be asking you all to come over and spend the last few days before we go back, too. If she’s not shopping for at least four people in Diagon Alley, she’s miserable!” 

They all laughed at that, remembering how Euphemia had bustled about last summer sorting their dress robes for the Yule ball. She’d been double-checking all the measurements, questioning every colour choice, getting under the seamstress’ feet at every possible opportunity, and well and truly in her element. She’d had the biggest smile on her face when they’d all sat down, exhausted and laden with paper bags, to eat their ice creams at Fortescue’s afterwards.

Deep in Remus’ pocket, the folded note felt alive, humming faintly against his fingertips. He didn’t pull it out until they were over halfway to King’s Cross, though; when Peter had nodded off, face pressed against the window, and Sirius was sketching out a plan for James on how he could still win Lily over in September (for some reason, an enchanted guitar was involved). 

It was only small – a scrap of parchment torn hastily from the bottom of an essay, perhaps. And, as expected, Narcissa had looked to Dickinson to find the words she wanted to say. 

“If you were coming in the Fall, I’d brush the Summer by With half a smile, and half a spurn, As Housewives do, a Fly.”

He knew the poem well, and its ending, and instantly understood why she’d chosen it. He felt the same, although he’d have to wait far too long to tell her as much. He traced her handwriting once, twice, before folding it away for safekeeping. 

Then, Remus leaned his head against the glass, and stared at the ghost of his reflection. Behind it, ominous storm clouds were slowly beginning to gather above the fleeting countryside.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?”

He thought of that perfect kiss in their secret library; the way it tasted like sugar and cocoa and vanilla cream.

“I’d love a hot chocolate,” he said, much to the surprise of his friends. “Please.”

Chapter Text

The palatial dining room was silent in Malfoy Manor, save for those usual sounds of morning mundanity; the clink of silverware, the rustling of newspapers, the sound of butter being spread across a slice of toast, and the ceaseless ticking of the large grandfather clock in the corner. 

Lucius was sitting leisurely in his chair at the head of the table, a cup of black coffee in one hand, the other leafing through the copy of the Daily Prophet which hovered before him. Narcissa was opposite, her hands clasped tightly around her own cup, gaze fixed on the white tablecloth before her. Draco had yet to come downstairs. She suspected – and half hoped – that the boy would remain in his room until Lord Malfoy had left for the day. 

It was as if the night before hadn’t happened; as if it were some horrible nightmare that had melted away like snow in the morning sun. Every so often, though, her eyes would be dragged back to that awful front cover, where the black-and-white shot of last night’s vibrant green death omen blazed. 

‘TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP,’ screeched the headline, alongside the promise of a ‘list of casualties’ within. 

“Did you sleep well, wife?” enquired her husband. It was the first time he’d spoken to her that day.

“As well as could be expected,” she said carefully, knowing the wrong word could cost her dearly. “A dreadful business.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “I was up most of the night assisting Cornelius –” she noticed the sudden switch to first name terms, “– with his enquiries. He found my input to be quite invaluable, I suspect.”

Narcissa didn’t care about her husband’s endless scheming and schmoozing. She didn’t even care that he’d slipped the net she’d snared for him. All she wanted, more than anything in the world, was that list of casualties. Yet she knew, too, that asking for it would be the worst possible thing she could do.

“The Minister for Magic is fortunate to have Lord Malfoy in his corner,” she murmured, forcing herself to take a sip from her own drink. The tea had stewed for too long; it was horribly bitter on her tongue. 

Her husband peered at her over the paper, and she forced herself to remain impassive – a marble statue at the breakfast table. “Indeed, Lady Malfoy,” he said. And then, too casually: “A number of Death Eaters were apprehended at the scene, yet none were responsible for casting the Mark.”

Narcissa chanced a glance, and found his icy eyes fixed upon hers. “Most peculiar,” she replied, unsure what was expected of her. Unwilling to let the opportunity slip, though, she added: “How many were killed?”

“Killed, wife?”

“Morsmordre,” she said simply, as if she wasn’t bothered either way. 

“Oh, I see. No bodies were uncovered beneath the Dark Mark,” he replied, spilling his coffee slightly as he placed his own cup upon the table. She pretended not to notice that his hands were shaking.

“But the Mark…”

“… was clearly cast by someone who wanted to scare off those who had gathered together last night,” he snapped back. “Although they needn’t have bothered, quite frankly; the Ministry was ready and waiting for them. Cornelius tells me that Arthur Weasley and his son came to him to warn him ahead of the planned march at midnight. Intriguing, no?”

Narcissa forced herself to meet his gaze, to allow his pitiful attempt at legilemency to wash over her. She had not spoken to Arthur Weasley, nor anyone else. He went searching through her mind for evidence of a whispered conversation, and came back empty handed – and was it her imagination, or had his shoulders sagged ever so slightly with relief? “Loose lips,” she said quietly, thinking of the World War II poster she’d once seen in a muggle history book. A lifetime ago, it felt.

“Indeed,” he said, his own lip curling slightly. 

“And no others were killed?” she asked, unable to help herself. 

“Several killing curses were fired,” he replied, watching her closely. “It seems our own son, in fact, is to be praised for saving –” and here, his expression darkened, “– a small muggle girl. Several witnesses claim that he cast a powerful shield around the child before returning her to her parents.”

Narcissa ducked her head to hide her smile, glowing with pride. “His studies under Professor Lupin have paid off, then,” she said, daring herself to say his name aloud. Merlin, let him be safe. Merlin, let him live.

“Then perhaps it is a shame that Professor Lupin will not be around to teach Draco anymore,” he informed her, voice cold and cruel. Narcissa bit her lip to keep herself from crying out, and a tiny lightning bolt-shaped line suddenly cracked its way through the corner of the mirror on the wall behind Lucius’ head. He didn’t notice. 

“Such a shame,” she replied faintly, her hands clinging to the underneath of the table. It felt as if she were drowning, and her husband hadn’t even looked up from his newspaper.

“Well, he won’t be back for Defence Against The Dark Arts, at least,” he said, after what felt like a thousand years. “Dumbledore has dragged Alastor Moody out of retirement for that – but I already told you this, didn’t I? The wolf will be taking over the Duelling elective for the time being.”

Slowly, Narcissa began to breathe again. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. “Of course, husband. I think you mentioned it a few weeks ago. Moody is another… interesting choice from the headmaster.”

Lucius grunted. She noticed, now, that four very faint red lines had been clawed across one of his cheeks – and that there was a stray hair on his collar; dark, long, as unlike her own as could be. Narcissa took another sip of her bitter tea, and forced herself to offer him a porcelain smile. Beyond the door, she could hear the telltale creak of the top step, and knew without looking that Draco was crouched there waiting for the coast to clear. Judging by the expression on her husband’s face, so did he.

“I must be getting on,” he said, downing his coffee and slamming the cup back down again. “Cornelius will be expecting me early to help him with the interrogations; if a single wizard there knows who cast the Dark Mark, you can rest assured we will have it out of them before the end of the day.”

“I don’t doubt it, husband,” she said. “Until this evening, then.”

Lucius caught her eye for just a moment. There were new shadows on his face, and she suddenly realised that this endless theatre was as exhausting for him as it was her. Then, he nodded, and he was gone. The maddening sound of the ticking clock suddenly quietened as the air rushed back into the room. It was welcome; Narcissa realised she’d been holding her breath so long her lungs ached.

She poured her tea back into the pot, and summoned a House Elf to fetch two mugs of hot chocolate. With cream and marshmallows. 

“Not in here, though,” she told the creature. Narcissa had always hated this room. “Can you bring them through to the library, please?”

She waited for Draco to appear, as she knew he would. His eyes were still red, and he kept his poor left hand hidden in the crook of his elbow. Wordlessly, Narcissa wrapped her arms around him. “I could not be prouder of you than I am this morning,” she whispered into his ear. 

“But father…”

“Lord Malfoy has never been more undeserving of that title than he is today,” said Narcissa fiercely, ignoring Draco’s shocked gasp as she lifted his hand to examine the damage. “A little essence of dittany should soon set this to rights,” she told him, forcing a smile. 

***

The library was their domain; no polished wood and shining mirrors, but soft armchairs and stacks of well-worn books. The walls were still stark white, as they were throughout the rest of the manor, but the sun hit them differently here; softened them into something like the pale petals at the very centre of a rose. The floors, too, were marble – but she’d had them covered with rugs so soft you wanted to take your shoes off and bury your toes into them. It was as close to the comforts of her past as she could get them, even if this window looked out onto a formal flower garden rather than a tangle of black forest. 

Draco had always been most himself here, she thought, as she set to work on his hand. She’d sat with him in this very chair when he was still a newborn, crooning lullabies and snatches of muggle rock songs (he’d loved Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide) as she cradled him in her arms. She’d taught him to walk among the stacks, holding his chubby starfish hands in her own. She’d read to him endlessly – fairytales about men and monsters, so that he might learn the difference between the two. And she’d cast wards up around them both when Lord Malfoy’s more unsavoury guests were welcomed into the manor, too.

It wasn’t until the snowy bandages had been wrapped and they were sitting together with their drinks that Draco began to speak of the night before. The little girl’s screams, the arc of green light snaking its way towards her, the unexpected instinct to protect. (“I didn’t even think, Mother. It just happened.”) The way Professor Lupin’s own magic had bent and warped to bolster his own (“He helped you?” “I think so.”). The inevitable punishment that had awaited him when Lucius caught wind of what he’d done. The pain, the dread, and the fear of what was still to come.

“I suspect the Mark is only the beginning,” she agreed. “Eventually, they’ll expect you to choose a side – just as myself and your father and countless others were forced to do in the first wizarding war.” Realising she’d spoken that second part aloud, she looked at her son and pressed her hand against his good one. “Please, don’t get caught on the wrong one. Doing the right thing isn’t easy, but it is a path paved with far fewer regrets.”

Draco nodded slowly, and she thought how much she preferred him in the warm light of this room. He looked softer, less brittle, and nothing like Lucius. Here, he was the golden dragon she’d named him for. He was the star she dreamed he might still become.

“How, though?” asked Draco. “I’ve surrounded myself with all the friends that father demanded I make. They’re not going to be choosing the hard way.”

“Go to Professors Snape and Lupin,” she urged him. “If you ever need help, you can trust them both to offer it freely. And you say that one of the Gryffindor children saw you protect that girl?”

“Granger. Hermione Granger, I mean,” said Draco, the girl’s name sounding strange in his mouth. “She was with Professor Lupin when it happened.”

“Well, then. Go to her,” said Narcissa, smiling a little as she pictured it. “If she’s even half as brave at heart as the Hat thinks her to be, then she will stand your friend.” 

“Gryffindors don’t make friends with Slytherins, mother,” said Draco. “And we certainly don’t make friends with them.”

“Ridiculous,” she replied brusquely. “All of that daring needs at least a little cunning to keep it on track. Besides, didn’t I tell you that I was friends with Remus – Professor Lupin, I mean – in school? And don’t get me started on the crowd that Severus ran around with.”

She almost warned him that trust was its own kind of danger, but the words caught in her throat when she saw the way her son was staring at her – as if she were someone to be impressed by, rather than the cowering ornament she’d become. 

In that moment – just that moment – he reminded her of a boy she used to know. A boy whose smile made her feel safe, and who once promised her there was always a loophole.

Chapter Text

They had been back at school for three weeks now, and Narcissa had yet to visit the Room of Requirement. Remus, however, had sat in it alone every Saturday evening so far, flipping through books distractedly and wondering what he’d done to drive her away. 

Tonight, he knew, was the last weekend before the full moon; if she didn’t show this time, he’d either have to accept defeat, or… well, or walk over to where she sat at the Slytherin table each morning for breakfast (he’d seen her, sprinkling sugar on her porridge, and Sirius had nudged him when she’d glanced their way), and ask her what in Merlin’s name was going on.

The room was quiet, heavy with the faint scent of wax and parchment. Unsure what to do, he pulled out his Transfiguration homework and set to work; McGonagall expected brilliance from him, one of the few professors who did, and he was behind after several long nights helping James and Sirius fix an unexpected glitch in the Marauder’s Map. It shouldn’t reveal certain meetings, Sirius had argued. Privacy for lovers, Moony. Even the guilty deserve their shadows.

He was just waiting for the ink to dry on his parchment when he felt the air fizz around him. Finally. He turned to see Narcissa glaring at him, arms crossed across her chest, looking for all the world like he was the one to have wronged her.

“Hello Cissa,” said Remus, careful to keep his voice even. “Good summer?”

“Did you know?” she demanded. “Did you know about Sirius? 

Ah, of course.

Remus sighed as he made a show of shoving his homework back into his bag, trying to buy himself a moment to think. “I knew,” he said eventually. 

Narcissa’s eyes flashed. She strode across the room and shoved him in the chest, hard enough to knock him back a step. “Then why didn’t you tell me? I was out of my mind with worry!”

“How was I supposed to do that if I’m not even allowed to write to you?”

“I thought they’d had him killed!”

“They most likely would have done,” replied Remus, catching her wrists before she could strike him again. “His father found…” he trailed off. That was Sirius’ story to tell. “It doesn’t matter what he found; let’s just say he found something he didn’t like. So he told Sirius that he’d be sending him away somewhere to take the Dark Mark, whether he wanted to or not. Of course, he ran – the very moment he could. Wouldn’t you?”

Narcissa’s anger faltered. “But where’s he been all summer?” she whispered. “Why didn’t he write to me? Or Andi?”

“He’s been safe,” said Remus gently. “With people who love him.”

She bit her lip, searching his face. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not my secret to share, Cissa.”

“And if it were your secret?” she pressed, voice trembling. “Would you trust me then… or would you keep lying?”

Remus opened his mouth uncertainly. There were so many truths coiled in his throat, and every one of them dangerous. “I’m risking more than you’d ever know to be here with you,” he told her, his voice low and urgent. “You’re not just someone, Cissa; you’re…” he opened his hands helplessly. “You’re the one.”

Suddenly, her lips were on his with a new urgency.  The world narrowed to breath, heartbeat, scent – rose and salt again, and the faint iron tang of fear. When they finally broke apart, her eyes were wide; the colour of moonlight.

“That wasn’t quite an answer,” she said softly. Before he could open his mouth, though, she shook her head with a small smile. “It’ll do for now, though. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For Sirius. I’m glad he has friends like you in his corner,” said Narcissa quietly. “Do you think he might consider coming here one night with you? I’d like to see him. I don’t care what anyone says; he’s always going to be my stupid cousin who balanced a bucket on the door and drenched Bella through to her underwear, just because he’d caught her being mean to me. I… I love him.”

“He loves you, too.”

That word, spoken between mouths so close to one another, felt charged. Once again, she was the one to close the gap between them, gently tilting her head upwards and finding his lips with her own. Remus gently cupped her cheeks in his hands. All around them, the candles dimmed obligingly. 

“That poem…” Remus murmured against her hair.

“Yes?”

“I felt the same way,” he said, words tumbling over themselves. “I feel the same way, I mean. I’ve wanted to say it all summer… even if you kept me waiting for three extra weeks.”

Narcissa grinned at that, and his heart warmed to see it. “I’m glad to hear it,” she told him. “And I’m sorry for the delay; apparently the Slytherin prefects are far more zealous in their duties than you are.”

Remus couldn’t help himself; he laughed. “I don’t know what McGonagall was thinking, really,” he said. “If she’s hoping I can keep James and Sirius in line, she’s sadly overestimated me and my abilities.”

“Perhaps she hoped a shiny new badge would keep you from sneaking out at night and snogging Slytherin girls?”

“Just one,” he corrected her. “Only ever one girl.”

She searched his face. “How can you be so sure?”

Because wolves mate for life, he thought. Because if I saw you under a full moon, I’d kneel.

But all he said was, “Because I am.”

***

When Narcissa returned to the common room at dawn, she nearly collided with Andi at the entrance. Her sister looked every bit as dishevelled as she felt.

“I forgot the password,” she muttered, cheeks reddening. “I don’t suppose you know it?”

“Pudicitia,” replied Narcissa, eyeing her sister curiously.

They slipped inside the long, low underground room together, and both breathed an audible sigh of relief when they found it empty. Rather than parting and taking the stairs to their separate dormitories, though, the two sisters perched on the ends of the same dark leather sofa. The one closest to the crackling fireplace. The one that felt the most private.

“Look, I’m not going to ask where you’ve been,” Andi began.

“Only because I could ask you the same thing,” Narcissa countered.

For some reason, that made them both giggle like they were still those same little girls who shared a room. When the sound died, though, Andi grew serious again. 

“I mean it, Cissy; keep your secrets while you can, but be careful,” she cautioned. “Be very careful, and whatever you do, don’t let the wrong person catch you. And make sure you have a plan for when it all goes wrong, because they won’t be as forgiving as they were with Sirius.”

“Forgiving? They blasted him right off the family tree!”

“And Merlin, isn’t he all the luckier for it?” asked Andi, dark eyes flashing passionately. “Better that than the alternative… even if it’s made the cage all the harder to break free of for the rest of us.”

Narcissa was beginning to suspect that the red mark blazing on her sister’s throat wasn’t the work of another Slytherin – or even another pureblood. “Andi, who were you…?”

“Don’t,” her sister interrupted. “We can’t do that. We’re both safer if we don’t know what the other is doing; then they can’t force us to betray one another.”

The warmth that Narcissa had carried back with her from her meeting with Remus suddenly drained from her bones, and she shivered – even as the fire blazed just a foot or so away. “Are you… are you happy?” she asked suddenly. 

Andromeda grinned then; a small, luminous thing in the greenish glow. “Yes,” she said. “Very. And you, dearest?”

“I’d risk everything for him,” Narcissa whispered.

The smile faded from Andi’s face. “And you well may have to,” she warned her. “So think about that, little sister; think about what you’d be prepared to do for love. The way the world is turning, I suspect we’ll both be forced to make a hard decision before too long.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, their hands clasped like children before the fire. The faint creak of a stair behind them went unheard, and the shadow moving above them went unseen… even as it stood listening, waiting, and spinning what it had heard into poison.

Chapter Text

The moon was barely visible; a mere slither of crescent hanging in the sky above him. The stars, though, always seemed to shine so much brighter up here; Remus imagined he could see every leaf quivering in the forest, every blade of grass rippling in the glade. The dying warmth of summer meant he’d made his way here from The Burrow without a coat; now, as he wandered the bright white landscape under a cloudless sky, he shivered slightly in his shirt sleeves.

It was almost impossible to believe that a house had stood here once; this pretty little spot was so remote, so perfect, so seemingly untouched. And yet, Remus recalled with a fond smile, he had spent many happy summers and Christmases here. He could almost see the garden if he squinted, faint outlines of where flowerbeds had been, the broken curve of a fountain swallowed by moss. A child’s shoe half-buried in the grass. He’d been welcomed here as if he were just another boy when Fleamont Potter had hosted his son’s friends for parties. He remembered James tumbling down the slope, Lily’s hair flashing red in the sun, Sirius stretched on the grass with a Butterbeer in his hand. The bright sound of laughter. 

Still, he needed to be exact; Remus couldn’t let those happy ghosts distract him from tracking down what he needed to find. It would have been easier as a wolf, he suspected, but time was of the essence; they needed this before the next full moon. They needed it tonight.

Eventually, after tramping about for what felt like hours, Remus found the spot where the world shimmered like the haze that hung over tarmac on a hot day. Raising an eyebrow at the tangled hazel thicket behind it (who did it think it was fooling?), he conjured up a chair, and waited. If there was one thing he knew he was good at, it was waiting.

An hour passed. Then, the sound of feet padding across the floor towards him had Remus up and on his feet. He fell upon the shaggy black dog that had ventured into the clearing, looping his arms around its neck as he laughed into fur that still smelled faintly of wet earth and smoke. For one dizzy moment, Remus remembered another night years ago; the two of them running through the forest, the world silvered and wild. The wolf and the dog. How simple it had been, then, when their hunger and loyalty had the same shape.

And then, just like that, the dog was gone; strong, wiry arms were hugging him back, and Sirius was pressing his forehead against Remus’ own. 

“Careful, Moony, people will talk if you start throwing yourself at me like that,” he admonished his friend. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“It’s a dark day when Sirius Black can accuse me of ruining someone’s reputation,” said Remus happily, pushing him back so he could get a proper look at him. “Nice tan, Pads – where’ve you been hiding?”

Sirius grinned, looking far healthier than he had done the last time they’d met – even if his hair was still a mess.

“Somewhere warm and sunny,” he said simply. “There were so many coconuts, Moony; I must’ve eaten at least one a day.”

Remus snorted. “I bet that did wonders for your bowel movements.” Then, remembering why they were here, he held up a hand to silence his friend. “I’m pretty sure this is the spot,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re mad, obviously,” said Sirius, “but here goes nothing.” He stood up, held his arms above his head like a muggle actor playing at being a wizard in a terrible play, and intoned: “I, Sirius Black, have returned to claim The Kiln.” Then, for good measure, he added: “So mote it be.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Sirius roared with laughter and mimed a look of despair, but as he opened his mouth to make what was bound to be a joke at Moony’s expense, the tangled hazel thicket before him shifted, branches knotting and reshaping themselves.

“I told you so,” said Remus smugly. “Fleamont always said he’d leave the place to you, didn’t he?”

The cottage shimmered into being; a small, ivy-wrapped shape that looked as though it had always been there, waiting for them. Its windows glowed dimly, and the chimney exhaled one cloud of purple smoke, as if sighing with relief.

“It remembers you,” said Remus.

“Places don’t remember people,” Sirius countered, but he looked up at the eaves with shining eyes as he said it. “Shall we?”

***

Baldric had been so delighted to have people in the house again that the little House Elf had fallen against their legs and cried for nine minutes straight. (“He’s almost as besotted with me as you are, Moony!”). Then, the little creature had bobbed its head and disappeared to fetch them each a glass of milk and a cheese-and-ham toastie cut into triangles, apparently failing to realise that the two boys he had once known and loved were now grown men. 

The hearth had crackled to life the moment Sirius crossed the threshold. Shelves dusted themselves; curtains twitched open to the night. There was a distinct waft of beeswax and rosemary, and all around them was the faint humming of old spells waking from sleep.

“Home,” Sirius murmured, almost too softly for Remus to hear. He ran a rough hand over the kitchen table. “I’d forgotten what that feels like.”

“Then remember it here,” said Remus quietly. “Not in that mausoleum on Grimmauld Place. You were never happy there; how could you be? This place was different. You were loved here.”

Sirius looked up, caught between surprise and something else; shame, perhaps. The firelight flickered across his face, and for a heartbeat Remus saw not the man, but the boy he’d been: proud, rebellious, and so very desperate to be wanted.

“You sound like my bloody conscience,” Sirius said, forcing a smile.

“Someone has to.” Remus’s voice softened. “Promise me, Pads? If it all goes wrong, if the walls start closing in again, you come back here. Not there. Here.”

Sirius hesitated, then reached out to touch the wood beneath his palm. “All right,” he said finally. “Here, then. The Kiln. I’ll remember.”

“Good,” murmured Remus, more to himself than to his friend. “It remembers you too.”

***

It took a while for them to get to business. especially as Remus had to apologise again for that dreadful situation with Peter Pettigrew, much to Sirius’ amusement. 

“So you forgot to take your wolfsbane,” he said with a shrug. “It’s not like I was any better; if I’d stopped being so ridiculous and just explained that I wanted the bloody rat, not Harry, we’d have gotten the whole thing over with long before the moon ever came out.”

“One dies tonight,” said Remus with mock solemnity, ducking when a cushion was hurled at his head. 

“Blame the Dementors, will you?” asked Sirius, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the memory. “I’m surprised I’d even retained a quarter of my sanity after all those years in their care. And anyway, neither of us is to blame; Snivellus was the one who bloody ruined it all. Just like always.” Something about the tone of his friend’s voice made Remus look up sharply; Sirius, though, was the very picture of innocence – or as close as to it as he could get with his highwayman’s face.

“Indeed,” said Remus, unsure if he should point out that Severus had, for all his talk that night, been genuinely horrified when he’d learned that Sirius was to be handed back to the Dementors without a trial. That he had been positively unhinged when he learned of his escape, true, but that… well, that he had been the one to find the room empty. Why had he ever gone there alone in the first place, Remus wondered? Exactly what plans had Severus Snape in store for Sirius Black that night? 

“Enough about that slimy git; I don’t want to talk about him anymore – or Wormy,” said Sirius suddenly, just as Remus opened his mouth. “There are bigger problems for us to tackle.”

The toasties and milk may have been laughed at (when Baldric was out of earshot, obviously), but they were demolished by both men as they went over the events that had brought them here; the pain in Harry’s scar, and the terrible dream he’d experienced. The nightmarish scenes at the World Cup. The unexpected warning from – and Remus stumbled over the name, which still tasted like glass in his mouth – Lady Malfoy.

“I’ve never understood why she married that prick when she could have had you,” said Sirius, always loyal to a fault.

Remus thought of the way the older man had gripped Narcissa’s arm so tightly she’d flinched. Of how his own son seemed to be absolutely terrified of him. More than anything, though, he thought of how Narcissa had looked into Remus’ eyes as if he were still the only other person in the world.  

“Parchment and blood,” he said softly. “It’s not like she had a choice in the matter, Sirius.”

“You’re defending her?”

“I’m explaining her,” Remus corrected.

“Same thing, mate.”

“No. I know what she is… or what she was raised to be. But there’s more to her than the mask. There always was.”

“Merlin, Moony! She knew the loophole and she bungled it, yet you still sound like you’re halfway to writing sonnets.”

“I already have,” said Remus before he could stop himself.

Sirius fell silent at that, his handsome brow furrowing, Remus suspected his friend understood him far better than he was ready to admit. Then, there was a crackle as the last log on the fire turned on itself and went out entirely. The toasties were long gone, crumbs scattered across old wood. And, outside, the moon hung thin and white as it did battle with the oncoming dawn.

“So what now?” Sirius asked.

“Now,” said Remus, “we wait. And we prepare. Because if she’s right, and if she really has risked everything to warn us, then the storm isn’t coming. It’s already here.”

He reached for his cloak. Somewhere deep inside, the wolf stirred. And beneath the scent of woodsmoke and dust, he could still smell the ghost of her on the letter in his pocket; cool Sicilian lemon, pink peppercorn, sea salt and roses.

“It was never a choice,” he whispered to no one in particular. “It never was.”

Chapter Text

It was the kind of domestic, golden chaos Remus had only ever experienced in stories. When the Potters invited him for Christmas, and he’d realised the full moon fell later that month, he’d leapt at the chance. Anything was better than the quiet, tremulous voices of his own family.

The Kiln was full of life that night. Laughter rolled up the chimney with the smoke, and something sweet and spiced hung in the air. Fleamont had jovially transfigured the dining table into a sleigh for pudding, while Sirius  magicked fairy lights onto a set of antlers he’d levitated onto the top of the huge fir tree that stood proudly in the living room. Euphemia, meanwhile, was trying not to laugh as James leapt about singing impossibly rude versions of muggle Christmas carols. (“I don’t know what any of those words mean, James, and I suspect I don’t want to.”)

Remus sat near the hearth, smiling whenever someone caught his eye, laughing when the room expected it, but his heart beat a little slower than the rhythm of the house. It was so bright here. Too bright. Happiness like this was a flame, he thought: beautiful in its glow and wonderfully warming… until it burned.

When dinner was finished, he slipped away, telling them all that he was just going to fetch another log for the fire (“Don’t be long, Pads; firewhisky shots await!” “Absolutely not! You boys are getting butterbeer and that’s that!”). Instead, he found himself in the study where the light was softer, the books were ancient, and the noise of ceaseless merriment a distant hum.

He loved them, he realised. He loved every single one of them so much, but sometimes the love itself hurt: the way James never doubted his place in the world, the way Sirius filled every silence with his easy laughter, the way the Potters’ kindness never faltered. They were the sort of people who instinctively made room for others, even if that room was messy. Merlin, when he’d first arrived, he found a stocking hanging by the fireplace; his name had been stitched clumsily but proudly across the top. 

His own parents had learned to bar his childhood door on the nights he needed them most. The Potters had given him a room with a squashy bed, a pile of books, and a round window overlooking the garden because they knew he slept better when he could see the moon.

Remus stood up and stretched, ready to rejoin the fray. His attention, though, was caught by the strange half-mirror on the mantelpiece; a half-moon of silvered glass framed by etched ivy and moonflowers. He picked it up, puzzled that Fleamont and Euphemia kept such a broken thing in pride of place.

The glass rippled like water.

“Remus?”

He froze. His reflection vanished. Instead, a young woman appeared in the mirror; one with shining vanilla hair and eyes as blue as cornflowers: Narcissa. 

“You’re not Andi,” she said accusingly.

“Well… no,” he admitted. “But I’m glad it’s me.”

For a moment, she looked like she might end the connection, but then her hand lingered against the glass, and the image steadied.

“I thought she’d wait until after the holidays, but she’s gone,” said Narcissa after a while. He realised, with a start, that she was crying. “She’s run off with a Hufflepuff, can you believe it?”

“The Black girls certainly have form when it comes to thinking outside the box, I’ll give them that,” replied Remus, and he was rewarded with a shaky giggle. “Your parents?”

“Furious. They’ve burned her from the tapestry, just like Sirius; she’s no longer a part of the family.” Narcissa wiped her eyes. “If Bella ever finds her...”

“I’m sorry, Cissa.”

“Don’t be,” she replied. “She’s happy now. Free. Just like Sirius.”

“Then you envy them?”

There was silence for a moment. Then, Narcissa whispered in a voice meant only for him: “Yes. I miss them. I love them. And I still want to trade places with them. I hate myself for it.”

Remus smiled, before telling her all about the Potters’ laughter. How it filled the whole house from top to bottom, and seeped under doorways. How it made him so happy and so sad to hear it, all at once.

“It feels like I’m witnessing something sacred,” he confessed. 

“I can’t even imagine such warmth,” she said. “Family, for us, has always been about duty. We’ve been lectured over and over again about the responsibility we have as daughters of the House of Black; they’ve always told us how to make connections, how to forge alliances – never how to make friends. I can’t imagine being allowed to have my own people over for Christmas. They sometimes have men from the old families come over for tea, but…” she trailed off, realising who she was speaking to. “I’m sorry.”

“Parchment and blood?” he offered.

Narcissa flinched. “They want us to marry well. Oh Merlin, maybe Andi was right.”

“About love?”

“About choosing it… even when it ruins you.”

“Some things are worth ruin,” replied Remus simply, holding her gaze.

Narcissa opened her mouth to say something – his name, perhaps, or that she missed him. Maybe even that she knew the cost of freedom and was more than willing to pay it if it meant they could be together (he liked to imagine it was that one most, when he played it over in his mind later). Before the words ever left her lips, though, the glass clouded over. 

As the mist faded, Remus was left staring at his own reflection; the room beyond was gone. Only the faint outline of Narcissa’s hand remained, a ghost against the silver.

Remus sat for a long time in the half-light, listening to the sound of distant laughter spilling from the hall with a faint smile on his face. He smiled even as his heart broke for the girl sat crying in her own silent house many miles away, missing her sister and her cousin – the only people who made her so-called family worthy of the name – with a fierce desperation. He wished, more than anything, that he could steal her away from that awful gilded cage they’d locked her in.

Outside, the snow fell silently, softening every edge. And for one impossible heartbeat, he could almost smell her perfume in the air: sea salt and roses, carried on a winter wind. Neither of them realised that their conversation had let forth an accidental spell echo; neither knew, too, that they had both watched the same snowflake fall on each side of the glass. 

“Moony, what are you doing here on your own?” asked Sirius from the door. His voice was surprisingly gentle; as if he knew a little of what was whirling through Remus’ mind. “Come on; there’s a family quiz, apparently. We can’t start without you.”

Remus let his friend pull him to his feet, then hugged him unexpectedly. “Thanks, Pads,” he said. Spotting the time, he added: “Happy Christmas.”

Sirius snorted. “Always so emotional,” he said, his arm slung around Remus’s shoulders as the two strays returned to the noisy warmth of the Potters’ home and the family that had taken them both in. That had decided to love them, in spite of all the reasons not to. 

Remus glanced once more at the empty mantle.

One day, he thought, I’ll bring her here too.

***

Remus woke to the soft clatter of someone tripping over something heavy downstairs.

“JAMES POTTER, IF THAT WAS MY BEST VASE –”

“It was already cracked, Mum!”

“Because you cracked it yesterday!”

Remus smiled into his pillow; the sun wasn’t even properly in the sky, yet, and the house was alive already. He dressed and padded down to the kitchen where Sirius, hair everywhere, was slumped over the table, face in a bowl of cereal.

“Pads,” Remus said, pouring himself a glass of juice.

Sirius lifted his head; a small piece of buttered toast clung to his cheek. “I’m dead.”

“You’re hungover from butterbeer,” James said. “Remus, back me up. That’s pathetic, right?”

Remus shrugged; he had noticed more than a few firewhiskey shots being smuggled between Fleamont and their friend when Euphemia wasn’t looking. “He has a delicate constitution.”

Sirius threw a spoon at him without looking. Remus dodged it with the reflexes of someone who had lived alongside Sirius Black for four years.

“Where’s Sniv… Snape, I mean?” James asked suddenly, glancing toward the back door as if expecting a shadow to materialise. Sirius’s shoulders tensed – just barely, but Remus caught it. 

A silence bloomed before Sirius replied in too-casual a voice: “Not everyone lives here, James.”

“But he was here last night,” James insisted. “I’m sure I heard him.”

“Maybe I’m not the only one who had their brain addled by butterbeer,” Sirius said, sharper now, eyes fixed on his toast.

Remus watched the exchange, head tilted. Before he could ask anything, though, Euphemia swept in. “Boys, honestly! Eat something,” she said, levitating yet another stack of toast their way. “Remus, darling, sit properly, your spine is older than the other two put together. Oh! And if one of you destroyed the laundry basket by enchanting it to gallop, come clean now.”

James and Sirius shared a conspiratorial look, but they were saved when Remus cleared his throat, gently touching the question that had been tugging him awake since late last night.

“Mr and Mrs P… I mean, Fleamont? Euphemia? I was wondering… that mirror in the study – the half one. Would it be all right if I… took it? Borrowed it?” He swallowed. “It’s broken anyway.”

Fleamont looked up from the morning's Daily Prophet, eyebrows raised. “Oh, that old thing?” he asked. “Picked it up in Diagon years ago – glass cracked clean in half while we were still in the shop, and they insisted it was a ‘you break it, you pay for it’ situation. Never did manage to get it mended.”

“We don’t use it,” Euphemia added, waving a hand. “It’s yours if you want it, dear.”

Something warm flared in Remus’s chest.“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it.

Sirius, toast dangling from his mouth, stared at him in mild suspicion. “Why do you want a broken mirror?”

Remus took a sip of tea. “It’s… comforting.”

“Moony,” said Sirius, narrowing his eyes. “I won’t sugarcoat it; that’s worrying.”

Remus busied himself with a slice of jam toast and shrugged expansively, then almost choked when James caught him in a headlock as he passed by. “Come on. Dad says we’re going to the orchard to see if we can charm the snow to fall upwards –”

“Absolutely did not say that,” Fleamont muttered to himself with a grin.

“– and then we’re playing Quidditch.”

It was ridiculous, loud, chaotic, and perfect. Yet, as the boys barrelled out the back doors into glittering winter light, Remus glanced toward the study and the half-mirror waiting quietly on the mantel.

Last night, Narcissa Black had reached through that glass as if through winter itself. Now, he could take the other half home. 

Chapter Text

It was rare that Narcissa left the house alone; she usually walked in her husband’s shadow, following him with her head bowed as he attended the many high society events that added weight to his life. Dinners with Ministers, charitable luncheons at St Mungo’s, Yule celebrations at Avalon – Lucius liked to be seen and photographed wherever he went, and he wanted his beautiful young wife on his arm, too.

Once a year, though, Narcissa was granted permission to visit one – just one – of Diagon Alley’s establishments by herself. And so, a few weeks after Draco had left for school, she dressed herself in the black robes that her husband always insisted upon, and she knocked politely on his study door.

“Enter,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, husband,” she said quietly, spine straight and hands folded across her stomach; the posture of a woman who knew she would not be believed unless she appeared perfectly composed.. “I have my appointment at St Gianna’s today.”

Whatever Lucius had been about to say, the words died in his throat and a flash of genuine discomfort flashed across his face. As always, the mere insinuation of “women’s troubles” was enough to unsettle him. “Of course,” he said politely. “My fireplace is free, if you’d like to travel by Floo?” An empty courtesy, of course; he always watched her set up the connection between their house and the clinic to ensure she ‘made it there safely’. She suspected he’d send her in shackles and under armed guard if he could.

“I’d be very grateful, yes.”

Lucius passed her the small onyx box filled with glittering powder, and his fingers brushed clumsily against her own. Narcissa endured his touch in silence, as she always had, and he suddenly leaned forward to tilt her chin up towards him.

“Perhaps they will finally have good news for us; I have tried so hard, and I have waited so long ,” he said, voice cracking a little on the words. “What do you think, Lady Malfoy?”

Merlin, give me strength, she thought; Narcissa always found Lucius Malfoy was never more unbearable than when he was feeling sorry for himself. “I wish for it every day, husband,” she replied steadily. “Draco has always been my greatest blessing.”

A long minute passed before Lucius finally, finally released her hand. “And mine,” he told her. Then, something shuttered behind his grey eyes. “Still, we need more than one heir if we are to protect the bloodline. Perhaps I should come with you today to prevail that fact upon your Healers?”

Narcissa shrugged a shoulder, as if she didn’t mind either way. “It would be a comfort to have you there. They don’t usually allow men in the building due to the… invasive nature of the tests involved.” She saw him shudder, and glowed inwardly, knowing she was safe. “But they would never deny the great Lord Malfoy entry.”

“Perhaps next time,” he said noncommittally, turning and retreating to the safety of his desk. “I hope the day is not too uncomfortable for you.”

She took a large pinch of the Floo Powder, hurled it into the fireplace, and declared: “St Gianna’s Clinic, Diagon Alley.” The flames blazed emerald-green and she stepped gracefully into them with her eyes closed, grateful for the roar that muffled her long, shaky sigh. The world gave a dizzying spin on its axis, and she walked out into a quiet waiting room filled with velvet-topped seats and small polished tables. She nodded to the welcome witch at the front desk, who shot her a conspiratorial wink, before sliding into an armchair and accepting a mint tisane from a House Elf in a linen shift. 

Then, she pulled out the book she had secreted in her robes (Sylvia Plath’s Ariel – an anonymous gift, although she had recognised the pressed rose the moment she saw it) and settled down as she waited for her name to be called. 

She had only been reading for a short while when she was summoned. Narcissa stood elegantly, and walked through the same varnished wooden door she had walked through countless times before. It was only after it had clicked shut behind her, and the Doctor-Patient privacy wards had flared,that she allowed herself to look up and smile at the dark-haired woman before her.

“Hello Andi.”

***

The sisters had become adept at performing the parts that had been thrust upon them; Andromeda sat in her seat on one side of the desk, Narcissa opposite. Their hands, though, met in the middle and clasped tightly as they spoke in low, happy voices.

“How’s Ted? And Dora?” asked Narcissa, smiling at the sea of photographs on the wall behind her sister.

“Wonderful – although he’s run off his feet with work, and she’s just ‘Tonks’ now,” replied Andi with a well-practiced roll of her eyes. “Apparently it’s the best way to get the other Aurors to take her seriously. How’s Draco?”

“He’s… changed,” said Narcissa with a small smile, and she told Andi about the events of the World Cup, this time not fighting to keep the pride out of her voice. “He saved that little girl without thinking – Lucius was furious, of course,” and here, her voice flattened. “He dusted off one of Mother’s old favourites when it came to designing Draco’s punishment.”

“And so my brother-in-law continues to prove disappointingly unimaginative,” said Andi with a sniff. “Ted was one of the first Mediwizards on the scene and he told me the old crowd were every bit as enamoured with the Unforgivables as they ever were.”

“I doubt Lucius was,” replied Narcissa, remembering how pale her husband had been the morning after. “He had a very different idea of what was supposed to happen that night.”

“His critical thinking skills have always been lacking,” snipped Andi. “I suppose he still thinks you tragically infertile, too?”

“Of course. I’ve performed the charm you showed me after every…” she trailed off, seeing the look on Andromeda’s face. “I’ve performed it every month, just as soon as he’s dismissed me from his rooms.”

“Continue to do so, and be sure to drink the tisane, too. We’ve come this far – now is absolutely not the time for any mistakes,” warned Andi. Then, she tilted her head knowingly at her sister. “Speaking of which, I heard that Remus Lupin continues to teach at Hogwarts – even though he is now openly known to be a werewolf. Interesting decision from the headmaster, wouldn’t you say?”

Narcissa flicked her eyes downwards, suitably chastised. “I saw him,” she said, unable to hold it in any longer. “I spoke to him – not about anything like that,” she snapped, seeing the shocked look on her sister’s face. “Just… we spoke to each other, and we didn’t say anything, and it felt exactly the same.”

“Cissy…”

“I think there might still be a chance. At least, I hope there might still be a chance. Merlin, I wish I could speak with him and explain.”

Andromeda smiled faintly at her sister, who looked for all the world as if she had claimed the Philosopher's Stone, shaken off the last horrible 16 years of her life, and became a young girl again before her very eyes. “You have to be careful, dearest.”

“Aren’t I always careful?” said Narcissa bitterly, dropping her sister’s hand. 

“I know, Cissy, and I understand that it’s hard, but…

“How could you possibly understand what it’s like?” Narcissa burst out; too loud, too sharp. “You got your happy ending, Andi. You got to marry the man you loved, you got to build your family together. I got Lucius Malfoy.”

“I’m sorry,” said Andromeda softly. “You know I am. I wish I could do more.”

“Then why don’t you? Why don’t you help me?” Narcissa felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, and she looked up at the bright lights on the ceiling until they’d faded. Her sister, though, quietly walked around the desk to fold her arms around her. It was the first time that she’d been hugged by someone other than Draco in Merlin knows how long, and she felt her whole body soften. 

“I will consult another Advocate about the contract,” offered Andi, smoothing Narcissa’s hair with her gentle hands. “I'll make sure everything is in place when we activate the loophole. And I could–” she paused, as if hating the words she was about to share. “– I could try to meet with Professor Lupin. Not to tell him everything; I still think that has to come from you. When you’re ready. But I could tell him that… that you still think of him. That you still hope for him.”

“But Lucius would have him killed if he ever so much as suspected,” replied Narcissa, voice muffled from the press of her sister’s shoulder. She had seen what her husband was capable of when crossed.

“I would do it discreetly,” promised Andi, “and I’d remind Remus of the danger. Not for him, because I doubt any idiot Gryffindor would care about that. I’ll remind him how dangerous it would be for you… and for Draco, too. Anyone who’s seen him with Lily Evans’ son will know he has form for putting other people’s children above his own needs.”

“He’s a true paragon of his House.” Narcissa sagged in her sister’s arms. 

“Hasn’t that always been part of his appeal?” replied Andromeda dryly, and Narcissa gave a reluctant laugh.

“Lions have more romance about them than badgers, I suppose,” she teased. 

“I don’t know about that,” smiled Andi. “There’s something incredibly reassuring about my marriage, and I suspect it’s down to Ted’s patience, loyalty and kindness.”

Narcissa considered her own marriage, and nodded. “You built your life with a good man,” she said. “I wish –” she sighed frustratedly, “– that I could just visit with you, and you with me. Imagine if we could have birthdays and Christmases together with our children?”

“Wait one more year, Cissy,” said her sister, “and you can bring Draco over for dinner. Maybe even your Mr Lupin, if things go well.”

It was a dangerous dream, but the vision shone in Narcissa’s mind’s eye like it was playing out on her very own cinema screen. Draco chatting with Dora (Tonks, even); Ted and Remus carrying dishes to the table; the two Black sisters smiling at the sight of their family together at long last.  

“Can you check me over?” she asked suddenly. “Just to make sure? I hate the idea of –”

“Of course,” said Andi brusquely, back in Healer mode. She pulled out her wand and gestured at the white bed in the corner of the room. “Let’s give you some peace of mind, shall we?”

***

Saying goodbye was always difficult, but today felt harder for some reason. The tests had all come back clear, thankfully, and they’d had lunch together in Andi’s office (she always cleared her diary of appointments when her sister was due for a checkup). Narcissa had eaten properly, without feeling like she was being watched and having her every mouthful measured, and she looked all the better for it. It had, by all accounts, been a perfect day – or as close to perfect as Lady Malfoy was ever able to get at, nowadays. 

The shadow of the events of the World Cup, though, loomed large – and it threatened to undo everything  that the two sisters had worked for over the years.

“Don’t stray from the path,” said Andromeda, watching Narcissa closely. “Just one more year, remember?”

“And you’ll talk to him?” asked Narcissa urgently. “Really?”

Andi pressed her lips together, but she nodded. “I will arrange a meeting with him as soon as I can,” she said, pressing a gentle kiss on her sister’s cheek. “I promise, dearest – so long as you promise to do the charms without fail, and drink the tisane faithfully.”

“I will. You know I will.”

“And Cissy?”

Narcissa looked at Andromeda, and saw the unspoken warning due on her lips. “I’ll be careful, Andi,” she replied. “Give my love to Ted and Dora.”

“And mine to Draco.”

They both smiled sadly at that; Draco didn’t even know he had an Aunt Andi who loved him like mad from afar. And then, the flares faded, the door unlocked with a click, and Narcissa swept from the office with all of the grace and poise with which she had entered it.

***

Andromeda sat for a while after her sister had left, staring at the photographs of her own family and feeling, not for the first time, as if she had stolen something from Narcissa. Then, she considered the promise she had made, and wondered how she could ever fulfill it.

“Worth,” she called out, and a House Elf appeared with a crack before her. 

“Yes, Healer Nera?”

“I need you to take a message for me,” she told the creature. “Immediately.”

As Worth vanished, Andromeda realised she was about to cross a threshold of her own. One from which none of them could safely return.

Chapter Text

It was her first visit to the Restricted Section of the library, and the wrought iron gate whispered as Narcissa passed through it. At last, after months of shameless namedropping, Professor Slughorn had distractedly signed the permission slip she’d thrust before him. (“I’d just so love to better understand the art of the craft.” “And you shall, dear girl; do give my regards to your uncle!”)

She wasn’t even sure what she hoped to find; she just knew that the strange half-mirror hidden beneath her dormitory floorboard wasn’t like any magic she’d ever studied. Standard textbooks gave only half-footnotes on reflective enchantments. A few dusty paragraphs referenced the Mirror of Erised, though this was clearly something else.

The shelves seemed to breathe around her; a hush, a pulse, the faint sensation that the books themselves were listening closely. Candles guttered over spines the colour of old bruises, and chains clinked faintly where volumes restrained for violent tendencies tugged at their bindings. She wished, for the hundredth time, that she’d asked Remus to come with her. She had meant to; they’d managed to snatch a few moments between classes earlier, concealing themselves behind the smallest greenhouse. Instead, she’d dared to tell him she’d begun writing her own poetry, and he’d asked her if she might consent to another cinema date (“No, Cissa; it’s not an actual pink panther”). They’d kissed in broad daylight, and she’d giggled as she told him that his lips had a different flavour in the sunshine. He’d reassured her, emphatically, that she always tasted wonderful. 

On second thoughts, perhaps it would have been too distracting to have Remus here.

An hour into her search, Narcissa saw it: a slim pearl-coloured volume, wedged between thick leather tomes, glowing faintly as though wrapped in moonlight. It felt alive beneath her fingertips as she opened it, and the script shimmered in silvered ink. 

The Selene Coven: a forgotten sisterhood who believed the moon held memory. That mirrors bound under its light could reflect one another across any distance if both hearts longed to see. That every reflection was a promise.

Narcissa’s breath caught in her throat.

She read aloud, unable to help herself: “The moon doth spy what Phoebus doth conceal, And joins those sundered by space or dread, reveal.”

In the margin beside the passage, she found a single word had been scratched by a hand she recognised instantly: True. 

“Your reading tastes are almost as interesting as the company you keep nowadays, Cissa,” drawled a familiar voice from behind her.

Narcissa spun, heart hammering in her chest. Severus was leaning against the nearest shelf with his arms folded across his chest. 

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she replied coolly, slipping instinctively into that old Black hauteur. “Should you even be here, Severus? I was granted a special dispensation; I’d hate for you to get into any trouble.”

Severus bristled at her tone, but forged onwards. “I’m not the one who should worry about trouble. Books like that,” he said, pointing at the moonlit text, “have teeth. And so do the men who read them under moonlight.”

Narcissa gave him a flat look. “You’re speaking in riddles. Again.”

“I’m speaking plainly, Cissy. You should know what sort of creature your cousin’s friend is before you start romanticising his poetry.”

Her stomach tightened at ‘creature’; Severus, she knew, always chose his words deliberately and with the utmost care. “Your obsession with my cousin continues, then,” she said spitefully. “Only now you’ve turned your attention to the people he spends time with.”

“I cannot stress enough,” he whispered furiously, “how little I care about Sirius Black. I do, however, care about you – even if you don’t wish to see it. Surely you must have suspected there was something untoward about your cousin’s scruffy friend? Or were you so swept up in the excitement of all your clandestine meetings that you didn’t pay attention to the dates upon which he failed to meet you?”

Narcissa was, even if not one of the brightest witches in her year, an intelligent young woman; of course she had suspected. The nights that Remus seemingly vanished. The scars he tried and failed to keep hidden. The hunger in him, and the otherness that flickered behind all his gentleness. “You’re being ridiculous, Severus,” she countered.

“You know,” Severus said darkly. He was starting to enjoy this, she realised, and she hated him for it. “You must know. The man is a monster.”

Her gaze dropped instinctively to the faint, silvery words etched into the page, and remembered the feel of his lips brushing the curse-marked letters on her hand. To the way her pulse had leapt – just as it had when she caught the shimmer in his eyes under the greenhouse glass. The way the world had felt sharper, nearer, when he’d looked at her. Perhaps her body had known long before her mind dared admit it.

“He lies to you,” Severus pressed, as if testing a wound. “He twists the truth. Sneaks into shadows. Steals kisses from you on the nights he isn’t hunting.”

“Stop it,” she said sharply.

“Why do you think his kind has fangs and claws?” Severus murmured, leaning closer. “All the better to eat you with.”

“Severus.” Her warning cracked into a plea.

“One mistake,” he hissed. “One bite, and you’ll be forced out into exile with him… if you survive the night at all. Is that part of the thrill?”

“I said stop.”

“He cannot love you,” Severus snapped, leaning out of the shadows to place a hand on her sleeve. “Not if he hides everything from you. Not if he places you in danger by merely standing near you. Narcissa, please; I urge you to see sense. You say you’d risk everything for him, but do you really know what that means?”

Her breath came too fast as Severus’s words buzzed around her like goblin bees, cruel and relentless. “How do you know I said that?” she asked, and Severus’ face shuttered immediately. “Were you creeping in shadows and listening at doorways again? Pathetic.”

“He’s not the golden boy you and everyone else thinks he is,” Severus said, a final lash of fury breaking through. “He’s a beast wearing a human face. And I’ll prove it. 

That was enough.

Narcissa grabbed hold of the book, silver light flickering between her fingers, and fled, her robes catching on low shelves and her breath snagging in her chest. As the gate swung shut behind her, she pictured once again that single inked word glowing faintly on the open page.

True. True. True.

Chapter Text

It was customary for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the students clapped for the terrifying man who had interrupted Dumbledore’s speech. Other than Remus and the headmaster, none of the staff did either – although Hagrid made a point of banging his goblet up and down by way of welcome. 

Alastor Moody looked worse than Remus remembered; every inch of him was covered in scars, his mouth a diagonal slash, a large chunk missing from his nose. And the large, vivid blue eye rolling around in his head? Moody had never seemed so less in control of it than he did right now; it had turned completely over in its socket, so that all the children could see was its whiteness. Even Harry, who had seen some very odd things in his short life, looked slightly queasy.

“Alastor, did you want to freshen up?” asked Dumbledore quietly, but the man shook his head unsmilingly and lurched towards the empty seat beside the headmaster, where he promptly pulled out his infernal hipflask and started drinking.

Remus could sense Minerva quivering beside him, and chanced a glance at his old Head of House. She was positively incandescent with rage. In fact, she looked about as pleased to see Moody as Severus, who was also glowering in his seat – an expression only matched by the one which the retired auror fixed upon the Slytherin. 

“Still hiring traitorous scum then, Albus?” he muttered under his breath, eyes never leaving Severus’s face. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat again, albeit slightly nervously, before he dropped his second bombshell of the night: the Triwizard Tournament would be taking place at Hogwarts this year. Only the tiniest intake of breath betrayed Minerva’s feelings on the matter; she had not been consulted. Again. And even as Dumbledore sang the event’s praises – that it would build new friendships, that there was a new age restriction in place, that there would be a thousand galleons for the winner – all Remus could really focus on was the fact that the tradition had previously been abandoned due to its abnormally high death count.

He couldn’t help it; he leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at Severus, who allowed only the barest flicker of acknowledgment to pass over his face, before he returned to studiously ignoring him. 

Later, then.

***

A storm thrashed against the window of the staffroom, where a stack of essays lay abandoned on the table and a teapot bustled about refilling all the empty cups. It was unusually quiet, for the teaching staff – led by a terrifying McGonagall – were currently queueing outside the Headmaster’s office (where he was currently ensconced with his old friend, Alastor). Remus’s colleagues were… well, if not alarmed by Dumbledore’s latest revelations, then at least thoroughly disgruntled at having been kept in the dark. Again.

The school’s two youngest professors, however, were well-accustomed to the man’s more whimsical approach to ‘communication’. Thus, they found themselves alone in the staff room… and alone, Remus realised, for the first time since the events of the summer.

“Lupin,” Severus said coolly, inclining his head by perhaps half a degree.

“Severus,” Remus replied, equally polite as he spooned honey into his chamomile tea. “Did you know?”

Severus lifted an eyebrow, tossing a green-trimmed scarf onto the armchair, and Remus’ eyes drifted to it. Draco’s, he realised with a start; the boy had been wearing it on the walk up from the station. Remus had caught the faintest trace of roses upon it.

“Do you mean: did I know that the werewolf who nearly tore myself and three students to pieces would return to teach alongside me this autumn?” asked Severus frostily, drawing Remus’ attention back to himself. “Or did I know that our venerable Headmaster, in all his questionable wisdom, intended to revive a medieval blood sport for children mere weeks after the Dark Mark’s appearance at the Quidditch World Cup?”

Remus chuckled. “Both, I suppose.”

“Yes to the former,” Severus said, “and absolutely not to the latter. The man has taken complete leave of his senses. What lunacy possessed him to hire Mad-Eye Moody? He is even more inappropriate for the position than you were. At least you can go three weeks out of four without terrifying the students.”

“Thank you?” 

“For what little it is worth, you’re welcome.” Severus brewed his own tisane with the same air he adopted when drafting a delicate potion. “At this rate, Dumbledore will be inviting Sirius Black to take over Care of Magical Creatures.”

“I’ve always thought he’d do better in Transfiguration,” Remus said mildly. “Or Muggle Studies. He does know quite a bit about running away from home.”

That earned him the ghost of a smile from Severus. The two men held one another’s gaze for a moment, before Remus extended his hand. After a very long pause, almost long enough to be an insult, Severus took it.

“You have friends in high places still, it seems,” the Slytherin said as he released him, tone deceptively light.

Remus arched a brow, adopting a puzzled expression. “Yet another joke about the moon?”

Severus scowled, his eyes briefly resting on Remus’ cloak pocket where that precious letter was still buried. “You know precisely what I mean. Your benefactor is risking a great deal for your return. An unwise amount. Do you know why?”

“I suspect we can both guess,” Remus said quietly.

Severus let out a bitter laugh. “No, not love. Not this time.” He abruptly yanked up the sleeve of his robe, hands trembling ever so slightly, and Remus’s breath caught. The Dark Mark was darker than before; inked deeper, pulsing faintly as if it were breathing beneath the man’s skin. “It burns when the moon is full. He always marked his chosen beasts.”

The implication stung.

“I’m sorry,” said Remus softly. “Do you think this means he will return?”

“I don’t think, Lupin.” Severus’s eyes flashed. “I know. Black has obviously run back to his master and…”

“Sirius,” Remus interrupted gently, “is not working with Voldemort. We told you. It was Peter. Surely you remember his Animagus form? Surely you know that Sirius would sooner claw out his own eyes than betray his friends?”

Severus flinched, as if stabbed by a memory he’d rather forget. “I don’t profess to know anything about the man,” he said. “But if you expect me to believe…”

“I do, because it’s the truth. Someone betrayed James and Lily that night, but it was not Sirius Black. Do you really think I’d stand his friend if I thought there was any chance, any chance at all, that it had been him?”

Severus eyed him warily. “You have always had something of an irksome regard for truth and justice, I suppose,” he muttered. Silence – not companionable, but not hostile either – slowly settled between them once again until, finally, the Potions Master continued: “Regardless. If the Mark strengthens further, we will all be in danger.”

“We already are, Sev,” Remus reminded him.

Snape hesitated at the use of his old nickname, albeit ever so briefly. “His eye followed me,” he said. 

“Both of them?”

Snape sighed irritably. “The man doesn’t seem himself, Lupin.” Then, his gaze flicking briefly to the door to ensure they were alone, he added: “Which means it is down to us to keep the boy safe.” 

It was a statement, not a question, although he looked away as though ashamed by his outburst. Remus nodded. “Harry? Always.”

Snape’s expression barely flickered, but the meaning behind his next words was unmistakable. “And the other one.”

“Yes.” Remus’s throat tightened. “Him, too.”

For a moment, just one brief, fragile moment, they were no longer enemies, nor rivals, nor reluctant colleagues. Instead, they were two men who had lost too much, who had been children in the same war and were now adults in the next one. Who were two beasts marked by the same rising dark, standing against it together.

“I will brew the wolfsbane for you each month, as I did last year,” offered Snape suddenly. “If we are to have any hope of making this work, I need the tame wolf – not the one that wants to rip my throat out.”

It was the closest that he would ever come to an apology. For now.

“Thank you, Severus.”

“You can thank me by remembering to take it this time. I do not wish to find myself at the mercy of your claws for a third time.”

***

Remus found Harry at his door, clutching a snowy-white letter to his chest and looking furious. Wordlessly, he welcomed the boy into his office, and waved him into a chair.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, snapping off a piece of chocolate and pressing it into Harry’s unprotesting hand.

“Padfoot,” snapped Harry, waving the parchment filled with neat, careful handwriting. “He’s come back, and it’s all my fault. Can’t you talk some sense into him?”

Remus smiled. “I’m not sure anyone is equipped for that task,” he said. “But you don’t have to worry, Harry; he’s safe. I can promise you he’s safe.”

“How can he possibly be safe? There are posters of him everywhere! And he’s come back because he thinks I’m in trouble, and there’s nothing wrong with me. A few seconds of pain and I had to blab –” 

“Harry,” said Remus, his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I promise that he’s safe; he’s not hiding in a cave or padding about in the shadows as a dog this time – he’s somewhere that nobody will ever find him. And your scar is hurting because it is no ordinary scar; it serves as a connection between yourself and the most dangerous Dark Wizard the world has ever faced. Thankfully, there’s a solution – although I suspect you won’t be a fan.”

“Go on,” replied Harry warily.

“Have you ever heard of Occlumency?”

***

Severus had agreed to it immediately, of course, although Harry still kept asking why Remus couldn’t teach him instead.

“I never had a need to learn,” he told him honestly. “The wolf within makes my mind almost impossible to penetrate, let alone unravel. But Professor Snape is a brilliant Occlumens, and I’ll be there to oversee the sessions.” Remus grinned. “Just in case the pair of you slip into old habits.”

“But will he see –” the boy fidgeted uncomfortably, the blush rising in his cheeks, “– you know, everything?”

“We can set some boundaries before we begin, for both of you. But Harry, I promise, this is the best thing we can do for now. Short of visiting a curse breaker, there aren’t many options available to us.”

“Fine,” muttered Harry, and Remus had to remind himself it wasn’t James before him. “Hermione will be jealous; she loves extra lessons in anything.”

“Sounds like an old friend of mine,” said Remus with a pang. “She had a real thirst for knowledge, too.”

“Friend?” Harry’s tone was teasing. “Did she have a name, or…?

“She did, yes.” Remus began sorting through the books on his shelf. “How’s Ginny, by the way?”

Harry went a shocking shade of pink. “How should I know?” he asked, and Remus chuckled. It seemed the boy was every bit as much in need of basic acting lessons as he was the Occlumency.

Perhaps, he thought idly, that would be a job best left to Sirius. The man was Harry’s godfather, after all – and he had always had a flair for dramatics.

Chapter Text

The Room of Requirement had obliged him tonight with an overstuffed armchair, warm lamplight, and a place for the white rose he’d conjured her. But the moment the door burst open, something changed. The air tightened. The scent of earth and crushed petals rushed in as if carried on a sudden wind.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” 

Still clutching the rose, Remus spun as the Room shivered and reshaped itself, glass panes sliding out of the walls like breath on a mirror. Narcissa stood in the glow of the conjured greenhouse, palefaced and trembling. It’s all over, he thought to himself. She knows.

He stepped back slightly, his body pressing against the wall of plants forming behind him. Then, as silence felt too much like cowardice, he said aloud: “I’m sorry. I should never have come anywhere near you, Narcissa.”

She cut the space between them like a blade, refusing to let him retreat. “Don’t you dare do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.” She grabbed fistfuls of his flannel shirt, dragging him back towards her as the greenhouse lights flickered above them. “The stupid noble thing. Remus, I don’t care that you’ve been alone with me in the dark; I care that you’ve been hiding the truth from me all this time. I didn’t want to have to hear this from Severus Snape…”

“Of course it was him,” he said bitterly. “I bet he couldn’t wait to warn you about the big bad wolf lurking in the shadows.”

“Remus, it doesn’t matter who it was; I wanted to hear it from you. There have been so many times you could have told me. Why didn’t you?”

“What would you have had me say?” he asked frustratedly. “My blood is tainted; I was bitten as a child and now I’m ruined forever.”

“Remus –”

“There is no cure, Cissa.” He wrenched his shirt up to expose the mess of white scars beneath, tangled and twisted like vines against his skin. Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m a monster, and I should never have come anywhere near you. But I saw you that night in the greenhouse and I wanted…”

“What? What did you want?”

“Merlin, I don’t know!” His voice broke. “I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to be with you. I wanted you, even though I knew I could never be worthy of you, and I’ve been so bloody stupid and selfish. I’m sorry, Cissa. I don’t ever expect you to forgive me, but I am.”

The white rose slipped from his fingers and tumbled to the floor between them. A moment later it was crushed beneath one of their feet, petals bruised and spilling their perfume into the warm air. His eyes stung and he dragged an arm across them, mortified. Then Narcissa’s cool hand was at his elbow, and she was pulling him closer, holding him tightly as he sobbed. Together, they sank to the floor, her arms still looped around his shaking shoulders. Silently, she rocked Remus until he could breathe again. 

“I’ve never known anyone like you before,” she said calmly.

“There aren’t many of us that move in polite circles,” he said hoarsely. “I’m the first werewolf to be given permission to attend Hogwarts.”

“I’m not talking about werewolves,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m talking about you. The boy who revels in dangerous nonsense, and makes prose feel like poetry, and sees the woman I could be if only I were brave enough to try.”

“No, Cissa.” He took her hands in his. “You don’t need to do this…”

“But I do.” Her voice didn’t tremble; that was almost more devastating than tears would have been. “Because I love you, Remus. I think I’ve loved you since the very moment I met you. I don’t think I’ll stop loving you for as long as I live.” She drew in a quiet breath. “And I think you feel the same way.”

Remus stared at her. “Of course I do. But…”

“Then it’s settled,” she told him, with that same Black certainty that could silence a thunderstorm. “Because I read somewhere that wolves mate for life.” Her fingers tightened around his. “I’d quite like to test the theory.”

Silence bloomed between them. Then, quietly, he told her: “My wolf believes us to be a fated pair.”

Narcissa blinked, and for a moment Remus thought she might laugh at the notion. Instead, she lifted his trembling hands to her lips and pressed a kiss to each knuckle with almost ceremonial grace.

“Then your wolf is wiser than you are,” she murmured.

He let out a ragged breath. “Cissa, this can’t be safe for you. If anyone found out…”

“I don’t care,” she whispered fiercely. “I would rather share danger with you than safety with anyone else.”

He shook his head, helpless. “I can’t promise you a normal life.”

“I don’t want a normal life,” she told him. “I want you.” Narcissa’s fingers brushed his cheek, and he leaned into the touch as though starved of it. The moonlight spilling through the window panes caught in her hair, making her look like something otherworldly. “Remus,” she said softly, “tell me what you want, not what you think you should say. What you want.”

He closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he didn’t fight the truth. “You,” he breathed. “Every version of you. In every lifetime.”

A shudder went through her. She leaned closer until their foreheads touched.

“Then we choose each other,” she said. “Tonight. And tomorrow. And as long as the moon keeps rising.”

“Cissa…”

“Say it back,” she whispered.

“I choose you.”

Outside, the snow began to fall, quiet and silver, as though the moon itself had heard them and approved.

Chapter Text

The Manor always felt strange on a full moon night, Narcissa thought; as if the air itself was restless, and the magic brittle. Usually the sensation was faint; a prickle at the back of her neck, a whisper beneath the floorboards. Tonight, though, it was louder. Off-key. A single discordant note in an otherwise perfect incantation.

Based on the quiet from his rooms, Lucius slept soundly in his own bed. He always slept soundly, as though guilt had never once touched him. Narcissa, though, moved through the darkened corridors with slippered feet, the candles guttering as she passed, and the shadows bending like wary creatures. Insomnia had been one of her quiet rebellions for years. In the daylight, she was a guest in her own home; always watched. Expected to play the role her husband had cast her in.

After sunset, when Lucius was either asleep or away doing Merlin knew what, the Manor belonged to her.

She would pad to the kitchen for warm milk, sit in the parlour with her bare feet tucked beneath her as she read yesterday’s Prophet, and wander among the roses with only the moon as company. On the bolder nights, she visited Lucius’s study and leafed through his letters. Just once, she had allowed herself to unlock the drawer of his desk and examine the contents; he’d stared at her so intently over breakfast the following morning, though, that she had never worked up the courage to do it again.

What was it keeping her awake this time? Narcissa took herself to her sanctuary, and listened for that wrongness in the quiet of the library. The full moon glared through the tall windows, pale and merciless as she thought of the objects Lucius had smuggled into their home over the years: cursed heirlooms, blood-bound artefacts, relics that hummed with dangerous hunger.

Had he brought something terrible inside these walls again? Or – and this thought was somehow worse, suddenly – had he taken something out of it? 

Her gaze drifted down. To the soft rug. To the shadow beneath the chaise. And she knew with terrible certainty what her husband had done. 

Narcissa fell to her knees and tore back the corner of the rug. Her fingers scrabbled at the loose board until her nails bent and split, but she kept going, breath coming in short, panicked bursts. He had already taken everything from her. He would not have this too. He would not.

The board lifted with a soft groan; the hiding place was empty.

Her mirror was gone.

Nausea rolled over her. She slid backwards onto the floorboards, pressing a shaking hand to her stomach. Why would he take it? Why now? How much did he know? And then terror sharpened the edges of her fear: Remus still held the mirror’s twin.

She had seen his shadow pass across its surface on lonely nights. She had felt the faint glow when their thoughts brushed like ghosts. If Lucius ever discovered that connection, if he ever realised what the mirror truly was, and if he ever learned who held the twin fragment… well, everything she had done, everything she had sacrificed, would be for nothing. She would lose him. And Lucius would make certain that Remus lost far more than that. 

Then, she heard the low rumble of voices beneath her feet, and she almost screamed.

***

“Nox,” she whispered, and the dark rushed back to fill the places her little light had touched. Who, she wondered, was visiting at this late hour?

Just like her son before her, she made her way to the top stair, taking enormous care to avoid stepping on the creaky board that would betray her. The fireplace had been lit in the dining room, she realised, and her husband hadn’t even cast the most basic ‘muffiliato’ to prevent her from eavesdropping. If she felt anything for him at all, she might be hurt at how very little he expected from her. As things stood, though, Narcissa was grateful for the small mercy.

Slowly and almost silently, she crept down the stairs, taking care not to step into the light being thrown across the hallway. Then, she twirled her wand around herself and attempted a more powerful disillusionment charm than she ever had before. It felt as if an egg had been cracked on her head; her body was flooded with cold, and when she lifted her hands, they took on the appearance of the floor beneath her. 

So long as she didn’t move, or make a sound, Narcissa thought it should hold. She hoped it would, anyway, as she tucked herself into the shadowy space under the stairs. It smelled of dust in here; she should ask one of the elves to clean it tomorrow.

“…inside already,” snapped a low, rough voice she didn’t recognise. “There’s no need to delay. He won’t see it coming.”

Lucius answered, tight with irritation. “You underestimate him.”

A murmur, too soft to make out, drifted across the hall. Narcissa leaned forward, breath trapped in her throat. Then the rough voice again: “You said the creature was still at Hogwarts.”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins.

“He is,” replied Lucius. “And that complicates things.”

A second voice – thin and reedy, almost whining as it snagged on a memory she couldn’t quite place – cut in: “We don’t need to involve him. Just draw him away long enough. He won’t risk the child…”

The rest blurred as someone moved closer to the fire. Narcissa pressed deeper into the shadows, heart rattling in her chest.

“…and then?” Lucius asked.

Only fragments reached her:

“…won’t interfere…”

“…isolated…”

“…one of the Order’s fiercest members, in the war…”

“…silver, if necessary…”

“…Dark Lord’s will…”

Narcissa bit her knuckles to stifle a cry, jumping at the scrape of a chair. She could hear footsteps crossing the room, and someone lowering their voice, deliberately. Then, Lucius, his voice almost frightening in its gentleness, declared: “In the end, he will die for this. I’ll see to it myself.”

Her vision swam. Which he? Remus? Harry? Both?

Someone chuckled cruelly. “Sentiment will be his undoing.”

Then the conversation dissolved again into low, indistinguishable murmurs.

She strained to hear more, but caught nothing but the crackle of fire and her own pulse roaring in her ears. When chairs scraped at last and boots moved toward the door, Narcissa shrank into the shadows and turned her head to the wall. They never noticed her; she was silent and all but invisible – even as she fought back the urge to be sick.  

***

Back in her room, Narcissa’s quill hovered above the parchment. A strangled sound left her throat; not quite a sob, but frighteningly close. What could she possibly say? How could she warn him without exposing him to more danger? And then, almost against her will, she allowed his name to bleed onto the page.

Remus,

You have helped me many times in the past; I beg now that you help me once again.

I have misplaced a valuable item; an object connected to moon magic and ancient correspondence. I have reason to believe it once formed part of a scrying instrument used by a lunar coven predating the Ministry’s classifications.

If you still maintain any interest in esoteric charms, I would value your discretion in locating and secreting both this item and its long-lost partner. They require careful study; once in your possession, keep them covered until we have a better understanding of their purpose.

Do take care, dear friend, for your headmaster is unaware that there are sharks in the water, and they have your scent.

Yours faithfully,

Elenore Brody

The quill hesitated again. Then, against every instinct for self-preservation, she added:

I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind,

And take Eternity.

The owl left her hand before she could change her mind.

Narcissa stood alone in her moonlit room, trembling as the frost-spattered window glared back at her. She turned her face away from her reflection.

She did not dare look at herself. Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Rain fell heavily over Hogsmeade, hammering against the windows of the shops and creating the sort of puddles that you’d unsuspectingly step into and find yourself submerged up to your knees. Narcissa pulled her cloak tighter and checked over her shoulder for the fifth time. She had told her friends she needed to fetch quills from Scrivenshaft’s. She did not tell them she was meeting a ghost.

A soft voice murmured from the sheltered alley beside Honeydukes.

“Cissy.”

Narcissa froze, and followed the sound to the person concealed in the shadows. They wore a hooded cloak that was utterly ordinary, but she saw it for what it was: the kind of cloak someone might wear if they were hoping not to be recognised. Then, the young woman lifted her head, and the sight of her familiar face almost made Narcissa’s knees buckle. 

“Andi,” Narcissa whispered. “Are you back, then?”

“Only for an hour,” her sister replied quietly. “I leave tonight. I needed to see you once more. Before… before I disappear properly.”

Narcissa reached for her without thinking; Andromeda caught her hands and held them tight.

“I’m safe,” she said softly, answering the question Narcissa didn’t dare voice aloud. “Ted is safe. He’s coming with me – and we’re going somewhere Mother and Father cannot follow.”

Narcissa felt tears prick, hot and sudden. “I miss you,” she choked.

Andi’s own mouth trembled, but she steeled herself; the Black women had always been adept at locking emotion behind bone and spine. “I can’t stay, dearest,” she said gently. “I’d be risking everything. But I didn’t want to leave without giving you this.”

She slipped a small, silk-wrapped package into Narcissa’s pocket. It was thin, light as a whisper, and yet Narcissa felt the weight of it like an anchor.

“A book?” she guessed.

Andi nodded. “Cedrella’s. She made a copy for me when I told her I was leaving.” She offered up her sister a faint, sad smile. “She always said our family builds cages with beautiful bars… but that a clever witch can figure out where the hinges are.”

“Andromeda…” Narcissa breathed, terror flooding her body like ice. “Is this –?”

“Just read it,” her sister murmured. “Not now. Not here. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. And Cissy –” Andi touched her cheek gently, a gesture their mother had never managed in her life. “You’re stronger than you think. Stronger than any of us believed.”

“I’m not,” Narcissa whispered. “I wish I was, but I’m not.”

“You will be.” Andromeda squeezed her hands once, fierce and brief. “I’m proud of you. Whatever they say. Whatever they call you. Chase down happiness if you have to, and grab hold of it with both hands. I promise it’s worth it.”

A sound up the street – laughter, boys’ voices – made both girls stiffen. Andromeda threw her hood up.

“I have to go.”

“Andi –”

“I’ll find you again one day, dearest. You can count on that.”

“Please, don’t…”

But her sister was already backing away, merging into the sheets of rain as if the village swallowed her whole. And then, less than a heartbeat later, the Marauders turned the corner. James, Sirius, and Peter were bickering over their Honeydukes bags and swapping sweet treasures between themselves. Remus walked a little behind them, wrapped tight in a muggle raincoat, his golden eyes catching Narcissa before she could wipe the tears from her face.

Sirius barked a laugh at something James said, but stopped abruptly when he saw her. Remembering all too well the roles they had to play, now that he’d been burned from the family tree, he rearranged his expression into one of familiar Black-family disdain. “Cousin,” he said with a mocking little bow. “Slumming it without your entourage?”

Narcissa’s throat closed. She flicked her gaze to Severus and two Slytherin girls crossing the street under a simply enormous levitating umbrella. Perfect; an escape.

“Sirius,” she replied coolly, her mask dropping cleanly into place. “I’d prefer to walk the streets with no entourage than slum it with yours.”

Remus’s eyebrows flicked upward into the smallest question: Are you all right? She ignored him. She had to. Instead she stepped neatly toward her housemates, reaching for Severus as if she were a woman drowning and he were the only thing on solid land.

“Can I walk back with you?” she asked him, and he offered her his arm without a word. He muttered something, too quiet for the Marauders to make out, but the other Slytherin girls smirked and tittered. Sirius’ face was stone; Narcissa kept her own expression carefully even, but her gaze lingered on Remus’ before she swept away in the direction of the castle.

He watched her go, his own face pinched and worried. What in Merlin’s name had happened now?

***

Tonight, their library didn’t feel like the glowing lantern it usually did; instead, ir was almost entirely in shadow, save for the single candle flickering on the desk. Narcissa waited in the shadowed stacks until she heard the soft, familiar tread, and felt the air shift and warm around her as he entered with an armful of books, muttering under his breath about an overdue essay for Slughorn. 

As soon as Remus spotted her, though, he stopped dead. “Cissa? Are you –”

“Don’t,” she whispered. Her voice cracked on the word. “Please don’t ask me.”

He crossed to her instantly, his hands finding hers in the dark. She clung to them as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “What happened?”

She swallowed, pulling the silk-wrapped book from her pocket with trembling fingers. “Andromeda.”

“Oh.” His face fell. “I didn’t realise. I thought she’d already…”

“She’s leaving England tonight,” Narcissa whispered. “For good.”

Remus wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Cissa.”

“She gave me this,” she said, pulling away and pressing the book into his hands because she couldn’t bear to hold it anymore. “She said it belonged to Aunt Cedrella.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Cedrella Black? The one who…”

“Married a Weasley,” Narcissa finished. “Yes.”

Remus opened the silk coverings carefully. The book inside was ancient, handwritten, thick with marginalia.

“Magical Binding, Oathcraft, and the Old Witches’ Laws,” he read aloud. “This is… Cissa, this is dangerous.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice shaking slightly. “And not the nonsensical kind. But she wanted me to have it.”

For as long as Remus had known her, he’d never seen Narcissa lose control; her panicked voice and trembling hands frightened him far more than she would ever know. He breathed in and out slowly, pretending his focus was on the book in his hands. Then, his voice deliberately calm, he asked her: “Is this about home?” 

Narcissa nodded, pressing her lips together tightly . “My parents are… they’ve told me that they’re still in talks with the match they made for Andromeda.”

Remus waited, and then realised what she was telling him. “And they’re considering it for you,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Slowly, he closed the book and took a step close towards her, closing the space between them as she had once done. “So, we’ll read it together,” he told her quietly. “I promise you that there will be a way out, and we’ll find it.”

He sounded so certain. So sure. Narcissa closed her eyes in relief. And, for one fragile moment, she leaned her forehead against his. “A loophole, then?”

“I told you once before; there’s always a loophole.”

He began to pull away, flipping through the book’s pages, but she took hold of his hand and gently pulled him back towards her. “Stay,” she breathed, her lips pressing gently against his. Around them, candles began flickering back to life, and the fire roared suddenly in the grate. 

Remus had never been able to say no to her. And so, ensconced in that beautiful golden bubble, he stayed – and he hoped, desperately, that he might find a way to do so for as long as they both should live.

Chapter Text

Lessons had been cancelled for the day, and the entire school had gathered – at Dumbledore’s request – in the Great Hall. Each of the house tables was abuzz with confused chatter. A quick glance showed Harry sat with his friends (Ginny Weasley had said something to make the boy throw his head back and laugh); Draco, though, was sitting alone at the end of the Slytherin table, looking quiet and watchful. 

Remus found Severus and Minerva stood at the back of the room rather than sat in their usual spots at the High Table. “What are we doing here, then?” he asked, shirt sleeves still rolled up to his elbows from his Duelling sessions with the fifth and sixth-years (Cedric Diggory had hit George Weasley with an unexpectedly powerful Jelly-Legs jinx; the redhead was still wobbling now, albeit in perpetual good spirits,).

“Your guess is as good as ours, Remus,” said Minerva, but her voice was softer than it ever was for anyone else. He might be Professor Lupin now, but he was still Minerva McGonagall’s favourite pupil. “The headmaster hasn’t told anyone what we’re doing here.”

“Predictably,” added Severus lightly. “Dumbledore has become increasingly reliant on his ambush communication methods of late.”

Remus chuckled. Across the Hall, Professor Moody staggered to his seat, but they saw him fire a jet of scalding water at one of the noisier Slytherins as he did so. The girl yelled, much to the uproarious laughter of the Gryffindor table. All three of the teachers flinched, and Minerva shot a sideways look at the other two.

“Yes,” Severus said flatly. “That particular tale reached my office before breakfast.”

“I don’t believe he would have stopped,” Minerva said under her breath, “if I hadn’t arrived when I did. Poppy has to set seven broken bones.”

“I spoke to the boys involved,” Severus added with a sigh. “Only one of them –” his eyes flickered, unwillingly, towards Draco, “– admitted that Moody’s account was at least accurate. Mr Crabbe did try to hex Potter when the boy’s black was turned.”

Remus felt his jaw tighten. “Perhaps he’s been emboldened by recent events,” he murmured, thinking of green sparks over the World Cup campsite.

Severus nodded once. “Yes. It feels… familiar, doesn’t it?”

“We’ll have to hope that the headmaster is correct, and that this tournament will go some way towards repairing school spirit,” said McGonagall, although she didn’t sound convinced. “Be warned, though; that man is deranged.” Her lips tightened as she glanced at Moody, but she didn’t flinch or look away when the man’s electric blue eye immediately swivelled her way. “I fear he poses a danger to every student here.”

“Have we any idea what his lesson plans actually look like?” asked Remus. “I’ve heard a few concerning reports.”

“Concerning in what way?”

Remus swallowed, then leaned slightly closer  to his colleagues. “Harry came to me yesterday evening, asking about the night that James and Lily…” he trailed off, remembering how the boy had trembled. “He said that Moody had –” he couldn’t quite believe he was saying the words aloud, “demonstrated Avada Kedavra for them, along with the other two Unforgivables.”

The colour drained from Minerva’s face, and even the perpetually cool Severus looked momentarily horrified. “But they’re children,” whispered Gryffindor’s usually unflappable Head of House. Her eyes found Neville Longbottom, who was every bit as pale as Draco, even if he was smiling faintly at his friends’ chatter. “Does the headmaster know about this?”

“I have found it incredibly hard to pin him down for a meeting,” said Remus. It was true; the headmaster had been out a great deal, making all of the necessary arrangements with the Ministry for the upcoming Tournament. “I did manage to corner Moody, though. He told me that he’d been granted special permission, and that it was better the students know the dangers they faced firsthand.” Remus paused for a moment, remembering how quickly the famous Auror had fallen back on veiled threats and insults as his defence (“Only a true monster would prefer to keep them in the dark, Lupin”). “He all but accused me of being a Death Eater for daring to question his methods.”

Severus barked a laugh. “Surely Alastor Moody knows you too well to truly believe you’d ever dream of betraying your Gryffindor colours.”

“It didn’t stop Peter,” replied Remus, and the smirk died on Severus’ face.

Minerva looked between them both. “Enough,” she said, immediately slipping back into her old role as their teacher. “I will speak with Alastor and get to the bottom of this; I doubt even he would dare to suggest that I’m conspiring with Dark wizards. And if the headmaster thinks…”

She fell silent as Dumbledore appeared at the ancient, owl-shaped podium before them. He smiled jovially, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. Those who looked closely, though, couldn’t help but notice the new lines around the headmaster’s mouth and eyes. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he said warmly, raising both hands until the Hall settled. “I promise not to detain you long, nor will I test you on any of this later, unless spontaneously inspired.” A flutter of nervous laughter rose. “As you know, Hogwarts will soon be hosting students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang for the Triwizard Tournament. This is a time of celebration… but also of curiosity, excitement, and –” his eyes twinkled wickedly, “– a certain tendency among the young to pair up and wander into broom cupboards.”

Half the Hall erupted. The other half choked into their pumpkin juice.

Serenely, Dumbledore continued: “It has therefore been decided, by people in the Ministry who feel very strongly about such things, that we must offer instruction on the less-discussed aspects of magical maturation: bodily changes, interpersonal enchantments, courtship charms, boundaries, safety, and the responsible use of that most potent force of all: teenage enthusiasm.”

Remus, Severus, and Minerva exchanged surprised glances as the students all began muttering at once. “It’s about time,” the older witch whispered indistinctly through the corner of her mouth. “I’ve been campaigning for this for years.”

Severus’ eyebrows rose a fraction higher. “But the dormitories are…” he began.

“Not the only place that two interested parties could meet in private,” interrupted Remus. “Come on; you know that as well as anyone, Sev.”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Lupin. I wasn’t the one galloping around the school grounds every night whenever the moon turned.”

“No,” agreed Remus. “I can’t imagine you galloping anywhere. Although there was that one night you weren’t quite where you should have been, wasn’t there?”

Minerva glared at them as the faintest shade of pink tinged Severus’ cheeks. “Behave yourselves, the pair of you,” she told them sternly. “I don’t want to have to start dishing out detentions to professors as well.”

At the front of the Hall, Dumbledore was attempting to quieten the students down; the whispering was now full blown conversation, with laughter peeling from several corners of the room. Eventually, the headmaster was forced to unleash a stream of golden sparks into the air from his wand. Everyone’s heads swivelled back towards the podium immediately. 

“And now,” Dumbledore said, eyes bright, “I am delighted to introduce the witch who will guide you all through these delicate matters today…”

Remus chanced a glance at Minerva, who looked as if she’d swallowed an earwig-flavoured jellybean the wrong way.

“Another new hire? Without any word of warning?” she muttered furiously.

Severus gave a single, slow blink. “I am beginning to suspect he draws names out of a hat at this point.” 

“Please join me, then, in welcoming Professor Nera –” and suddenly Remus noticed the dark-haired woman in the corner, dressed in elegant navy robes, “our visiting expert.”

“Professor?” echoed Minerva.

“Nera?” said Severus, unable to hide his confusion behind his usual mask.

“Andromeda,” Remus muttered, feeling every nerve stand to attention.

Hagrid, covered in mud and what looked suspiciously like blood, turned up just in time to bellow, “Blimey, it’s basically a school reunion for you lot now, eh?”

***

Remus lingered in the staff room long after the others had drifted out. Even Severus, who was allergic to looking like he had anywhere better to be, eventually finished his drink and rose. As he passed Remus, he bumped his shoulder – lightly, deliberately – and shot him a strange, assessing look before disappearing through the door.

When they were finally alone, Andromeda closed her book with a soft snap. “Well met, Remus Lupin.”

“Andromeda Bl… Nera,” he replied, as casually as he could manage. He arranged a stack of essays in front of him, hoping she’d assume the shaking in his hands was simply down to a lack of caffeine. “Congratulations on a job well done today. It’s rare that the students are so rapt.”

“You’re wondering about the Nera, aren’t you? I took my final training in Italy,” she said, settling into the armchair opposite him. Her navy robes swept elegantly around her ankles. “And I wasn’t keeping the Black name. Not for anything.” She saw him glance at her silver wedding band, and rolled her eyes impatiently. “Not every witch takes her husband’s surname, Remus.”

“Of course,” he said, feeling foolish. “How is Ted?”

“Let’s not pretend we have time for pleasantries.” Andi’s voice gentled as she leaned forwards, her elbows on her knees. “I know you saw Cissy at the World Cup.”

Remus froze, his golden eyes lifting to meet Andi’s dark ones. She looked so much like Narcissa in that moment that something old and wounded inside him reared up like a startled animal. “I did,” he said, voice tight in his throat. “Only briefly.”

“It wasn’t long enough for her either.”

“What do you mean? Have you seen her?”

“We see each other once a year,” said Andromeda softly. “Only once. It’s all we dare risk. If Lucius ever discovered it…” She didn’t finish the sentence; she didn’t need to.

Remus swallowed hard. “He won’t hear it from me.” Then, his voice barely louder than a whisper, he asked: “How is she?” 

Andi smiled sadly at him. “She’s living the life of a prisoner and married to her jailer,” she replied. “How do you think she is?”

Remus shut his eyes. For a moment, he was a boy again, drowning in the scent of fresh roses and library dust and her hair beneath his hands. “I hoped,” he said hoarsely, “when Draco was born… that maybe she’d found something like happiness.” It was a lie mixed up in a truth; he had wanted her to be happy, but he’d always hated the idea of her being happy without him. And then he’d hated himself for being so selfish.

Andromeda reached across and took his trembling hands in hers. “My sister still loves you,” she said quietly, and he felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. “She still hopes for a life with you. She still dreams about you. And she still fights for you, every single day, even if you can’t see it.”

He didn’t realise his face was wet until Andromeda pressed her silk handkerchief into his hands. He clung to it for a long moment, knuckles white.

“But the loophole…” he said eventually. “Does it still stand?”

“It does,” Andromeda replied, voice threading itself carefully around the small, sharp edges of an Unbreakable Vow. “I can’t say how. I can’t say why. But trust me; she has worked tirelessly to keep that door open.”

Remus blinked at her. “But Draco –”

“Draco is his father’s son,” Andi said steadily. “And the loophole still stands.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and breathless.

“And what do I do?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He laughed bitterly. “You can’t expect me to sit still. Not after –”

“You must.” She squeezed his fingers, hard enough to anchor him. “This isn’t a fairytale, Remus. If you try to save her now, you’ll get yourself killed. You’ll get her killed. And Draco. Do you understand me?”

Merlin, I should have hunted Lucius down when I had the chance, he thought to himself. Aloud, though, he told her: “I’ve done nothing for a very long time.”

“Then another year won’t break you,” she told him firmly. “Wait for her. Protect her son while she can’t. And do not –” she jabbed a finger at his chest “– do anything Gryffindor.”

A ghost of a smile flickered over his mouth.

“Speaking of which… Sirius?” she asked lightly. “Have you heard from him?”

“He’s safe. I’ve made sure of that.”

“Good.” Andromeda exhaled, relief passing visibly through her shoulders. “Don’t tell me where he is. But… perhaps let him know my new name. If he ever wished to contact me discreetly…”

Remus snorted. “When has Sirius ever done anything discreetly?”

“You make an excellent point,” she conceded.

***

Later, much later, Remus paced his quarters like a beast in a cage. The weak light of the half-moon dribbled through his window and over the floor, and he stood in it for a moment. Perhaps, he wondered, Narcissa was standing under the same moon in her own room somewhere. Perhaps she was looking out her own window at the same stars. Perhaps she was wishing she was… but what was the good of wondering that?

The castle was very still at this hour; only the occasional creak of old stone settling, the soft hum of distant wards. Even the fire in the grate burned low, its last few embers collapsing into themselves like exhausted hearts. He rubbed a shaking hand over his face. The scent of Andromeda’s lavender tea still clung to his robes, faint but familiar. It reminded him painfully of Narcissa; of her hair, her gloves, the way her presence had once changed the very texture of a room.

If she were here…

No. The thought hurt too much.

He pulled off his teaching robes, folded them carefully, then unfolded them again, unable to settle. His rooms felt too small; the silence felt too loud. He pressed a shaking hand to his ribs where the crescent scar lived, hot as a brand.

And then, the soft thump of wings.

He felt, rather than saw, the owl and upon the windowsill. It was as if he’d been waiting for it to come. He moved quickly, stroking the creature’s soft head and handing it an owl treat before slowly teasing the letter from its leg.

Remus stared at the handwriting on the envelope for a moment, hoping for something like the notes she used to send. A few lines of poetry, perhaps, or (impossible) an invitation bidding him to meet her at midnight in the Room of Requirement. Their Room of Requirement. He had been back just once since returning to Hogwarts, a few weeks into his ill-fated stint as the school’s Defence Against The Dark Arts professor. Their lovely little library had been cold and covered in dust, its fire impossible to light in the grate and its books rewritten in some unreadable language. That side of himself, he supposed, was unreachable without her.

Unable to bear it any longer, he tore open the letter and read it once. Twice. Three times. Her fear radiated from the paper in waves, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

Remus had never known that she’d kept her mirror, although he had hoped. There were times, in the past, when he sat awake watching his own and wishing for even a glimpse of her hair. Now, it was lost. Now, there were dark forces infiltrating Hogwarts. Now, she spoke of reuniting in heaven someday… mere hours after Andromeda had urged him to wait just one more year.

He was done waiting. And so, without any idea what on earth he would do when he got there, he shrugged on his cloak, and went to find the only person who might know what the hell to do next: Severus Snape.

Chapter Text

Remus had met with Narcissa almost every night for the past fortnight. Together, they had pored over Cedrella’s book, jotting down notes on anything that felt useful. And the Room had been quick to rearrange its literary offerings, too; gone were the poetry books, the natural history texts, the fairytales and horror novels. Instead, it had filled its shelves with heavy tomes on marriage rights, the legalities of self-emancipation, and blood magic.

Tonight, though, Narcissa had asked if they might take a break from the endless research. The summer holidays were roaring up with a horrible sense of inevitability, and this would probably be their last night together for a long time.

They downed their books, then, and instead lay on the floor, staring up and through the skylight that had appeared before their very eyes. The heavens above were inky and full of shining stars; the new moon sulked behind her black veil. 

“I’d love to see the world someday,” said Narcissa, her fingers entwined around his own. 

“Where shall we go first?”

“Canada,” she replied surprisingly. He had expected her to say Paris or Vienna. “We could take a cabin by a lake – somewhere surrounded by trees, so you could run under the full moon with the bears and the other wolves, and we could read poetry under the stars on the other nights.”

He turned his head to smile at her, and she grinned back at him.

“I’d love that,” he said. “We could fill that cabin with books; I’d stack them all the way up to the ceiling. And I could get you one of those ladders so you don’t have to keep asking me to get up when I’ve just got comfortable and grab one from the top shelf for you.”

Narcissa thumped his shoulder playfully, and he smirked as he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. His lips were impossibly gentle.

“Who would cook?” she asked.

“Me, obviously. I’ve never had house elves to wait on me hand and foot; I’m a dab hand in the kitchen.”

“What would you make for us?”

“Whatever you wanted,” he said, and she nestled her head into his chest. Remus loved feeling the weight of her there. “Although I’d have to make you pancakes at least once; I bet you’ve never flipped a pancake in your life.”

“I have no idea what that even means; why would I flip it?” Narcissa looked genuinely bewildered as she peeped up at him, her face kissed by starlight. “With what?”

Remus chuckled and kissed her head again. “I could fix up a television in our living room,” he said, “and we could get a big bag of videos from the nearest rental place. We could watch one film a night, until you’re all caught up on everything – and we could have a go at making our own pizzas, too, if you like.”

“Why would we make anything else if you can make pizza?” she asked semi-seriously, and they both laughed. As the happy sound ebbed away, though, the pair of them fell quiet.

Then, her voice the faintest of whispers, Narcissa asked: “Do you think we could ever…?”

Remus answered without thinking. “Yes.”

She lifted her head just as he bent his down, and their lips met in a kiss that was slow and unbelievably tender.

“Ask me,” he whispered, pulling away suddenly. “Ask me to run away with you, and I will. Without a second thought.”

“No,” she said softly, cupping his face with her hands. “I don’t want to run, and I don’t want us to be hidden away. I want us to be happy. I want to walk out to the cinema with you, and meet our friends at the pub afterwards, and have…”

“What?”

“Oh Merlin, I don’t know. I’m thinking ahead, but it would be nice to have a family with you someday. I want a little boy with eyes just like yours, and a little girl with chestnut curls. I want pizza dates and library cards and trips to Canada. I want all of it.”

Remus held her silently, his heart pounding under his shirt. “What about… you know, the lycanthropy?”

“It’ll just make the teenage outbursts more interesting, surely?”

He laughed at that. “Then let’s make all of that happen,” he said. “Hope is the thing with feathers, remember?”

She snuggled into him, and they lay there until the sky became bruised and tinged with light again. Hope felt a little harder, though, under the sun’s watchful gaze.

Chapter Text

It was his last lesson of the day, and his first after the full moon, so Remus was already exhausted. The hormone-heavy fourth-years, however, were determined to finish him off. Half of them were show-offs, the other half absolute hazards (he’d already had to cast Protego around Neville Longbottom twice), and all of them far too excited about tomorrow’s Hallowe'en feast.

He had, therefore, settled into that calm, unnervingly patient tone he only ever used when children were seconds from blowing themselves up. Still, even he couldn’t help but chuckle behind his hand when Harry sent an exceptional Bat Bogey Hex rocketing toward an unsuspecting Ron, who immediately clamped both hands over his nose.

“Sorry,” Harry told his friend, although he was clearly delighted by the winged creatures billowing from Ron’s nostrils. He looked more like James than ever, Remus thought, as he murmured a quick Finite Incantatem to set the poor Weasley boy straight.

Then his eyes fell upon Draco, who was duelling – there was really no other word for it – beautifully against Hermione. Every movement was controlled, elegant, defensive, with none of Lucius Malfoy’s theatrical aggression. None at all.

As Remus watched them, he caught sight of Blaise Zabini out of the corner of his eye. The Slytherin was glaring at Hermione with narrowed eyes as he sparred with his own partner… and then slipped (or pretended to slip) on a fallen quill. His hex went ricocheting off course, straight toward the Muggleborn witch.

Remus reached for his wand, but Draco was faster. He stepped in front of Hermione, his shield blooming fast and clean. And Remus felt something like a fist twist low in his ribs. Because that had been more than simply protective; it had been instinctive. Too instinctive.

“Watch your step, Zabini,” Draco said, flicking an unimpressed look at Blaise. “It’s no fun beating Granger if you’re going to finish the job for me.”

“You weren’t beating me,” Hermione snapped, cheeks turning pink.

“Prove it,” he replied, offering her a mock bow.

The bell rang before she could retort, and everyone began packing away books and holstering wands, chatter erupting instantly. Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and shot Draco a sideways look; not quite a glare, not quite a smile. “I’ll expect a rematch,” she said, chin lifted.

“I’ll try to go easy on you,” Draco returned, far too lightly.

“You never do,” she muttered as she swept past him toward the door.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Granger,” he called after her.

She didn’t turn, but Remus distinctly saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Draco watched her leave longer than he probably realised, and something ancient and uneasy stirred inside Remus at the sight. Especially when he realised that the boy (Cissa’s boy) was waiting for everyone else to empty out of the classroom.

Busying himself with some papers, he waited for Draco to approach him first. 

“Professor… that counter-hex – the one you cast on Macmillan earlier? How did you figure out which one was the right one so fast?”

Remus couldn’t help it; he lit up with unabashed teacherly delight. “It’s less about speed, Draco, and more about listening,” he told him. “Magic telegraphs its intent if you let it.”

Draco blinked; it clearly wasn’t the answer he expected.

“Listening,” he echoed, sounding less than impressed.

“I think you’re better at it than you realise,” said Remus gently, noticing that the boy looked up at him in shock, Perhaps kind words were in short supply at Malfoy Manor. Before he could say anything else, however, Severus appeared in the doorway like a bad-tempered bat.

“Mr Malfoy. Your presence is required in the Great Hall. Preferably five minutes ago.”

“Sorry, professor.” Draco straightened immediately, but his eyes flickered to Remus with something like hopeful curiosity before he exited under his Head of House’s dark gaze. As soon as the boy was out of earshot, Severus turned to Remus with a challenging stare.

“You are collecting strays again.”

“He asked a question.”

“Yes. And you answered. Which is precisely the problem.”

“I wasn’t aware encouragement was outlawed.”

“To a Slytherin? And the son of Lucius Malfoy? For you, yes,” Severus replied coolly. “Regardless, that isn’t why I’m here. I am extending an… invitation.” He grimaced at the word. “Can you meet me in the Great Hall later?”

“Are you asking me out to dinner, Sev?”

Severus glared. “One o’clock. Do not be late.”

“Ah. So not dinner,” chuckled Remus. “Fine. It’ll be like old times… except we won’t have James’ cloak to keep us out of trouble.”

Severus rolled his eyes and swept from the room, his robes snapping dramatically behind him.

***

The ceiling was blanketed with storm clouds when Remus entered. His wand tip carved a pale path through the gloom, to where Severus waited beside the Goblet of Fire.

“I see the Age Line doesn’t stop people who are too old from entering,” Remus said lightly. “Although I didn’t expect you to –”

He stopped dead. The Goblet’s flames were wrong. Too tall. Too purple. Too hungry. Severus noticed his expression. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Someone’s been meddling with it.”

Remus reached out; power rippled against his skin – something that felt familiar, ancient, and deeply out of place.

“That’s… intent magic,” he whispered in awe. “Old magic.”

“Precisely why I summoned you. Congratulations.”

They worked quietly alongside one another, Severus with knife-edged precision and Remus with that same intuitive attentiveness he’d praised in Draco. It didn’t take long to see the truth.

“Three schools,” Severus murmured. “There should be three schools. So why does the Goblet believe there are four?”

Their eyes met as they came to the same glaring realisation: someone had tampered with the Goblet because they wanted a specific name drawn. Wordlessly, Remus levitated the lid off to reveal the mass of curled parchments within, each glowing faintly in their school colour: blue, crimson, and black. 

All except one. One glowed vivid green.

***

The Goblet fought every attempt to remove it magically, flames curling like claws around their prize. Gripped by a sudden certainty, Remus reached in with his bare hand and pulled the parchment free, shaking the fire loose even as it clung to his arm.

Severus swore at the sight of the scorch marks blooming across Remus’ skin. “Hold still,” he snapped, casting a cooling charm. “Idiotic wolf. You don’t always have to give in to the Gryffindor suicide impulse.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Yes, Lupin. We all remember how you nearly died trying to rescue a rancid niffler in second year.”

Remus laughed, but the sound died in his throat as he unrolled the scroll and saw the name that gleamed there in looping green ink.

Harry Potter.

***

From their opposite ends of the High Table, Severus and Remus did their best to act as though nothing at all were wrong. Severus glowered at his plate, which was entirely normal; Remus smiled benignly, pushed mashed parsnips around with a fork, and murmured pleasantries to Filius. But every so often, despite himself, his gaze drifted to the Gryffindor table where Harry – lovely, oblivious, carefree Harry – was flicking jellybeans at Ginny and grinning as she pretended not to notice.

Who, Remus wondered, tightening his grip on his fork, would want to hurt the boy?

The Hall thrummed with anticipation as Dumbledore rose to announce the champions (although Remus suspected Ludo Bagman might have liked the honour for himself), and everyone oohed and aahed satisfyingly as the flames burned suddenly red.

One by one, the names were read out; Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons, Viktor Krum for Durmstang, and – much to the delight of every single Hufflepuff there (along with everyone else who had a crush on the handsome Seeker) – Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts. As the thunderous applause rolled through the rafters, though, something impossible happened: the Goblet flared red again.

Sparks spat skyward like miniature fireworks. A long, hungry flame shot upward, and Dumbledore reflexively reached for the air above it before stopping short: there was no parchment. “How strange,” the headmaster murmured, his expression tightening behind the half-moon spectacles. “Perhaps the Goblet requires a moment’s rest, hmm?”

A scattering of uneasy laughter rippled across the Hall. At the far end of the table, Severus met Remus’s gaze with a look that needed no translation. We stopped something… but only just.

Remus scanned the Hall, heart thudding, hoping for the smallest tell: a stiffened spine, a twitch of guilt. His eyes caught Draco’s – wide, sharp, suspicious – across the room.

“What’s going on?” the boy mouthed.

“Later,” Remus breathed.

But “later” never came. The students, still buzzing, roared for their champions; feet stomped, benches rattled. The chosen three had already been whisked away to learn the legalities of the contract they’d unknowingly signed. Harry laughed somewhere behind him as he made predictions for the tasks ahead, utterly unaware how close the flames had come to claiming him.

“This is merely the prelude,” Severus murmured, appearing at Remus’s shoulder like a shadow.

The wolf inside Remus stretched its hackles, uneasy. Someone was watching him. No, not him. He followed the electric prickle of instinct and saw Moody’s mismatched eyes fixed not on the staff table… but on Draco Malfoy.

Remus stepped sideways, blocking the line of sight without making a scene.

“I know,” he said softly. “We need to be ready.”

The Goblet crackled behind them. The Hall kept cheering. And Remus felt, with a sudden, sinking certainty, that the first move had already been made.

Chapter Text

Remus had been patrolling the corridors (and tactfully pretending he hadn’t noticed Sirius, Peter, and James sneaking down to visit the one-eyed witch statue on the third-floor) when he heard it; a sharp, hateful voice echoing off the stone walls ahead.

“…go on then, Narcissa – run back to your perfect, pure, polished little world and pretend you’re better than me! You’ll be his soon enough anyway.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know exactly what I mean. You might run around with the mongrel after dark, but your family won’t stand for it much longer – and I bet they’ll be more than willing to put that animal down to protect your precious reputation.”

“Anteoculatia!”

There was a sudden unmistakable crack of magic, a cry, and the sound of someone thumping against a wall. Remus didn’t realise he was running until he rounded the corner just in time to see Severus – Severus with antlers sprouting from his head, no less – launching himself at Narcissa so roughly she was knocked to the floor. She didn’t cry out, but Remus heard her small, sharp intake of breath as her hand flew to her elbow. Severus didn’t even look back, his feet pounding away in the direction of the dungeons, black robes whipping around him like a storm cloud. 

Remus’s voice burst out before he even had time to think. “Oi! Snape!” he bellowed. “I reckon Lily might prefer you like that, actually.” 

Severus didn’t stop moving, but his shoulders twitched – just once – betraying the hit. Then he vanished around the corner, and Remus heard the footsteps speed up into a run. He dropped into a crouch beside Narcissa, who was still kneeling on the floor, her chin lifted in that impossibly poised Black family manner.

“Cissa?” said Remus gently. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. Honestly I am. He just… he’s not himself right now.”

Remus snorted softly. “You’re telling me. Where did you learn to do that? I don’t remember Flitwick teaching it in class.”

“Sirius,” she said with a shrug. Of course. “Are you going to dock any points off me?”

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused. Then, he looked down to the badge pinned to his robes. “Probably not, no; I don’t think I want to get on your bad side. And honestly, I didn’t see anything – other than that slimy git going for you. Merlin, what was he thinking?”

“You must have heard what happened between him and Lily today,” murmured Narcissa. “You know how much he…” She stopped herself, straightened her back, and smoothed out  her uniform as if she were reassembling armour. “He’s always been sharp,” she went on, “but today it was like he needed to burn someone. Anyone. I just happened to be the closest, I guess.”

Remus studied her carefully. “You shouldn’t have to be his target practice,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “And you won’t be, not while I’m around – even if you apparently don’t need any help defending yourself.”

“You Gryffindors,” she said softly. “Always trying to save everyone.”

Remus smiled. “I don’t save everyone; just the people worth saving. And, for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know what,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her up onto her feet. Their faces were suddenly very close to one another, and he leaned forward to press his lips against her hair. “Defending my honour like that? It was very Not Slytherin of you.”

They began walking in the same direction Severus had fled – albeit slowly, because neither was eager to return to their respective common rooms. He yearned to take her hand in his, but he contented himself instead with matching her step.

After a moment, Narcissa spoke again, her voice low. “It’s not just Lily. Severus is… I think there’s something more going on.”

Remus glanced at her. “More?”

She swallowed. “I think something happened between him and Sirius.”

That was enough to make Remus stop walking entirely.

“What do you mean by something?”

“I don’t know.” Narcissa shook her head, catching up her long hair and tying it into a ponytail. “I just know I saw them walking together a few nights ago – and when Severus got back he looked like he’d been hexed to pieces.”

“Where were they walking?” asked Remus curiously, trying to keep his voice light.

“Towards that horrible tree,” she said, miming a shudder. “The one that tries to kill everyone.”

“They went there a few nights ago?”

“I think so,” she said, unsettled by the strange expression on his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Remus didn’t say anything, but his eyes flickered towards the window. Narcissa followed his gaze and caught sight of the waning moon above. “Oh,” she murmured in sudden understanding. “Oh, no – surely not. Even Sirius wouldn’t do something so spectacularly stupid as that.”

He gave a hollow laugh, trying desperately to remember any small detail from his last moonlit stroll – and he had a sudden memory of running through a tunnel alongside Prongs. “Wouldn’t he? It’s that or he took him out for a romantic stroll under the full moon. I don’t know which is worse, especially now that Severus is…”

“A storm looking for a place to land?” Narcissa offered.

He gave her a faint smile. “Exactly.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“If I hurt someone, even by mistake, they’d put me in Azkaban,” said Remus. “And they’d be right to.”

“Don’t,” Narcissa told him, closing her eyes against that awful image. “Put it from your mind. Other than a fetching new pair of antlers, Severus looks perfectly fine to me.” They began walking again through the quiet halls, their footsteps echoing. “I am worried, though,” she said. “About what he’ll become if he keeps pushing everyone away.”

Remus looked at her sideways. “And you,” he said gently. “Are you worried about him hurting you? I won’t let him, Cissa.”

She opened her mouth uncertainly. “I don’t think he knows how to be happy for other people. And I… I think he hates it when he sees someone who is.”

“That’s probably why he hates me so much, then,” said Remus, pressing his shoulder against hers. “I’ve been sickeningly happy ever since I met you.”

Narcissa couldn’t help it; she giggled, and his heart turned over at the sound. Then, she stopped walking and turned to face him fully. “I wish we could just be together, without all of this sneaking about in the shadows. But Remus,” she whispered, pressing her hand to his cheek, “I can’t bear the thought of anyone hurting you because of me.” 

Unexpectedly, Remus leaned forwards to kiss her. She knotted her fingers in his cloak and pulled him closer, her back pressing against the wall and her heart pounding against his. A low moan escaped his throat, and he circled his arms around her – and then pulled back breathlessly. Her lips looked swollen in the torchlight. “What do you think McGonagall would say if she caught us like this?” 

“Remus Lupin, I expected better from you! 1000 points from Gryffindor!” said Narcissa, in a passable impression of the Transfiguration teacher’s Scottish tones. 

They both laughed, tension breaking like a spell being undone. Narcissa looked away first, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, breathing shakily.

“I should go,” she managed.

He nodded. But, as she turned, he gently caught her sleeve – just for a second. “Cissa? You’re never alone,” he reminded her. “Not while I’m around.”

“Canada, then?”

“Just as soon as you give the word.”

She smiled and left him, her steps soft, posture poised, and hair gleaming like starlight in the dim corridor. 

***

Later, he waited in the common room for the Marauders to return from whatever mischief they'd managed without him. Rain pattered softly against the windows. Somewhere up the stairs, someone snored. And then, laughter. Familiar, bright, achingly normal laughter

“You’re up late, Moony,” Sirius said as he strode in, shaking rain from his hair. His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “You usually crash out early after a full moon, don’t you? Is everything alright?”

“Tell me you didn’t do it, Pads,” Remus said. He hated the crack in his own voice. Hated the way Sirius froze. Hated the startled, guilty flicker that passed between his friends.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Sirius said quickly, and Remus clung to the small mercy that he didn’t try to lie. “Honestly, Moony, it wasn’t…”

“I don’t know how it could be worse,” Remus replied, too calm. “You could have gotten that pillock killed. You could have gotten me killed, or locked away for the rest of my life at least. I thought you were my friend.”

Sirius looked aghast.. “I am, Moons. Of course I am. Please. You must know that you and James are like brothers to me,” he said, ignoring or not noticing Peter’s squeak of indignation. “I love you.”

“So why? What on earth possessed you to do it?”

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t like you think,” said Sirius quietly. He swallowed. “Severus asked me to meet him. He asked me. And I thought –” He stopped, shoulders curling in on themselves, the way people do when they’re bracing for laughter that hasn’t come yet. “Oh, I don’t know what I thought. I got the wrong end of the stick. Like I always bloody do.”

The truth hit Remus with a dull, painful clarity, and his heart ached for Sirius. And so, even as his friend attempted to shrug off the incident with that same Black bravado he’d seen on Narcissa, Remus reached for him. Tightly, he wrapped both arms around Sirius and pulled him close; Sirius clung back, breathing hard against his shoulder.

“Now I almost wish I had eaten him,” Remus joked weakly into his friend’s hair.

Padfoot made a strangled sound – something like a laugh, but not quite – which was muffled by Remus’s jumper. James snorted, relief spilling out of him in a gust. However, Peter frowned. 

“But… what did you think he meant, then?” he piped up.

Their laughter filled the tower; too loud, too bright, a little desperate. Remus laughed with them, but inside, where no one could see, he could still feel Narcissa’s hand in his. Still taste the danger on his tongue. Still hear Sirius’ voice breaking under the weight of things he could never say out loud.

And for the first time, Remus understood: love – all of it, in every direction – was going to ruin them long before the moon ever could.

Chapter Text

Lucius was out for the evening, and Narcissa was relishing having the manor to herself again. She’d pulled on comfortable clothes after her bath, allowed her long wet hair to fall in a sheet of ivory against her back, and sat reading poetry at the table with a hot chocolate to hand.

Now, perched on the edge of her bed with moonlight on her bare shoulders, she finally allowed herself to unroll the thick parchment she had found secreted beneath Draco’s most recent letter home (she had taught him well). 

Touching his handwriting like it was a precious relic, she settled back against the pillows and began to read.

Dearest Mother,

I’m sorry this is so late; between exam preparation, those interminable magical-maturation lectures, and Professor Lupin refusing to accept anything below an Outstanding on shield charms, my entire schedule has been thrown off – though I suspect you’d approve.

You were right to sign me up for Duelling; it’s become my favourite subject, and not only because Lupin hands out chocolates at the end of nearly every lesson. There’s something artistic about the magic; everyone has a different style, a different way of shaping a countercurse. I never realised defensive magic could feel like constructing something, rather than tearing it down.

Lupin says I have “a natural affinity” for the subject and “a rare clarity under pressure”, which I can only assume I inherited from you. He’s the best teacher I’ve had; I see why you were friends at school. More students have signed up for his classes now, which is good – perhaps they’ll actually keep them running next year. Or, better yet, they’ll sack Moody and let Lupin teach Defence properly. Father was correct about one thing: Moody is awful.

He’s been watching me with that horrible eye of his for weeks, as if trying to work me out. Things have been rather strange since the World Cup, and I’ve had to form alliances outside my House – and I followed your advice: I didn’t dismiss Gryffindor automatically. Granger is infuriating, brilliant, and terrifying (often simultaneously). Weasley is tolerable if fed regularly. And Potter… well, I admit he’s not the dunce I assumed. Quite funny, actually, when he tries. Even Longbottom’s not as useless as he looks.

Don’t tell Father, but I ended up sitting with them all for the first task. Granger explained absolutely everything; I expected it to be annoying (Weasley certainly did), but I actually learned more about nesting dragons from her in an hour than in three years of Care of Magical Creatures. I still can’t believe they let dragons onto school grounds; you’d think they’d have learnt after last year’s dementors. And the basilisk. Still, Diggory did Hogwarts proud. And you should’ve heard the screaming when Krum set his own trousers on fire.

You probably know already, but Hogwarts is hosting a Yule Ball. I hope you don’t mind too terribly, but I’ve chosen to stay. Almost everyone else is, and you did pack those dress robes. Besides… I think it’s better that I don’t come home until summer. Especially after what happened. (Is Father still angry? He hasn’t written.)

I’ll be glad to stay with friends, but I’ll miss you. I know you pretend winter is your favourite, and I know you and Father always have your anniversary party on Christmas Day, but… I know. Perhaps, if you can slip away, we could meet for tea in Hogsmeade? It seems impossible now I’ve written it, but like you always tell me: hope is the thing with feathers.

I’ll write again soon. And please, as ever, burn this if Father comes within ten feet of it.

All my love,

Draco

P.S.

Hypothetically, if one wished to ask a certain someone to the Ball – someone extremely clever and utterly out of reach – should one do it directly? Or hint? Or perhaps faint dramatically and ask them while regaining consciousness? Purely hypothetically.

P.P.S.

I stayed after class to help put things away last week, and Lupin made me a hot chocolate exactly the way you do. The man is addicted to sugar. Is that part of the lycanthropy? The textbooks only ever mention their “monstrous taste for human flesh”, never their fondness for confectionery.

P.P.P.S.

The witch teaching us consent and contraceptive charms looks so much like you I nearly fell off my chair. Are we related to the Nera family?

Narcissa let out a soft laugh through her tears, then smiled as she read the letter all over again. She imagined her son flourishing under Remus’ gentle guidance, and daring to make friends with children who hadn’t been pre-approved by Lucius based on their blood status. She loved that he was dreaming about dancing with someone who was – and here, she referred to his letter – ‘infuriating, brilliant, and terrifying’ all at once. And she laughed all over again when she imagined him sitting and staring at Andi with a puzzled look on his face. 

Merlin, how she would miss him this Christmas. 

***

The next morning, Narcissa waited until her husband had poured himself his second cup of coffee before she dared to ask.

“Hogsmeade?” asked Lucius, lowering his newspaper. 

“Yes, husband,” she replied, refusing to wilt under his stare. “Draco isn’t home for the holidays this year, and I thought…”

“You thought that a teenage boy would like to be seen having tea with his mother?” He smirked. “I doubt you’d be doing his social currency any favours, wife. And, from what I’ve heard, our son's star has already faded quite enough this year.”

“Surely that’s another reason to meet with him?” she asked. “He’s become isolated from his friends; we must find out why, and impress upon him the importance of –” Narcissa paused for less than a second, trying to think of the phrase that might sway her husband, “– making better choices.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow at that, and she smoothed her skirts demurely. “I could send a Howler; it would do the same job in far less time.”

“Do you really think that will be any less embarrassing for him than an outing with his mother? I could speak to him discreetly, and remind him of his duties to our family,” she said promisingly. “To you.”

Her husband lowered his gaze at that. He had been, she knew, rattled by the silence that now yawned between him and his only son. It hurt Lucius more than he would ever let on; he had always loved the lofty pedestal that she had let him believe Draco had placed him upon. 

“I do… regret… that Draco and I didn’t have a chance to speak before he left for Hogwarts,” he said, somewhat surprisingly. “Perhaps if you went to him, appealed to him, then he might consider coming home for spring half-term.”

“I can but try,” she agreed, even knowing full well that Draco would not be returning until the summer.

“And you would do this for me? Even after…?” Lucius didn’t name whichever insult he was thinking of aloud; she wondered if he might mean all of them. Every single hurt and humiliation. 

“Of course, husband,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “I want Draco to be happy. I think he deserves to have a good relationship with his father.”

Lucius smiled frostily at her, even as he stumbled clumsily through her mind using Legilemency. As ever, though, he found no trace of a lie to pounce upon – and a little of the ice fell away. “I suppose I could spare you for an hour,” he said, as if he were allowing her an enormous treat. “Make your arrangements. I will send your invitation to Draco myself.”

By which he meant: I will be overseeing every little detail of this plan, lest you try to slip my net. Still, Narcissa’s heart leapt at the thought of even an hour with her son. “You have my gratitude, husband – and I will do my best to bring him around.”

“You had better,” he said lightly, disappearing once again behind the newspaper. “I would hate for there to be any further unpleasantness. Especially with our wax anniversary so soon on the horizon.” 

16 long years. The unspoken threat hummed in the air between them, but Narcissa felt like laughing aloud. 

She was so close. 

Chapter Text

Remus and Sirius had slipped away from the festivities early, although they’d both been there to witness the impossible: Lily Evans had agreed to a dance with James. (Severus had looked as if he’d swallowed a bezoar when he saw them take to the floor together.)

“I’m happy for them, but…”

“I get it,” said Remus. “It feels lonely, doesn’t it?”

“Even bloody Peter managed to rustle up a date,” muttered Sirius, a little unkindly. “Although I’m not sure it counts for much if you invite a ghost.”

“Oh, I don’t know – her very own Cinderella moment? It’s probably the highlight of her entire afterlife so far,” said Remus, even as he privately wondered what their friend had been thinking.

“Still, though. Myrtle.”

“Fair point.” Remus chuckled, then furtively glanced at his watch. Again. “Did you fancy a game of chess? I’m pretty sure you owe me a rematch.”

It was Sirius’ turn to laugh. “I’m going to bed, like a good boy for once,” he said. “And you’re going to stop worrying about me and keep your date in the Den of Desire.”

Remus blushed. “Room of Requirement,” he corrected, as The Fat Lady snickered in her portrait (they’d been lingering outside the Gryffindor common room entrance for a good twenty minutes now).

“Same difference, Moons. You couldn’t dance with her at the ball, but you can still sweep her off her feet. Carpe diem!” smiled Sirius, roguish in the torchlight. Then, when he saw the hesitation in his friend’s face, he rolled his kohl-lined eyes. “I’m fine, Moony. I promise I am. But I’ll hex you into next week if you don’t go right now.”

“Pads…”

Sirius pulled out his wand with a wink. “Want to try me? I’ve learned a few very interesting new tricks.”

Remus fled.

***

It was like walking into a dream. The Room radiated with soft golden fairylight, its windows filled with drifting snow. Narcissa turned as she heard his step, pale silver robes whispering around her, hair tumbling loose from its braid and cheeks still flushed from a night of dancing.

“Wow,” he said, heart in his throat. “You look like… wow.”

“Exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” she teased, moving towards him like ripples over water. “I didn’t see you dance once this evening.”

“You were watching me?”

Narcissa smirked. “I watched you stay pinned to your chair all night long. You can’t convince me my cousin is that interesting to talk to.”

“I only dance when the music is right,” he replied, and froze as the Room, ever obliging, began pumping out the unmistakable stylings of Hot Chocolate.

With the doomed determination of a man who had made his bed and now must disco in it, he flexed and twisted and peeled off his cloak, spinning it above his head. Narcissa dissolved into helpless giggles. “What is this?” she asked breathlessly, as Remus did his best to (badly) keep up with the beat.

“You Sexy Thing,” he replied. Then, as the colour jumped in her cheeks, he panicked: “Not you! Well, obviously you. But that’s the song, I mean.”

“Apt,” she said, moving closer to dance alongside him.

The rhythm was infectious; Remus caught up her hand and twirled her, dipping her as he growled along to the lyrics. Then, as the final notes ebbed away, the room shifted again: lights dimmed, music softened, and Remus pulled Narcissa closer without thinking as Art Garfunkel’s I Only Have Eyes For You wrapped around them like a warm blanket.

Her cheek rested against his chest; his nose buried in her hair. They swayed gently, breathing in time.

“The moon may be high, but I can’t see a thing in the sky. I only have eyes for you,” murmured Remus.

Narcissa lifted her face. Her eyes gleamed. “I love you,” she said simply.

He smiled. “And I love you. A fated pair, remember?”

Snow drifted against the windows as the music faded into quiet. Nothing existed except the pounding of their hearts.

Almost too quietly, she whispered: “Next time we dance together, I want it to be where everyone can see us.”

“Deal.”

He twirled her again, and the Room erupted into Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Remus spent the rest of the evening teaching the girl of his dreams to headbang and shred an air guitar, listening to her giggles and feeling impossibly, hopelessly, overwhelmingly lucky.

If only that perfect night could have lasted forever.

***

Narcissa was alarmed to find Professor Slughorn outside the common room entrance when she returned. Her alarm turned to dread when it became clear he was waiting for her.

“Good evening, my dear,” he said pleasantly, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

***

Narcissa knew that her mother wasn’t really sick, of course. She knew exactly what her family were doing, and she suspected that Slughorn did, too, even as he helped her pack up her belongings; his trembling hands gave him away. He kept fussing – folding and refolding her cloak, smoothing the lid of her trunk – as though neatness could excuse inaction.

“I’m afraid there won’t be time to say goodbye to anyone,” he said regretfully. “Your father is waiting for you at the gates.” It was apology, she told herself, and not malice. Apology, though, was useless to her. “I hope you will be back in a few months for your NEWTs, Miss Black.”

Snow hung heavy in the air but was not yet falling. Exhausted students – the ones who’d stayed until morning – were still spilling out of the Great Hall like water; Narcissa saw James and Lily among them, lips swollen and eyes bright.

Slughorn’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. Narcissa followed, hood up, throat aching, pulse hammering; she knew if she stopped, she would break. Yet, halfway down the stairs, she faltered. A letter. She needed to leave him a letter. She clutched the banister, breath catching. Words… what were words now, when everything that mattered was being ripped away?

Narcissa thought of all the poems they’d passed back and forth like small treasures over the past three years. She tried to summon one, any one, that could hold this grief. But heartache made a mockery of poetry; everything sounded trivial. False. Too neat.

Except…

A few lines surfaced, dim but steady:

Ah, Moon – and Star!

You are very far –

But there is one – farther than you

She almost laughed, a tiny, broken sound. Then, she ducked into an alcove and dragged parchment from her bag. She didn’t dare write much – not with Slughorn hovering and her father waiting – but she wrote what mattered:

Remus,

I don’t know how to put this into anything tidy or poetic. Everything hurts too much. So only this: I love you. I wanted you to have one last truth from me.

A pause. A breath. Then, beneath it, the quiet confession she could not say aloud:

“Moon – and Star – you are very far – but there is one farther than you.”

(Forgive me for choosing something sad. It is the only thing that feels right.)

Yours, always,

N.

She folded it with trembling fingers, sealing it before she could lose her nerve. And then – stupidly, inevitably – she barrelled straight into Peter Pettigrew.

***

Peter jolted, squeaked, and apologised before she could. He clutched a bottle of butterbeer too tightly, shoulders hunched; the smallest of the boys (albeit the oldest; he had turned 18 a few weeks ago), and thus the easiest to overlook. And she realised, with something like relief slicing through her despair: he’s safe. Her family would never be watching Peter Pettigrew; nobody would. And Remus trusted him; he was another Marauder. He’d told her himself that he saw the boys as kin.

“Peter,” she said softly.

He looked up with those watery, earnest eyes. He had always liked her; she was polite to him when other Slytherins ignored him.

“Yes, Narcissa?”

She hesitated, then drew the sealed envelope from her robes. Her hand shook.

“I need you to give this to Remus,” she whispered urgently. “Today.”

Peter blinked, panicked, and she suddenly wished she’d run into anyone else – Severus, even. The boy they called Wormtail looked terrified of the responsibility (invisibility had always been his armour) but she pressed the envelope into his hands anyway.

“I… I can,” he said. “Of course. I will.”

“Please don’t read it,” she whispered, and instantly hated herself for saying it; he flushed red.

“I wouldn’t,” he mumbled. “I know what it’s like, you know… hoping someone will write.”

Something cracked inside her chest. When she looked up, Slughorn was turning back for her. She squeezed Peter’s hand once before dropping it; even that small kindness stunned him.

“Thank you,” she said.

And then she was gone in a sweep of black wool, disappearing into the crowd before she had to see the look on his face. Before she imagined the look on Remus’s. Before she fell down screaming and had to be carried out.

It had been too perfect.

Chapter Text

Snow was falling the way it always did at Hogwarts: too flawless to be real, too cold to be conjured, too beautiful to ignore. It was the kind of snow that made even old grief feel briefly hushed. Remus stood at the top of the marble staircase with his arms crossed, watching the students filter into the Great Hall in pairs, trios, and little clusters of panic and excitement. The whole place hummed like a Christmas card bewitched to life.

He’d forgotten what this felt like – and Merlin, the outfits! Ginny Weasley swept past in deep green velvet, practically glowing. Dressed to match, Harry walked beside her in simple robes that someone (probably Molly) had charmed into sitting just right, and Remus felt something warm twist in his chest.

Minerva appeared beside him without warning, a faint whiff of peppermint tea and starch announcing her before her voice did. “I’m getting too old for this nonsense,” she muttered, although her smile said otherwise. “You look surprisingly presentable, Remus, although I ought to have known you’d come dressed as a chocolate bar.”

Remus looked down at his brown dress robes, and dimly recalled how the seamstress had described them as being tobacco-coloured. It had felt wrong at the time; chocolate definitely seemed more apt. Severus drifted over next, robes trailing like stormclouds, looking very much as if someone had blackmailed him into attending a wedding he objected to on moral grounds.

“It’s festive,” Remus said, just to wind him up.

“It’s undignified,” Severus replied, tugging at his tall black collar. 

“It’s fun,” Remus shot back.

“Precisely,” Snape growled. “Some of us, Lupin, maintain standards.”

Minerva rolled her eyes as she swept away to bark at a group of terrified fourth-years about their shoelaces. Remus could swear, though, that there was a hint of a smile on her face.

***

Draco Malfoy might have been immaculate in his plum silk robes, but he was the first student Remus spotted who seemed as he’d been forced into his dress robes at wandpoint. The boy was positively vibrating with irritation. Before Remus had a chance to ask what was wrong, though, Hermione appeared in a cloud of  periwinkle silk.

She looked radiant, confident, and was smiling up at – even Remus had to double-take – none other than Viktor Krum, who carried her arm like it was something sacred.

“Ah,” he said softly, glancing back at Draco’s stony expression. To his left, Ron looked every bit as furious.

“Merlin’s sake,” Harry muttered, appearing at Remus’s elbow, “I can’t deal with two catastrophes at once. Please, you have to do something.”

“Absolutely not,” Remus said. “This is character building. And well done, by the way.”

“On what?”

“Asking Ginny, of course.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, I still can’t believe she said yes.”

“I can. I saw the way you looked at her at the World Cup, and the way she looked at you. You’d have noticed it sooner if you weren’t usually busy almost dying.”

Harry blinked at him, startled, then ducked his head embarrassedly. “Well… thanks for giving me the push I needed, anyway. I think I just wanted someone to tell me it wasn’t mad.”

“You’re welcome. Although apparently I should’ve offered my confidence-boosting services to a few of your friends,” replied Remus, watching the other boys with fascination. Ron was staring at Krum like someone had stolen his favourite broomstick; Draco was staring at Hermione like he’d swallowed a Snitch.

Hermione caught Draco’s eyes on her, and narrowed her own in return. “You should have asked me when you had the chance,” she said, her voice impossibly cool.

Krum grinned at her proudly as Draco went a very unhealthy shade of pink.

“I’m getting out of here,” Harry muttered, returning to Ginny (who was whispering something to a spluttering Ron with a devilish grin on her face), and steering her toward the Hall before the whole thing could explode.

Remus, who could smell jealousy, confusion, and teenage heartbreak the way a wolf scents a coming storm, sighed. Oh, to be young and utterly incompetent again.

***

The band struck up, the enchanted icicles glittered, and the tables blossomed into candlelit feasts. A house elf drifted past with a tray, and Remus’s hand shot out almost on instinct when he was offered a skewer of marshmallows and strawberries for the chocolate fountain. He dipped it as thoroughly as humanly possible before bringing it to his lips.

This, he told himself, was the perfect vantage point for a chaperone. From here, he had an excellent view of the entire room. Still, as he absently reached for a second skewer, he worried he looked the way he did at the cinema: mindlessly eating as he watched disasters and small miracles unfold like stories written only for him.

Ginny and Harry were dancing too close to one another, talking animatedly about Quidditch and utterly oblivious to the Weasley twins’ knowing smirks. Hermione shimmered as if someone had dipped her in moonlight as Krum brought drinks for her and her friends. Cedric Diggory was twirling Cho Chang. Ron looked like he wanted to throw the aforementioned drink at someone (Remus still wasn’t sure who). Draco, chatting to Fleur Delacour in surprisingly elegant French, was absolutely not paying attention to Fleur; his eyes were glued to Hermione.

Severus glided along the periphery of the hall like a suspicious bat. Minerva danced tiny, precise steps with Hagrid, who was beaming as though he’d been asked to waltz by the Queen herself. At a corner table, Dumbledore sat with Moody, apparently trying to coax his old friend into – Remus squinted – ah, yes. A lemon sherbet; the man had a seemingly inexhaustible supply. And even Neville Longbottom, usually so unsure of himself, was relaxed enough to ask a Durmstrang student to dance with him.

It was… it was lovely, there was no other word for it. A tableau of youth and sweetness and awkwardness and hope, wrapped in snowlight and music. And yet, at the same time, it hurt. Because once – a lifetime ago, it seemed – Remus had attended a ball just like this. Once, he had held a girl whose name still tasted like hot chocolate on his tongue. Once, he had been young and breathless and terrified of losing the happiness pressed carefully between his palms.

Narcissa.

Her name flared in him like a struck match.

***

It was long after midnight when Remus finally returned to his quarters, his hair and shoulders dusted with snow. He’d taken the long route back through the grounds; he’d needed the shock of cold air in his lungs, something sharp enough to slice through the ache in his chest. The castle windows still glowed amber behind him, full of laughter and light he no longer felt part of.

Before he could even fall face-first onto the bed, the fireplace gave a faint crack, then a whirl, and Remus spun with his wand half-raised.

“Put that thing down, you great prat,” came an unmistakable voice.

Half-projection, half-presence, Sirius stood in the flames like a ghost of Christmas past, hair wild, shoulders tense, eyes already scanning Remus’s face. Remus sagged.

“You said you’d use the Portkey when you needed me,” Sirius said softly. “You don’t look like a man who spent the night at a ball.”

“It’s been…” Remus dragged a hand through his hair. “Complicated.”

The funny thing about Sirius was this: everyone thought he was all noise and swagger and theatrics. And, yes, sometimes he was. But those who knew him – really knew him – understood the truth. Sirius showed up. Over and over. For the hard days, the strange days, the lonely days. He had a nose for sorrow almost as keen as Remus’s own.

He didn’t push. He simply tilted his head, the way he used to do when they were boys; go on, Moony, spit it out.

Remus swallowed. “I saw them. The kids. Harry and Ginny – Merlin, they’re too sweet for their own good. Draco was in some sort of emotional implosion over Hermione. Everyone else was pairing off. And suddenly I was seventeen again, watching other people find their stories and thinking –”

His voice cracked. He looked away.

“Thinking of her,” Sirius finished quietly. “Narcissa.”

Remus nodded. “I’ve never felt lonelier, Pads. And it’s not just her. I feel like I’ve been…” He hesitated. “Like I’ve been a shadow on the moon for years. I miss seeing you every day. I miss James and Lily. I even miss Peter, though I hate myself for it. I miss the feeling of…” He spread his hands helplessly. “A pack.”

Sirius cursed under his breath; he knew that ache better than most. “Tell me what you need.”

Remus hesitated. “Write to her. Try to convince her to go to the Kiln. She trusts you in a way she doesn’t trust… anyone else. Tell her she has options, that she deserves them.”

“You think she’ll listen to me?” Sirius asked bitterly.

“No,” Remus admitted. “But you’re one of the only few people left who still loves her.”

Sirius’s face softened, and he suddenly looked as unbearably sad as Remus felt. “Alright. I’ll try. Though I suspect she’ll send me a Howler for it.”

“That’s practically affection from a Black,” Remus murmured.

Sirius snorted. “True.”

He lifted a hand to the edge of the grate, as if trying to touch Remus’s shoulder through the fire.

“Moony?”

“Yes?”

“Merry Christmas. And listen,” Sirius’s voice gentled. “I know you and Snape –” his mouth twitched, “– have teamed up to watch over Harry. And I’m grateful. I am. But you can come here, you know. Weekends. Holidays. Full moons. We could run the woods like we used to, then eat our body weight in cheese-and-ham toasties afterward. Baldric would be beside himself.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “Do you mean it?”

“I may be a wanted criminal,” Sirius said, “but I’m still your brother. Next full moon, alright? I bet all the other teachers Apparate home when they’re not on corridor duty.”

They both paused, imagining Minerva McGonagall in tartan slippers, surrounded by cats, drinking a late-night dram by her fireside. They chuckled helplessly.

“I’ll be there,” Remus said. “Anything’s better than the Shack.”

“See you in a few weeks. Love you, Moons.”

“Love you too, Pads.”

The fire flared gold, and Sirius vanished.

Remus stood there alone for a long moment, staring at the embers. Snow was still melting in his hair, dripping onto the floor. He tilted his head back and exhaled, feeling the room too quiet, too empty. He wished the moon would give him a sign, just one. Something small and hopeful. Something to tell him he hadn’t dreamed her.

Narcissa.

Even as he chased sleep, her name echoed in his ears like a heartbeat.

Chapter Text

Narcissa sat in her library nursing her mint tea and a headache. She had quietly smuggled her husband’s copy of The Daily Prophet into her pocket when she spotted the screaming headline, and had resolved herself to read it through to the end. She needed to know what it said before Lucius even so much as skimmed the first page.

“TORN APART BY LOVE – Werewolf Professor’s Secret Longing Revealed!”

She swallowed, feeling ever so slightly sick as her eyes were dragged below to Rita Skeeter’s florid prose: “Wolves mate for life… sources say he still pines for the one person he can never claim…”

Narcissa read it once. Twice. Then, she pressed her fingers to her lips and – Merlin, help her – she threw back her head and laughed. Not at Remus; never at him. Not at the fear she’d felt over Lucius finally having the excuse he needed to do something truly terrible to the only man she had ever loved.

No. She laughed at Skeeter, at her spectacular misreading of a truth so delicate it could have shattered worlds. The reporter believed that Remus’s one great forbidden passion was… Severus Snape.

“Rumours abound over the events that drove Remus Lupin to resign from his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor last summer. All, though, revolve around one person: Severus Snape, who just so happens to be an old classmate of Lupin’s,” continued Skeeter. “‘They’re always slipping off together,’ one student (who wishes to remain anonymous) told me. Another shared that they’d heard the two professors bickering about clandestine nighttime meetings during their own days as students. Then, of course, there was the flirtatious bickering at the Yule Ball. A promise of fun was made. And it failed to escape anyone’s notice that both professors left the event long after everyone else, peeling off in suspiciously separate directions...”

“Oh, Sirius is going to howl,” murmured Narcissa, taking another delicate sip of her tea. And, for a heartbeat, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like – truly be like – to see him again. To choose him, without anyone’s rules, without the iron grip of expectation.

Her laughter faded, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. She pressed her palms to her temples, then slowly lowered them to the folded paper, smoothing it against the table. Her eyes flicked toward the loose floorboard opposite the window, the corner where her most precious treasure had been hidden. The mirror.

Somewhere, it gleamed. Somewhere, it waited for her; a single, defiant shard of freedom that she could almost reach, almost touch. If she found it, perhaps she could vanish. Perhaps she could reclaim even a fragment of the life she’d always dreamed of. Perhaps she could finally, finally, finally choose.

Then, the infernal clock chimed from the hallway, and Narcissa was shaken back to reality. She had a date to keep.

***

She had never come here as a student; the whole place was dark, dingy, and smelled overwhelmingly of goats. Narcissa drummed her fingers on the rough table again, wondering if he was still coming.

“You’re really here,” came a quiet voice from behind her, and she turned with her heart in her throat. 

“Of course,” she said. “Merlin, I’ve missed you.”

Draco smiled at her, sliding into the seat opposite hers, and gestured at the barman for a butterbeer. Aberforth rolled his eyes, but brought a dusty bottle over to her son all the same. “I never truly believed that father would let you come,” he admitted.

“I only have an hour.” Narcissa smiled ruefully at Draco’s expression. “I’m sorry; it was the best I could do. And I had to promise…” she trailed off. “How was the ball? Was it everything you hoped it would be?” 

The dark flush of his cheeks and the duck of his head told her enough. She raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

“It was very agreeable,” he said stiffly. “I managed to strike up a friendship with the champion from Beauxbatons.”

“And what about the other girl?” asked Narcissa, her tone too casual. “The one from Gryffindor?”

“Someone else asked her before I did,” he admitted, his face stony. “It was probably a foolish idea, anyway; Father would have burned me from the family tapestry if I started dating a mud…”

“No,” said Narcissa, slamming her hands down on the table. The stubby candle between them shook, sending its golden light skittering over her son’s eyes and making them flash strangely. “No, Draco. You must never use that word. Please.”

An uneasy silence bloomed between them for a few minutes. The barman pointedly had his back to them as he polished glasses with a dirty rag, but it was all too apparent that he was listening. Then, Draco reached forward and took her hands in his. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“You’re hurting. We’re like animals; we lash out when we’re in pain,” she said, her voice gentle again. 

“She told me I should have asked her sooner. I probably should have. I just didn’t expect… I just didn’t expect anyone else to do it, I guess. I thought I had time.”

“I suspect that’s the problem; no girl wants to feel like she’s the safe option. They want to feel like –” someone you’d break every rule for; that you’d risk everything for, “– they mean something,” she finished lamely.

“Is that how he made you feel?”

Narcissa looked at her son, who stared back at her far too innocently. 

“Lord Malfoy and I had a very different type of courtship,” she told him. “You know this; it was all arranged between him and my parents.”

“I know,” he said softly, “but do you really expect me to believe that you never dated anyone else before him?”

Opening her mouth, Narcissa paused uncertainly. Then, she looked at her son again, glowing golden in the candlelight, and she shrugged. “I was only 18 when I signed my marriage contract.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She leaned a little closer to her son, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s the only answer I can give you safely.”

Draco’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he nodded, squeezing her hand as he did so. “Why did you do it?” he asked, watching her face carefully. “Why did you sign? You can’t possibly have wanted to. Father is…” he shook his head helplessly. “I just wish I could understand.”

“I suspect it will never make sense to you,” she murmured. “It often doesn’t to me. It’s why I find this time of year… difficult.”

“I always used to think it was the height of romance that you and Father married on Christmas Day. He would always say you were the most beautiful gift he’d ever been given.”

How very like Lucius, Narcissa thought to herself, to see her as a trinket or a prize or a bauble. “Perhaps he truly did believe that,” she said aloud. 

“Why did you sign?”

“My family urged me to make an alliance.”

“You’re the cleverest witch I know, bar one. Don’t tell me you couldn’t have found a way out of it.”

“Why do you want to know all of a sudden?” she snapped. “What’s changed?”

“Everything,” said Draco. “Everything has changed. I’ve changed – and you saw what he and his friends tried to do to those muggles? What he did to me after the march? He’s involved in something… something terrible, I think. I can stay at school as long as I can to avoid the danger, but you’re trapped in that house all day every day. Granger told me –”

“What? What did she tell you?

“That your magic would destroy you if you ever tried to leave him,” he said, eyes on the table. His voice was barely audible. “That you’re bound to him for as long as he lives.”

Narcissa’s heart broke when she imagined these two children – her son – talking about such twisted dark magic. “There’s always a loophole,” she said faintly.

“You wouldn’t need one if you hadn’t signed in the first place. And I know you, Mother; I know you wouldn’t have signed unless you really had to. Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you disappear? Until they forgot all about you?”

I did. We did. They didn’t. 

“I promise, Draco, I will explain everything someday,” she said, brushing away the mutinous tear that had broken free. “In the meantime, though, I want you to stay at Hogwarts for as long as possible. And see if you can’t find somewhere to stay over the summer holidays, too. Somewhere safe. Please.”

“But Mother…”

“I mean it, Draco. You aren’t wrong about Lucius; he’s mixed up in something very dangerous. I don’t want you being dragged into it. I failed you at the World Cup, but I won’t fail you again.”

“What about you, though?”

Narcissa smiled defiantly. “I’ve lasted this long, haven’t I?”

Draco didn’t smile back. His fingers tightened around hers, as if he felt the tremor running through her bones. “You shouldn’t have to last,” he said softly. “You should be able to live.”

Something inside her chest gave a painful twist. For a moment, she saw him not as a boy trying to emulate the great Lord Malfoy, but as the child he had once been; small hands gripping hers, hiding behind her robes when guests arrived, whispering questions in the dark. How had it come to this? Her son discussing escape routes and dark-binding magic in the back of a bad-smelling pub?

“I can manage Lucius,” she said quietly, which was not quite a lie, and Draco knew it. His eyes narrowed, the Malfoy silver bright with worry he had not learned from her husband.

“Just… be careful. Please.”

Inwardly, Narcissa sighed; she was sick to death of people telling her to be careful. Suddenly, she had the urge to be quite the opposite. 

Chapter Text

Remus had visited Diagon Alley every single day of the half‑term, hoping against hope that she might be there. It was the coldest February he’d ever endured – frost on the windows, ice on the puddles, breath whitening the air – and more than once he wondered if it was because Narcissa had taken all the warmth of the world with her when she disappeared.

Sometimes Sirius came to keep him company; they sat in Fortescue’s (the crowd at The Leaky Cauldron had grown too dangerous), as close to the window as they dared. James and Lily had joined them once or twice, though their dizzying adoration for one another made Sirius quietly, gently suggest they stay away. Peter, however, had been allowed to sit with Remus for an entire day. Again and again Remus had asked about the moment Narcissa had given Peter the letter. Again and again he heard the same words: she’d been pale, quiet, close to tears. Slughorn, bloody Slughorn, had all but dragged her away.

Today, though, he was alone. And so, when he saw Narcissa Black on the steps of St Gianna’s, he genuinely wondered if he were dreaming.

Her pale hair was tucked beneath a winter hood. Her back straight, chin lifted, but her hand trembled as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Remus felt the bottom drop out of his carefully controlled world.

He didn’t call out. He didn’t trust his voice. Still, she turned as if she had felt him. Their eyes locked, and the world snapped into a terrible, perfect silence as she approached.

“Cissa,” he breathed.

“Remus.” Her voice was brittle at the edges. “They’ll be coming for me any moment.”

They were too close, the street too exposed, too many words unsaid as they gazed helplessly at one another. Their hands were almost touching.

“Has it happened already?” he whispered.

“Not yet.” She drew a shuddering breath. “They sent me here today to make certain I haven’t been… anywhere I shouldn’t.” Behind her, St Gianna’s gleamed cold and clinical; a place for “discreet family matters,” where the daughters of old houses were examined like livestock. Remus felt sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hating the apology, hating everything, but he touched her fingers briefly, and the shock of her skin on his was like being struck by lightning.

She jerked her hand back. “Not here. Please.”

He nodded, heart pounding, and guided her down a narrow side passage; not Knockturn, but a concealed turn behind the apothecary where windows poured warm light into falling snow. There, beneath a brick archway, the world felt distant and muffled. 

They hadn’t even finished turning toward one another when the kiss happened; hers, his, both at once, the collision inevitable. Her hands tangled in his chestnut hair, locks looped around her fingers like shining rings; his mouth found her jaw and throat as he cupped her face.

“We could run,” he murmured, breath hot against her skin. “Right now. Please.”

“Canada?” she whispered back, only half-joking. “How?”

“I don’t care how. We’ll go to James’s parents and plan from there. But we have to go now, Cissa.”

“They’ll never let me go. Not after Andi.”

“Then let them come after us,” he said fiercely. “Even if you don’t want me, even if you’ve changed your mind, just let me help you. Don’t let them trade you off like you’re… like you’re bloody property. You deserve so much more than that.”

She kissed him hard enough to bruise his lips. “I will always want you,” she whispered. “Always. I will never change my mind.” Then, wonderfully, she lifted her chin in defiance. “Let’s do it; let’s run.”

The crack of Apparition behind them didn’t sound like magic. It sounded like something breaking.

“WELL, well… what do we have here?”

Bellatrix stepped into the alley like a nightmare, dark curls wild, wide eyes half-mad with glee. Remus’s wand was out instantly, but Narcissa slammed a hand to his chest, shaking her head with frantic urgency.

“Bella, please –”

“Oh do shut up, Cissy,” Bellatrix purred, flicking her wand lazily. “Crucio.”

The curse hit Remus like fire beneath his skin. His nerves screamed, his spine jerked, and he collapsed onto the stones, choking on a cry he tried desperately to keep contained. Instinctively, he clawed at the ground, desperate to hold onto something real as the pain tried to rip him apart.

Narcissa lunged for Bellatrix’s wand, screaming, but her sister flung her back like a ragdoll into the brick wall behind. Eventually, finally, the curse was lifted, and against all odds, Remus somehow pushed himself back up onto his knees, his entire body trembling and palms bloodied.

“Pathetic,” the older witch crooned, kicking him sharply in the ribs. “This is what you sneak off to kiss? A half-bred mongrel? A dirty little monster?”

Narcissa staggered back to her feet. “Stop,” she said, positioning herself in front of Remus even as he protested.

“Oh, little sister.” Bellatrix’s voice dipped into an intimate whisper. “You’re going to make such a charming wife for Lucius.” She leaned closer, too-white teeth near Narcissa’s ear. “I wonder what he’d do if he ever learned you’d been whoring yourself out to a wolf.”

Something in Narcissa snapped. She slapped her sister, hard, the sound echoing through the alley like a gunshot, and, for a split second, Bellatrix’s expression cracked with shock. Then, she laughed, low and vicious.

“Temper, temper,” she chided, firing another Cruciatus curse at Remus – shorter this time, still just as terrible. Then, her fingers clamped around Narcissa’s forearm. “If it were up to me,” Bellatrix whispered, “I’d finish him now. Slowly. Piece by piece.” Remus tried to stand, but his muscles were still spasming, vision swimming. 

“No,” whispered Narcissa faintly.

“Oh yes. Sadly, though, Mother insists we remain… presentable,” Bellatrix continued, with a mocking sigh. “And killing your pet right here on the street? That would make a terrible scene.” Her eyes gleamed with hunger. “Besides… pain lasts longer than death.”

Remus realised then: she didn’t want him gone. She wanted him alive, suffering, terrified. Death would be too quick, too clean. Torture was love, in Bellatrix’s mind. As she raised her wand again, though, footsteps thundered somewhere near the mouth of the alley, and someone shouted a warning. Too late.

“Come along, Cissy,” Bellatrix hissed, tightening her grip. “Mother will want all the gory details.”

“No! Remus, get up! Please, I’m so sorry –”

Desperate to see her, to reach her, to save her from this terrible nightmare, Remus pushed himself up onto shaking limbs. Even as he reached for his fallen wand, though, Bellatrix yanked Narcissa close, her wand carving the air. With a thunderous crack, they Disapparated, leaving a scorched spiral on the cobblestones. 

Remus collapsed forward again, palms slapping the frozen stone, his breath ragged. Pain still crawled through his nerves like venom, but the cold somehow cut deeper. He whispered her name once. Just once. Then, he bowed his head to the ice, shaking, and let the winter swallow him whole.

***

They had locked her in her bedroom, and she had been grateful for that small mercy. Alone in the dark, Narcissa’s hands trembled around the precious artifact as she sat cross-legged on her bed. First things first: he had to be safe. Every whispered spell she had ever practised, every subtle nudge of magic she could muster, poured into the mirror. The glass rippled, faintly, like water disturbed by a careful hand.

Her reflection stared back at her, pale and determined, but the mirror shimmered further, showing a glimpse of familiar snow-dusted streets. A shadow moved; could it be him? Narcissa’s breath caught. “Oh Remus,” she murmured to herself. “Where are you?”

The image flickered, momentarily uncertain, before it steadied. There he was, leaning hard  against the brick walls as he half-dragged himself along Diagon Alley, coat dusted with frost, head bowed. Relief hit her like a wave, yet the knot in her chest remained. He was vulnerable. Unarmed. Unprepared for what had just happened, or what was still yet to come.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass. “I’ll find a way back to you,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Even as the mirror’s glow faded, even knowing its power, Narcissa knew that her next moves would have to be calculated, careful, and almost invisible. That the mirror would have to be hidden away. And yet, for the first time since being pulled back into the Black estate, she felt the tiniest spark of control… and hope.

They would run. They would disappear. And they would make a life together far away from the Blacks and the Malfoys, even if Narcissa had to give up everything to make it happen.

Chapter Text

It was, Remus thought, a lesson of two very distinct halves. The first had been excellent, of course; he’d broken the class up into teams, shooting Harry a private wink when he had him work alongside Hermione, Draco, and Ron. 

“A lot of people think that Duelling is something to be done alone, one against another,” he told them. “We are always stronger, though, when we work together. When we know how to work together. It’s all well and good to assume there’s safety in numbers, but it only takes one Dark witch or wizard to catch you by surprise, and…” he drifted off, lost in his memories, before he caught the expressions on the teenagers’ faces. “I’m sorry; I’m starting to sound like Professor Moody, aren't I? Constant vigilance!” 

The impression was uncannily accurate, and prompted more than a few giggles. He smiled at them, even as his heart twisted in his chest and his eyes lingered on Draco. Merlin, the boy looked just like Narcissa when he laughed. 

It had been an eye opening experiment; Harry’s team had been truly formidable – one of the best in the class, in fact – until Hermione was called to the headmaster's office and the boys were left to their own devices. 

“Weasley, you almost took my eyebrows off – have you ever used a wand before?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Ron, tripping over his own feet as he turned to look at Draco and accidentally sending a hex towards an unsuspecting Harry.

Remus cast Protego wordlessly, and the spell bounced off the shield in a shower of sparks. Then, he raised his eyebrows meaningfully at all three boys. “You know what you’re doing wrong, don’t you?” he asked. And then, seeing Draco open his mouth (most likely to utter some insult at Ron’s expense), Remus shook his head. “No, Draco – it’s not down to just one person. It’s all three of you.”

“But I’m usually exceptional at Duelling, and you know it,” snapped Draco.

“I said already that it doesn’t matter how good you are as an individual if you’re fighting alongside others,” said Remus wearily, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you’re not listening to one another, then you’re not working together. And if your opponent isn’t afraid to use one of the Unforgivable Curses on you, you really do need to be working together. They are incredibly difficult to block, whatever your skill level. Why do you think so many brilliant witches and wizards were lost in the first wizarding war?”

“Trust didn’t exactly do my own parents any good, did it?” muttered Harry under his breath, and Remus’s chest ached.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, glancing at the hourglass on his desk. “I think you all have other places to be right now. But remember: you three work well with Hermione because she believes in you. Try believing in yourselves for half an hour and see what happens.”

***

The next morning, Harry and Ron woke up later than usual, and squabbled all the way to the lake, where the Triwizard champions were magically preparing themselves for the second task; Cedric and Fleur both had enormous bubbles around their heads, while Krum…

“Blimey, he’s uglier than I remember,” laughed Harry, as Ron’s mouth twitched.

They were just finding somewhere to sit (Harry had caught sight of Ginny and Neville, and was gently propelling his friend towards them), when Draco barrelled into them breathlessly. “Granger’s in the lake,” he said, pulling their sleeves and dragging them away from the crowd.

“What are you talking about, Malfoy? Gone for a swim, has she?”

“They’ve put her in the lake for Krum to fish out. She’s the treasure that’s been taken. And if he doesn’t find her within an hour…”

“Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back,” said Harry in slow-dawning horror. Everyone had heard the clue at this point; George had been singing it at the breakfast table for weeks, much to Cedric’s amusement. 

“Are they mad?” Rob looked like he was going to be sick. “They’ve just handed her over to the Giant Squid for dinner?!”

“It’s barbaric,” agreed Draco, running his fingers through his hair. “Utterly barbaric. Who designed this? Oh right – every incompetent adult in Britain.” He looked at them both for a moment, his face pale. “I’m going in.”

“Then we’re obviously coming with you,” said Ron. 

“Agreed,” said Harry. “Although, and I don’t know about you two, I’ve no clue how to turn my head into a bubble.”

Draco smirked, looking almost like his old self for a moment. “Good thing I know where Professor Snape keeps the gillyweed.”

***

The water swallowed them whole into its freezing green depths, and only the push of their arms and the dull thud of their hearts disturbed the silence as Harry, Draco, and Ron kicked downward. Most of the lake’s creatures lay stunned and floating like eerie buoys; grindylows dangling limp, their spindly fingers drifting in the current. The champions had already been this way.

Draco pointed sharply downward. Flashes of spellfire illuminated the depths in a kaleidoscope of colours. They exchanged one grim look and swam faster.

The scene below was chaos.

Krum – half-shark, half-boy – was backed against a carved stone plinth, lashing at seven armed merpeople; blood clouded from a gash across his chest. Nearby, Cedric’s legs vanished upwards in a flurry of bubbles as he ferried his own hostage to the surface, leaving a trail of red behind. And, bound to the statue at the lakebed, was an unconscious Hermione and a tiny, silver-haired girl that could only be Fleur Delacour’s sister.

Draco didn’t hesitate; he shot toward Hermione like an arrow as Ron veered left toward Krum. Harry tore downward after the smallest hostage, his wand already rising. The merpeople hissed as one, needle-sharp teeth flashing before they lunged.

Harry fired Stupefy again and again, the water muffling the spells but not their impact. Merpeople reeled back, stunned or slowed, giving Draco the opening he needed. His fingers were quick, even underwater. A rope loosened, then a second, and Hermione tumbled gently forwards into him. He caught her, one arm around her waist, shielding her with his body as he cast a shimmering underwater Protego.

It was around the same time that Harry reached the child. He sliced the ropes with a Severing Charm and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t stir. Ron, meanwhile, blasted a way through to Krum, who sagged against him, eyes glassy. Together, Ron and Krum thrust their wands outward, a shared wordless shield blooming like a dome around them.

Harry looked up toward the faraway shimmer of the surface and jabbed a finger upward.

Go. Now.

They pushed off the lakebed as one group, kicking hard, spells firing behind them to keep the merpeople from closing in. After what felt like an eternity, the first fingers of sunlight brushed their faces. Then warmth. Then air. Sweet, blessed air.

They broke the surface in a burst of foam, gasping.

***

They had taken almost an hour to swim back to the shore; Fleur’s sobbing sister clung to Harry like a limpet, barely able to tread water by herself; Hermione had awoken in Draco’s arms, only to immediately launch into one of her infamous “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” rants. She was usually a competent swimmer, but found it almost impossible to manage even a simple front crawl in her heavy school robes (yet another example of the lack of thought that had been put into the planning of this particular task). Begrudgingly, she allowed Draco to help her. In fact, both she and Krum were forced to float on their backs so that they could be towed along like buoys.

“I try to free her,” said Krum bitterly, his head now back to normal. “As soon as I bite at ropes, the mermaids attack.”

“They were probably trying to stop you biting me in half,” said Hermione crossly. “Dumbledore would never have actually put us in any real danger.”

Harry rolled his eyes, nodding his head at the huge gash running through Krum’s near-perfect six pack (Ron studiously kept his eyes on the shore). “They had weapons, Hermione. Actual weapons, and they used them on teenagers.”

“It’s on par with the dragon-based idiocy,” agreed Draco. “And how old is this little girl that they decided to half-drown? About 9? Ridiculous.”

“Will your father be hearing about this” teased Harry, as Draco blushed. Ron chortled.

“No, but…” Draco trailed off, the retort fading in his throat as he squinted at the shore. “It looks like we have a welcome party.”

***

Remus and Fleur both stood waist-deep in the water, the latter staggering forward to pull her sister from Harry’s unprotesting arms and covering her in kisses. “Gabrielle,” she sobbed, “I tried to come, but ze grindylow were too many. Oh Gabrielle, I thought… I thought…”

Remus reached for the others, helping them to drag the injured Krum up onto the muddy banks behind him. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?” he asked breathlessly, casting a healing charm. He looked incredibly pale. 

“We thought –” began Draco, but then his mouth slammed shut when he realised the professor wasn’t talking to him.

“It was all in good fun,” smiled Ludo Bagman uneasily. “The merpeople were instructed to defend the hostages; they knew to keep them safe.”

“But see how they defended them!” snarled Remus. “This boy would have bled to death if these idiots hadn’t gone into the water. Poppy!”

Madam Pomfrey came scurrying over from the first aid tent, scolding an utterly unrepentant Fleur for being out of bed as she went, and muttering darkly about “international lawsuits” as she set to work on Krum herself. Remus, meanwhile, cast drying charms on the others, listening tightlipped as they told him about everything that happened under the surface. 

“You saved ‘er, even though she was not yours to save. My little sister. Thank you!” said Fleur, turning to Harry and kissing him on both cheeks. Krum patted Ron’s shoulder with warrior solemnity from his stretcher (“You are good man, Ronald Veasley; I am in your debt”), while Hermione continued ripping into Draco (“If you were really that worried about me, why didn’t you go to a teacher?”) but she was shaking too hard for anyone to believe that she truly meant it. Then, Cedric walked over to them from where he was sitting beside Cho Chang, his arm wrapped in a snowy white bandage.

“I didn’t realise what was going on,” he said, voice full of regret. “I should have stayed behind to help. I just thought… the egg said that something bad would happen if I got back outside the time limit.”

“See?” muttered Draco to Hermione. “It wasn’t just us.”

Suddenly, Dumbledore stood from where had been crouched at the water’s edge; he had seemingly been speaking with the merpeople’s chieftain in a series of clicks and whistles. He called over the other judges – Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Bagman, and, inexplicably, Percy Weasley (who shot his youngest brother a very Molly Weasley-style look as he passed him) – and they entered a huddled conversation.

As Cedric was the only champion who managed to rescue his hostage within the allotted time, he received 40 points (10 were docked for his injury). Fleur and Krum each received 25 (“I deserved zero,” she said throatily, as a disappointed Krum shook his head). Then, Dumbledore turned to Draco, Ron, and Harry.

“Today, you did something wildly irresponsible and reckless,” he declared gravely. “You could have all been killed.” Then, beaming, he added, “but I am awarding you 10 house points each for moral fibre.”

“You see, Hermione! We weren’t being prats; we were showing moral fibre,” said Ron happily.

“Your detentions will be legendary,” snipped McGonagall beside him. “Two weeks, weekends included – no exceptions.”

***

Remus volunteered to run the detentions, insisting it was the only way he could be sure the three boys weren’t in mortal peril. Thankfully, he didn’t set them to work scrubbing cauldrons or wandering the Forbidden Forest looking for an injured unicorn (“What do you mean, that’s what they did in First-Year?” he’d asked in horror). Instead, he set them to work on something better: extra training sessions.

“Again,” he instructed, over and over again, “but this time… trust each other.”

Finally, they did.

Chapter Text

The drawing room of Black Manor smelled of iron and ink. Narcissa sat very still beneath the chandelier, hands folded in her lap like a dutiful daughter, while her parents stood on either side of the long walnut table. The revised contract lay between them; a scroll of thick, creamy parchment bordered in runic red. It pulsed faintly, as if it had a heartbeat of its own.

Lucius was not present – he rarely dirtied his hands with process, only result. But his influence was everywhere: in the cold elegance of each clause, in the precision of the conditions, in the unmistakable tone of ownership.

“Read it,” her father ordered.

She already had, of course. Twice.

The terms were worse than expected. She would bring honour to the Malfoy name, and obey her husband’s decisions in all public matters. She would produce an heir within 16 lunar years (a clause written in ancient ink, and older magic). If either spouse died naturally, the other would be released; if either spouse died unnaturally by the hand of the other… the magic would consume the murderer.

Bellatrix, sprawled in one of the wingback chairs, was grinning like a cat presented with a mouse already stripped of hope.

“You’ll make a beautiful bride,” Bella crooned. “A silent one, of course. Lucius prefers his women as decor.”

Narcissa ignored her. Instead she kept her gaze trained on the clauses – the ones that mattered, like the restrictions on correspondence, and the fact that she would only be granted access to her wand under supervision.But the worst, the one that felt like a blade, glowed gold at the bottom of the parchment. If the bride engages in carnal treachery, the contract is void and punishment shall fall upon both adulterers as determined by the Malfoy line.

Narcissa felt her pulse jump once, traitorously, and Bellatrix smiled. “Oh,” she purred. “That part frightens you, little dove? Why?”

“Enough,” snapped their mother, but she was too late. Bella rose from her chair in one smooth, predatory movement.

“You know,” she said softly, walking toward Narcissa, “I used to wonder why you were so… serene, last year. Why you looked like a girl with a secret she wanted to swallow whole.” Her smile turned razor-sharp. “And then I discovered precisely which filthy creature had been sniffing at your heels.”

Narcissa didn’t move, didn’t even dare breathe. 

Bellatrix laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Lucius.”

“You will not tell anyone," Druella interrupted sharply.

Bella turned warily, for she knew that tone. Cygnus lifted his wand. “Bellatrix. You will swear it.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because,” Druella said coldly, “you will not endanger this alliance. You will not endanger your sister. And you will not endanger this family again.”

Bellatrix’s nostrils flared. She glanced at Narcissa, dripping with pure venom. Still, she stalked forward when Cygnus beckoned her closer

The father and eldest daughter pressed palms together, wand tips trembling between their hands.

“Will you swear, Bellatrix Black, never to reveal any information pertaining to Narcissa Black’s… past affiliations?” he intoned heavily.

“I will,” Bella spat.

The first band of fire wrapped around their joined hands.

“And will you swear never to act upon that knowledge, through word, wand, or deed, in any way that would harm your sister or her… past companion?”

Narcissa’s heart leapt, even as Bellatrix growled. “I. Will.”

The final band of fire sealed.

When Cygnus released her, her palm was blistered white where the fire had kissed it, and Bellatrix looked like she wanted to tear the room apart. Instead, she m turned to Narcissa and whispered, with horrifying sweetness: “Enjoy your last days of freedom, little dove. The next time you walk into a room like this, it will be to sign your life away.”

Narcissa inhaled slowly, then she lifted her chin. “I decide when I sign,” she said quietly, “and it won’t be until the wedding.”

Bella laughed – a wild, delighted sound. “Oh, Cissy,” she murmured. “You think Lucius will let you wait until Halloween? How adorable.”

***

Only when the others scattered did Narcissa allow herself to let her mask fall even slightly. She stood with her hands pressed to the cold mahogany table, breathing like she’d just run the length of the Manor.

Then, she forced herself to read the glowing contract again, slowly and methodically. This time, though, she looked not at the chains, but at the gaps between them. The small cracks. The places where blood magic had left room for interpretation. For choice. For escape.

She did not yet know how she and Remus would do it, only that they would. Because the contract was drawn, but it was not signed. It wouldn’t be signed for nine long months. And until ink met parchment, she still belonged to herself.

***

Alone in her bedroom that night, she lifted the slim, leather-bound volume that Andromeda had pressed into her hands the year she fled.

Narcissa ran her thumb across the worn corner of the cover, trembling fingers turning the pages that smelled of dust and rosemary oil. A marginal note, in Andromeda’s steady handwriting, caught her eye immediately:

For you and he who looks at you like he cannot breathe without you. There is truth in old magic, Cissy. Learn it.

Her throat tightened as she saw, sketched in ink and annotated with ancient runes, a ritual that felt oddly familiar: The Mirror of Selene: A Twin Reflection Binding.

A magic older than wandcraft, dependent on emotion rather than incantation, she read. Two mirrors, carved or given in devotion. Two halves of a whole. Two souls choosing each other.

Narcissa brushed her fingertips over the illustration of the two mirrors, and of the silver thread joining them. “Remus,” she whispered, pulling out her own mirror.

It caught the moonlight and threw it back at her in trembling fragments. For a heartbeat, she saw a silhouette move across it; one that was tall, lanky, and soft-featured. Her breath hitched – was he looking for her, too?

She sat slowly on the edge of the bed, the book resting open in her lap, the mirror warm in her hands. The Selene text spoke of things far more ancient than the Blacks or the Malfoys: 

“A bond willingly formed cannot be unmade except by death, betrayal, or the deliberate destruction of both mirrors.”

“The bond protects so long as both hearts remain true.”

“Where twins of mirror magic remain intact, distance cannot sever them. Magic cannot sever them. Law cannot sever them.”

Narcissa closed her eyes. The contract – heavy, cruel, and binding – suddenly felt… smaller. Not powerless, but no longer inevitable. Because even if they could bind her body, her wand, and her name, the mirror was something that they could never touch.

The moonlight trembled on the glass, as if answering. And then, purposefully, she lifted the mirror to the silver glow and called his name.

He answered, just as she had known he would.

Chapter Text

Lucius was incandescent with rage when he learned that his son had been in the Great Lake – not out of worry, Narcissa observed, but because Draco had done so to “rescue that Gryffindor mudblood”.

 “You said you would speak some sense into him,” he spat, his mouth too close to her face.

“I said I would try to reconcile him to you,” she replied stiffly. “Repair what’s been broken.”

His knuckles whitened at his sides. He whirled, slamming a fist into the wall. Again, he thrust the letter at her, as though she hadn’t memorised every word Severus Snape had written about the incident. “He’s been chumming around with Potter! He dived into a lake strewn with monsters to save a mudblood! Do you truly suppose I can reconcile myself to this version of my son?”

Narcissa shook her head minutely. “Perhaps not, husband, but this is the version you’ve been given. Have you never heard of –” she shrugged helplessly, “– teenage rebellion? Did you never do anything to vex your own parents?”

“No,” he said quietly.“I did as I was bidden. This streak of rebellion… must come from your bloodline.”

“Lucius…”

He drew her chin toward him. “I remember waiting for you that Halloween, the illness, the delays. Even then, I suspected something was off. Your own streak of rebellion, perhaps?”

“Are you accusing House Black of treachery?” she asked evenly. “When I have adhered to every clause of our agreement?”

His grip softened, just slightly. “And yet…” His eyes flicked away, briefly human. Narcissa reached out, brushing her fingers over his cold ones. The smallest sign of honesty, she thought.

“What would you advise, then?”

“There is nothing more infuriating to a rebellious teen than a parent who supports them,” she said quietly. “Even in their misdeeds.”

He tilted his head, considering. “No punishments, then? No Howlers?”

“Disappointment stings more than anger,” she said, serene but sharp. “You can write to him. Express disappointment. Remind him of your love.”

For a long beat, Lucius stared at her, unreadable, then released her hand. She wondered, fleetingly, whether he’d ever truly experienced love. It seemed doubtful; Narcissa almost felt sorry for him. 

Almost.

***

Of course, Lucius only read the official letter from Draco’s Head of House. Narcissa, however, was sitting at her dressing table  when one of the Hogwarts owls landed lightly on her windowsill with a letter addressed to her. A letter addressed to her in an achingly familiar hand.

Numbly, she untied the scroll of parchment with suddenly clumsy fingers. The owl didn’t wait for a reply; perhaps it had been instructed not to. Instead, it slowly blinked its golden eyes at her before it soared back into the night sky.

For one wild moment, she considered burning the scroll of parchment on the spot. Then, she gave into temptation and hungrily tore open the dangerous slip of paper.

My dearest, Cissa, it began, and her heart sang at the old nickname.

I didn’t expect your son to become one of my favourite pupils, but he has – likely because he’s proven himself to be every bit as talented, imaginative, and witty as his mother. It’s a lucky thing he has, though, especially as he’s apparently taken it upon himself – with more than a little help from a certain Mr Potter, of course – to turn my hair completely grey before I’m 40. I fear you won’t recognise me when we next meet. 

I have made a point of overseeing his detentions myself, if only because it’s the only way I can be sure he’ll survive until the summer holidays. He is using the time wisely, to forge alliances and build trust in others. And to drink up my entire supply of hot chocolate, of course (although I must admit that I was pleased when he told me that I make it exactly the same as his mother does; it’s nice to think that some things never change).

I suppose what I’m saying is: you should be extraordinarily proud of Draco, albeit a tiny bit afraid of the fact he is infinitely more Black than Malfoy. That endless thirst for knowledge, passion for justice, fondness for melodrama, and ability to love with every fibre of his body will surely propel him to dizzying heights, and into much more mischief before too long. Especially now he’s running around with three others who’ve long proven themselves adept at sniffing out trouble. 

I’ll do my best to keep him out of the worst of it. It seems the very least I can do, for now. Until then, my River wait reply.

Your obedient servant,

Remus Lupin

Narcissa pressed the letter against her heart, before settling back to read it again – as many times as it took to commit the words to memory. She could feel the care he had taken with every word; just enough to remind her of his feelings, without arousing anyone else’s suspicions. Then, with a sigh, she lifted the paper to the candle on her sill.

It burned more brightly and quickly than she’d imagined it would.

***

Narcissa had not meant to overhear. Truly, she had not; she had actually crept from her rooms to fetch herself a book from the library. But the gruff, growling voice carried strangely through the draughty corridor; low, measured, and laced with the unmistakable cadence of a report being delivered.

“…no trace. The body will never be found, even if the werewolf scoured all of the Forbidden Forest with his snout against the ground.”

A pause. A soft scrape; Lucius turning, or perhaps merely adjusting his cane. “Excellent.”

“And the artifact?” asked the other voice fiercely.

“Secure,” Lucius murmured. “It has been delivered with the rest of them. He will be… pleased.”

Her hand tightened on the banister as she leaned ever so slightly closer.

“Nothing else?” the stranger asked.

There was silence for a moment. Then Lucius replied, in that almost tender, terrible voice: “She listens at keyholes, sometimes.”

Narcissa froze.

Narcissa froze. A low chuckle, the hiss of the Floo. Footsteps approached – not hurried, just deliberate – bringing with them unspoken questions: Are you listening? Did you hear everything? Will you dare to speak?

She stepped back from the mouth of the corridor and raised her chin in perfect repose as Lucius rounded the corner.

“Ah,” he said mildly, “Lady Malfoy. I thought you would be fast asleep by now.”

“I was,” she replied, matching his pleasant tone exactly. “Something disturbed me; I suspect one of the Elves.”

His eyes lingered on hers a beat too long. Then he smiled.

“I will punish them myself in the morning, you have my word. For now, I have important matters to attend to. You should return to your rooms.”

He brushed past her with the lazy possessiveness of a man handling a prized object. She forced herself to remain completely still until she could no longer hear him.

Only then did she run.

***

In the sanctuary of her dressing room, Narcissa locked the door, pressed her forehead to the wood, and allowed herself to shake. 

Remus.

Her wand trembled in her fingers as she lifted it. She had not cast this spell – his spell, the one he’d carefully taught her over and over until she’d perfected it – in over a decade. For a moment, she feared it would fail almost as much as she feared it might succeed.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Light burst from her wand; not bright, not at first, but growing, curling, shaping itself into a form she could not quite bear to look at directly. The silhouette shuddered, then steadied, as though remembering itself after years of being gone.

A familiar warmth lapped against her ankles.

She closed her eyes; if she looked, she would break.

“Go to him,” she whispered. “Warn him. Tell him… tell him that someone has been murdered on school grounds. That the body has been hidden. Tell him to be careful. Please.”

The Patronus pressed its ghostly muzzle against her hand. Her breath hitched.

“Go.”

And the creature leapt through the door like moonlight made living, leaving her alone with the cold.

***

“Alright, that’s enough for this evening. No, Ron, you cannot hex Draco as a ‘demonstration,’ off you go – OUT! All three of you are having far too much fun. This is supposed to be detention, remember.”

The three boys were in high spirits as they left the classroom, nudging one another, comparing misfires and near-misses. Harry attempted to levitate his bag and spilled its contents all over the floor. Draco teased Ron about kissing someone (“Your sister saw you, there’s no point denying it!”). Ron went as red as the maroon jumper he was wearing. And Remus pretended not to hear a word of any of it as he stacked practice dummies with the content fatigue of a man who had almost convinced himself the world outside these walls wasn’t sharpening its teeth. Almost.

The boys drifted away, their chatter echoing faintly down the corridor, and silence fluttered into place. Remus let out a sigh, just as the torches flickered.

A prickle ran along his skin: the same molten tug he felt the first time he touched the mirror. A ripple of magic he recognised in his bones, not his mind.

“No,” he whispered. “It can’t be…”

Silvered light spilled across the stones, as if someone had cracked the moon open. It pooled at his feet, gathering shape, gathering purpose, until something stepped out of the brightness – a creature he couldn’t breathe to name.

His knees nearly gave way.

The Patronus lifted its head, eyes warm and agonisingly familiar, and opened its mouth. And her voice – Narcissa’s voice – came out on a whispering rush of light.

“Remus… someone has been murdered on school grounds. The body has been hidden. Please, be careful. Please.”

Remus’s heart slammed painfully against his ribs. “Cissa?” he whispered, stepping forward despite himself.

The Patronus brushed its luminous muzzle against his palm, just once – an impossible, forbidden touch – and Remus felt something shatter open inside him, even as the light began to dissolve.

“Cissa, wait – who…?”

But the message had ended. All of the warmth it brought with it faded as the beautiful silver wolf vanished into nothing, leaving Remus alone in the classroom, chest heaving, every sense screaming that something terrible was about to happen. Already upon them, even. And still, no matter how much he wanted to run to her, he couldn’t.

Chapter Text

“And you’re certain that she didn’t say who had been killed?”

“No,” snarled Remus for the third time. “She didn’t send an essay, Severus.”

“How very like a Black, to lean into melodrama rather than facts and details,” drawled the Potions professor. They stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest together, wands aglow. “Everyone is accounted for, Remus, if it eases your mind at all. Not a student or teacher out of place.”

“Then it can’t be a teacher or student she means,” replied Remus, knuckles whitening around his wand. “Who else?”

Severus sighed. “The only others with access to the school ground are those involved with the Triwizard tournament; the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingents – all of whom are fine,” he added, seeing Remus’s face. “The judges, I suppose. And the press. Although you’ll forgive me for failing to be too upset if it’s Rita Skeeter.”

“I’d have to assume you were the primary suspect,” said Remus distractedly. “And some offence taken, by the way. I’m not that bad a catch.”

“Enough, Lupin,” snapped Snape. “We have to concentrate if we’re to have any chance of this working. Is your comrade actually planning on joining us this evening, or…?”

They both turned at the sound of paws on the ground, although both had very different reactions to the shaggy black dog that had trotted up behind them. Remus bent immediately to stroke its head; Severus merely shot it an icy glare. 

“If this ritual didn’t call for three people, Black, rest assured I’d have summoned a dementor here myself,” he said softly, although his heart wasn’t in it.

“Nice to see you, too, Snivellus,” said Sirius, rolling his eyes. He had brushed his hair, for once, and looked more than presentable in his simple black shirt and trousers. “How does this work, then?”

Severus pulled out a pouch containing the ingredients he’d gathered from his storeroom; celandine, byronia, verbena, belladonna, the tongue of a horned toad, grave truffles (“They stink to high heaven, Sev!” “It’s this or a hanged man’s tallow, Black, and I know which I’d prefer to use”), and a raven’s feather. Carefully, they placed the items within the salt circle that had been conjured on the ground before their feet. 

“Dumbledore must never learn of this,” warned Severus. “I don’t know what he’d do if he learned we’d practiced the dark arts on school grounds.”

Then, he pulled out a pearl-handled blade,  and pulled it across his palm in one swift motion. He didn’t flinch. The blood slowly dripped into the circle, staining the items within it. Then, the knife was passed between Remus and Severus. Silently, they did as Severus had, adding their own blood to the altar.

“Eōs invenī,” muttered Snape, and the circle erupted into crimson flames. The fire danced along the salt lines, licking the ground, casting shadows that seemed to bite at the edges of the trees and their robes.

Remus felt the heat prickling his skin, smelled the faint tang of iron and smoke, and caught his heart hitch at the unnatural sharpness in the air.

“Trust you to know blood magic, Sev,” said Sirius admiringly, eyes bright before the fire. “Now what?”

“We wait,” replied Severus in a poisonous whisper. “Surely you must have learned patience in Azkaban?”

Remus placed a steadying hand on Sirius’s sleeve before the man could reply. Silence yawned, marred only by the whispering of the leaves and the strange sounds of unknown things moving in the trees before them. Then, the feather slowly lifted from the circle.

For a moment, it drifted lazily between the three men, as if getting a feel for them; Remus forced himself not to recoil when it came near. Then, it shot upwards and began to soar through the air – not towards the Forbidden Forest, as they had expected, but away from it. Sirius was suddenly a dog again, pursuing it at breakneck speed. Severus and Remus sprinted along behind him. 

They found Padfoot whining and pawing at the freshly dug earth in Hagrid’s garden. The feather hovered above, trembling in place. The two men eyed the nearby shovels, then gave each other a silent nod as they set to work.

***

They had been sifting through dirt and mud for almost two hours when they finally found it: a faint shimmer in the moonlight. 

Padfoot’s nose was on the spot immediately, snuffling and sniffing. Severus placed a hand on the dog’s muzzle, surprisingly gentle, nudging him aside. “An invisibility cloak,” he murmured, holding it up so it spilled between his hands like silk.

Remus’s eyes followed the dog’s paw and froze. He bent down, fingers brushing the smooth surface of a bone, cold and heavy, humming faintly as though it were alive… or wrong. The air around it seemed thicker, tighter as the feather dropped from the sky to the ground, its work apparently done.

“But where’s the rest?” he whispered, unease curling in his gut.

Then, he realised: the bone was humming with magical residue. “And why does this feel so… strange? It’s like –” he paused to listen, head tilted to one side, “– the shape is wrong.”

Sirius, a man again (even in spite of the other two’s protestations), lifted the cloak up and around himself and almost vanished completely from view. If you were looking for it, though, you could see a smear; like water on a mirror. “I’d take it to Minerva if I were you,” he said. “She’s probably the only person you can truly trust with this for now; Dumbledore and Moody will both make a lot of noise about it – it’s just their way. And if it gets back to Malfoy that we went digging around for this, I doubt he’ll be showering Narcissa with roses and chocolates.”

Remus gave a tight nod. Then, instinctively, he reached out for a fold of the cloak and held it to his nose. “Boomslang,” he muttered. “What’s that one for again?”

“Polyjuice,” said Severus and Sirius at the same time, much to their surprise. The implication of this made them all sit in silence for a moment.

“I had a large quantity of boomslang skin taken from my supplies recently,” said Severus slowly. “I assumed it was Draco when he pilfered the gillyweed… I’ve been waiting for the prank ever since, in fact, but it seems I ought to have conducted a more thorough investigation.”

There was a beat.

“Way to state the obvious, Sev,” chuckled Sirius.

***

The two professors had bid goodbye to Sirius – or Padfoot, technically – at the base of the Whomping Willow; he planned to head to the Shack and apparate to The Kiln from there. Remus had scratched the dog behind the ears. Severus had eyed it coolly, before reaching out to press his hand against the side of its face. 

This goodbye done, they made their way to Minerva’s rooms, with the bone and cloak in hand. It became wildly apparent before too long, though, that both Remus and Severus were walking slower than usual.

“She can’t give us detention for being out of bed,” said Remus suddenly. “We’re professors now.”

Severus laughed hollowly. “The woman is a law unto herself.”

They raised their hands to knock, only for the door to fly open. Minerva, wearing a tartan dressing gown and a black nightcap, stared at them both before ushering them in.

“This had better be good, boys,” she snipped, and they were suddenly both 15 again, falling over themselves to explain their bad behaviour.

Minerva listened to the tale of the ritual without comment, although she did raise a despairing eyebrow. When the two men explained about the missing boomslang skin, and presented the bone to her, though, her brow furrowed and she raised her wand over it instantly.

“Transfigured,” she said after a few moments. “And I suspect if I reverse it, my bedroom will instantly become a crime scene.”

 “You mean…?”

“It’s a despicably clever way to hide a body,” she said. “Whose body, though? And who went to all this trouble to hide it? And who –” she said, spinning suddenly to face the Duelling professor, “– told you to go looking for it in the first place, Remus?”

Uncertainly, he opened and shut his mouth. Then, before he could answer, she nodded in satisfaction. “Narcissa Black, then.” 

Remus was absolutely lost for words. He stared at Minerva in silence, and her eyes softened as she looked at Remus. “I am a great deal of things,” she said gently, “but oblivious isn’t one of them. You’re a werewolf, not invisible.”

Severus let out a sharp snigger; not kind, but not entirely cruel either. Then he caught himself. The sound died quickly, and he straightened, schooling his expression into neutrality. “Yes, well,” he muttered, “if even I knew, it clearly wasn’t much of a secret.”

Remus felt heat crawl up his neck but couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment, grief, or the sting of Severus’s tone. Maybe all three. 

As if making amends, Severus offered: “Her life would be forfeit if the wrong person found out, of course.”

“I’m not a fool, Severus,” Minerva told him coolly. Then, picking up the bone between her thumb and forefinger, she added: “Now, let’s take this somewhere a little more suitable and see if we can’t figure out what’s happened.”. 

*** 

“We have to tell Albus,” said Minerva, as the three of them stared down at the lifeless body of Barty Crouch.

“We can’t,” Severus said at once. “Minerva, the man is a liability at the best of times. Involving him in something this delicate? He’ll go barrelling straight to Malfoy Manor with a tin of sherbet lemons and a list of questions for Narcissa, and she’ll be dead by sundown.”

Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose. “A fair, if infuriating, point.”

“But why?” Remus asked, his voice hollow. “Why kill Crouch? And why was he here, of all places, when he was too ill to attend the lake task? None of this makes any sense.”

Minerva’s expression softened. “To us? No. We stand on the side of the light, Remus, no matter how much either of you fret that you’ve been… brushed by darker things.” Her glance flicked between them, knowing and sharper than he expected. “I doubt anything these monsters do will ever make sense to us.”

She lifted her wand. Crouch’s body contracted, twisting back into the single pale bone. She wrapped it reverently in the cloak and tucked the bundle deep inside her robes. When she straightened, she looked every inch the commander she was.

“Very well. We keep this between the three of us. For now. But the final task is scheduled for the end of this week, and I have the awful feeling something is set to coincide with it.”

Her gaze snapped to the guilty look passing between Remus and Severus.

“Well?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

Remus swallowed. “It’s… it’s about the Goblet of Fire.”

They told her everything. She made only a few, precise questions, each landing like a pebble dropped into Remus’s stomach. By the time she was finished, she had assigned each of them a detention.

Neither man dared argue.

Chapter Text

Nobody noticed when Narcissa began rationing her words, greedily storing up as many as she could for the evenings when she found herself alone behind a locked door. It was a game of sorts, she supposed – one which she played to get her through the day. She liked to imagine that, should she make it to bedtime having uttered less than 100 words, she’d have won a small victory against the House of Black. 

The tall pale-skinned man sat opposite her, however, was waiting for an answer. “Your mother has told me,” he said, grey eyes sliding over her body, “that you can speak French. Do you do so fluently?”

She nodded. 

He leaned forward on his elbows, his long face touched by the fragile morning light in a way that made him look older than his years. “Then prove it.”

“Il ne faut pas attendre d’être parfait pour commencer quelque chose de bien,” replied Narcissa coolly, watching the man’s expression shift. Perhaps French words wouldn’t count towards her total, she thought to herself. “Et toi?”

“I only learned a few phrases here and there,” he replied. “I’d like my wife to be more than an ornament, though; I often have dealings with ministers from across Europe, and I’d expect you to make them feel understood.”

“As a translator?” she asked curiously. Three words.

Lucius Malfoy laughed. “Of course not, Miss Black. You wouldn’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything like that. But we’d host dinners for visiting delegates, as well as attend balls and other high-profile events. I’d like you to speak French for all of these.”

Like a clever bird that’s been taught to speak and mimic, she thought. Aloud, though, she simply murmured: “Of course.”

“And when our children are born, too, you will speak to them in French for the first few years of their life.”

Narcissa stared at the walnut veneer beneath her hands, imagining a baby with golden eyes and chestnut curls. She smiled faintly. “Yes, Lord Malfoy.” 

“You’re a pretty little girl, aren’t you?” he said all of a sudden. Woman, she thought mutinously. I’m 18 years old. “I suspect you’ll make the front page of the Prophet – Halloween might seem a long way off, but it will give us plenty of time to plan.”

“Us,” she echoed. Seven words.

“Myself and your parents, of course. It’s the biggest night of the Wizengamot’s social calendar; we need to make sure everything is perfect if we want to break through all the noise.”

Again, Narcissa offered a mute nod. How old, she wondered idly, was this man with his ponytail, and his expensive suit, and his manicured nails, and his apparent obsession with impressing the right people? She thought of the night she’d first met Remus, when he’d slipped away from a grand ball to come and discuss forbidden poetry with the girl in the greenhouse. How he’d always politely rejected the exclusive invites to Slughorn’s parties, even when she was going, and simply waited for her in their little library with his pile of homework. How he’d performed a one man reenactment of The Spy Who Loved Me in its entirety, all at her request, solely to help her better understand the difference between one Jaws and the other. How, even though he’d cried in her arms the night she’d discovered his secret, he refused to make a sound when Bella…

Narcissa spread her hands flat against the table, and felt as if her heart might split open. Lucius lifted his black coffee to his lips, studying her over the rim. “Are you looking forward to married life, Narcissa?”

She chose her words carefully – six this time, she noted. “I look forward to what love allows.”

A slight crease formed between his brows. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t that. “Love,” he repeated, tone politely puzzled. “Of course. Well. You’ll find marriage a rather different creature, I think. Stability, reputation – these are what matter. And you’ll excel. You have… composure.” His gaze skimmed her face as though admiring the workmanship of a prized acquisition. “Beauty, too. You’ll make me very happy.”

Not us, she noticed. Him.

Lucius brushed a speck of dust from his immaculate sleeve. “There was some concern, I admit, regarding your family. Your sister’s… unfortunate choices. Your cousin’s unforgivable ones. It casts a long shadow.” His voice softened in a way that felt unspeakably dangerous. “But I’m glad I had the good sense to look past the stain of their blood. You, Narcissa, have exceeded every expectation placed upon you.”

A chill ran down her spine. “Thank you,” she murmured, knowing anything else would cost too much.

He smiled, satisfied, as though she’d performed a trick correctly. “A sensible girl. I knew it from the moment I met you. And once we’re wed, you won’t have to worry about the distractions of school or… unsuitable acquaintances. I’ll take care of everything.”

Something in her chest fluttered; panic or fury, though, she couldn’t tell.

“Of course,” she said again. But inside, she held tight to the memory of a warm greenhouse, a boy with ink on his hands and poems in his pockets, the moon in his blood, and the taste of sunshine on his mouth.

***

Narcissa slipped into her bedroom and closed the door with a soft click; beyond, a House Elf obediently locked it, as they had been bidden to do each and every night until her wedding. The perfume her mother had pressed on her clung to her sleeves, and she scrubbed it off with a handkerchief before reaching under her pillow for the mirror.

“Remus?” she whispered.

His face appeared at once, hair rumpled, candlelight warm on his cheekbones. “Cissa, how are you?”

“The same,” she said. “How are you? How are exams?”

“Dreadful.”

She laughed at that, and felt the thin, immediate shiver of relief course through her body. “I think you’re confusing NEWTs with torture.”

“Same thing,” he said. “And I should know the difference by now, shouldn’t I?” It was a dark little joke, but she still smiled, even as he hurriedly pressed on. “James and Lily have stopped revising altogether. They’ve decided to treat snogging as an extracurricular.”

“Truly? I bet Severus is thrilled by this benevolent act of public service.”

Remus grinned, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sirius is trying to teach himself Muggle mechanics. He says he’s buying a motorbike.”

“A what?”

“It’s like a broomstick on wheels. One that refuses to behave.”

She giggled, the sound loosening the ache beneath her ribs. “And Peter?”

“Dumped,” Remus said gravely. “Spectacularly so.”

“By Moaning Myrtle? Oh, poor Peter.”

They laughed until the laughter weakened, dimmed, and faded into something softer. His golden eyes fixed upon hers through the glass. “Cissa. How are you really?”

She pressed her lips together for a moment, then rallied. “I met him today,” she said. “Lucius Malfoy.”

Remus let out a long, slow breath. “And?”

“I hate him.” The words trembled out. “He looks at me like I’m a trophy someone forgot to polish properly.” Remus’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing; he knew she hadn’t finished. “I did some more research,” she whispered. "You're right, there are loopholes, but everything takes too long. Everything binds me tighter. Sometimes I think I’ll have to wait until he’s dead before I’m free.”

“Then we’ll wait,” he said fiercely. “I told you, it doesn’t matter whether it takes one year, or five, or sixteen, I’ll do it. I’ll wait an eternity if I have to.”

She shook her head. “I’d wait that long, too, Remus. I’d wait longer.” She touched the mirror as if she could touch his cheek. “But why wait?”

He blinked. “Cissa…”

“There’s one night a year,” she said, voice low and clear now. “When the magical barriers around Black land thin. Just for an hour or two. If we timed it right, if we planned everything down to the second… then we could leave. Together.”

He stared at her. “Canada?”

“I can already see the log cabin under the stars.” She smiled through the sting in her eyes. “But let’s not get distracted. Planning will be everything.”

The candlelight flickered between them like a heartbeat.

Chapter Text

Remus ducked without looking up from his notebook as a wayward hex passed over his head and turned the wall purple. “Careful where you’re aiming, Fred,” he warned, and the red-headed boy blushed as he mumbled an apology. Angelina giggled, and Fred rounded on her with mock fury. 

“If that’d hit you, ‘Lina…”

“I’d be purple?” Angelina grinned, rolling her eyes. “It wouldn’t stop me doing this!” She flicked her wand and George suddenly crouched on his haunches and began hopping around the room like an unruly kangaroo.

“One point for creativity,” said Remus, “but I don’t know how useful it’d be against an actual Death Eater.”

It was always the most intense lesson of his week – primarily because so many of the sixth-years were a) in hormonal overload and using their magic like a peacock might its tail feathers, and b) still smarting over the fact they had been just too young for the Tournament. As a result, Cedric had become something of a target for some, although not out of maliciousness; too many of his classmates felt as if they had something to prove. If I can hex Cedric, I must be champion-material – that sort of thing.

Cedric, therefore, was using this lesson to practice spellwork against one of the dummies in the corner, as well as research any jinxes or counter curses that he might find helpful in the final task. Remus had supplied him with a number of books, and always made himself available for questions and demonstrations whenever the boy needed. Today, though, he’d been oddly quiet as he pored over the texts – so much so that even George had noticed, and had slipped away from his match against Lee (“Don’t be such a chicken, Weasley!”). He’d folded himself into the seat next to the Hufflepuff, and the two young men had been in rapt conversation for the past 20 minutes or so.

“It’s never going to be just a maze, though, is it? Dragons, armed merpeople… it can only get worse from here,” Cedric was saying. “And I still have to find the way through, too.”

“You’re ahead by miles,” replied George, bumping Cedric with his shoulder. “It’s almost impossible for anyone to beat you now. And you’re a badger! Badgers are great at mazes – stick your snout to the ground and you’ll find the centre in no time.”

Cedric smiled reluctantly. “I’m not good at that sort of thing; you’re the one who knows every secret passageway and corridor inside out. I get lost every time I try to –”

Suddenly, Remus’ attention shifted to the pale face peering in at the doorway, and he moved quietly to shield the visitor from view. Luckily, everyone behind him was far too engrossed in what they were doing to notice. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you,” said Harry, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The sharp metallic tang of fear assaulted Remus’s nostrils, and he instinctively moved closer, pressing a hand fleetingly against the boy’s hot forehead. 

“Why don’t you wait in my office?” Remus’s voice was gentle, and a little of the tension in Harry’s shoulders eased. “Get yourself a glass of water – I won’t be much longer.”

Behind him, there was the sound of a small explosion. “Sorry professor,” said Fred quickly. “I’ll fix it!”

Harry smiled, as Remus looked despairingly at the ceiling. “Maybe a little longer,” he told the boy who looked so much like James. “There’s books and chocolate, though; help yourself.”

***

Remus found Harry staring at the photo on his desk when he finally escaped the sixth-years. Taken during one of those golden summer days at The Kiln, James, Sirius, and his own face smiled out of it; all three of them looked so impossibly young and happy.

“No Peter?” Harry asked, without turning around.

“No,” said Remus, locking the window shut. “He didn’t often come with us in the summer; his parents used to take him and his sister abroad.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I can’t imagine Peter Pettigrew with a family – was his sister a…?”

“She’s a nurse, I think,” said Remus. “At a hospital in Southampton. She didn’t get a Hogwarts letter.” He looked at Harry carefully; the boy looked a little less pale now, even if there was still a crease of worry in his forehead. “What’s happened?”

Harry had just opened his mouth uncertainly, when there was a knock at the door. Hermione burst in without waiting for an answer, dragging a reluctant Draco behind her, and both stopped in surprise when they saw Harry sat before Remus’s desk. 

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked. “You’re supposed to be in Double Divination, aren’t you?”

“Me! What are you two doing here?” Harry replied, looking bewildered and far more himself again. “And have you memorised my timetable again?”

Remus looked between the three teenagers, then sighed. He conjured two more chairs over, then gestured at Draco and Hermione to sit; the former, he noticed, looked every bit as unwell as Harry had when he’d first arrived.

“I can cast privacy wards so you can all talk to me separately,” he said pleasantly, “or –”

“Draco had a vision about You-Know-Who, Professor Lupin,” interrupted Hermione, as Draco elbowed her with a horrified look on his face. 

“So did I! Well, a dream,” said Harry in surprise, and the two boys looked at one another curiously.

Remus took a deep breath. “Perhaps, then, it’s best we all speak together – we can compare what you each saw and try to figure out what’s going on. How does that sound?”

All three of them nodded, comforted by his reassuring tone. Hermione, he noticed, had her fingers just within touching distance of Draco’s, and Remus smiled inwardly. Now he understood what Minerva had meant.

Harry went first, explaining how he’d fallen asleep in Divination (“I told you that you should have dropped it when I did!”) and had dreamed he was flying on the back of an owl to a dilapidated old house. “I saw Wormtail – that’s Peter Pettigrew’s nickname,” he said, turning to Draco. “He hung around with my dad and his friends when they were younger, and he…”

“Betrayed James and Lily to Lord Voldemort, then made it look as if Sirius Black was the real culprit,” finished Remus, noting that Draco’s eyebrows barely flickered upwards. 

“Don’t worry about me,” said the blonde boy, glancing at Hermione. “I’m more up to speed with things than you give me credit for.” 

“Well, Voldemort was torturing Wormtail, until he got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail’s blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn’t be fed to the snake – there was a huge snake beside his chair. He said – he said he’d be feeding me to it instead. Then he did the Cruciatus curse on Wormtail – and my scar hurt,” Harry said, mumbling the last words. “It woke me up, it hurt so badly.”

Remus snapped a square of chocolate off a bar, and offered it to the boy. “You’re safe, Harry,” he said quietly, ignoring the small, vicious voice that told him not to make promises he might not be able to keep. “That must have been frightening to witness, but I will do everything within my power to protect you – as will Sirius, and countless others. You aren’t alone in this.”

Harry bit off some of the chocolate. “D’you know why my scar’s hurting me?”

Remus nodded. “I’ve done a lot of research since we last spoke. I told you before that it was no ordinary scar, and I was right – there’s nothing else like it that’s ever been recorded. But have you ever seen E.T.?” 

Both Harry and Hermione blinked at this sudden change in pace, but they nodded. Draco, however, looked utterly bewildered. “It’s an excellent film, Draco, about an alien that falls to earth and befriends a little boy,” said Remus, by way of explanation. Turning back to to the others, he continued: “Do you two remember the scene where Elliott gets drunk at school because E.T. drinks a beer at home? I think your scar is a little like that; a psychic connection opened up between you and Lord Voldemort after he gave it to you. When he’s near you, or when he’s feeling particularly powerful or hateful, it opens a window – you can see a little of what he’s doing, but it comes at a cost.”

“The cost being that… my scar hurts?”

“That, yes, and there is a possibility that the window works both ways,” said Remus. “That’s why your Occlumency lessons are so important; please don’t keep cancelling on Professor Snape. Just explain to Ginny and have her meet you after.”

Harry blushed furiously. “Fine,” he muttered.

"One last thing: in your dream, did you see Voldemort?" 

“No, just the back of his chair. But – there wouldn't have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn't got a body, has he? But… but then how could he have held the wand?” Harry said slowly.

“Draco was awake during his vision,” interrupted Hermione. “At first he was, anyway. He –”

“Shall I tell them, Granger? Or should I pop back to Arithmancy and let you do it?”

Hermione reddened. “Sorry,” she said, and Draco’s index finger stretched to meet hers in the very briefest of touches.

“Our desk is next to the window,” he said, looking nervously at Remus. “And I was staring at –”

“At his own reflection,” interrupted Hermione again.

“Not on purpose, Granger. I was just… I was just looking out and my reflection was staring back.” She smirked at him, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Anyway, my reflection suddenly… it suddenly shifted a little, as if it were moving independently of me. And then it beckoned to me, and I… I followed it. I went into the reflection.”

“He actually went very still and his eyes rolled into the back of his head,” said Hermione. “It frightened the life out of me.”

“What did you see inside the reflection, Draco?” Remus asked softly.

“I saw – I saw a man in a hooded cloak,” he replied stiffly. “He had a little bundle in his arms, like a baby almost, and he laid it on the floor in front of You-Know-Who’s chair, and he told him it was the one he’d been searching for. And You-Know-Who laughed for ages, this awful screeching sound, and then he told him that he’d done well. That he’d be well rewarded for his betrayal. And he said… he said that he’d signed someone’s death warrant.”

Remus looked at Draco carefully; the boy couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “And you couldn’t see the man’s face?”

“No,” said Draco, far too quickly. “No, I couldn’t see anything other than the hood. But why am I having visions? I don’t have anything like Potter’s scar.”

The boy took the proffered square of chocolate, even as he rolled his eyes. Remus smiled. “I’m not sure, Draco – but I’m going to look into it. There’s very old magic in reflections and mirrors; it could be that there's a connection so buried in your family’s history that it’s difficult to pinpoint at first.”

“You’ll find it, though,” said Draco. It was a statement, not a question; he seemed to have the utmost faith in Remus’s research skills. Then, surprisingly, the Slytherin added: “You were friends with my mother in school, weren’t you? Maybe you could write to her about it?”

Remus busied himself with some papers as he sought to regain control of his face. He was acutely aware of Draco’s gaze upon him. “We knew each other, yes. But that was a long time ago.”

“Not so long,” replied Draco, his eyes shining like galleons in the late afternoon light. 

Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall and inhaled sharply. “We really should go,” she said, though she didn’t move at once. “The others will be wondering where we are.”

“Good point; I can’t make Ron late for dinner – he’d never forgive me,” said Harry, standing. Draco lingered a moment longer, his gaze flicking to Remus as if committing him to memory, then followed them out with Hermione close at his side.

Remus watched them go, listening to their footsteps fade before he stood and cracked the door open a fraction.

***

The corridor beyond was quieter than it should have been at that hour; the air oddly still, too, as though the castle itself were holding its breath. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows at the far end, gilding Ron and Ginny’s hair as they leaned forward, forehead against the glass.

“What is it?” Harry asked, coming up behind them.

Ron didn’t turn. “Down there,” he said, nodding toward the lawns. “By the greenhouses.”

Crabbe and Goyle were standing shoulder to shoulder, backs half-turned. One of them was speaking into his cupped hand, lips barely moving. The other kept watch, eyes sliding nervously from path to path. Every few seconds, they would stop, listen, then murmur again.

Harry squinted. “Are those… walkie-talkies?”

Hermione shook her head at once. “They wouldn’t work here. You know that. Muggle technology goes haywire on school grounds.”

“Still,” said Ginny quietly, arms folded tight, “they look like they’re expecting an answer.”

Below, Goyle shifted his stance. Crabbe laughed – a short, ugly sound – and spoke again into his palm. This time, he nodded, slow and deliberate, as though in agreement with something none of them could hear.

“I’d never have given those two credit for coming up with their own plot,” said Draco with a sniff, “but we can all agree that it looks like they’re up to something. What, though?”

Remus stepped back into the shadows before any of them noticed him watching.

He closed the door softly and returned to his desk, heart beating an uneven rhythm beneath his ribs. The image of Draco’s reflection – beckoning, patient –pressed itself into his thoughts, followed swiftly by Harry’s scar, burning open like a wound that refused to heal.

Shelves rattled as he summoned books down with sharp, impatient gestures: Speculum Magica, Blood and Line, an obscure volume on pre-Hogwarts divinatory conduits he hadn’t so much as glanced at in decades. One by one, they stacked themselves on his desk until the candles guttered beneath their weight.

Outside, the castle bell began to toll the hour as Remus sank into his chair, fingers pressed to his mouth, and thought of Narcissa – of mirrors and children and vows made long ago in blood or in fear – and felt, with sudden certainty, that everything was already in motion.

And that stopping it would cost more than any of them yet understood.

Chapter Text

Narcissa had done her best to avoid her husband over the past few days, taking to her rooms and claiming to be unwell. Today, though, she entered the dining room with a smile pasted to her face – and, bypassing her usual seat at the other end of the table, took the one at her husband’s side.

“Wife,” he said silkily, putting his newspaper down with a soft rustle. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

She paused, unsure how to broach the matter, and poured herself a tea to hide her confusion. 

“I had an idea,” she said eventually, “that I wished to run by you. The Triwizard Tournament comes to an end this week, and I thought – that is, I wondered – whether we might go to watch?”

“We have no stakes in this game,” he replied, eyes back on his paper. “Draco isn’t taking part.”

“I realise that, Lord Malfoy, but all of the governors have been invited. And it might give you a chance to speak with Draco before he returns home for the summer.” 

Lucius flipped a page with what almost felt like deliberate idleness. “I have plans that cannot be changed, I’m afraid,” he said regretfully. 

Narcissa’s heart sank, but she forced herself to nod and sip her tea as if she didn’t really care either way. “Of course, husband,” she said politely. Sensing his mind within hers, she imagined Draco’s face for a moment and allowed herself a flicker – just a flicker – of sadness. As if the only reason that she cared about visiting Hogwarts, the only reason whatsoever, was to spend time with her only son. Then, feeling his gaze on her, Narcissa looked up into his cold grey eyes. 

“You ought to go,” said Lucius, folding the newspaper as he rose from his chair. “I’ll send an owl to the school. You may attend in my stead.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. Instead, she held that image of her son in her mind and allowed herself to feel those waves of relief and gratitude, even as her heart thudded beneath her bodice. Too easy. Lucius never yielded quickly, not on anything that touched public image.

“You’re… certain?” she ventured.

“Quite.” He reached for her teacup and rotated it a few degrees so the handle faced her hand; an absent, intimate gesture he had not made in years. “Wear the blue robes. The ones with your family’s crest stitched on the sleeve. It’s important,” Lucius added lightly, “that you are recognised.”

Recognised. Not comfortable, or safe, or happy. He wanted her on display.

Narcissa swallowed. “Of course.”

Lucius’s flinty eyes softened unexpectedly. “There are matters I must attend to,” he said. “If for any reason I am delayed… you will ensure the Malfoy name is represented with dignity.” He lifted her hand – another rare, unsettling touch – and brushed his lips against her knuckles.

Her blood iced. “Lucius,” she whispered. “These… matters. Are they dangerous?”

“A man in my position,” he said, “must occasionally take risks. But you needn’t worry your –”

“– my pretty little head,” she finished flatly. “Of course.”

He hesitated, just for a moment, before he swept from the room, leaving behind him a yawning silence. Narcissa sat very still, listening to the faint echo of his footsteps as they faded down the marble corridor. Then, shaking, she drained her tea and walked quickly upstairs to her chambers.

“He wants me there,” she murmured, pressing her fingers against her eye as she tried to think. “Why does he want me there?” 

It came to her all of a sudden, with horrifying clarity: because he thinks he might not be. Lord Malfoy wanted someone to stand unblemished in the blast radius. Because he himself was about to light a match the size of a century.

She would not, could not contact Remus; she had risked him too many times, now, and she dared not put him in danger again. But she could reach out to someone else, she realised, and warn them, knowing that they would protect him for her. 

***

The fire had burned low, embers collapsing in on themselves with tiny sighs. Sirius had gorged himself on yet another hearty meal by Baldric (“I love that you view cheese as a seasoning, Baldy!”), and was now dozing upright in an exceedingly well-loved armchair. Remus’s battered copy of The Hobbit lay open on his lap; the man had all but forced it into his friend’s hands when he was last over. 

Sirius was a picture of serenity, essentially, until a sharp tapping jolted him awake.

He looked up. The owl perched in the window was impossibly familiar: pale, elegant, with a distinctive dark streak along one wing.

“…Cressida?” he breathed. “No. It can’t –”

The owl clicked its beak impatiently, its eyes flashing with ancient family magic.

Sirius tore open the window. “You should be dead by now! Where in Merlin’s –?”

The letter dropped into his palm; he knew the handwriting instantly.

Cousin,

Forgive the boldness of writing to you, but there is no one else I trust with this. There is danger coming to Hogwarts during tomorrow’s final task. I fear it may be more than the school can bear.

I know you will not abandon those you love. I beg you: be watchful. Be near. If the worst happens, protect him. Protect the boy.

I am going as well, though I should not.

If we survive the week, perhaps we will speak again. If not… please know that I tried.

N.

He read it once, then again. The second time, his pulse spiked. Every instinct, honed over years of running, screamed that he had no time to lose.

Protect him.

Protect the boy.

He didn’t waste another heartbeat, and grabbed his wand. Then, Sirius glanced at the ancient invisibility cloak he’d dumped on one end of the sofa; it caught on the edge of the rucksack as he tried to shove it inside the threadbare bag, and he cursed under his breath, as if the night itself were conspiring against him. 

He’d have to make his way to Hogsmeade and use the tunnels again. It would be best to go tonight, while it was still dark. Tomorrow, the place would be teeming with people. Security would be heightened, too – and he wasn’t sure if Moody was the only auror who’d be present at the event. All of them had his poster on their desks, knowing him to be the mass murderer who’d escaped Azkaban. Who was highly dangerous. Who served Voldemort, and Voldemort only.

For a moment, Sirius considered staying where he was. He could crawl into bed, sleep deeply, and ask Baldric to serve a late breakfast in the garden. He could be safe. Then, his eye landed upon a photo on the mantel, and his heart turned over at the sight of himself and his two best friends laughing in upside-down snowfall together.

“Hold on, Moony; I’m coming,” he whispered, voice rough.

A moment later, the room was empty. Beyond the window, though, a black dog could be seen vanishing into the mist.

***

It was still dark when Harry opened his eyes. A scream from the girls’ dormitories made him sit up straight, heart racing. He rolled out of bed in a panic.

“Whassappening?” Ron mumbled groggily, and Harry thumped his shoulder.

“Something’s wrong,” he said. They tried to rush the stairs gallantly, but the staircase seemed to have other ideas, folding itself into a wooden slide and sending them both rocketing back down into the common room. Moments later, a copy of the Daily Prophet slid after them.

Harry took one look at the front page and his eyebrows disappeared into his messy black hair. He held it out to Ron.

ROMANCE, RIVALRY… OR RUSE? by Rita Skeeter

Attentive readers may have noticed that Hogwarts’s brightest witch was seen fleeing her Arithmancy class this week – hand-in-hand with none other than Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Eyewitnesses report that Viktor Krum, longstanding rumored companion of Miss Granger, responded to the betrayal ‘calmly’... although whether from resignation or duplicity remains to be seen.

With the final Task looming and allegiances shifting, one has to ask: how many more surprises is Hogwarts harbouring?

“She’s made her out to be… a sort of scarlet woman,” Ron said, face pale. “Harry… why are you laughing?”

***

The green flames licked her fingers as she stepped forward, the heat a live thing against her skin. For a heartbeat, Narcissa caught her reflection in the fire; poised, composed, black-and-gold silk hugging her like armour, a small gold shawl draped over one shoulder. The blue robes – the ones her husband had urged her to wear – lay discarded and mouldering on the floor of her bedroom. The brooch at her breast? Pure recklessness.

A deafening roar pulled her through the fireplace, depositing her into the quiet of The Hog’s Head. Rosmerta nodded. “It’s waiting for you outside, Lady Malfoy. Love the pin!”

Narcissa nodded her thanks, and made her way onto the street and into the unmarked Ministry carriage. The ride was silent, and she kept her eyes fixed ahead, counting the seconds, the flickers of light against the cobblestones, the shadows of trees passing like guards in an endless corridor. In her mind, she rehearsed every movement, every smile, every gesture she might need to give the impression of calm authority.

At last, Hogwarts rose from the mist, towers dark against a silver sky. She inhaled sharply as she descended from the carriage, and paused, allowing herself a private moment to glance at the silhouette of the Forbidden Forest looming beyond. One careful step at a time, she advanced toward the final task’s arena, the golden threads of her shawl catching the first hints of dawn.

“Miss Bl– Lady Malfoy, I mean. Narcissa. Welcome back,” came a voice, and she whirled to find Minerva stood behind her.

“Professor McGonagall,” she said, forcing a smile.

Minerva nodded approvingly at Narcissa’s outfit. “My colours, almost,” she said. “Severus will be exceedingly put out – although I suppose the other Gryffindor alums will be pleased. One in particular, when he sees that,” she added, raising an eyebrow at the brooch.

Narcissa fumbled at the crescent moon on her breast. “This? I’ve had it for a very long time.” 

“I suspected as much,” said McGonagall, gentle now. “Follow me; Albus has put on a bit of a spread for the champions and our guests in the Great Hall…”

As she ascended the stone steps, a movement in the shadows caught Narcissa’s eye: a large black dog, silent and fluid, padding along the grounds. Her chest tightened with a concoction of relief and fear: Sirius. Already here. Already watching.

***

She managed to do it; make polite conversation with Cornelius Fudge, laugh at Ludo Bagman’s shameless flirting, nurse a cold tea and a slice of toast even as her stomach churned uneasily. Dumbledore, ever the gentleman, introduced her to the three champions. The trio had immediately begun talking about the moment her son dived into the lake to save Hermione Granger from armed merpeople (“Quelle romantic!” “He is madman.” “She’s still furious with him for it.”). It reminded her sharply why Remus could not be away from Harry.

And then, somewhere behind her, she heard it: that gruff, growling voice from the Manor.

“Are you feeling quite alright, Narcissa? You’ve gone very pale.”

Her lips pressed together. “I think I need some fresh air,” she said carefully, all too aware of the electric blue eye that was now fixed upon her back. “Could you…?”

“Of course,” said Minerva briskly. “Follow me.”

“Perhaps you might take your air in the stands, Lady Malfoy?” suggested Fudge with an affected laugh. “We’re about to begin.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes at the Minister for Magic. “Then I’ll walk her there,” she said. “Come along.”

Together, the two women walked by the scarred man with the restless gaze, chatting idly about the task and their predictions for who might win. They walked out of the castle and down the stone steps, still smiling and swapping memories from Narcissa’s days at Hogwarts. 

It was only when they’d reached the shadow of the hedge maze that Narcissa dared do it. She leaned close to the older witch’s ear and whispered the identity of the Death Eater that walked among them.

Alastor Moody.

Chapter Text

It made sense, Remus supposed; the maze task would be horribly boring for everyone to sit and watch, as the thick hedges prevented them seeing absolutely anything. Still, the outsized mirror that Moody had magically suspended over it felt… wrong, somehow. The light rippled across it strangely, creating shadows and monsters where they were not, and the champions within the glass seemed more like shades than true reflections.

A cold prickle crept down Remus’s spine, the same instinctive warning that had saved his life countless times during the war. The mirror didn’t just reflect the maze: it warped it. Twisted it. It felt like standing beside a door someone was pushing against from the other side.

“It’s not just me who finds this unsettling, right?” he muttered to Severus, who walked beside him.

Severus looked paler than usual; he had already confided in Remus that the brand on his arm was as dark as it had ever been during the war. “There’s old magic in mirrors,” he replied. “You know that better than anyone.”

Remus exhaled slowly. “It feels like a storm breaking,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the distorted reflections. “Something’s coming. I can feel it in my teeth.”

Together, they watched the teenagers moving through the maze; all had set off at different times. All, too, had taken different directions. And all had been ordered to shoot red sparks up into their reflections if they found themselves in danger that they couldn’t handle. Remus and Severus were among those patrolling the perimeter, ready to answer the call for help if it came; Minerva and Moody had taken the other side of the maze. 

“We should split up, I suppose,” said Remus eventually. “We’d cover more ground that way.”

Severus sniffed. “How very Gryffindor of you. Wouldn’t it be more prudent if we remained together?”

“You can just admit that you’re going to miss my sparkling conversation, Severus.”

“Fine, have it your way. I’ll see you on the other side.”

As he walked by the stands, he caught her scent, and smiled to himself. Roses, sea salt, and cool lemon; she was here, somewhere. Maybe she might be able to see him. Maybe he might even see her. Unthinkingly, he pressed his hand against the letter in his breast pocket, and wondered if she could feel the pulse.

***

Narcissa tuned out the endless chatter of Cornelius Fudge, who had taken it upon himself to educate her about the finer details of how they’d planned and grown this maze in time for the event. As if you had a thing to do with it, she thought to herself. Men like you and Lucius don’t ever dirty your own hands. 

Above their heads, the reflections showed the champions moving through the maze; Krum went slowly and methodically; Fleur kept moving at a light jog, her wand outstretched before her; Cedric was using a clever little trick with his own to show him where North was whenever he reached a fork in the path. Narcissa’s eyes, however, were currently fixed on the grounds below, where she could see a familiar head of chestnut nearing the furthest corner of the towering evergreen walls. He touched his heart fleetingly, and she raised her own hand to her chest when she saw it. He knows I’m here, she thought to herself. Somehow, he knows – just like he always used to know when I was nearby.

Minerva was somewhere on the other side of the maze, keeping Mad-Eye in her sights. There were Aurors, too, dotted throughout the stands; Fudge had told her several times now that he’d spared no expense when it came to the security of this event. By all accounts, the knot of fear in Narcissa’s stomach seemed entirely unfounded – and yet…

And yet it was there, all the same. She felt every bit as nervous as she imagined those poor children did – the ones that had been swallowed up by the maze several hours ago. She glanced sideways, to the wooden benches on the other side of the stands, and her heart eased a little to see Draco’s blonde head among his friends. It was tilted in a way that meant he was listening intently to something or someone; she could only assume that Hermione Granger was talking.

“– shame that Lucius was unwell.”

“What was that, sorry?” Narcissa asked, turning back to Fudge. He flushed with annoyance, yet smiled politely at her.

“I said it’s a shame that Lucius was unwell today; he’d have enjoyed the spectacle of this one, wouldn’t he?”

Narcissa smiled, even as her spine turned to ice. “Perhaps,” she said. “My husband isn’t very patient, though; the dragons would have been more his scene.”

“I suppose it is a little slow going,” conceded the Minister, checking his watch. “Still, at least lunch was provided – you can’t say fairer than that. And they have the elves on standby with dinner, although I hope someone might reach the centre within the next hour.”

“It might have been an idea to provide clues, perhaps?” Narcissa suggested. Then, above her head, there was a trembling surge of magic, and her attention was dragged upwards.

***

“They can’t make us sit here all day,” groaned Ron. “This must be what Azkaban is like.”

“Oh yes, Ron,” said Harry. “I bet the inmates spend all their time eating picnic lunches and watching live sports. That must be why Padfoot was so desperate to get out.” 

Draco snorted, only half-listening; there wasn’t much room on the bench, and he was keenly aware of Granger’s curls brushing his shoulder. They smelled like clean parchment, he thought; clean parchment, and fresh ink, and something like caramel. Shaking his head free of the scent, he glanced upwards – but the images in the mirror had begun to flicker strangely. 

Gently nudging the girl at his side, he pointed up at Fleur’s reflection, which had frozen like static. The Beauxbatons champion had her wand raised and a horrified look on her face. “What do you think, Granger? That’s not right, is it?” he asked, aware of people’s eyes upon him as he did so. 

“Skeeter’ll have a field day if Malfoy and Granger elope mid-task,” someone sniggered behind them.

Hermione frowned. “Maybe the –”

“Now Viktor’s stuck as well,” interrupted Ron. 

Draco glanced across to the Durmstrang champion’s reflection, and, sure enough, it was also vibrating. “Odd.”

“He turned that corner, lifted his wand, and bam,” said Ron, his brow furrowed. “Stuck,”

“You were watching him very closely, weren’t you Ron?” Ginny teased, and Harry looked away so his friend wouldn’t see him grin.

“Don’t start, Gin, or I’ll tell everyone about the time you...”

“Stop it,” snapped Hermione. “Look!”

They all fell quiet as their eyes landed upon the ominously swirling black mist above the centre of the maze, where the Triwizard Cup stood upon its plinth. Cedric, they could see, was sprinting towards it. It was a few moments before the Hufflepuff noticed the giant spider moving towards him (“It’s the size of a house! Ron, are you alright?”), and the stands began to buzz with nervous chatter as he began firing a series of defensive spells at the monstrous beast. The jinxes only served to make it angrier, though, and the spider reared up on its horribly hairy legs, exposing its razor sharp pincers. 

“Why isn’t anyone doing anything?” asked Draco, aghast.

“No red sparks,” squeaked Hermione, who was gripping his hand so tightly she’d drawn blood. 

“Potter!” Minerva was suddenly before them, her face pale and her iron-grey hair tumbling from its tight bun. “I need your help, quickly.”

Without a second thought, Harry rose to follow his Head of House, as the others remained in their seats watching the chaos unfold above them. 

Only Draco watched him go.

***

There may not have been any red sparks, but Remus wasn’t about to let anyone be eaten by a spider – especially one that hadn’t been on the list of pre-approved obstacles and challenges. (You shouldn’t be here; who let you inside?). He blasted a hole through the hedges before him and tore his way through the smoking branches, eyes fixed on the horrifying image hovering above his head – even as it was slowly eaten up by the black storm clouds.

“Stupefy!” he bellowed, rounding the last corner and aiming high at the creature’s underbelly. “STUPEFY!” Remus bellowed again, just as Cedric yelled the same thing.

The two spells combined sent a powerful shudder through the spider’s body and did what one could not; the beast keeled over sideways, flattening a nearby hedge and strewing the path with a tangle of hairy legs. Remus chanced a glance upwards; the mirror was now completely black. Cedric followed the man’s gaze, before gasping and staggering forwards onto his knees. 

“Professor Lupin, I can’t feel my –“ began the boy, grabbing at his thigh and pressing tight against the gash streaked with venom.

“You’ll be alright, Cedric,” said Remus, crouching on his haunches and waving his wand above the wound to release a jet of clear water. “We just need –” and here he shot a plume of red sparks into the air, “– Madam Pomfrey. You did some excellent spellwork; you should be proud of yourself.”

“Thanks. And thanks –” here, Cedric winced “– for coming to help me.”

“Anytime,” said Remus, trying not to betray his relief when he heard footsteps on the path behind them. When he turned, though, it wasn’t Poppy or one of the medics; instead, Minerva was approaching, with – inexplicably – Harry at her heels. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her face tense. 

“Minerva,” replied Remus, standing to greet her. “Cedric is in need of medical assistance, and the maze’s obstacles are still activated.” He looked at Harry meaningfully. “I don’t think this is a safe place for a fourth-year. Any fourth-year,” he added, as Draco skidded into view.

“I don’t know about Malfoy, but I asked Potter to come,” said Minerva, pulling her cloak around herself a little tighter. 

“Why?” 

She smiled at that. “Do you think you’re the only one who cares about the boy’s fate, Lupin?”

Remus chanced another look at Cedric, who was now pale and feverish. “Why isn’t anyone coming to help?” he muttered, glancing again at the swirling storm in the mirror above. 

“Because I’m already here,” said Minerva irritably. “What is it that you need?”

“Draco, can you hold something against the wound?” said Remus, hackles raising on the back of his neck. “And Harry, can you…?”

“The maze doesn’t end until someone takes the trophy,” Minerva reminded him. “Potter, would you be so kind as to…?”

“No,” said Remus, standing suddenly with his wand extended. “Harry, get behind me.”

Harry didn’t need to be asked twice. Minerva chuckled, staring at her colleague with that same strange smile on her face. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Hands in the air, Minerva,” said Remus sharply. “And kick your wand over here. Now.”

“What are you playing at, Lupin?”

“Minerva, you’ve never referred to me as Lupin once in your life. So let’s just wait for the –” and here he shot a glance at Draco, who nodded and fired his own jet of red sparks into the air, “– others to arrive. It shouldn’t take long.”

Above their heads, the storm clouds that were gathering within the mirror rumbled, and a jet of lightning struck the ground before them. Remus’s shield bloomed instinctively as Minerva seized the opportunity to reach for her wand, and the curse struck harmlessly against the golden barrier. 

“You’re too late, wolf,” she leered, her face shifting and resettling in the shadows. “It’s already started.”

***

Severus ran as if wings had sprouted beneath his feet, cloak whipping around him, eyes flicking to the stands where students pressed together in fear. Ginny clutched the railings, Ron and Hermione’s faces had paled, others were frozen mid-cheer, unaware of how close the danger had become. Narcissa Malfoy was already standing as Fudge sat slack-jawed beside her. Even Dumbledore was frowning. Every step made Severus’s heart hammer, every shout from the stands a reminder of what could go horribly wrong.

“That’s not possible…” muttered one of the Aurors, and Severus followed the woman’s gaze to the sky above.

A colossal emerald skull bloomed within the mirror above the maze, serpent curling from its mouth like a grotesque tongue. It rose higher, twisting and expanding in a haze of green smoke, etched against the swirling blackness like a nightmarish new constellation. Screams tore loose in ragged waves as students surged to their feet and collided into one another, some clambering over railings in their haste to get away. Professors and Aurors alike shouted themselves hoarse, barking orders that went ignored.

Severus stopped mid-step, eyes widening as he realised the children were not just panicking; they were seeing something monstrous, something beyond the comprehension of their young minds. He raised his wand instinctively, trying to shield them, to tether their panic, but even from here, he felt the pull, the crackle of magic bending the world.

***

Remus. Remus. Remus.

“Lady Malfoy, where are you going? It isn’t safe,” called Fudge, reaching for her sleeve. She shook him off, her eyes fixed on the empty space in the stands opposite. The space where her son had been. 

“I’m not going to sit here and wait for someone else to do something,” she replied, holding her skirts against her as she passed by Percy Weasley.

“Please be careful, madam – your husband will never forgive me if anything happens to you,” pleaded Fudge, although his attention was now on the advancing Rita Skeeter and her tame photographer. “Oh, this is going to ruin me.”

Narcissa Malfoy was tired of being careful, and pressed onwards.

***

“Who are you?” Remus snarled, wand raised, voice sharp as a blade. “The Minerva I know would rather die than help Lord Voldemort.”

“You dare speak his name?”

“I’ll ask you again. Who…” His words cut off as the ghostly green serpent flickered downward, breaking free from the mirror. A violent pull thrummed through the air, tugging at the edges of reality itself. The world bent, and the very ground beneath them seemed to shiver.

Minerva lunged forwards towards Harry, a shadow of motion and fury. Harry and Draco fired in tandem, their spells arcing like twin lightning bolts. Cedric’s eyes fluttered shut as his body shuddered, dark blood streaking the pristine yellow of his robes. The Cup, glowing like molten silver, twisted in on itself, joining with the serpent’s reflection to form a tunnel of violent green light that ripped at the world. Remus’s gaze caught a flash in the mirror above – a distorted shadow version of himself, stretched, fractured, and screaming silently. The maze, the stands, the sky… it was all bent and cracked, images of horror multiplying with every heartbeat. Somewhere in the stands, he knew, Narcissa would be desperately trying to reach her son.

He didn’t hesitate. He hurled himself between the hideous snake and the boys, and the green bolt struck him in the stomach. Reality tore sideways like wet parchment, rolling, shuddering, collapsing around him. The mirror seemed to crack, splintering under the pressure of dark magic.

Darkness swallowed him whole. 

***

When he blinked, the air was rank and swathed in cold mist. Shadows shifted unnaturally, whispering secrets he could not yet hear. As he tried to rise, though, a crushing weight drove him down and something burned into his wrists. He bit back a cry, kicking out and feeling a small spark of satisfaction when it connected with someone hard enough to drive a splutter from their throat.

From the blackened air, a thin, cruel voice cut through, carried on the cold wind.

“You were always too loyal, Lupin.”

Chapter Text

Above the stands, the mirror screamed shrilly, piercing the air as cracks raced across its surface, multiplying too fast to track. Then it gave way entirely, erupting outward in a rain of glass. Students ducked, hands flying up, panic rippling through the stands… and that’s when Dumbledore finally, finally, finally moved.

His wand lifted in a small, exacting arc, and the falling shards softened mid-air, edges blurring, weight dissolving. Where glass should have cut and sliced through skin, pale flakes drifted downwards instead, settling on hair and shoulders. The weightless white stuff melted before it could cling, an illusion of winter threaded through summer heat. Snow. In July. 

Narcissa almost stumbled, for she knew that snowfall at Hogwarts was never just snow. It carried memory like magic carried blood; old winters in stone corridors, breath fogging in silence, stories being altered and twisted, and the knowledge struck her then, sharp and absolute.

Someone has been taken.

“Remus,” she cried softly, and began pushing through the crowds once more. 

***

Severus was running again before his mind fully caught up, cutting through the hedges with brutal efficiency. He had felt it – the flare, the wrench, the moment something essential had been torn out of the world – and he knew, with the cold certainty of a curse settling into place, that he was already too late.

He burst into the clearing to find the Cup sat harmlessly on its plinth, silver and inert. The maze had been gouged and scorched where spells had struck wild. The massive spider lay against the hedges with its legs curled inward, ichor staining the ground. And Cedric was convulsing horribly beside it.

Remnants of Remus’s healing magic still glimmered faintly over the boy’s leg, but the wound was ugly: venom-dark and spreading. No wonder Diggory’s breaths were coming in shallow, uneven rasps. Draco was kneeling beside the Hufflepuff, hands bloodied and shaking as he pressed his own cloak against the injury with grim determination. Harry stood rigid, jaw working furiously as his green eyes (so very like Lily’s) locked onto the empty space where Remus Lupin should have stood. The boy’s wand, however, was pointed at the thing wearing Minerva McGonagall’s face. 

Bound in crackling chains of blue-white magic, the imposter laughed shrilly, and the sound snapped something loose in Severus’s chest. “Silencio,” he spat. The laughter strangled off, although the thing’s mouth still grinned grotesquely as its features slid and writhed, unable to settle themselves. Polyjuice, again.

“He’s gone, Professor,” said Harry faintly. “Remus is –”

Heavy paws pounded into the clearing, and a massive black dog burst through the hedges. Skidding to a halt beside Harry, it nuzzled its head against the boy's unprotesting hands. Then, the creature’s blazing eyes swept the scene, sharp and searching, before they fixed on Severus. 

Severus gave the barest shake of his head. Not yet.

“Pomfrey!” he barked, showering red sparks into the air and turning back to the task at hand. “Now!”

***

Hermione shoved her way past a group of gawping Slytherins to the edge of the stands, firing hexes whenever people didn’t step aside quick enough. Even she, though, stopped dead when the first stretcher emerged from the maze. 

“Let me through. Let me through. LET ME THROUGH!” The guttural scream of Amos Diggory cut through the noise like a knife. He half fell from the stands, his hands grabbing at any part of Cedric he could reach. “This is my son,” he said feverishly, rounding on the men who attempted to pull him away. “This is my boy! My boy! Cedric, can you hear me?”

Madam Pomfrey’s voice cut cleanly through the din, brisk and furious. “Please unhand Mr Diggory,” she snapped at the overzealous Aurors. “Come with us, Amos. Quickly.” 

Behind them, two more levitating stretchers followed. Fleur Delacour lay quiet and unmoving on hers, her silver hair streaming from the pillow. A beaten and bloodied Viktor Krum twitched violently, his jaw clenched even in unconsciousness.

Ron swore softly. “C’mon,” he said, tugging at Hermione’s sleeve urgently; Ginny was at his side, pale as a ghost. “Harry’s down there somewhere.”

“And Draco,” said Hermione quietly. “I’m sure Draco is, too.”

Behind them, Narcissa moved like a shadow, forcing herself to keep moving forwards. Her eyes followed the last flakes of falling snow, and she felt the absence, the void deep inside her bones. She knew without needing to hear that Remus was gone, and all she could think to do for now was get to her own son, by any means possible.

***

Rita Skeeter hovered too close to everything and everyone, her eyes bright with fascination as her Quick-Quotes Quill scratched furiously. Around her, Aurors shouted to one another as they carried evidence from the centre of the maze. The Cup. The wand that Minerva McGonagall had turned on her own students. The bloodied cloak that had been hastily abandoned. 

“She was with him –”

“Where’s Lupin?”

“A Portkey, maybe?”

“Nobody moves from this spot!”

“Not today,” George Weasley said flatly, stepping into her path. His bottom lip was bleeding from where he’d bitten it too hard.

Fred mirrored him, shoulders squared.

“I have as much a right to be here as anyone else,” she snapped, standing on her tiptoes to see behind them. “And I’ll need to know what happened, for the obituaries –”

George snatched the quill from the air and snapped it in half. Skeeter opened her mouth in protest, but stopped when she saw the look on the boy’s face. 

“Weasley, isn’t it? I’ll remember you.”

***

Dumbledore moved through the chaos as if the world had slowed to match him. “Take the students back inside,” he said calmly, and people obeyed without quite knowing why. “Prefects, with me. Filius, the wards. Poppy has Cedric.”

Beside the headmaster’s cool authority, Fudge was red-faced and shaking, demanding explanations, demanding arrests, demanding that someone do something. “This is a Ministry matter!” he insisted, jabbing a finger at the bound figure of Minerva McGonagall thrashing uselessly in her magical fetters. 

“On the contrary,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, even as his eyes glittered with an unexpected sharpness, “I believe this is very much a Hogwarts one.”

Minerva shrieked, then dissolved into hysterical laughter again as the Aurors bound her tighter, hauling her bodily from the clearing even as she spat madness and prophecy in equal measure. Somewhere beyond the maze, another shout went up as a magical sweep of the grounds uncovered the real Professor McGonagall: unconscious but breathing, her bruised body half-hidden beneath fallen hedging. Her wand had been snapped cleanly in two.

Relief and horror collided, sharp as a broken bone.

***

Harry and Draco were separated from the others and taken inside under guard, though restraint was minimal and largely symbolic. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione tried to follow and were blocked gently but firmly by the Aurors at the door. Narcissa did not slow.

“I’m going with them,” she said.

Nymphadora Tonks studied the woman’s pale face for a single, assessing second.

“Of course,” she replied, and waved her through.

Her aunt did not stop to thank her.

***

Severus, who had remained behind to usher students out of the stands and into the safety of the castle, felt it then; the familiar agony blooming along his forearm as the Dark Mark burned. A summons. Now. He met Padfoot’s eyes across the chaos, and inclined his head, just once. The dog’s relentless pacing stopped abruptly.

“Filius, I must leave this task to you,” he said quietly, and the Charms professor looked around, startled.

“But where are you going? Severus!”

Severus didn’t look back, striding purposefully towards the Whomping Willow and the tunnel beyond; the dog followed at his heels. In the shelter of the Shrieking Shack, Padfoot shifted, Sirius Black gasping as human breath tore back into him, but Severus did not wait.

The tattered invisibility cloak was up, thrown over broad shoulders. A wand was touched against a broken branch of the Willow. A voice whispered ‘Portus’. Then, there was a twist of magic, and they were gone.

Chapter Text

The snow was thick as icing sugar underfoot; they'd watched it fall from the windows, and had tumbled from their bed like children, throwing blankets up around their shoulders and creeping out to taste the flakes on their tongues. Cissa's hair tumbled around her face, eyes sparkling as she twirled through the flurries of white. Remus laughed, wrapping his arms around her to keep her warm, pressing a kiss against her lips. 

“Shall we build a snowman?" she asked him with a mischievous grin. But then... the forest caved inwards, the snow beneath his feet stained red, and the girl in his arms was gone.

Remus was alone.

***

He came back to himself in pieces. The cold came first, the kind that gnawed at flesh and bone. Then the pain: silver chains bit deep into his wrists and ankles, driven into earth that reeked of rot and dark magic. He tasted iron, felt the ice of the slab pressing against his back. Jagged gravestones rose around him like teeth, and skeletal trees reached desperately for the sky. A ring of laughing figures thronged him: Avery, Nott, Goyle, Macnair, Rookwood… faces familiar, several faces new, all watching him with bright, cruel eyes.

The mirror hovered above, humming, straining toward him. It burned white where it hovered above the circle, trembling as dark magic poured into it. Remus shivered at the sight, feeling the insult in his marrow.

Cissa’s mirror, he whispered, his words barely louder than a breath. Nobody heard him, save for Lucius Malfoy, who froze, his own chest hitching as his gaze locked onto Remus with sudden understanding. Then, with a vicious smile, he moved forward to take up a curved blade from the ornate bowl beside Remus.

Reverently, he held it in the air, so that the light caught it. As soon as he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he brought it down quickly. 

Once. Twice. Three times.

Remus’s blood struck the cauldron at his feet in slow, deliberate drops, steaming as it turned lunar silver. The mirror hummed, straining toward him, and Remus gritted his teeth against the instinct to fight. Wait, he told himself, forcing in another deep breath. Wait until you have at least a fighting chance. 

“We need your blood,” said Lucius, bending to look Remus in the eye; the man’s icy tone was betrayed by the tremble of his lips. “Your fear, too. A monster’s magic to forge our master’s return.”

“My Lord Malfoy,” came a stammer from just outside of Remus’s vision. His heart leapt traitorously at the sound of his old friend’s voice, until he remembered what Peter Pettigrew had done. Who he had betrayed. The thing he had chosen to pledge himself to. “His blood is potent, but I must warn –”

“Silence, Wormtail,” Lucius hissed. He did not turn to look at Peter; his cold eyes never left Remus. “The mirror has chosen your old schoolmate for a reason… unless you’d like to take his place?”

Peter fell silent.

“Very well, then. Let us begin before the wolf is drained entirely,” said Lucius. He raised his wand steadily, closed his eyes, and spoke into the darkness. “Bone of the mother, unknowingly gifted, you will rebirth your son.”

“She will rebirth him,” the others chanted.

The air thickened as the surface of the grave at Remus’s feet cracked open, and a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Lucius’s command. It fell softly into the cauldron, causing the contents to hiss and bubble violently within. The mirror’s glass above them flashed a vivid violet.

“Flesh of the servant, willingly given, I will revive my master.”

“You will revive him.”

Lucius stepped forward without hesitation, rolled up his sleeve, and raised the stained knife to the skin beneath. Remus lunged instinctively, chains screaming, but it was too late; blood sprayed dark across the stones as Lucius severed his arm at the elbow, the stump cauterised in green fire even as he fell to one knee, gasping with shock and pain.

The mirror flashed crimson. And that’s when Peter moved – not forwards, but sideways. Familiar eyes fixed on Remus’s own as the smaller man’s wand flicked. 

One shackle snapped. Just one.

It was enough.

Remus tore his arm free with a snarl he did not bother to swallow, blood slicking stone. Pain exploded, but the surge of control gave him a sliver of advantage as he kicked out hard with both feet. The cauldron tipped with a hiss, spilling its contents into the ground, shaking the ritual circle and sending a ripple of unstable magic out and into the graveyard beyond. 

Many of the Death Eaters stumbled, some thrown entirely off balance, others frozen in panic. Lucius was the first to scramble back to his feet, face twisted with horror and rage as he rounded upon Peter.

“Wormtail, you dare –?!”

“I thought –” Peter babbled, backing away into the tombstones as his mask cracked. “If he dies too fast – our Lord – he won’t be strong enough! You were supposed to bleed him at the end!” 

A few of the others murmured in agreement. Murmurs turned to the quiet buzz of outrage.

“The ritual demanded a closing gift, and you wasted it!” someone shouted hoarsely.

“You have failed our Lord,” said another, this one closer. 

Before Lucius could respond, fire erupted at the graveyard’s edge as two cracks split the air. Everyone turned as one, expecting to see an old ally – Karkaroff, perhaps, or Snape. Instead, they found themselves staring at an incandescent Sirius Black, who was flanked by a shimmering silhouette. 

***

From his vantage point under the cloak, Severus took in the scene in one breath – the cauldron, the silver chains, the blood (so much blood) – and moved immediately, his wand already carving a spell so deep that Remus felt it in his teeth. The shockwave lifted everyone off their feet, killing a handful of Death Eaters instantly, yet Severus was glad that nobody could see what such powerful magic had cost him; he sagged momentarily, before rallying and firing silent curses at any enemy still moving.

Sirius, of course, did not waste any time on thinking. He never did. Instead, he roared and charged forwards, hexes and jinxes detonating across the circle. He shifted between his dog and human form seamlessly, lunging and mauling with tooth and claw every bit as ferociously as he used his wand.

His enemies distracted, Remus tore at the remaining shackle, his wolf-strength shuddering through him as he did so. It clicked open just as Peter brushed against him, dropping something beside his old friend as he shrank down into a rat and skittered back among the shadows. Even as Remus reached down to reclaim his own wand, though, he staggered. 

Dully, he pressed a hand against his stomach and marvelled at the red blooming against his fingertips. Her frightened face swam before his eyes, just as it had done all those years ago, begging him to get up. And, above him, a column of light (Beam me up, Scotty, he muttered confusingly) poured down from the mirror into the grave dirt. 

Something rose, flickering uncontrollably: not a man, but a shape that was failing to hold itself together. Voldemort’s reflection stared through Remus to the mirror humming with magic, to the blood that had been spilled on his mother’s grave, and to the upended cauldron.

“We need the wolf,” he hissed. 

Lucius, who had whimpered and fallen to his knees at the sight of his old master, nodded frantically and turned to reclaim Remus. A stunning spell hit the Death Eater squarely in the back, though, and Sirius reached his friend first, wrapping strong arms around him and hauling him upright. “Moony. Stay awake. Stay –”

Deadly green light lanced toward them.

Remus raised his wand with the little strength he had left and tore something ancient and furious out of himself. The shield bloomed white, blinding, and absolute. 

Then, an almost-invisible force barrelled heavily into them: Severus. The Potions master flicked his wand and launched all three of them backwards in a blast of brute-force magic.

Voldemort’s scream rang in their ears as the world faded to black.

Chapter Text

The corridors of Hogwarts were quieter now, but only by comparison. The echoes of screams and panicked footsteps still clung to the air like smoke, and the occasional shout from the infirmary or prefects’ quarters reminded everyone that the chaos was far from over.

Harry and Draco had been led in under tight escort, Narcissa’s gloved hand resting lightly on her son’s elbow. Every step she took was deliberate, a shield between him and the lingering shock of the stands, the maze, and the memories of what had happened there. Yet Dumbledore’s office, when they arrived, was as calm as it ever was – impossibly so, in a world that had just teetered on the edge of death. The golden light of the fire illuminated the room, and the headmaster’s voice, too, was still as warm as ever it was.

“Sit, all of you,” he said, gesturing to chairs around the room. “We need to understand what has happened… and we need to do it carefully.”

There was a knock, and Molly Weasley burst through the door. Immediately, she took Harry’s side, guiding him to a chair and resting a hand on his shoulder. She glanced at Dumbledore, daring him to ask her to leave, but he simply smiled benignly.

“Welcome, Molly. Thank you for joining us,” he said.

Narcissa remained standing, just close enough to Draco that he didn’t have to feel exposed. She didn’t speak; not yet. Her mind was still partly in the maze, replaying flashes of the mirror, the spider, and the empty space where Remus should have been.

Dumbledore gestured toward the group. “You have already seen some of the consequences,” he began. “I’ve spoken to Professor McGonagall – she’s alive, yes, and Poppy says she’s going to make a full recovery – and it seems she had become suspicious about Alastor Moody’s true intentions.” He paused, and the unspoken truth hung in the air: she chose not to confide in me. “She confronted him while patrolling the maze, but… it was not Moody. Barty Crouch Jr., a dangerous man long believed to be dead, used Polyjuice and deception to enter Hogwarts. He attacked Professor McGonagall and then used her face to carry out the final part of his plan. This is where your testimony becomes crucial, boys.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. Narcissa’s hand flexed at her side, but she said nothing.

“I know that the maze was… tampered with,” Dumbledore continued, eyes scanning Harry and Draco’s faces in turn. “It is clear that these events were part of a far larger plot, one that likely extends beyond the Triwizard Tournament. We must be cautious in what we reveal and to whom… but you can trust me.”

“Trust you?” Draco snapped in disgust. “You didn’t even notice that your oldest friend was a Death Eater in disguise. And I’m pretty sure everyone there today realised something was wrong with that mirror before you did.”

Dumbledore leaned back. “I have made some… regrettable mistakes, I’ll admit,” he said. “That doesn’t change the fact that I need to know exactly what transpired in the maze today.”

“Professor McGonagall, or Moody, or whoever she really was, asked me to help her,” Harry said. “She took me to the maze – Remus was there, helping Cedric. Is Cedric alright?”

Dumbledore’s face darkened. “He’s in Madam Pomfrey’s care. The spider’s venom was –”

“So why was that thing wandering around the maze?” Draco interjected. Narcissa placed a soothing hand on his head. “It could have killed all three of them.”

“Harry, continue,” said Dumbledore, lips tight.

“There was a lot of blood… too much blood,” muttered Harry. “McGonagall asked me to get the Cup so the maze would shut down, but Remus knew. He knew she wasn’t herself. He made me and Draco stand behind him. He cast a shield charm. And then…”

“And then a great ugly snake came out of the mirror, reacted with the Cup, and sent a beam of green light rocketing towards us,” Draco said, unable to keep his voice from trembling. “Professor Lupin jumped in front of it. He saved us. And then… he was gone. He’s still gone. And it sounds like nobody’s even trying to get him back.”

Dumbledore’s expression flickered, ever so slightly. “As you have just told me, Professor Lupin is… elsewhere, taken by forces we do not yet fully understand. I cannot confirm his location, but anyone involved in today’s plot was willing to use incredibly dark magic to get what they wanted. I suspect they are seeking something very dangerous, and very powerful.”

Narcissa’s fingers tightened around Draco’s arm. “But are you doing anything to find him?” she asked without thinking.

Dumbledore looked at her, blue eyes unreadable. “Of course. But for the moment, our focus should be on the children’s safety.”

“Remus was the one keeping us safe!” Harry burst out. “What would have happened if I’d touched that Cup? Or the light had hit me or Draco?”

There was a pause. Then Dumbledore said, “I’ve examined the Cup. It looks as if it was set up as a Portkey, but the magic from the mirror interfered with it somehow. I can’t use it to track Professor Lupin.”

“And why Harry?” Draco said sharply. “Why would they want him?”

“Voldemort,” Harry said, voice low. “The dreams. Remember?”

Molly cleared her throat. “Now, Harry,” she said gently but firmly, “you’re going to stay calm. We’ll take care of the others. I’ve sent a message to Arthur…”

Dumbledore’s brow rose slightly. “Arthur? I must insist –”

Molly’s gaze was unwavering. “Albus, if Remus is alive, we’ll find him with or without your blessing. He’s our responsibility now.”

Dumbledore inclined his head, conceding silently. “Very well. Each child should have a protective adult present. Narcissa, you are the best guardian for Draco in this moment. Molly, thank you for assisting Harry.”

Narcissa only nodded once. Her mind remained in the maze, in the mirror, in the snow-strewn forest where she had last kissed Remus Lupin. Beneath her robes, her heart fluttered wildly. Surely… surely she would feel if he were dead. Surely.

***

Still pale from the shock of the day, Narcissa had barely processed the office conversation, barely absorbed that the Ministry and Dumbledore’s staff were mobilising, barely thanked Molly for all she’d done and promised. Instead, her focus remained sharp, single-minded: her son and Remus. And so, when Draco asked her if he might have a moment alone with his friends (Hermione had almost taken him off his feet when she barreled into him), Narcissa had agreed, so long as he adhered to one single condition: he allowed his mother to wait outside the door.

She was too tired to listen at the keyhole, and so she heard them before she saw him: heavy, deliberate footsteps, too measured for a student patrol.

Lucius.

He stepped into the corridor, shoulders drooping, the faint glint of dried blood at his collar catching the lamplight. Dirt streaked his cuffs, fingernails, and the silver reflection where his left arm should have been. Every inch of him radiated wrongness, and Narcissa felt a cold prickle along her spine as he moved towards her, grabbing her elbow and all but dragging her into the shadows.

“Your arm,” she whispered. “What happened to your arm?”

“You knew,” he spat. “You KNEW that wolf was still sniffing after you.”

Her mouth went dry. “Lucius, tell me what –”

“He was there,” he snapped. “In the graveyard. For the Dark Lord’s return. His blood – his magic – he was being used to –”

He broke off, and she stepped forward, heart hammering. “What happened to him?”

“It’s done; he has returned,” he said softly, smiling at the jump of fear in her face.. “And you,” he murmured, reaching for her chin, his grip tightening, “played a part, wife. Your mirror. Your family’s relic. You should be proud. My Lord rose with a new face. A stronger face. The mirror was… most accommodating.”

Her mirror had helped resurrect the monster. Her magic had aided it. And Remus… Narcissa’s pulse caught and she reached out a hand to steady herself against the wall. “I’m staying with my son,” she said.

“You will return with me,” Lucius replied, voice tight with venom.

“Draco needs me.” Narcissa turned to stare Lucius in the face, her eyes blazing. “And unlike you, I actually care whether he sees the sun rise tomorrow. Do you even know what almost happened? What your ritual almost did? What it could have cost you?”

Lucius stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Draco,” she spat. “Draco was almost killed today, and it would have been because of you. So yes, husband, I will remain at his side. You will have to drag me from him kicking and screaming if you really wish me to return with you. You had me taken from this school once before; I will not walk willingly from its halls again.”

That made him flinch. “Before sundown tomorrow, you will return to Malfoy Manor. Violate our agreement, and the magic binding you and the wolf will destroy you both.”

Narcissa looked at him. He’s alive, she thought, and she laughed aloud. “I will remain here until Draco is ready to return home, husband. And unless you wish the entire Wizengamot to know that you almost allowed my son to be murdered in a maze of your own making, you will not stop me.”

Lucius advanced, rage burning, but the weight of truth anchored her feet. “You dare to –”

“I dare everything, Lucius. You have given me nothing left to lose. And you should leave, before anyone sees what you have done to yourself. Cornelius Fudge is still around here somewhere; you wouldn’t want anyone to begin asking questions about the great Lord Malfoy, would you?”

He almost stumbled backwards, pulling his sleeve down over his silver arm as far as it could go. “You forget yourself, wife.”

“I have remembered,” she replied, radiating authority. “I will return home with our son when he is ready; no clauses shall be violated. But Merlin, I hope the Dementors come for you before I walk into that house. It would be the first just thing this family has suffered in decades.”

Lucius raised his silver hand, but lowered it again at the look on her face. “Tomorrow,” he snarled, before turning and disappearing down the corridor with a whirl of his dirtied cloak. Narcissa watched him until he’d rounded the corner, and only breathed again when the sound of his boots on the floor had faded.

For the first time in her life, she could imagine how it felt to be one in control.

Chapter Text

The Hunter’s Moon was fat in the sky, and Narcissa was ready. As she slipped into the corridor, though, she almost collided with a House Elf. It stared at her with frightened eyes, glancing between the youngest Black daughter and her unlocked bedroom door. 

“Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t…”

The creature blinked slowly, then turned to continue its long walk back down to the kitchens in silence. Quietly, desperately, she followed in its wake, her cloak billowing like a shadow torn loose. Her feet were bare; her shoes stowed neatly in the bag she’d slung over her shoulder, along with her mirror, her precious books, and a pitifully small bag of galleon. 

Her wand, however, was still locked in the family vault. She felt naked without it, but not enough that she was willing to risk her one and only chance of escape. Perhaps, someday, she might find another.

The Elf padded to the kitchen door – the one that led to the gardens – and opened it wordlessly with the ornate key around its neck. Then, it crawled into its nest of blankets beside the oven, and turned its back on her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, wondering how badly the creature would be punished for this. “You could… do you want me to free you?”

The Elf didn’t move, and Narcissa’s eyes flickered towards the clock. She only had a few minutes before midnight; the single moment each night when Black wards shifted, shimmered, and changed hands between old magic and new. Pulling her cloak up over her hair, she stepped out onto the step, fixed her eyes on the horizon, and ran.

Her feet bleeding on the stones, heart burning in her chest, she forced herself to keep moving. The edges of her mind tried to catch; parchment laid out under crystal, Lucius’s neat hand already signed, the clauses discussed over tea as if they were weather. Heirs. Observance. Obedience. A life sealed so tightly there was no room to breathe inside it. She stumbled, breath hitching, and shoved the thought away with all the force she had left. There was no future in that house she could survive.

The gate loomed ahead of her, the black iron slick with moonlight, and for half a heartbeat, nothing changed. The wards did not shimmer or soften. Before panic took hold of her, though, the magic sighed, ancient and reluctant, and slipped aside so that she could see the wolf waiting on the other side. 

***

Massive, silver-shot, with eyes like molten gold, he knelt the moment he saw her. And Narcissa didn’t hesitate, not for one second. She didn’t even break her stride, pulling herself up and over the gate, half-sobbing as she tumbled to the floor on the other side. 

The wolf rose at once, stepping between her and the gate, vast and solid. His nose brushed her wrist, breath warm against her skin, inhaling deeply – fear, blood, salt – and he stilled. A low sound thrummed through his chest; not a growl but something steadier. Narcissa stopped trembling, and her breath found rhythm again under his watchful gaze.

The wolf remained in place, head low, until she reached her fingers out tentatively to bury them in his fur.

“Remus,” she whispered, and the beautiful creature – Merlin, she hadn't expected him to be so beautiful – leaned into her hand as if he’d been starved of her touch. She climbed onto his back carefully, the moon crowning them both in cold fire. “Run.”

And they were gone, vanishing into the night like a story that refused to end in tragedy.

Chapter Text

It was a little after midnight when the three men spilled back into the Shack. Sirius shouldered Remus’s full, staggering weight as if he were nothing, his breath coming in harsh bursts. Outside, the streets of Hogsmeade – usually so quiet – thrummed with wand lights and raised voices. The Aurors were still on the hunt.

“Where do we take him? Pomfrey?”

Severus shook his head. “What do you think she’ll do if she sees you, Black? If anyone sees you?”

“I don’t care,” snapped Sirius, eyes half-mad with fear. “He needs –”

“He needs you alive,” replied the Slytherin, his voice surprisingly gentle. “How many more do you think he can stand to lose?”

“Then I’ll wear the cape. Or I’ll transform. Who’s going to question a bloody dog?”

“No, Sirius. Besides, as is so often the case, I have a far better idea.” 

“But we have to do this properly, Sev,” whispered Sirius, rubbing at the gash on his own cheek. “You know what he is – if they can pin all of this on him rather than admit that Voldemort’s back, they will.”

Severus nodded tightly. “So, we get him patched up somewhere, then I bring him back here alone,” he muttered. “You will return to your cosy hideout knowing your blessed wolf is safe, and you and I will likely never have to see each other again. Thank Merlin.” He smiled as he said it, though, and flicked his wand to summon the broken stick over.

Sirius didn’t waste time on questions; instead, he grasped Remus’s unprotesting hand, and thus it was that all three pressed their fingers against the hastily-made Portkey at the exact same time.

***

The pretty little house, surrounded by herbs and roses, was swathed in darkness when they arrived at its front gate. It looked like something out of a fairytale, almost; like the nightmare they were about to bring down upon it was just that – a bad dream, ready to be kissed away by a mother with a gentle voice. Furtively, they glanced from side to side as they made their way up the little path to the door. Someone had painted it emerald green and affixed a little plaque to it in place of a number. It read, The Den.

Severus rang the doorbell, pressing his finger against it for whole minutes at a time. Sirius banged on the door like he was trying to rouse the dead. It wasn’t long before the lights came on at the windows, and footsteps were heard thudding downstairs.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” snapped the fair-haired man; his belly protruded slightly over the top of his pyjama bottoms. “Have you any idea what time it –” but his voice trailed off when the light touched the bloodied mess that was Remus Lupin. Wordlessly, he ushered them inside, glancing over their shoulders to make sure nobody was watching as he clicked the door shut behind them. 

“Who is it, Teddy?” 

Andromeda stood on the landing, wrapped in a black dressing down. She pressed a hand against her mouth when her husband stepped to the side to reveal Sirius – beautiful, ruined Sirius – and let out a low moan when she realised the half-dead man cradled in the arms of an escaped convict was Remus Lupin.

“Dining room,” she snapped, regaining her composure. “Now.”

***

Remus was barely conscious when they heaved him onto the kitchen table, but he instinctively tried to press Ted and Andi’s hands away when they opened his shirt to examine the wounds.

“Easy – easy, Moony, I’ve got you,” Sirius murmured, grasping his friend’s hand in his. His voice was frantic under the softness. “You don’t get to die, you idiot. I forbid it.”

Behind them, Severus stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling too fast, his black hair hanging damp and loose. “I apologise for bringing this to your door, Andromeda,” he said.

“A little late for that,” she muttered, summoning her medical bag and tearing it open. “What in Merlin’s name happened?”

Ted grimly pressed down on the wounds with a wad of bandages, shaking his head when snow-white material almost instantly flushed crimson. “One stab wound,” he told his wife. “Two incised cuts – all made with the same cursed blade. Essence of Dittany?”

Andi nodded, whipping the potion from her bag and unstoppering it with steady fingers. She poured it over the shallower cuts and nodded grimly as greenish smoke billowed upwards, the skin closing itself up where it had been torn open. Remus’s eyes shot open and he stared up at the ceiling unseeingly, gripping Sirius’s hand tighter.

“Internal bleeding and significant trauma to the stomach,” said Ted, lifting his wand from the deepest wound and stopping his wife’s hand. “Can’t use Dittany until it’s dealt with. Happy for me to assist?”

Andromeda nodded, and husband and wife bent over Remus’s poor torn torso, muttering spells and incantations as they did so. Severus turned his head to fix his gaze on the little clock at the fireplace, its hands creeping determinedly around its face. He might have found it strange that Remus never uttered a single sound, if his own childhood had been any different. Silence, in the wrong hands, could be a weapon; for others, it was armour.

Finally, Andi and Ted stepped back from the table; they looked absolutely exhausted. “We’ve done what we can,” she said, “but I suspect you already know that there is some incredibly dark magic attached to his wounds.”

“He’ll live, though?” Sirius asked, looking up from the bandages across Remus’s chest and stomach. 

“For now, cousin,” she said. “I believe so, yes.” 

Sirius began to thank her, but she lifted a finger and his mouth slammed shut. “The pair of you owe us an explanation, so you’d better start talking. Now.” 

“Tea, anyone?” Ted asked with a smile.

***

Remus had fought it at first, but finally conceded; he was lying on a levitating stretcher that Severus had conjured (“I refuse to carry you all the way to Hogwarts,” the man had told him flatly) and the outline of the castle was in sight.

“This is where I leave you,” said Sirius, bending down to kiss his friend’s forehead. His eyes, though, never left Severus Snape.

“Thanks for coming,” whispered Remus, gripping Padfoot’s hand a little tighter. “Very gallant of you.”

Sirius let out a broken huff that might have been a laugh. “You know me, Moons, always ready to be your knight in shining armour – but you definitely owe me a drink. And a decade of sleep.” Then, he stood and extended a hand to Severus. “I know you hate hearing it. I know you hate me. But thanks. Nice to have proof you’re not a complete pillock.”

Severus smirked, before taking the proffered hand in his. They hung on to each other for longer than they intended, searching one another’s faces for something.

“If we meet again, perhaps we can agree not to curse each other on sight,” he said. 

“Perhaps,” replied Sirius. “Guess it’ll all depend on how we’re feeling that day, won’t it? Maybe we might have something more interesting in mind.”

Suddenly, a big black dog appeared where the handsome man had stood moments before. The beast nodded its head once, then turned on its heel and padded into the forest beyond.

“Flirting over my deathbed,” coughed Remus, his golden eyes gleaming. “I suppose I should be glad that something beautiful came out of all this.”

“Do shut up, Lupin.”

***

Madam Pomfrey had shrieked when Severus had arrived in the Hospital Wing, rushing from her seat at Minerva McGonagall’s bedside to examine Remus’s wounds. (“You fixed these yourself, Severus? You’re wasting your talents as a Potions Master!”). 

While the mediwitch agreed that Remus was no longer in any immediate danger, she still had him installed behind a curtained cot at the furthest end of the ward. “You need rest,” she told her colleague, hands shaking a little as she handed him a small glass vial. Its contents shimmered with a faint silver light. “For the burns on your wrists,” she added, her voice frayed on the edges. “Don’t spill it.”

Remus took it with trembling hands, and thanked her. When she offered him the second purple-coloured potion, though, he waved it away. “I don’t want that sort of sleep, Poppy,” he told her. “I’ve more than earned myself a dream or two tonight.”

It seemed as if she might be about to argue the point, but she caught sight of Severus waiting patiently at the foot of the bed, and sighed. “Have it your way, Remus. If that changes, though, I’ll leave it here,” she said, placing it on his bedside table. “Try to sleep now – I’m sure Albus will be here to talk to you as soon as he wakes.”

Poppy shot Severus a loaded look as she passed him, returning to Minerva’s side on the other side of the room. 

“Do you think she reads the Daily Prophet?” Remus whispered with a faint grin.

“Probably,” said Severus, looking almost as pained as the Gryffindor on the bed before him. A long, strange moment stretched between them, as some twenty years of bitterness collapsed into something bone-deep and human.

“You’d have done the same if you’d got there first,” Remus said gently. “I know you would have.”

Severus’s jaw flexed once, sharply, then he stood, turned, and left without another word, robes snapping behind him like a retreating shadow. “Nobody but Dumbledore can know I was here,” he whispered furiously to Poppy as he left, and she nodded in bewilderment, looking back over her shoulder to the curtained bed in the far corner. 

Remus exhaled, long and shaky, his muscles locking and breath hitching. The potion worked slowly, painfully. His whole body shuddered as he tried to replay the events from the graveyard in his mind so that he could anchor them, memorise them, and be ready for the inevitable interrogation.

Within moments, though, he was already drifting.

Chapter Text

The sky was the dirty grey of early dawn when Remus woke. The sound of a chair being drawn softly across stone, and the telltale crinkle of sweet wrappers shifting in a pocket, meant that he knew who he’d find beside him before he even turned his head. 

“Good morning, Remus.”

Dumbledore sat at his bedside, hands folded over the polished head of his wooden cane. The early light through the high windows caught in his beard, in the half-moon lenses of his spectacles. He did not smile. On the other side of the bed, leaning against the curtained wall, stood two Aurors; the imposing figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a young woman with bubblegum-pink hair pulled back into a severe plait. Her posture screamed that she was trying very hard to look older than she was.

“Professor Lupin,” Tonks said quietly. “How are you feeling?”

Remus swallowed, his throat burning “Like I lost an argument with a Bang-Ended Skrewt.”

That earned the smallest flicker of a smile from her, although she quickly smoothed it away. Dumbledore coughed gently, drawing attention back to himself, and inclined his head. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Remus, but I’m afraid we must ask you some questions. Ministerial requirement.”

Remus nodded, pushing himself up against the pillows with a soft grunt. Talking, he suspected, would likely be easier than sleeping.

“Before we begin,” Kingsley interjected gently, his concern all too palpable, “are you in sufficient condition to continue? We may return later if you –”

“No,” Remus said, too quickly. He forced himself to slow his breathing. “It’s better I say it while I can remember.”

Tonks’s eyes sharpened, just slightly.

“As you wish. Tonks, note that Professor Lupin was offered the chance to reschedule, yet chose to proceed today.”

Dumbledore folded his hands. “Tell us,” he said, “what you remember of the maze.”

Remus closed his eyes. “It was all wrong,” he said. “The magic twisted – not hostile at first, just… misaligned. I didn’t notice the mirror was failing at first; I should have, but I was too focused on Cedric and the Acromantula. The creature wasn’t on the list of pre-approved obstacles; it wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“You’re correct, Remus,” said Dumbledore softly. “It should never have been allowed in the maze.”

“I broke protocol,” continued the Gryffindor, hardly listening. “I broke through the maze planning to stun the spider, but I was too late. Its venom had infected Cedric, so I signalled for help – and Minerva arrived with Harry. Draco had followed them.”

“What happened then?” Tonks asked.

“It wasn’t really Minerva.” He opened his eyes again. “She was watching me. Not helping.”

Dumbledore’s gaze did not waver. “And Mr Potter?”

“In danger.” Remus’s fingers tightened in the sheets. “Minerva asked him to fetch the Cup, and I knew. There was a surge between it and the mirror – a convergence point. Spellwork gathering too tightly. I stepped forward.”

Tonks’s quill scratched softly. “Why?”

“All of the boys were too close. Whatever it was would have torn through all three of them.”

“And?” Kingsley prompted quietly.

“And so I jumped.” Remus sighed heavily. “I didn’t think, I just did it.”

The silence stretched between them, until Kingsley said: “The spell struck you?” 

“Yes.”

“What kind of magic?” Dumbledore asked.

Remus shook his head. “I can’t name it. It felt –” he frowned, searching for something that didn’t sound mad, “– hungry.”

Dumbledore nodded once, as if that made a terrible sort of sense. “And when you regained consciousness?” 

Remus hesitated for barely a second. “Cold,” he said. “Dark. I believe I was… elsewhere.”

“Where?” interrupted Tonks, ignoring Kingsley’s warning glance.

“A graveyard.” His voice was quiet now. “Isolated. Stone markers I didn’t recognise. I don’t think it was in this country.”

Dumbledore had gone very still, his hands gripping the cane so hard his knuckles had gone white. Tonks took one look at the headmaster, and leaned forwards. “Who was there?” she asked.

Remus swallowed. “At least 30 or 40 people. One was Peter Pettigrew.”

Both Tonks and Kingsley’s eyes flicked up sharply at that.

“And Lord Voldemort?” Dumbledore said, and did not soften the name.

“Yes. He was… in the process of rising,” Remus said carefully. “There was a ritual.”

Kingsley and Tonks shared an unreadable look, but Dumbledore’s blue gaze flashed with something like triumph. Still gripping his cane with one hand, he rested the other on the bed. “Tell us about it,” he said.

Remus did not embellish; instead, he listed. “The bone of his mother, removed from her grave. An arm, willingly severed from a loyal follower.” He looked up at them all, knowledge blazing in his golden eyes. “I believe it was Lucius Malfoy.”

Tonks inhaled sharply through her nose.

“And my blood,” Remus continued. “Taken too early. Spilled before the incantation was complete.”

“What happened then?” Kingsley asked.

“I kicked the cauldron over,” Remus said simply. “It was all I could think of to do, but it disrupted the casting sequence.”

“And Voldemort?” Dumbledore prompted. The others, to their credit, didn’t so much as flinch at the name this time.

“He rose,” Remus said. “Briefly. Incomplete. Like a reflection… it was as if he were something held together by will rather than flesh. He couldn’t maintain it.” The silence this time was heavier. “He said he needed the rest of my blood, and ordered them to bring me to him. Then… everything went black.”

Tonks looked up. “And after that?”

“I woke up here,” Remus said.

“But how did you escape? The marks around your wrists –” and here, Kingsley leaned forwards to tap the scarlet brands with one finger, “– suggest you were bound with silver.”

“Peter,” said Remus, closing his eyes as he remembered how his old friend had looked at him. “Peter panicked; said they’d done the ritual incorrectly. He accidentally snapped a shackle, and I was able to tear myself free.”

Nobody challenged it, although Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment. “You are certain,” he said slowly, “that Professor McGonagall was not herself?”

“Yes,” Remus said, without so much as a flicker of hesitation. “Polyjuice. Poorly masked.”

Kingsley leaned over Tonks briefly, and reexamined the parchment. “And you’re certain, too, of Lord Malfoy’s involvement?” he asked.

Remus held the man’s gaze. “As certain as I can be.”

“There’s nothing else you remember?” Tonks looked at him searchingly; there was a great deal of Andromeda in her, he thought. “From what we can gather, your wounds were incredibly severe…”

“Werewolf blood,” he replied shortly. “It works differently. Maybe I passed out and the wolf part of me crawled –” and here Remus paused, meeting her gaze, “– into a den so I could heal.”

Tonks’s jaw set, and she nodded briskly. Then, her eyes flicked to the curtain behind him as it was yanked aside with very little ceremony.

“Albus!” Cornelius Fudge blustered in, bowler hat askew, moustache damp with sweat. “What’s all this I’m hearing about graveyards and Dark rituals and – oh.” He caught sight of Remus. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “You’re awake, then. That’s… something.”

Tonks handed the parchment to Kingsley, who accepted it wordlessly. “Interview concluded, Minister,” she said briskly. “Subject is exhausted.”

“But I only just got here!” Fudge protested.

“And he’s given a full statement,” she went on smoothly, “which we intend to file immediately.”

Dumbledore rose. “Yes,” he said mildly. “I think that will be quite sufficient for now.”

Fudge looked between them all, clearly sensing – too late – that he’d missed something important. Silently, he appealed to Kingsley, but the Auror shook his head minutely. “Well,” the Minister for Magic muttered, “we’ll speak again, Lupin.”

Remus managed a wan smile. “I’m sure we will.”

As they left, Dumbledore paused at the foot of the bed. “You did well, Remus,” he said quietly. “You should rest now.”

***

INTERVIEW SUBJECT: REMUS LUPIN 

Remus Lupin reported that, suspecting danger to several students within the Triwizard Maze, he entered without preparation and intervened instinctively. He was incapacitated and transported to an isolated graveyard, which he believes was outside Britain.

There, he witnessed a resurrection ritual involving the bone of Tom Riddle’s mother, the severed forearm of Lucius Malfoy, and his own blood. The blood was taken prematurely, and Lupin disrupted the ritual by overturning the cauldron.

Voldemort manifested in a partial, unstable form and was unable to remain corporeal. The ritual collapsed.

Lupin was released by Peter Pettigrew and has no clear memory of events until regaining consciousness at Hogwarts.

***

The clamour of Fudge’s voice followed her down the corridor, already practising outrage, already shaping tomorrow’s headlines; Kingsley’s deep, reassuring tones did their best to soothe the Minister. Tonks ignored it, tugging her cloak straighter, fingers flexing once as if she’d burned them.

She stopped short by a tall window overlooking the grounds, and took a moment to think. No bloodstains. No healers’ errors. No record of a portkey arrival logged with the gate wards. Someone had patched Remus Lupin up properly. Somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet. Someone practiced, efficient, and entirely unflappable.

Tonks closed her eyes, and her mother’s face rose unbidden in her mind. Right, then.

When she opened them again, her expression had just about settled into something cool and professional, until she almost collided with the young woman walking in the other direction.

“Oh, pardon,” the girl said, French accent threading through clipped English. She steadied Tonks by the elbow with cool fingers, her grip firm. 

“Sorry,” Tonks replied automatically, then looked again. Delacour. Definitely no longer a patient this morning, and not a student, either; there was no Beauxbatons silk, for starters, and the silver hair was pulled back, sleeves rolled. She looked… well, she looked incredibly official.

“You’re with the Ministry now?” Tonks asked, entirely wrongfooted.

“Not yet,” Fleur said. A pause. “I would like to be.”

Their eyes held for half a second longer than necessary. “Well,” Tonks said, stepping aside, “choose your mentors carefully.”

Fleur’s mouth twitched. “I intend to.”

At the same time, on the other side of the castle, Severus Snape had been recognised. And a cluster of relentless figures were bearing down upon him, all hellbent on answers.

Chapter Text

Severus froze mid-step, the echo of his own boots on the cold stone floors swallowed by the sudden stamp of rapid footsteps. Several figures emerged from the shadows, moving as one, eyes sharp and voices tight with demand. Always the same suspects. Always.

“Professor Snape!” Harry called urgently. Ron’s long strides carried him up beside Harry, Hermione and Ginny just behind. Draco – pale, chest tight, eyes narrow – stepped forward too, looking as if he might vomit or hex someone. Possibly both. 

“Not here, Potter.” Severus scanned the corridor, voice rising so anyone nearby might hear. “Students are supposed to be confined to their dormitories; my office. Now!”

He blasted his door open with a flick of his wand and ushered them inside, stopping short as Narcissa followed silently in their wake. “I go where Draco goes,” she murmured, silk whispering against stone.

“Of course, Lady Malfoy.”

***

As soon as the door was locked tight behind them and the wards were in place, they rounded on him with their ceaseless buzz of questions. What happened? Where is he? Is he hurt? Is he alive? Do you know, Professor Snape? What do you know?

Wearily, he sank into the seat behind his desk, poured himself a glass of water, and waited for them to exhaust themselves.

“Is Remus alive?” Harry asked again.

“Yes,” Severus snapped, and the wave of relief that flooded the room was palpable. Then, after a beat: “He almost wasn’t. By all accounts, he probably shouldn’t be.”

Narcissa flinched, her hand instinctively flying to her chest. Severus’s sharp gaze caught hers, and he gave a subtle, warning tilt of his head. She froze. The motion alone was enough to remind her of the contract, of the precarious balance she could not upset… not yet.

“What happened? No one will tell us anything,” said Draco furiously.

“I suspect they will never tell you a word of what transpired,” replied Severus, taking a fortifying sip from his glass. “It doesn’t fit their official narrative.”

“And you, sir?” asked Harry, his voice quiet. 

Severus sighed, and drained his drink. “It’s not a pleasant tale,” he said simply. “But I suppose the important ones never are. Very well.”

Carefully, he recounted the events of the evening, and he did not miss a single detail. Pettigrew’s panic, the ritual, the cauldron overturned, Voldemort’s incomplete form, the curved knife covered in blood – each horrible new detail landed with a weight all its own. Harry’s jaw clenched, fists curling at his sides as Ginny’s cheeks drained of colour. Ron shifted from foot to foot, muttering curses under his breath. 

It was Draco, though, who cried out in horror; his resolve all but collapsed when he heard what Lord Malfoy had done. Hermione placed a steadying hand on his arm – just a small gesture, barely a brush of fingertips, but Severus saw the boy’s shoulders unlock just a fraction.

Throughout, Narcissa remained statuesque, her eyes never leaving Severus. When she heard of her sister’s bravery, she closed them briefly, hoping Andromeda might sense her silent gratitude. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

By the time the tale had finished, Severus looked absolutely shattered. The children sat frozen, stunned into silence, doing their best to process all of their horror, relief, and anger all at once. Narcissa, however, rose quietly, folding herself into the shadows of the corridor. Behind her, voices echoed with questions unanswered as every instinct in her body pulled her forward, toward him. 

***

Even as she followed the familiar corridors, the weight of the contract pressed down at the back of her mind. She paused at the end of the hall, taking a slow steadying breath. It was as if she could feel the heat of his presence, even from across the castle. 

Silently, she moved again, gliding past empty classrooms and shuttered windows. Her fingers grazed the stone walls for guidance as her senses tuned to every sound; the soft thrum of someone moving in the opposite direction, the distant clatter of a breakfast tray in the kitchens, the muted murmur of Madam Pomfrey’s staff, the faint echo of someone’s muffled sobs.

At the top of the stairs, she lingered when she caught the faintest echo of her own name in someone else’s voice; Ron, probably, still asking questions he wouldn’t have answers for. She swallowed, steadying her racing heart, and pressed on, barely glancing at the other Weasley boy who lingered like a ghost in the corridors, straining for news that refused to reach him.

The hospital wing doors were just ahead and her fingers itched to push them open, to see him, to reach out and touch him. Still, she hesitated. One moment, one movement, and she would break the careful secrecy she had maintained for over a decade… and yet, the pull was irresistible. Her breath caught. She closed her eyes, letting her mind trace the line from herself to him, a silent thread that bound them even now.

She remembered that first morning after she had fled her ancestral home and awoken with the taste of freedom on her lips. Sunlight had spilled across the floorboards of a tiny wooden cabin they had claimed as their own. It was nothing, really; the kind of space that smelled faintly of dust and damp no matter what you did to it – yet it had been perfect because he had been there, awake and smiling the moment she opened her eyes. No one else could see them, no family there to judge, no obligations pressing in from every corner. She had traced the line of his jaw with a trembling finger, and he had caught her hand in his, pressing it to his chest: You’re safe here, Cissa. I promise you’re safe here with me.

The memory burned bright, making the world outside the door – the contract and its terrible clauses, the warnings, the impossible stakes – fall away for just a breath.

Her fingers brushed the handle. One step, just one step, and the distance between them would collapse entirely.

***

Inside the hospital wing, Remus slept fitfully. The low-burning candles beside his bed flickered in a soft, silvered glow, and the cool air seemed to bend around him as if the world itself were holding its breath.

A faint scent, delicate and unmistakable, reached him: roses, sea salt, and the clean bite of winter snow. He didn’t open his eyes. Still, he felt it – the dip of the bed, the sigh of the mattress, the whisper of a hand hovering just above his own, not touching. Not yet.

The candles brightened as he shifted, turning his face toward the sensation, his heart rising in a slow, uneven rhythm. “… Cissa?” he whispered, voice barely audible.

There was a pause, a soft sigh. Then, the brush of fingers – or the thought of them – stroking his hair back from his forehead, burying themselves in the chestnut locks, wearing them like golden rings. Thank you. Thank you for him.

Whether it was a dream, miracle, or the beginning of a story that had been waiting to be written, he did not know. He only knew that she was there, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was enough. Remus smiled, eyes fluttering closed again, letting the warmth settle around him like a promise. And somewhere beyond the windows, dawn broke, spilling pale gold across the quiet castle, heralding a tomorrow that had only just begun.

***

She lingered for a heartbeat longer, letting the warmth of him settle in her bones. Then, silently, she withdrew, the door clicking shut behind her like a held breath.

Not yet, she told herself, every pulse thrumming with the memory and the moment. Not yet. But soon… soon, I will be with you again.

Chapter Text

Act II – The Reckoning

Superiority to Fate 

Is difficult to gain

‘Tis not conferred of Any 

But possible to earn 

A pittance at a time

Until to Her surprise 

The Soul with strict economy 

Subsist till Paradise.

Emily Dickinson

***

The Kiln was aglow with magic – not the grand kind, but the small everyday magic that comes from laughing with friends, or eating good food, or drinking something that makes your throat burn in the best possible way. The hum of voices could be heard from every corner of the garden, which was a riot of late-summer greenery. The lawn was dotted with the stray tumble of flowers from the edge of the orchard, the forest on the border of the property created just enough cool shade to take the edge off the blazing afternoon sun.

Remus sat cross-legged on a low bench, the warmth of the bonfire painting his face gold. His silver scars caught the light, faint pulses like stuttering reflections. Just beneath his ribs, the wolf paced restlessly, and for a moment he wondered whether he’d muddled his dates again. He glanced back at the wall in the kitchen behind him, where the calendar that Sirius had carefully inked was pinned, and sighed with relief; still another week and a half until the full moon.

There were Weasleys everywhere; whichever way he turned, there was another long-limbed redhead causing trouble. The twins had ensconced themselves with Sirius in the shed (much to their mother’s alarm; there had been several small explosions since lunchtime), and Percy was filling out yet another job application – this time to Gringotts. The young man had quietly informed Remus, in no uncertain terms, that he never wished to work for the Ministry again. Ever.

Hermione had chosen to stay at home that summer – something about some long overdue time with her parents – but, drifting high above the lawn, Harry and Ginny were lazily bobbing on their brooms as they chatted. The Quaffles under their arms were all but forgotten, and Ron, still in goal, definitely so (“Oi, lovebirds! I thought we were playing hoops?”). Remus shared a private smile with Molly, who was doing her best to pretend that she wasn’t over-the-moon with the way things were going. Just in case it triggered an unhappy bout of teenage rebellion.

“I wish they weren’t so high up,” she murmured quietly; Arthur had nodded off next to her after yet another late night at the office. “I know the house is unplottable, but surely the magic doesn’t extend that far upwards?”

“I think we’re quite safe, Molly,” said Remus reassuringly. “The Potters had a Seeker of their own in the family, remember? They would have allowed for –” but here he paused uncertainly, “– for games.” Quidditch, he thought to himself furiously. You mean Quidditch.

“If you say so,” she said. “Are you feeling alright, dear? Do you need anything?”

There was nothing he needed that she could bring him, so he shook his head. Molly nodded, then disappeared behind her copy of the Daily Prophet – which happily announced via its front cover:

LUCIUS MALFOY INNOCENT? TRIAL CONTINUES AS FORMER SCHOOL GOVERNOR INSISTS LUPIN’S TESTIMONY FUELLED BY ‘MOON-MADNESS’

Inwardly, Remus seethed. He couldn’t imagine what life was like in that house for Draco and Narcissa – how carefully every word must be weighed, every breath measured. Nor could he begin to understand what the editors of that rag of a newspaper thought they were doing, when there were so many more pressing matters they should have been reporting on.

Dementors had swarmed Little Whingeing. Not rumours, not hysteria: fact. They had attacked anyone and anything in their path. Two Muggles now lay in hospital, minds hollowed by the Kiss; another was dead.

Mrs Arabella Figg, one of the Dursleys’ neighbours, had given an alarming testimony, quietly filed and scarcely mentioned. No one, it seemed, wanted to ask why Dementors were ranging so far beyond Azkaban’s walls, or why they had come so very close to the only known address of Harry Potter.

It was only sheer, dumb luck that Harry hadn’t been there. He had ignored Dumbledore’s orders after getting into a fight with his pig of an uncle at King’s Cross, and gone home with the Weasleys instead. Thank Merlin.

Sirius’s response to all of this, naturally, had been to host a party. The man had been held under the guard of those monsters for twelve years; the mere thought of finding himself in their control again had… well, it had sent him a little moon-mad, Remus thought. Still, Padfoot craved warmth, happiness, and sunshine. He craved company. If a party made even one of his nightmares ebb away, then who was Remus to say no?

*** 

The shed was a smoking pile of broken wood, fireworks still sparkling above it like mad. Sighing, Remus waved his wand and fired a jet of water at some of the hotter embers.

“Are you sure about this?” Sirius called from across the garden, hands full of mugs, eyes glittering with mischief. “Returning to Hogwarts, I mean? Do you really want to be managing all of these unruly teenagers full time?”

Remus chuckled. “It can’t be any harder than managing you,” he said. Then, as his friend drew closer, he dropped his voice. “I have to, Pads. The kids need… normality. And if I don’t go back, someone else has to deal with the aftermath.” His gaze fell to the bonfire. The shadows of the flames had begun to stretch like long fingers across the garden in the dying sun. 

It was at that moment that Severus – much to the shock of Ron, who spat out a mouthful of butterbeer – emerged from the house, hands in his pockets, walking with his usual precise, gliding motion. “About time,” Sirius called. He leaned down, nudging a pile of muggle game equipment with his boot. “Fancy a game? Loser fetches the next round of drinks.”

Severus’s lips twitched. “I’ve only just arrived, Black.”

“Fine,” said Sirius, summoning a bottle of Firewhisky and thrusting it at the Slytherin. “Catch up, quickly.”

Baldric, the house elf, bustled back and forth with the efficiency only a creature who considered himself indispensable could muster. He refilled mugs, brought extra blankets, and scolded everyone in equal measure whenever they did something he deemed “not sensible” (Sirius, usually). 

They played in fits and starts; muggle rounders first, Harry gleefully teaching the Weasley kids how to swing a bat (“Just like you’re hitting a bludger, exactly!”) while Sirius ran in circles like a dog chasing its tail. Arthur was in charge of the scoring and so they never really knew who’d won; he’d been so excited by the notebook and the little lead pencil (“But this is so much more practical than a quill! Genius!”) that he’d quite forgotten to pay attention to the game at hand.

Next, they attempted a game of giant Jenga. Blocks were gently tugged from the slightly wobbling stack, before being placed back on top – some suspiciously locking into place. “Watch it, Sev,” Sirius teased, tossing a wooden block toward the tower. “It’s cheating if you’re using magic.”

“I call it ‘preventative maintenance,’” Severus replied coolly, and even as he spoke, his gaze lingered on Sirius longer than politeness might dictate.

Remus laughed softly, though it caught in his throat. His fingers tingled as the silver scars along his wrists pulsed faintly – a light he could not snuff, no matter how distracted he tried to be – and the block he was holding slipped suddenly from his grasp, falling into the bonfire with a surprising flare of light that made the embers jump higher.

“– and that’s why we can’t have nice things,” Sirius said, glancing at Remus with mock exasperation as everyone laughed. Concern, however, rippled beneath his grin.

***

As the bonfire ebbed, Sirius hauled himself up to see the Weasleys and Harry out – and fetch yet more drinks, of course. Severus lingered beside Remus, stepping close as soon as everyone was out of earshot.

“The ritual they used… it marked you,” he murmured in a low voice. “I need to know exactly how much, how badly.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s eating you up, Lupin. Metaphorically speaking,” Severus said, eyes watching him closely. “Your soul and magic are caught in the reflection-spell. You are losing time, trembling without cause. Your senses sharpen to the point of pain. Nightmares, hallucinations – Sirius told me he hears you cry out in the night, and that you’ve been embarrassed about it whenever he broaches it with you, but these are all symptoms. Not paranoia.”

Remus’s stomach knotted. “It feels… wrong. I feel wrong.”

“In what way?”

“My spells drag shadows,” admitted Remus quietly. “My wolf paces at odd hours. Sometimes… sometimes I forget words I’ve known all my life.”

“And your scars?” Severus asked. His black eyes were calm but relentless.

“They flicker, sometimes. Like I’m splitting at the seams.”

Severus considered this, lips pressing into a thin line. “Every moment he grows in power, you weaken.”

The wolf growled softly, low in his throat, and Remus’s hands clenched at his sides. “I’ll be fine,” he said, though the lie was bitter on his tongue.

Severus leaned just slightly closer, a gesture almost imperceptible. “You need help, more than you think. And you’ll have it, no matter how Gryffindor you wish to be about it all – but we must tread carefully. One wrong move, and the tether…” His voice trailed, the word unfinished but heavy.

Remus swallowed. Then, Baldric’s voice broke the tension. “You need to eat, Master Remus – we don’t want any fainting. Very important.”

“Thank you, Baldric,” Remus said, forcing a smile. 

The elf scuttled off as Sirius returned, pressing a warm mug into each of their hands. “You two conspiring without me?”

“Merely discussing matters of life and death,” Severus said dryly. “Nothing you’d understand.”

Sirius made a face and plopped onto the bench beside Remus. “You know, I always know when you try to distract me from something important,” he muttered, nodding at Severus. “I can smell it in the air. Almost as bad as Baldric’s incense.”

Severus glanced at him once, expression unyielding, before returning his gaze to Remus. “This ritual… it isn’t done. We need to find the extent of the damage before September.”

“What are you talking about?” Sirius’s voice had lost its softness; now, it was all hard edges and sobriety.

Remus smiled sadly at his friend. “You were right, Pads; I’ve not been myself this summer.”

“You saying that I’m right scares me more than anything else,” snapped Sirius, tipping out his drink and refilling the glass with water. “Talk, both of you. Explain it to me as you would a child.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “The ritual stopped too early, before Remus’s blood was spent – and before Voldemort claimed his true body. They’re still tethered together; the Dark Lord is a drain on…”

“It’s like the One Ring,” interrupted Remus suddenly. “In the book I gave you?”

“The one that turns the little man invisible?”

“Yes, but – didn’t you finish it? I gave you that months ago.”

Sirius grinned guiltily, rumpling his hair with one hand. “I’m sorry, Moons; I usually do my reading at bedtime, but I’ve been –” he trailed off awkwardly. “– Busy.” 

The pause that followed was brief but unmistakable, broken by the tiniest cough from Severus. Remus grinned as he looked down at his hands. “It doesn’t matter; let’s just say the ritual has linked me and Voldemort, and he’s using me as an energy source to power himself up.”

“He can bog right off, then,” said Sirius with a hiccough. “How do we fix it?”

“Books and cleverness, Black,” said Severus with a smirk. “Not so much your forte.”

Remus smiled as the two men squabbled, letting the warmth of the fire, the quiet companionship, and the momentary domesticity wrap around him like a shield, protecting him against the shadows lingering in his magic. Against the wolf inside. Against the ever-pounding thud of his heart that told him Narcissa was a prisoner once more at Malfoy Manor – at least until Christmas. She had a plan, he knew, and it all hinged upon Christmas. 

The night stretched around them, calm and golden, but taut with the promise that summer was almost over – and for the first time in years, winter, Remus thought, could not come soon enough.

Chapter Text

Morning at Malfoy Manor arrived, as it always did now, without light. The curtains had been drawn for weeks, heavy velvet swallowing whatever summer sunshine dared approach. Still, the house woke by habit: the soft footfall of elves, the soft clink of silverware, and the long, echoing tick of the grandfather clock marking time no one trusted anymore.

Narcissa stood before the mirror in her dressing room, fastening an immaculate pearl necklace around her neck with careful hands. Her reflection gazed back at her with composed dignity, pale and unblemished – a convincing illusion, if one did not look too closely at the tension in her jaw, or the slightly hollowed look beneath her eyes.

One hundred and twenty days, she chanted within the confines of her own head. One hundred and twenty days until Christmas. Then, the wording of ancient magic could finally be used to lock Lucius out of her life forever. She could be free to read whatever she wanted, say whatever she needed, and kiss Remus where anyone and everyone could see her do it. All she had to do – all she had to do – was keep her wits and live that long.

Avoiding the eyes of her reflection, she smoothed her sleeves, rearranged her expression into something suitably cool and neutral, and went in search of her son.

***

Draco was already seated at the breakfast table when she entered the dining room, his back straight and hands folded with conspicuous restraint. He looked older than the summer had earned him, and her heart ached to see him flinch at the sound of her footsteps. Relief flashed across his face when he spotted her, before he quickly smothered it.

Lucius, by contrast, did not look up at all. Once upon a time, he’d have been sitting at the head of the table, surrounded by newspapers and smiling as he bullied them both in sickeningly polite tones. Even that would have been preferable to this. 

Her husband stood near the hearth, shoulders hunched, murmuring beneath his breath. At first glance he might have been practising a speech – and in truth, he was. His lips shaped and reshaped the same phrases over and over, as he clutched his silver ghost of a hand against his breast. “My Lord,” he whispered. “It was as you commanded. Circumstances beyond –”

The air shifted, and cold slid across the stones like a living thing. The candles guttered, their flames bending away from a presence only half-formed. Voldemort’s reflection shimmered in the polished black surface of the hearth; not quite solid, not quite illusion. A wraith sustained by blood, promise, and unfinished ritual. 

Lucius fell silent at once. Narcissa swallowed the scream that threatened to burst from her throat, instead dropping into her seat and bowing her head reverently.

“No,” Voldemort purred, his voice almost gentle. “Not like that.”

Lucius swallowed and crouched lower still to the ground. She supposed the Dark Lord he had resurrected didn’t just want to choose what his puppet said, but also what he was allowed to be. Narcissa watched from beneath her lashes, measuring each second, each correction, each subtle erosion of her husband’s pride. She kept her own mind carefully blank. Just in case.

But then Voldemort caught sight of Draco, turning to him with interest, and Narcissa felt as if a hand was closing around her throat.

“School resumes soon – and at such a convenient time,” said the Dark Lord lightly. His reflection pulsed faintly, as though struggling to remember how to inhabit the shape he had carved for himself. His presence clawed at the air, dragging warmth out of the stones, leaving a faint frost at the edges of the hearth. “You will return. You will not make any trouble.”

It was a statement, not a warning, even as the unspoken threat hummed beneath it. Draco’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on the table.

“Of course, my Lord,” Lucius interjected quickly, too quickly.

Draco nodded, heart pounding. She caught the edge of his emotions without meaning to; Hogwarts meant freedom from the Manor, but it also meant leaving his mother alone here. It meant letters he could not send. It meant friendships that might curdle into suspicion.

Granger will hate me, he thought, unbidden. They all will.

He stared at his untouched plate, appetite gone.

***

After breakfast, Draco disappeared upstairs again and so Narcissa retreated to the library. It was the only room Voldemort couldn’t touch; no mirrors, no reflective surfaces – and she suspected it reminded him too much of what he had once been, too. She selected a book at random from the poetry shelves, fingers pausing briefly on the familiar spines. Yeats, today. Then she sat in the window alcove and opened it as though it were a letter.

She did not read aloud. Instead, she read the way one listens; searching for cadence, for presence. Summer evenings flashed through her mind, and the way they had sent poems back and forth in carefully chosen volumes, verses folded and refolded like secrets.

As if you were here, she thought. As if this were safe.

Her eyes traced the words again and again without absorbing them. Once upon a time, Remus had told her that he would read everything and pretend it was from her, and so she did the same. She pretended he had chosen each poem. Pretended his hand had touched this page first. Pretended each line was meant for her.

Pretence was all she had left, because, somewhere in the house, dangerous magic coiled like a snake as it listened for any sign of betrayal. She dared not write. Dared not burn paper. Even her thoughts felt too loud some days.

One hundred and twenty days.

The clock downstairs chimed the quarter-hour, and Narcissa closed the book with a snap.

***

She found Draco hovering outside the door to the dining room, listening to Severus Snape as he offered his latest report to the monster at her table.

The Potions master spoke without preamble, his voice devoid of all emotion. Details. Expectations. What had gone wrong, and how Lucius must correct it. How he would behave. Who he would speak to. What he would allow them to print. What he would never speak of again. There was a neatness to Severus’s cruelty tonight, a precision that had always felt like the trademark of Voldemort’s favourite soldier. Listening to it now, even she almost believed the facade.

Gently, she laid a hand on Draco’s shoulder, and he spun around looking sickened. “I trusted him,” he said in a furious whisper. “Potter and Lupin and the others did, too. And now he’s going to spill all of their secrets to You-Know-Who.”

Narcissa shushed him, wrapping her arms around him and wishing she could carry him down to the library with her like she used to. Put wards up around them both and read stories until he fell asleep in her lap, and she could inhale the sweet baby smell of him. “You can trust Professor Snape,” she murmured into his hair, wishing she could say more. “He is a man who knows the true meaning of loyalty.”

The sound behind them came without warning.

A sharp crack of magic split the air, followed by the thunderous echo of the front doors slamming open, as though the Manor itself had inhaled in shock. Even the clock, usually ceaseless in its infernal ticking, stuttered. If her husband’s family had any poetry in their souls, she would have said that the wards had screamed. Instinctively, her arms closed tighter around her son and the pair of them moved into the shadow of the stairwell. What fresh horrors did life have in store for them today?

They heard the laughter before they saw her; high, cruel, and vicious. Then, Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into the hallway barefoot, her prison rags hanging from her like a mockery of finery. Her tangled hair was a dark halo, her black eyes alight with delirious joy. She was every bit as beautiful as Narcissa remembered… and every bit as terrifying.

“Oh, sister,” she breathed, turning her head instinctively to find her. She had always known where Narcissa was hiding. “Don’t you look well.”

“Bella,” said Narcissa, carefully pressing Draco behind her. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

Bellatrix threw her head back and laughed again, and the dining room door was flung open at the sound. She stalked through it with the practiced steps of a ballerina, advancing on Severus and Lucius. 

“Still standing,” she said softly. “Funny how that works.”

Lucius let out a broken sound, but Severus sneered at the brittle woman before him. “We can’t all be martyrs for the cause, Bellatrix,” he drawled. “Some of us preferred to remain in the real world and do something useful for the Dark Lord.”

“You’re a traitor,” she shrieked. “Both of you! You chose to deny him so you could live in comfort; I was true to him every single day in Azkaban.”

“And so I bring him information and access to his enemies, while you bring him… what?” asked Severus lightly. “Perhaps you learned a few dirges from your inmates that you might like to teach us?”

Bellatrix whirled on him, but the sudden spike of Voldemort’s laughter prompted her to sink to her knees in a sweeping curtsy instead. “My lord,” she breathed.

“My most faithful servant,” he replied, and she beamed with pride. “We shall have to find you a wand, so that you might lead my armies again.”

Narcissa felt her stomach turn as her sister purred and preened like a cat. She gazed at Severus, willing him to look up at her, but his eyes remained fixed upon Bellatrix. And then, a prickle on the back of her neck: Cissy, you cannot remain in this house.

Narcissa’s blood went cold as she realised that Severus was speaking inside her head. 

“One hundred and twenty days,” she replied silently, her voice echoing strangely in her ears. “I only have to wait one hundred and twenty days.”

There is a tiger in your cage now; do you believe you can survive it? Severus’s face didn’t so much as flicker; for all the world, he was engrossed in the Dark Lord and Bella’s conversation.

“I must,” she said. “But Draco…”

Will be safe at Hogwarts soon enough. Don’t let her be with him alone.

“I won’t, but –” Remus’s face came to her mind unbidden, and she pressed it down again in terror.

Stay out of her way. I will warn Lupin, and I will instruct your son. Aloud, Severus said: “I do so look forward to the days when you can leave this house, Bella – but I suspect every Auror up and down the country will be looking for you right now. Perhaps the Dark Lord will enjoy having you as an ornament for the time being.” Bella snarled and was up on her feet again, but Severus was already bowing to the wraith in the hearth and moving towards the door. “I will bring another report as soon as I can, my Lord,” he called back. 

The fire dimmed the instant Severus slipped out, and Voldemort’s spectral form slackened, as though the unseen strings that held him upright had fallen loose. His hiss died mid-breath, leaving only the faint crackle of flames; just enough to notice, not enough to matter.

Narcissa knew better than to mistake it for a reprieve. The Dark Lord was not retreating; he was reallocating attention. Severus had delivered his report, and now the rest of the surveillance was to be delegated. To Bellatrix. His most volatile instrument. His most eager pair of eyes.

Lucius said nothing as Bella’s gaze flicked around the room hungrily. “Still counting days, sister?” she asked lightly. Then, unexpectedly, she beamed. “There you are.”.

Bellatrix crossed the room in a glide, bare feet soundless against the marble, and caught Draco by the shoulders. He had no time to step back before she pulled him into her, arms closing tight. Much too tight.  

Narcissa had endured worse than this. She had suffered Crucio without screaming. She had watched Bellatrix do terrible, terrible things to the man she loved. But this? The familiarity of the gesture almost broke her.

“Oh, my beautiful boy,” Bellatrix murmured into his hair. “All grown up.” Draco stiffened as she held him there, as if she were listening for something.

Just for a breath.

Then the smile returned, brighter than before. Over the crown of his head, her eyes lifted to Narcissa’s. She grinned – slow, gleeful – and mouthed three silent words: I’ll be watching.

Bellatrix kissed Draco’s temple and released him abruptly, turning away before he could react. “Run along,” she said lightly. “Your mother and I have matters to discuss.”

Draco stepped back, pale and quiet, yet Narcissa had not moved. Every muscle in her body was locked around that single breath, and the pause no one else appeared to notice.

“Hogwarts must be so… lively this year,” said Bella conversationally. “Old alliances re-forming. Old faces resurfacing.” Her gaze flickered, sharp as glass. “I do always so love a reunion.”

Narcissa’s fingers curled into her skirts.

“And imagine,” Bellatrix continued, voice almost fond, “how rude it would be if our family didn’t make an effort.”

***

One hundred and twenty days.

She had thought the danger lay in being discovered. Now she understood it was far worse than that; Bellatrix would not rush. Bellatrix would circle. She would watch and wait and test for weakness… and Narcissa had given her one hundred and twenty days to do it.

One hundred and twenty days inside the same cage. Merlin, maybe Severus was right.

Chapter Text

Narcissa awoke with a start, heart thrumming, breath caught on the ghost of a scream. For a moment, she lay completely still beneath the tangled blankets, letting the sunlight soothe the edges of her nightmare. The tiny cottage felt too warm, too lived-in, for any lingering visions to hold. And it was difficult, after all, to feel afraid when the scent of bacon drifted in the air.

She pushed the covers away and padded into the little room they generously called a kitchen. Remus stood at the gas cooker barefoot, chestnut hair rumpled, humming tunelessly as the bacon sizzled. The old kettle puffed steam beside him. Thoughtlessly, she wrapped her arms around his middle from behind and buried her face between his shoulder blades. He chuckled under his breath.

“You always love me most when there’s food.”

“Only because you cook so well,” she murmured. “Like a particularly committed house-elf.”

He turned slightly, catching a glimpse of her face. “Bad night?”

“It can’t have been worse than yours,” she said. “I bet I was awful to sleep with. Next to, I mean.”

“Don’t be silly.” He kissed the tip of her nose, pretending not to notice her mortified flush. “Although you really must stop using me as a human water bottle. What’s wrong with socks?”

“Only monsters wear socks in bed.”

“That's slander” he said solemnly, flipping the bacon. 

They ate their bacon sandwiches by the window, knees brushing beneath the little table, their plates balanced on mismatched coasters. The loch shimmered beneath the pale sun – a miracle of blue amid the creeping winter greys. Even now, Narcissa sometimes couldn’t believe this place existed. It didn’t feel like Scotland; not really. It felt like a bubble of borrowed peace, thin as glass and twice as precious.

It wasn’t Canada – not yet. The Ministry made travel impossible. But it was remote enough that they didn’t have to look over their shoulders every minute.

Sometimes Remus sent owls, very cautiously, to the Potters. James had responded by sending an enormous package of tins, blankets, and pasties with a note: For your first winter together. Don’t eat it all at once, Moony. Sirius had, in a particularly unhinged moment, sent a long letter blotched with tears, what they could only hope were wine stains, and heavy smudges (“NOT TEARS, JUST BAD PARCHMENT”), along with an illustrated book. The book had made them both blush scarlet and spend the rest of the day pretending to be very, very busy.

***

They only had one wand between them, but Remus’s – cypress and unicorn hair, warm as breath in Narcissa’s hand – had taken to her almost as easily as her own. Every morning after breakfast, he’d insist on lessons. Patronus magic. Duelling stances. Defensive countercurses far more advanced than any sixth-year curriculum should have included.

He always said it was to make up for the schooling she’d been robbed of. But sometimes, when she caught him watching the horizon, she suspected he was preparing her for something he couldn’t bear to name.

“You have to focus,” Remus murmured now, when she could produce only a faint orb of white light. “Really focus on one memory. One that’s yours.”

“You make that sound easy,” she said, lifting her chin.

“It is,” he said gently, stepping behind her. He placed his hand over hers, steadying her grip on the wand. “You once told me you’d never had trouble focusing on anything in your life.”

“You promised you’d make it your mission to distract me,” she said, smiling. “You said it would be a unique experience.”

A memory bloomed behind her eyes – laughter, warmth, the nervous brush of lips that had become very deliberate very quickly – and the joy of it thrummed like a heartbeat through her chest.

“Expecto patronum,” she breathed.

The silver wolf burst from the wand with silent grace, landing neatly before them. Its shining pelt rippled like moonlit water as it sat back on its haunches, regarding her with knowing, luminous eyes, and Remus stilled behind her.

“Cissa…”

She stepped toward the creature, fingers outstretched; the wolf leaned into her touch, and the whisper of its magic was almost tangible against her palm. “And look at that,” she said softly, turning. “Seems it was my turn to give you a unique experience.”

He crossed the space between them in two strides. His lips found hers in a kiss that stole her breath, and when he finally broke away, he stayed close, his forehead resting against hers. “Is that…” His voice was rough. “Is that how you see me?”

She nodded. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “You’re always beautiful, Remus. In every form you take.”

Something warm flickered in his eyes. “That’s not what a patronus usually means, though,” he said, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “It’s not about seeing someone else. It’s about who you are.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“A wolf,” he murmured, glancing at the silver creature still watching them. “Wolves represent guardianship, loyalty, justice. They protect their own with everything they have. They read emotion like scent. They survive things that should destroy them.” Reverently, he cupped her jaw. “That’s not me, Cissa. That’s you.”

Her breath caught. “Remus…”

“Your patronus isn’t saying you’re mine,” he said softly. “It’s saying you’re fierce. And brave. And that you’ll always fight for the people you love.”

Her throat tightened painfully, and she closed her eyes as she leaned into him, letting the warmth of the cottage, the sun, and his steady hands anchor her. Outside, a gust of wind shook the bare branches. Winter was coming. So was everything else. But inside, in this sliver of stolen time, she was a wolf. His wolf. And wolves, as they both knew, mated for life.

***

They stayed curled together in the window long after the silver wolf faded, watching the last shred of daylight dissolve. Dinner was simple; just tomato soup from a tin, and bread warmed on the hob, with the last of the salted butter spread all over it. Afterwards, Remus made hot chocolates (no cream, no marshmallows, still delicious) and coaxed the last logs on the grate into a merry little fire. It rattled and hissed, throwing a weak orange glow across the cottage walls.

In the bedroom – her bedroom now, she supposed – Narcissa pulled one of his biggest, ugliest knitted jumpers over her nightdress. It was a Euphemia Potter special, and hung off her shoulders and swallowed her hands, but it smelled like him, so she didn’t mind. Remus was already sitting on the sofa with a book balanced on one knee when she returned. 

“Is this a good moment to interrupt your reading?” she teased.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Only if you’re offering a better option.”

She sat beside him, and for a while they read in companionable silence. Her mind, though, wasn’t on her book. Instead, she found herself glancing at him every few seconds; the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the shadowed edge of the scar peeking just above his collar.

Not the scar. Scars. The tangled network of them that crossed his body like vines. She’d half-seen them once, what felt like a million years ago, when she’d confronted him in the Room of Requirement. Now, without thinking, she reached out and curled her fingers lightly into the hem of his sleeve.

He froze.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t.” A lie. His heartbeat thudded visibly at his throat. “I… I just don’t want you to feel you have to be kind to me.”

She blinked at that. “Have to?”

He set the book aside, staring down at his hands. He looked suddenly younger; far too young to be carrying so much fear. “Narcissa,” he said, and she bristled as she always did when he used her full name. “You’re here because I helped you leave. And I know what that makes me. It puts me in a position where you might feel you owe me… anything. And you don’t. You truly don’t.”

Her chest tightened painfully. “Remus. I don’t want to be here because I’m indebted. I want to be here because you’re the safest place I’ve ever known.”

He let out a shaky breath, eyes flickering to her face. She reached again for his sleeve, slower this time, giving him ample time to pull away. He didn’t. Carefully, she pushed the wool back, exposing the skin of his forearm where a small scar ran along the inside, pale as thread, right above the delicate jump of his pulse.

Narcissa brushed it with her finger, and he flinched. “Does it hurt?” she whispered.

“No,” he said, barely audible. “Just… no one ever touches them.”

She lifted his arm and pressed her lips gently to the scar, exactly where his pulse beat quickest. A soft, startled sound escaped him and he shut his eyes. “Cissa,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers and shuddering slightly. As if holding himself back required more strength than unleashing everything would.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Never be sorry for that,” he replied hoarsely. “I just… I’m afraid you’ll see all of me one day. And I won’t be… beautiful.”

She cupped his cheek. “You already are. In every way that matters. And when I see the rest, I’ll still think so.”

Remus kissed her then; slowly, reverently, learning the shape of her mouth as though he had all the time in the world. But when her hands slid under the hem of his jumper, he caught them gently, holding them still against his ribs. “Not tonight,” he told her gently. “I want… Merlin, I want everything with you. But not if there’s even a chance you’re choosing it because you feel you should.”

Her throat tightened. “Remus, I’m choosing you.”

“And that’s why I can wait.”

Narcissa kissed the scar on his arm once more, softer this time. A promise. And they stayed like that, wrapped in quiet and firelight and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, until sleep pulled them under together.

Chapter Text

They had only just left King’s Cross when Remus spotted him, his blonde head ducked low and collar up around his shoulders. Despite the ever-shifting motion of the train, Draco’s stride was purposeful, as if he meant to pass by their bustling compartment without a word… until he walked straight into the pale boy moving unsteadily in the opposite direction.

Both froze. Draco’s hand instinctively leaping to his chest as Cedric’s eyes widened. The echo of the last time they’d seen each other – the blood, the fear, the sheer panic – hovered like a thin mist between them.

“I – uh…” Draco started, but words failed him. Cedric’s gaze flicked to the hands that had held his bloodied leg together, then to Draco’s face, and back to the hands again. Neither spoke for a heartbeat, neither quite knowing what to say first.

It was Hermione’s voice, bright and ever so slightly impatient, that broke the spell. “Draco! Cedric! Come on, there’s room in here!” 

For a fraction of a second, Draco hesitated, then inclined his head stiffly, while Cedric pasted a smile onto his handsome face. Together, they slipped into the carriage, Draco dropping heavily into the seat next to Hermione (“Good summer, Granger?”) and Cedric more carefully into the one beside Remus, subtly flexing his prosthetic as he did so. The runes running up and down it shimmered faintly. 

“If it troubles you at all, I can show you a few adjustments once we arrive,” Remus offered quietly. “Little things to help with walking, balance, even defensive stances.” 

Cedric leaned back, offering up a genuine smile this time – one that grew a little wider when he saw his favourite teacher was holding out a bag of chocolate buttons. “Thank you, Professor,” he said, scooping a small handful. “I’ll take anything that helps me stay in the game. Figuratively.”

Harry, who was sitting opposite, grinned. “You’ll show the Slytherins you’re still unbeatable, then?”

Cedric’s eyes flickered, a mix of pride and steely determination. “I’ll show them I’m still Cedric Diggory.” Then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes warm and careful. “So, Ron… how’s your family? Everyone well?”

Ron straightened in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. “Oh, yeah, yeah; all good. Charlie’s got a girlfriend, apparently, and Bill’s got a new job. Percy’s quit the Ministry and is slowly losing his marbles – the usual,” he said through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty. Cedric nodded slowly, listening, but he seemed to be waiting for something more. Ron noticed the pause, and panickedly ploughed on. “Fred’s been experimenting with some new prank ideas. George is… well, keeping him in check, mostly. Although he actually had quite a cool idea for… it sounds daft, but a magic hat.”

“A magic hat?” Hermione asked, suddenly interested. “Why? What kind of magic?”

“It’s actually very clever,” said Ginny, her pride in her big brother all too apparent. “He’s found a way to fix a shield charm to clothing – so you could be wearing a hat, and someone might attack you, and it triggers a shield charm without you even having to pull out a wand.”

A faint smile brushed Cedric’s lips. “I wish I’d had something like that for the maze,” he said quietly. 

“I think we all could’ve used something like that in the maze,” muttered Draco darkly. He’d barely spoken since he’d sat down, and Hermione kept shooting worried glances in his direction.

“Well, you see, that’s what gave him the idea in the first place,” said Ginny excitedly. “He said if you’d been able to cast a shield charm, Cedric –” and here, she winced as Harry elbowed her “– not that you can’t cast one, I mean. We know you can; we’ve seen you. I just mean that, you were busy trying to stop that spider, and George thought…”

She trailed off, her cheeks burning red. Ron shifted in his seat, and added lightly, “Anyway, they’re all… good. All of them. Thanks for asking. Your lot?”

Cedric’s eyes softened, and he inclined his head just slightly. “My mum has been glued to my side all summer and my dad burst into tears when I said I was coming back this year,” he said, staring out of the window at the trees rushing by. “But they’re good, I guess. Better for knowing you’re back, too,” he added to Remus. “Dad has launched a personal campaign against Rita Skeeter in your honour. Anyone who badmouths the man who saved me from a giant spider, a Death Eater, and a cursed mirror is an enemy of Amos Diggory.”

The carriage fell into a tentative silence, and Remus felt a small, familiar ache in his chest. So much had changed, yet the essence of who they were – their courage, their loyalty, their stubbornness – remained. He could only hope the castle, with all its corridors and hidden dangers, could accommodate both the new realities and the old resilience.

As the train rattled on, the children settled into themselves; Ron furtively read a letter behind a magazine – one he clearly didn’t want anyone else to see but was also desperate to talk about. Ginny and Harry argued about who Dumbledore would hire as their new Defence Against The Dark Arts professor (“It can’t be any worse than an actual Death Eater.” “Did you forget about Lockhart?”). Hermione gently attempted to draw Draco into conversation, talking animatedly about the upcoming O.W.L.s when she realised his summer was firmly off topic. 

Under the cover of all the buzzing voices, Cedric leaned towards Remus and cleared his throat. “I never really got a chance to thank you,” he said. 

“You have no need to do so, Cedric,” replied Remus gently. “Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it, as well as to those who most likely would ask for it, if they weren’t busy fighting off an –” he paused. The word had been right there on the tip of his tongue.

“Acromantula,” offered Cedric. “It was an acromantula, professor.”

“Of course it was,” said Remus. “I’m sorry. I must be a little overtired.”

Cedric gave him a knowing look. “My mum keeps telling me that recovery takes time, and that I need to be kind to myself. Maybe you ought to do the same, professor.”

The afternoon light caught Cedric’s prosthetic again, glittering with all of its enchanted protection. It was a small thing, but a visible reminder: Hogwarts would have to adapt, and so would they all.

***

Draco lingered back as the others walked ahead to the carriages, and Remus dropped into step alongside him. The boy snorted when Remus offered him a chocolate button, even as he plunged his hand into the bag for one – but then one of the Slytherins walked by and knocked him with his shoulder, hard, and the smile died on his face.

“Draco,” said Remus urgently, placing a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder and casting a muffiliato charm around them. “What can you tell me?”

“It’s been awful, sir,” he said quietly. “So awful. I keep thinking about what my father did to you, and I’m… I’m so sorry. You must hate me. They all must hate me.”

Wordlessly, without thinking, Remus pulled Draco into a brief hug. “Nobody hates you, Draco,” he told him, letting the boy go and walking alongside him. “So many people love you and want to help you. Why don’t you let them?”

He didn’t miss the jump of fear in Draco’s face. “Because it isn’t safe,” whispered the boy. “Our house is… we have visitors.”

Remus stopped walking for a moment, then forced himself to continue. “Oh?”

“My aunt has been away for a long time,” said Draco carefully, “but she moved back into the Manor a few weeks ago. A very old friend of my father’s visits often, too – but he isn’t quite himself yet.”

“I see,” said Remus, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side as he connected the dots. “And… and your mother?”

“The same,” replied Draco, looking at Remus as he did so. Then, dropping the facade, he leaned closer. “I didn’t want to leave her with them, but she insisted.”

Remus closed his eyes briefly, then shook away the nightmarish vision of Cissa trapped in a house with Lucius. With Bellatrix. With Voldemort. “I’ve only had one letter from her,” he told Draco quietly. “She said she would be leaving the Manor for Christmas.”

“She wrote to you?”

“She did.”

Draco nodded, as if this confirmed something he had long suspected. “I hope she’s right. Christmas feels so long away.”

The pair of them clambered into the last carriage; Remus offered the thestrals a chocolate button each, scratching the monstrous-looking creatures behind their ears as Draco watched him oddly. In a way, he was glad the boy couldn’t see them. “She’s stronger than you know – just like you, Draco. You don’t have to push people away or isolate yourself. You don’t have to… you don’t have to let anyone manage your life or steer you towards a fate you would rather avoid. I promise, your friends want to help you. I’m here to help you. We can only do so if you let us.” 

“I’m worried that I’ll put you all in danger,” muttered the boy. “I know that sounds melodramatic, but I mean it; the Dark Lord can hear what’s inside my head. And my aunt is –”

“I know what she is,” said Remus grimly. Merlin, how he wished he could walk into that house on a full moon night and unleash his wolf upon them all. Anything to keep Cissa safe. “Perhaps you should join Harry in his Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape; it would provide you with the tools you need to –”

“Not Professor Snape,” muttered Draco. “He’s been… he’s been in my house a lot this summer.”

Ah. “Draco, this is going to be incredibly difficult for you to understand, but Severus Snape is one of the few people you can trust. And the fact that he can walk in and out of your house without anyone realising that is exactly why you should let him teach you Occlumency. He has the strongest self-control out of everyone I know – other than Cissa, obviously.”

Draco glanced sharply at him then, his blue eyes flashing gold in the torchlight guttering through the carriage window. “I didn’t know my mother was good at that sort of thing. She doesn’t even have a wand anymore; they took it from her after the maze.”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t skilled with one, Draco. She was a brilliant student when we were at school together – and she studied defensive magic after she left, too.”

“Does she have a nickname for you, too?” 

Remus paused, and then realised what he’d done. “I think she probably just called me Remus,” he said, as if he couldn’t recall either way. “As I’ve told you before, it was a –”

“Long time ago,” supplied Draco kindly, watching Remus’s throat work up and down. “I know, sir. They do say time is subjective, though, don’t they?”

***

There were a few minutes to spare before the feast began, so Remus lingered deliberately on the stone steps so that Draco could go on alone; he didn’t need anyone reporting back to Malfoy Manor on their fragile friendship. 

“Remus, you look about as exhausted as I feel.”

Minerva stepped forwards, steadily meeting his gaze, and he blinked away the nightmarish memories of the maze. “The summer certainly didn’t feel long enough this time,” he said, scars pulsing at his wrists. “How about you?”

She smiled grimly. “I was barely allowed to even fetch myself a drink; Poppy always fusses so. Although she was forced to let me speak with the Aurors several times over, as they kept –” she paused, looking older than her years for a moment. “They kept wondering if I’d had something to do with it all.”

“But you were attacked. There were witnesses – and Crouch confessed. Why in Merlin’s name would they ever think…?”

“They don’t think,” replied Minerva. “Not really. That being said, I do owe you an apology.”

Remus sighed; he was growing very tired of people saying sorry to him when they had no reason to do so. “It was someone wearing your face, Minerva,” he said calmly. “Not you.”

“Oh no, not for that,” she said, clicking her tongue irritably. “I meant for –” and here she swallowed, “– confronting him alone. For trying to do it all myself. I should have spoken to you, or Severus, even. Clearly, I’ve spent too much time in the presence of Mr Potter.”

“You’re a formidable witch, Minerva,” said Remus, even as he chuckled at her joke. “You went in expecting a confrontation with a man you’ve known for years, not a deranged Death Eater using –” and again, the word was gone, “– using his face.” Polyjuice.

Unexpectedly, she reached out a cool hand and pressed it against his cheek. “You’ve been through a lot,” she said briskly. “I suspect you’re still going through it. Let’s try to lean on each other a little, shall we? We’re both going to be a little unsteady on our feet, particularly when Dumbledore announces his next dubious Defence Against The Dark Arts hire. Perhaps it’s Lord Voldemort himself this time.”

Remus chuckled, as they turned to enter the castle doors together. “Be fair, Minerva. I held the position not that long ago.”

“Yes, but you are a werewolf, Remus. Come along, we don’t wish to be late.”

***

The enchanted ceiling mirrored the evening sky, faint streaks of starlight falling across the long tables of the Great Hall. Students murmured and shifted in their seats as Dumbledore rose from his chair at the high table, his robes swishing quietly. The hall fell into an expectant hush.

“My dear students,” Dumbledore began, his voice calm and carrying easily through the Great Hall. “A new year at Hogwarts always brings with it both challenges and opportunities; some expected, others rather less so.” A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the room. “Hogwarts has long been a place of learning, of courage, and of compassion,” he continued. “It is also a place where we look after one another. In times such as these, that matters more than ever.”

Remus felt Severus’s attention sharpen beside him.

“Some felt that, after the events of last year, a stronger Ministry presence here would be… advisable.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled faintly. “I did not entirely agree.” A murmur swept the hall. “However, we have reached a compromise. A ministerial investigator will be visiting Hogwarts later this year, to better understand how the school operates.”

Alarming. Severus’s voice, clear as a bell in his head, made Remus blink.

Have you told the headmaster what you suspect? thought Remus clearly, eyes flicking to Severus where he sat glaring at the Gryffindor table. They’d practiced this new trick at The Kiln several times, but it still felt… invasive.

The headmaster has been informed; that’s likely the only reason we don’t have another Death Eater on the staff already. 

Who do we have on the teaching staff then? Remus wondered: there was an empty seat at the High Table, and no new faces sat among them.

You should eat something, Lupin. You’re very pale.

Remus rolled his eyes; Severus was always so possessive over his gossip. However, Dumbledore himself had now moved onto the matter at hand. “That said, I am pleased to announce a change to our Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum.”

Minerva straightened beside Remus.

“Rather than a single professor, your instruction will be shared across the year by a number of specialists – witches and wizards who practise defence daily, and who bring with them a wealth of real-world experience. The summer term will be taught by Auror Nymphadora Tonks. The spring term will be overseen by William Weasley –”

Ron promptly began coughing, and Harry thumped him on the back.

“– a professional curse breaker,” Dumbledore finished serenely. “And for this term, you will be taught by Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

A hush fell, followed by an excited ripple of whispers.

You look surprised, Remus.

Which is exactly what you hoped for, thought Remus. Severus’s mouth twitched ever so slightly.

He won’t be based here full-time, Severus added. Which means you’ll be expected to compensate.

Remus sighed inwardly, and he clenched his fingers around the edge of his chair, magic humming faintly under his skin. It was just a flicker, barely noticeable, but enough to make the pulse in his wrist jump. Focus, he told himself. He could not afford to let the students – or anyone – see weakness here. He would rise to the year, no matter how quietly the power within him wavered.

Beside him, Minerva’s lips pressed into a faint, approving line. “Finally,” she murmured under her breath, just loud enough for Remus and Severus to hear, “someone whose experience matches the danger we face.”

Remus nodded as Dumbledore smiled, lifting his hands in a gentle gesture of inclusion.“I trust you will all rise to the year ahead,” he concluded warmly. “With open minds, steady hearts, and care for one another.”

The hall erupted into polite applause, then enthusiastic cheers as students turned to whisper to one another. Remus straightened in his chair, willing the sensation of weakness to retreat, willing his words to return to him fully, and he breathed a little easier… but only just. 

It was a new year, and for the first time in a long while, hope felt tangible. Cissa felt closer, despite the enemies that surrounded her. And yet, the flicker lingered.

Chapter Text

“I think I’ve done it,” said Remus, glancing up at her with an unmistakable glint of pride in his golden eyes. “Give it a try.”

Narcissa turned, smiling as he slipped the little silver locket around her neck and lifted her hair to fasten it. He paused, fingers brushing her bare skin, and she leaned back slightly against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through her jumper.

“So, how does it work?” she asked at last. 

“Well, if I’ve done it right,” said Remus, sounding reluctant even as he snapped back to reality, “then all you have to do is open it as you normally would.”

Narcissa gently teased the little oval doors apart, reaching inside. Carefully, she pulled the mirror out from within the tiny silver necklace – followed by the book that Andromeda had gifted her, and her precious copy of Emily Dickinson’s Poetry. “Wow, Remus – just… just wow. How did you do that?”

Remus grinned, reddening slightly. “Got the idea from Doctor Who.”

“Let me guess; another movie?”

“A TV show, actually. All about a time-travelling alien who…” he drifted off as he saw her expression. “I’ll show it to you sometime. Anyway, he lives in a blue police box called the TARDIS, and it’s bigger on the inside.”

“Like the Room of Requirement?”

“Very similar,” said Remus, ducking his head thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that. Still, I found this Undetectable Extension Charm. Nobody should ever know it’s there apart from you… which is good, as it’s very, very illegal.”

“Tsk tsk,” she scolded warmly, wagging a finger. “I thought prefects always followed the rules.”

“Not when they’ve kidnapped the youngest daughter of a noble wizarding house and gone on the run with her,” he replied dryly. “In for a sickle, in for a galleon.”

Narcissa laughed, and kissed him for that. “But why do we need it?” she asked suddenly. “What’s the point?”

The smile faded from his face, and he shrugged awkwardly. “If we ever had to leave in a rush, it just… it means you always have the things you love most with you. Nothing gets left behind.“

It seemed as if he were speaking carefully around the edges of some unknown truth. Narcissa thought about the objects she was supposed to keep safe, and a shiver ran down her spine. “But Remus…” she began. 

“No buts, Cissa. Just promise me you’ll keep it on you at all times?”

“I promise,” she said, and watched his shoulders sag with relief. 

“Thank you. Now, how about lunch?”

***

Narcissa had never had honey sandwiches before; the sweetness mingled with the salted butter, chasing away her worries. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was until she looked down and realised she’d demolished two rounds, and she grinned guiltily at Remus.

“My nan always used to make these,” he said unexpectedly. “She was a muggle, but she used to come sit with me in St Mungo’s every day after the attack. And she’d always bring me honey sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil. I’d eat them while she read to me; she’d always read chapters from big heavy fantasy books to me, and ignore all the magic going on around us. She was that focused on the story.”

“She sounds like a very kind woman,” said Narcissa. 

“She was. I wish you could’ve met her; she’d have loved you.”

Narcissa waited for a moment, to see if he might say more. Then, when he resumed his meditative chewing, she asked: “What about your parents?”

“What about them?”

“Did they come every day, too?”

Remus chuckled darkly. “Not so much,” he said. “Dad always blamed himself for what happened; he found it too hard to look at me. And mum was… well, Nan always said that a mother makes plans for her baby before they’re even born. I suspect lycanthropy wasn’t part of the dream,” he finished lightly.

Narcissa twirled her fingers through his. He squeezed back, and she caught sight of their reflected hands in the kettle: the hands of two very elderly people.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asked, looking between her and the kettle with a faintly puzzled look on his face. The reflection was as it should be again. Unblemished skin, untouched by time.

“Nothing,” she said softly, and meant it. “Nothing at all. Come on – we need more firewood.”

“We both know that’s code for, ‘I’m going to sit and watch you chop firewood, Remus’.”

“Would you deny a woman her only pleasure?” she asked plaintively. “It’s not my fault you look so good doing it.”

Remus chuckled. “As excuses go, that’s probably the one most likely to get you off the hook. Even I’m not immune to flattery.”

“Did I mention you look very handsome making a cup of tea, too?”

“Don’t push it, Cissa.”

***

Later that night, after they’d kissed each other until their lips were sore and swollen, Narcissa lay awake, fingers curling around the locket at her throat. She traced the hidden weight inside, imagining the objects it held: a mirror that could bridge miles, a book that might save her from a fate she dreaded, the poetry that reminded her of first meeting him. Each one was a fragment of their shared world, carefully preserved. Each one was a reminder, too, that they could and would find one another again if they should ever be separated.

Her memories drifted back to the hands she’d seen reflected in the kettle, aged and entwined, the skin worn but steadfast. It was as if the locket had whispered a secret of the future: that they could grow old together, that this love might endure every storm.

“Luck is not chance; it’s toil. Fortune’s smile is earned,” she murmured, the poem coming easily to her as she  brushed his tousled hair from his brow. He shifted in his sleep, a soft sigh escaping him, and she pressed a gentle kiss to the furrow there, smoothing it away.

Merlin, she thought, I love him with every fibre of my being. And somehow, she knew he loved her just as fiercely, in ways that neither magic nor time could ever touch.

Chapter Text

Narcissa had seen the book on the table when she joined her husband and Bella for breakfast, of course. The library was her domain; she knew every single text in it – and this, with its faded leather cover of black and heavy silver runes, wasn’t one of hers.

She forced herself not to even so much as glance at it, focusing on her toast as she buttered it. The mundanity, the ordinariness of the task felt almost meditative; it allowed her to forget the company she was keeping, even if the dull, practiced movements were a vital part of her daily armour. She needed them to think she was weak and passive. She needed them to think she wasn’t a threat. She needed them to believe, as they so clearly did, that she hadn’t noticed her sister quickly covering the book with a newspaper.

“Cissy,” cooed Bella. “Have you heard from Draco?”

“No,” she said, returning to her old trick of rationing her words: one so far. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she’d escape the dining room without breaking into double figures.

“It seems he has been keeping company most unbecoming of a Malfoy,” replied Bella, her dark eyes glittering wickedly.

Lucius glanced between the two sisters, his lip trembling slightly. “Goyle has written a disturbing report to his father, and he says that Draco has been all but glued to Potter, the mudblood, and their friends. He only attends the Slytherin common room to access the dormitories.”

Narcissa wasn’t sure what was expected of her, so she tilted her head to one side and adopted an expression of concern. Inwardly, she was overwhelmed by a sudden burst of love she felt for her beautiful boy – but she forced herself to press down the feeling, and cling to the other that was always most present in her mind: Will Draco be safe? Will he make it through this unscathed?

Lucius sagged in his seat, exhausted from the effort of his feeble legilimency attempt. Bella, however, giggled in her seat, the silver butter knife glinting in her hand. 

“Perhaps he needs to be removed from Hogwarts entirely, so he can be better instructed?” she asked, watching Narcissa closely as she did so. “It’s the only thing that worked with you, little pet; you had a nasty habit of hanging around undesirables at school, but it didn’t take long to cure you of it.”

“Perhaps,” said Narcissa, forcing herself to keep breathing slow and steady; to pour herself a cup of tea; to take a small bite of her toast. “I suspect Draco is more like his father than I, though. Strong.” Thirteen words. Perhaps a more realistic aim for this breakfast was to keep her tally below 100. 

Lucius looked up in shocked gratitude, even as Bella’s eyes narrowed. “Then how do you explain his behaviour?” snarled her sister.

“He wouldn’t be the first among us to befriend his enemy. Keep your friends close, remember?”

“Lady Malfoy is right,” her husband suddenly declared, and Narcissa ducked her head so her sister wouldn’t see the victorious smile on her face. “Look at Wormtail. Look at Snape. Perhaps we’ve underestimated Draco. Perhaps he is more like me than we know.”

Bella looked positively regal in her black lace, velvet ribbon gleaming against her ivory skin, lips painted the colour of blood, and dark curls piled up on top of her head. The eyes, though – she couldn’t do anything to change her eyes. When she stared at you, it was like staring into the Veil, and the look she had fixed on Lucius right now was enough to drive anyone to the brink of despair. 

“You?” she asked coolly.

“Yes, me,” bristled Lucius, avoiding her gaze. “As my wife just told you, Draco shares a lot of my traits over hers.”

That made Bella giggle again; throatily, sexily, as if she were circling the room at one of the old Black Family balls rather than overseeing this horrifying hostage situation. “You think yourself strong, then? It’s not a word I’ve ever associated with you myself.”

Lucius’s shoulders drooped the tiniest bit before he rallied. “I suppose you haven’t seen me for over a decade, though; you were far too busy with the Dementors,” he said, standing and draining his coffee in one gulp. It was almost as if nothing had changed, save for the silvery, ghostly hand on the cup. “I have matters to attend to in my office, so if you’ll excuse me – Madam Lestrange, Lady Malfoy,” nodding to the former before catching Narcissa’s hand in his and brushing his lips against her knuckles. She kept herself from flinching and smiled steadily; theirs was an important alliance to keep intact.

“Husband,” she replied.

Then he was gone, in a whirl of his cloaks, and she was left alone with her longest and most faithful tormentor once more.

***

For a while, neither of them spoke; the clock continued its deafening count of every second, the cutlery clinked, and the fire crackled like it was alive in the grate. 

“You know as well as I do that your boy is nothing like Lucius,” spat Bellatrix suddenly. “He’s drawn to Gryffindors for the same reason you were – a fault in the bloodline.”

Narcissa sipped her tea calmly, but said nothing. What was there to say?

“I will deal with him when he returns home for the holidays,” her sister told her cruelly. “I will teach him, as I did you, the cost of rebellion.”

“He is mine and Lucius’s responsibility, and it will go far better for all of us if you allow us to instruct him,” said Narcissa. “It would be awful, just awful, if he were to return to school and accidentally share your whereabouts with Albus Dumbledore.”

There, she’d done it. The threat hovered between them, almost tangible, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Bella slammed her hand down on the table and the cutlery jumped deafeningly.

“Do you think I won’t use Polyjuice to take your form if I must, sister?” Bellatrix grinned wider, showing all of her sharp white teeth when she saw the blood drain from Narcissa’s face. “Imagine how much trouble I could cause with just a handful of your hair. I could remove your son from Hogwarts permanently. I could meet with your precious pet wolf and destroy him in a thousand different ways. Don’t test me.”

Narcissa bit down the urge to scream, and contented herself with nodding. “Please, Bella. He’s my son – let me deal with him. That’s all I ask of you.”

“Then you shall write to him today,” replied Bella silkily. “Right now. I’ll fetch the parchment; I will dictate, and you will write down every single word I say.”

She was running barefoot from the room before Narcissa even had a chance to nod, and her sister wasted no time in seizing the opportunity to sweep back the newspapers to read the title of the hidden book. To commit it to memory. To cover it back over so nobody ever knew she’d dared do such a thing.

When Bellatrix returned, she found her sister exactly as she’d left her; head bowed low over the breakfast table, pale, and heartbroken. She dictated the letter (it was worse, so much worse than Narcissa had imagined it would be) and made her sister sign it as if it were all her own doing. Then, Bella left the room to hunt down an owl, taking the book with her. 

Thank Merlin that Narcissa had looked when she had the chance.

***

It was harder than ever to find a happy memory; today, though, Narcissa summoned the image of Remus remembering how she liked her hot chocolate. How he stirred in the cinnamon and vanilla every single time, without fail. How this – the way he’d always made a point of remembering her tastes and desires – felt as much like love as any of the poems he shared with her over the years. More so, even, for it made her feel seen. Like a real person. Like a real person deserving of care and affection.

The wolf bloomed beautifully from her wand, silvery and familiar, and she murmured her message in its soft ear. It bounded from the library through the open window, disappearing across the roses and beyond like a plume of smoke.

When there was nothing left to see of it, Narcissa turned to the bookshelves, and began scouring them for anything and everything she could find on ancient magic. 

If there was even a single sentence on the Lunares Speculum in one of her thousands of books, she was going to find it.

Chapter Text

The hum in the air was subtle but unmistakable; even as they nibbled their beans on toast, even as they tried to talk about everyday matters (the torrential rain, the surprising yet completely unsurprising news of James and Lily’s engagement, the emergency stash of butter and powdered milk from Euphemia). Narcissa could feel it, a low vibration in the walls, a pulse in the floorboards beneath her feet. As the shadows grew longer, Remus moved with exaggerated calmness around the room, protective magic glinting faintly in the lamplight as he muttered incantations.

He turned to her, eyes unreadable in the flickering light. “Cissa… the wards are strong, but…” His hand hovered over the single wand they had between them, a tremor in his jaw that betrayed the tension he usually hid. “…if I show even the slightest danger… take the wand. Use it.”

Narcissa smiled, stepping closer. “I know. You said already. But you don’t scare me, Remus.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. Not ever.”

“Then you won’t,” she said, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. Her fingers brushed over the locket at her throat, warm and reassuring. “And besides… you don’t get bad boy points just for being a werewolf, Remus Lupin. I’m afraid you’re by far the nicest man in existence.”

His golden gaze softened, and he allowed himself a brief smile. “Even if I do make you keep chocolate bars handy for moral support?”

She laughed, reaching into the cupboard to pull one free. “Exactly. Chocolate first, full moon second. That’s the order of operations.”

Remus looked at the little clock on the wall regretfully. “I’m afraid not tonight; I’ve left it all too late.” He glanced at her again. “Stay inside,” he told her. “Lock the doors, and don’t step past the wards. Promise me.”

“I will,” she said, but the words felt thin.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” he said with false joviality. “Enjoy having the bed to yourself; maybe break your code of conduct and wear socks if your feet get cold? And… sleep well, I guess.”

He gave her one last glance before retreating behind the protective circle. The moment he stepped across, she felt the ordinary rhythm of the cabin roar back into place: the smell of pine, the quiet crackle of the fire, even the stack of books on the table – all was exactly as it should be. And yet, as she sat, trying to read, her mind wouldn’t hold on to a single sentence.

Even normality felt wrong, without him there.

***

She must have read the same line at least eighteen times (‘The year that Buttercup was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was a French scullery maid named Annette’) when Narcissa heard a sound that made her stomach twist: low, ragged, tormented howls on the wind. 

The book lay forgotten as she pressed herself against the windowpane, peering into the darkness beyond, desperate to see him. He had warned her that he had used the last of his wolfsbane already; that he would tear at himself as he struggled against the wolf inside him. He had explained that some of the scars he kept hidden were of his own doing. He had promised that it was just for one night, and he would be fine, and she should wait for him.

But Narcissa remembered how his friends had walked with him at night, guiding him through the changes. How he said it had been easier when he had company. She was on her feet before she could think better of it.

Wand in hand, she pushed through the door and stepped lightly through the wards. The magic pulsed against her skin like a warning, but she ignored it, following the sound to the woodshed and its heavy, bolted door.

***

The enormous creature shook uncontrollably as Narcissa entered, but its wild eyes recognised her immediately. The wolf didn’t snarl, didn’t lash out; instead, it fell forward onto its belly, claws scraping the ground, body heaving with exhaustion and pain.

Gently, she reached out and placed her hand on its head. The warmth of her palm anchored the wolf; the trembling slowed. Its body relaxed, the tension of the transformation seeping into the floor as it crawled closer toward her, resting its head in her lap like a wounded dog, trusting her completely.

“You’re safe,” she murmured. “I’m here.”

Remus’s eyes met hers, calm at last. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped him as she kissed his shaggy head of grey fur, marveling at the beauty of the beast and the trust in his gaze. Even in the shadow of the full moon, with danger coiled in every muscle, she felt utterly safe. And she would never let him forget it.

***

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, and for the first time in hours, everything felt calm. Remus stretched, the tension of the previous night drained from his body, and waved the half-eaten chocolate bar at her in admonishment.

“You could’ve –”

“– and I would have used the wand, just like you said,” she interrupted. “But I’m fine, aren’t I?”

He exhaled, half-laughing, half-grumbling. “You’re even madder than Sirius, and that’s saying something.”

Narcissa smirked, leaning back against the pillows; even with shadows around her eyes, he thought she looked radiant. “Say that again and I’ll cut off your chocolate supply forever.”

Remus laughed softly. Then, carefully brushing her vanilla hair to one side, he leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. “Thank you for being there last night,” he murmured.

“I should be thanking you,” she replied. “For… trusting me.”

They shared the chocolate bar in comfortable silence, then drew the curtains back across the window and crawled under the covers once more. With nothing to do and nowhere to be, the world felt safe again. And so, curled together like kittens, they finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Remus refused to use a hip flask after the Alastor Moody scandal of the previous year. He was not opposed, however, to whipping out his orange thermos (muggle tech, virtually indestructible) so that he could keep sipping at the foul-tasting cocktail that Severus had brewed for him the night before.

“It’s not a cure,” Severus had said. “There is no cure for this, other than –”

“– killing Lord Voldemort? Yes, you did mention that,” Remus had replied mildly, twirling the little ring of silver buried deep in his pocket.. 

“Very droll. Don’t forget that it needs to be drunk throughout the day; that should help to at least slow the symptoms and keep any unstable surges at bay. For the time being.”

Whenever his scars pulsed, Remus took a glug of the fortifying potion and fought to keep himself from spitting it back out again. Pausing from the very important task of defeating Angelina in a duel, Fred raised an eyebrow at him. “Do we get extra points if we figure out who’s using the polyjuice, or…?” 

Remus smiled. “If only you still had that ingenious map of yours, Weasley. I’m sure Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs would have figured it out for you in no time.”

It was Fred’s turn to grin. “Even the most basic sneakoscope does the same trick,” he said, removing one from his pocket and waggling it proudly. It was, mercifully, still. “Moony and co were good, but –”

“Good?” Remus retorted, in mock dismay. “Don’t call us good. A sneakoscope will tell you if someone’s being dishonest, but it won’t reveal the true identity of someone using another person’s face – or show you where someone's hiding in their invisibility cloak. Or expose unregistered animagi. Or –”

“So patent the spell and make your fortune already! You could have taken early retirement years ago.”

“There’s a muggle book about the dangers of constant surveillance, Fred. You take a moment to read George Orwell’s 1984 and then tell me to hand over all of that monitoring magic to the Ministry.”

Fred rolled his eyes. Then, Angelina, bored of waiting, hurled a stream of red sparks in his direction, and he was forced to duck. Remus’s shield bloomed around his desk, protecting all of the neatly stacked essays from being sent flying, and Fred whirled around to resume his duel. 

It was, as seemed to be the case with all his classes at the moment, another chaotic session; the seventh years needed to blow off steam as they revised for their NEWTs, and the Duelling room was the perfect place to do it. While most were easing themselves back in with sillier spells, though (Remus had seen more than one Bat-Bogey Hex in use), Cedric was furiously firing jinxes at Marcus Flint. The Slytherin was all but crouched behind a practice dummy, his own flimsy shield wavering with every moment.

“I think we can say that’s a point to you, Cedric,” said Remus quietly. “Shall we let Mr Flint up on his feet again?”

“Diggory’s just upset he won’t be seeing me on the Quidditch pitch again,” grunted Marcus, forehead slick with sweat. “They’re not going to let a dunglicking cr–“

The curse hit him with a flash of electric blue, sending the tall teenager rocketing into the wall nearby. Remus barely had time to soften the landing, but managed it with milliseconds to spare; Marcus landed heavily against the hastily conjured feather mattress and fell onto the floor with a satisfying “oomph”. 

“Sorry,” said George, looking anything but. “I was aiming for Lee –” and here, Lee Jordan snorted, “– and missed.”

Cedric glowered. “I know everyone thinks I’m pathetic now, but I can handle myself just fine.”

“Oh yeah, of course; we all know you can, mate,” said George, reddening slightly. “That’s not in question. And if my spell hadn’t been an accidental misfire, which it obviously was, sir –” he said, glancing at Remus, “– then it probably would have had nothing to do with you, and a lot more with the disgusting word that was about to come out of that half-troll’s mouth.”

“Who are you calling half-troll?” Marcus muttered from the floor.

“Sorry,” said George again promptly. “I just assumed, on account of the ugliness and extreme stupidity.”

Unwittingly, Remus’s mouth quirked – and he caught the ghost of a grin on Cedric’s face, too – but he lifted his wand when Marcus roared and staggered to his feet in George’s direction. The lanky redhead was surprisingly nimble for a Beater, though, and simply sidestepped. Marcus wound up grabbing at the air and falling flat on his face for a second time.

“Again,” said George to Cedric, who was laughing now, “nothing to do with you. That one was all about self-preservation.”

“Right,” said Remus, trying to rally some control back. “Why don’t the four of you swap partners for a bit – George and Cedric, Marcus and Lee. And take it to opposite sides of the room, alright? Hopefully the place will be less likely to explode that way.”

Lee had definitely drawn the shorter straw, but he took it well. Perhaps he realised that Remus had orchestrated the new pairings for the sake of Cedric, who was now banging hard on his magical leg with one hand as George watched him. He began performing a series of exaggerated stretches, reaching to the sky and back down to his toes. 

“Bloody thing doesn’t do what it’s supposed to, half the time,” muttered Cedric by way of explanation. George didn’t say anything; he just continued his ridiculous stretching routine. As such, the Hufflepuff felt compelled to fill the silence. “They made Zacharias the new captain after… you know, after the amputation. I think they thought I wouldn’t want to fly again,” he said. 

“He’s a git,” said George stoutly.

“He actually offered to hand it back to me when I came back,” replied Cedric quietly. “I said no; figured I’d just focus on the fun bit of playing. But they’re holding trials next week, and I don’t think –”

“You’ll ace them, Ced. You’re the best Seeker in the school after Harry – not that it’s hard, obviously,” grinned George. “All you have to do is fly about looking pretty and catch a Snitch. Everyone else on the team’ll handle the tricky stuff.”

Cedric huffed a laugh, even as he flexed his magical leg. “I’m not as fast at turns as I was,” he admitted. “This thing is… it’s taking some getting used to.” Then, he looked up. “Looking pretty?”

“It’s the hair,” said George quickly. “Every single Seeker I know has great hair. Even Viktor, remember?”

“Harry Potter, though.”

“Good point,” conceded George. “Pretty sure I’ve seen his hair eat brushes. He gets extra poster points for killing off You-Know-Poo.”

Cedric’s laughter rang out louder this time, and Remus smiled from across the room, even as he sipped at the awful potion again. If only laughter were the best medicine for everything.

***

After class, Remus asked Cedric to hang back for a moment. The boy nodded, watching George fall back into line with Fred, who was still sporting a mane of purple hair (“Mum’ll be pleased; she’ll finally be able to tell us apart!”) as Angelina giggled mutinously behind them. When the last few stragglers had left, Remus turned to Cedric and noted wryly that the boy already had his hand extended for the chocolate square he was about to offer.

“I hope you don’t mind, Cedric, but the runes on your prosthesis seem to have been applied a little overzealously,” he said. “Would you mind if I examined them?”

“Be my guest,” said Cedric, lifting his foot and balancing it against the desk. He munched the chocolate distractedly as he watched Remus run his wand over the shimmering wooden leg, muttering diagnostic spells furiously as he did so.

“Who placed them?”

“Dad did,” said Cedric shortly. “Why?”

Remus looked up, golden eyes meeting the Hufflepuff’s bright grey ones. “They’re full of love, but you might find they’re a little overprotective at times. Have you found it tricky to do anything, anything at all, that might be considered dangerous?”

“Like flying?” Cedric asked, a sudden jump of hope in his face.

“Exactly,” said Remus. “They’re your family’s magic, so I can’t do anything to soften it – but you can. If you like, I could show you how to do so safely.”

Cedric nodded.

***

Remus was halfway across the deserted corridor when the air around him changed; not the sharp crackle of a defensive charm, nor the prickle of wards being disturbed, but something older and quieter – a soft pressure behind the eyes, a sudden stilling of breath. He stopped walking at once.

The wolf stepped out of the stone, its eyes were unmistakably his. Not merely lupine, but familiar. The same steady amber gaze that stared back at him from mirrors on mornings when the moon had been particularly cruel. Cissa. He swallowed, hard, and raised his wand. “I’m listening.”

Padding closer, the wolf’s silent paws left no mark on the flagstones. When it spoke, it did so in her voice, cool and unwavering. “Remus. This message may be observed. Act accordingly.”

His fingers tightened around his wand.

“There is a book in circulation among those who still call themselves faithful. It is not new, but it has resurfaced. It deals with something they know as The Mirror of Lunar Devotion, though the older name is Lunares Speculum. It predates the Founders. Possibly the Ministry. Possibly even Rome.”

The wolf’s head lifted, ears pricked, as though listening for dangers beyond the corridor.

“It concerns an artefact. An object bound to cycles, bloodlines, and obedience under reflection. You will understand why this troubles me.”

Remus felt a slow, cold unease settle in his chest.

“Draco’s reluctance has not gone unnoticed,” Narcissa continued, the words clipped now. “They intend to bring him to heel. By any means necessary.”

The wolf took another step closer, close enough now that Remus could see the individual threads of magic holding it together.

“I do not believe Hogwarts will remain neutral for long. Be careful, my love. Of them. Of yourself.”

And then it was gone, dissolving into motes of silver light that faded into the stone as though they had never been there at all.

Remus stood motionless for several seconds after the corridor returned to silence. His heartbeat felt too loud, his scars prickling faintly beneath his clothes. Every time he saw that wolf, he felt it: the wrongness of their separation, the stubborn certainty that something deeper than circumstance bound them together.

Fated, his mind supplied traitorously, and he reached automatically for the thermos

“That bad, is it?” said Minerva dryly from behind him.

Remus turned, schooling his expression. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I imagine not,” she said, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door behind her. When she spoke again, her voice had softened, but only slightly. “I assume Lady Malfoy has given you something new to worry about.”

Something in his expression must have answered for him, and she crossed the room, tapping her wand once against the desk to ensure privacy. Then, she fixed him with that same look that had reduced generations of students to honesty, himself included. “I thought as much. Which is why I’m very sorry to be the one that insists you worry about something else as well.” Minerva produced a folded parchment from her sleeve and handed it to him. “The Ministry inspection will be sooner than anticipated. Dolores Umbridge is the one leading it.”

Remus closed his eyes briefly, but Minerva did not miss it.

“I know,” she said sharply, before he could speak. “I know you’ve dealt with her before. I know precisely how unpleasant that was. And I also know that whatever your Miss Black has just warned you about feels more pressing, but that is exactly why you must take Umbridge seriously.”

“There are dangers beyond this castle that don’t announce themselves with Ministry seals,” he said bitterly.

“You have a habit of carrying everyone else’s burdens first. Of assuming you will endure whatever follows. But Umbridge will not be distracted by ancient relics or shadowy covens.” Clearly, Minerva had heard more than she’d let on. “She will see you. Your history. Your condition. Your associations. And she will use them.”

Remus sighed. “Then my days here are already numbered, Minerva.”

“Rubbish,” she snapped. “Hogwarts has survived worse than Dolores Umbridge, and so have you. And,” Minerva added more quietly, “if that poor woman is concerned enough to send you that, then whatever is coming will require you to be precisely where you are.” She straightened, smoothing her sleeves. “Now. Take a moment, if you must. Then pull yourself together. We cannot afford for you to be distracted – no matter how… Narcissa-shaped your thoughts currently are.”

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at Remus’s mouth despite himself. “Yes, Minerva.”

“Good,” she said crisply. “Because I expect you to be fully armed, intellectually and otherwise, when Umbridge arrives. Sentiment  will not save you from her, as well you know.” She paused at the corridor’s end, glancing back once. “But it may remind you why you’re still fighting.”

Then she was gone, leaving Remus alone once more and feeling as if the walls of Hogwarts were beginning, very slowly, to close in.

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe it’s almost Christmas,” said Narcissa. 

“You’ve said that at least twice this week,” came Remus’s teasing response, but he planted a kiss on the top of her woolly hat as he did so. 

The pair, bundled up in their warmest clothes, were walking back to their cabin arm in arm. If anyone had been able to see them (Remus had been overzealous with his disillusionment charms), they’d have seen  a very happy couple; red-cheeked and half-frozen, but oddly serene after paying a visit to the beautiful gothic chapel on the shores of one of the nearby lochs. 

The decision had been something of a spur of the moment thing; the pair had heard the church bells a few times, when the wind was just right, and Narcissa had never visited a muggle church before. Remus had been nervous about stepping beyond the protective wards of their cabin, of course, but he’d never been able to deny her anything before. How could he begin now? 

Still, however much he chuckled and smiled, he only truly relaxed after they had passed through the shimmer that surrounded their little home once more. “Hungry?” he called to her, as she caught up a book and flopped into an armchair. 

“Why waste time asking questions you already know the answer to?” she replied with a grin. 

“Careful,” he warned, eyes twinkling. “If I go on strike, you’ll starve in a matter of days. I’d be willing to bet every single galleon in my Gringotts vault that you don’t even know how to turn the hob on yet.”

She giggled and watched over the top of her book as he set to work; she loved the way his face looked when he was concentrating – and the way he hummed Queen songs under his breath when the gas was lit and forgot she could hear him. She especially loved the way he brought her a drink without asking, setting it up beside her and turning on the little paraffin lamp at her elbow when the sunlight ebbed away. 

“What are you doing?” she asked suddenly, watching him spread the blanket across the floor before the fire. This wasn’t a usual part of his dinner preparations. 

“Well,” he replied, carrying over the bowls laden with spaghetti and setting them out carefully. “I thought you might fancy a picnic this evening.”

Immediately, she slipped from the chair onto the floor. Sitting crosslegged before him, she twirled her fork into the carbonara, popped it into her mouth, and almost squeaked with joy at the intense cocktail of cheese, pepper, and fatty bacon. “You made this?” she asked, and he chuckled.

“Is it alright?”

She kissed him full on the mouth, cupping his cheeks in her hands as she did so. “It’s one of the best things I’ve ever tasted,” she told him earnestly, but her voice trailed off as he pulled out the bottles of butterbeer from behind his back. “What on earth…?”

“I don’t know, really,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know I should’ve waited for a special day, really, but –” listening to the choir with you felt like the best kind of magic, and it feels like there might be snow in the air tonight, and I still can’t believe you’re here with me, “– I don’t know. Today just seemed like a good day for it.”

She caught his hand and kissed it without thinking. “Today is a very good day for it.”

They ate and drank and talked together, Narcissa begging Remus to act out the last film he’d seen in the cinema – and him doing it, obviously, because he’d have done almost anything to make her smile. 

“So let me get this straight,” she said, interrupting him. “It was a sword made out of light?” 

“Yes,” he explained patiently. “A lightsaber. I love that you can see so many impossible things every single day –” and as if to prove the point, he waved his wand and their empty bowls carefully hovered their way over to the sink, “– but this is one step too far?” Before she could answer, he raised a finger. “Hold that thought,” he said, following after the dirty dishes. 

When he returned, he was holding a plate. Balanced upon it were two poached pears (the spices reminded her of Christmas in the best possible way) drenched in a chocolate sauce. “Not a soufflé or anything fancy, because I have no idea how I’d even begin – especially with that cooker,” he told her, “but I think it’ll do the trick.”

“Poires Belle Hélène?” she asked, eyes shining in the firelight.

“The very same,” he replied, setting it down before her as if it were an offering to a queen. “I remembered you raving about it after that trip you took to Paris.” 

“But that was ages ago.”

“Not so long,” he said, spearing a piece of the spiced fruit on a fork for her and popping it into her mouth. “What do you think?”

Narcissa chewed thoughtfully. “I think,” she said, “you’re the best person I’ve ever known.”

“It’s just a few pears and spices,” he laughed. 

“It’s not,” she told him seriously. “It’s everything. The things that you do for me go above and beyond my expectations, every single time.”

“Pears and spices, Cissa.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

***

The snow began falling sometime after they’d finished dessert; fine, drifting flakes that glowed silver in the moonlight, turning the whole world ghost-pale. The little cabin felt warmer for it, the fire crackling low, shadows swaying on the wooden walls like gentle hands. 

Remus was drying the last of the dishes, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, when he turned and caught sight of Narcissa at the window. She was watching the snowflakes drift by the glass, and the moon had claimed her for one of its own; she was bathed in its light and looked utterly ethereal. 

His breath caught in his throat. He had no right – no right at all – to want her the way he did. But she turned toward him, slow, deliberate, and her eyes softened like she’d heard every unfinished thought in his head.

“Come here,” she whispered.

He didn’t move.

“Cissa…”

“Come here,” she said again, and this time there was a tremor beneath the steel.

He crossed the small space between them like a man bewitched. She reached for him first, her fingertips grazing his jaw, tracing the faint stubble, brushing his lips. Her touch was reverent. Furious. Tender.

“You’re shaking,” he breathed.

“So are you,” she replied, as she rose up onto her toes, hands sliding to the back of his neck, and kissed him.

He caught her around the waist, pulling her flush against him. The kiss broke with a gasp, but he chased her mouth again – gentler this time, then deeper when she curled her fingers into his hair. “We can stop,” he managed, breaking free for a moment, his voice cracking on the words. “Just tell me before I –”

“No.” Her lips brushed his cheek, his throat, the corner of his mouth. “No, Remus. Don’t stop. Not tonight.”

The room seemed to shift around them; warmer, sweeter, the air humming with the very oldest of magics that recognised them both. Her hands slid down his chest, tugging at the buttons of his shirt with slow, trembling carefulness. Remus rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I know exactly,” she whispered. “I’ve known since I first saw you in that greenhouse when I was fifteen years old.”

Her fingers slipped beneath the linen and his resolve caved. He cupped her face and kissed her again, slower now, and her mouth opened under his. Then, her body pressed closer, and the heat rolled through him in a wave he couldn’t hope to fight.

***

They stumbled toward the bed in a tangle of hands and laughter and breathless half-words. Her jumper was tugged upwards and over her head and thrown across the room; her fingers disappeared up and under his shirt, following the ridges of scars on his shoulders and his chest as if learning a language written on his skin.

Outside, snow tapped like fingertips against the glass. Inside, they moved as if time had folded around them; slow, hungry, gentle, and inevitable. “I love you.” Remus’s mouth was against her ear. As his hand reached for the lamp, though, she grabbed it in hers.

“No,” she told him, her voice low and urgent. “No. I want to see you – all of you. Please.”  

His answer was to kiss the hollow of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, the freckle at her collarbone as she tore the shirt from his shoulders. “Don’t look away, then,” he whispered, his lips tracing and sculpting every inch of her body until her breath came hot and fast. As he settled himself between her legs, though, he stopped.

“Are you sure, Cissa?”

It sounded as if he were holding himself back – as if it were taking every ounce of his will to do so. There was a hunger in his voice unlike anything she’d ever heard before, and he groaned when she nodded, his mouth suddenly at her breast. Cradling his hips with her thighs, Narcissa gasped his name like a prayer, and the world narrowed to heat, breath, the feel of her beneath his hands. 

The candle burned low, and the storm drifted closer. Their hearts, though, beat like a single, frantic thing as they moved together in the moonlight.

“Stay with me.”

“Always.”

***

Later, much later, they lay tangled together, her cheek pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped around her as if shielding her from every darkness in the world.

“We could have been doing this in the Room of Requirement all that time, you know,” she said suddenly. 

“We’d never have left it again,” he replied. 

“Would that have been so bad?”

“No,” he said, and she glanced up at him with a wicked glint in her eyes. A growl rumbled low in his throat. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re complaining?”

He found her mouth with his, and his hands began the all-important task of exploring the secrets of her body. She placed hers on top of his and gently guided them where she needed them to go. And for a little while longer, the universe held its breath.

Chapter Text

It was barely past dawn when Remus hauled himself out of bed, the orange light of early Saturday filtering through the curtains. He didn’t linger over breakfast; there was too much to do. Even without his map, he knew what teenagers did at Hogwarts on Saturdays, and so he stationed himself by the gates with a battered copy of Reaper Man in hand.

He didn’t have to wait long. Hermione never slept in, and her friends were no match for her determination. Remus heard them before he saw them; Ron was moaning about the lack of sausage in his sandwich, Harry and Ginny were teasing him about his new penpal (“Just tell us who it is, Ron; it can’t be worse than anything we’re imagining!”).

Draco, however, was quietly arguing with Hermione about the contents of a neatly-penned letter in his hands.

“It doesn’t even sound like her,” he muttered furiously.

“Then maybe it wasn’t,” she replied urgently. “You told me yourself she has… company.”

“I hate that she’s called you a… well, you know. I’m so sorry, Granger.”

Remus watched as Draco reached out, fleetingly, to take Hermione’s hand in his own. At the leap of colour in her cheeks as she looked down at their clasped fingers. 

“It isn’t your fault, Draco,” she said, reaching up to brush his cheek. “It isn’t even hers, probably. It’s –”

“Draco. A word,” said Remus quietly. The boy turned at once. He always did; too quickly, as though he’d been expecting the summons long before it came. Hermione lingered, brow furrowed, but Remus lifted a hand. “Five minutes. That’s all.”

Draco hesitated, then nodded, peeling away from the group. Remus waited until they’d drifted out of earshot, boots echoing down the stone steps, before turning back to the boy beside him. Draco’s expression was carefully blank. Too careful.

“You’ve received a letter,” Remus said.

Draco’s mouth twitched. “I receive lots of letters.”

“Yes,” Remus agreed. “This one would have felt… unusual.”

The boy stiffened. Just slightly, but Remus had taught defensive magic long enough to recognise a shield snapping into place. “She sent another message,” Draco said after a moment. “Didn’t she?”

“She did.”

Silence pooled between them. Outside, the wind worried at the edge of the courtyard; somewhere in the castle, a door slammed. “Then why didn’t she send it to me?”

“Perhaps,” Remus said, placing a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder, “she knew you’d be unable to receive one without an audience. Some of your cohorts report back on your behaviour, Draco. You must have guessed that.”

“She told me she was displeased,” Draco said finally. His voice was flat, but his hands were clenched at his sides. “That I’ve… embarrassed myself. That I’ve embarrassed her.”

“Your mother wrote on another’s behalf, that much is obvious,” Remus said gently. “I suspect you know who. So, what do you think that person’s displeasure might look like? You know better than anyone what they’re capable of.”

Draco laughed, a bitter sound in the crisp autumn air. “You’re asking me like there’s a right answer.”

“I’m asking you because I don’t want you walking into Hogsmeade today,” Remus said firmly.

That got the boy’s attention. Draco looked up sharply. “What?”

“Not today. Not until we know more.”

“I’m not a child,” Draco snapped. “I can handle myself.”

“I’ve seen what you can do, and I know you can.” Remus’s voice was patient, even as his scars pulsed furiously. He sipped from his thermos and grimaced. “I knew I could, too, but that didn’t keep your aunt from using the Cruciatus curse on me when I wasn’t much older than you are now.”

Draco looked momentarily stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a long story, Draco, one I will gladly tell someday… but not today. Today, you turn around and return to the safety of the castle.”

“It’s a prison if you’re not allowed to leave,” the boy said mutinously.

“And if someone tore you from it and locked you in your father’s manor?” Remus countered, doing his best to keep his voice level. “Some prisons are better than others. Ask your mother.” He hesitated, then chose his words carefully. “There are places in the castle where you can be with friends – safely, away from prying eyes. The seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Walk past the wall three times and concentrate on what you need.” 

“But…”

Remus’s voice gentled. “I know it’s not the same as walking into Hogsmeade with her, and I know you want everyone to know that you’re… I know all of that. But for now, take the safer path. Please.”

“So we can be torn apart and married off to people we hate?” muttered Draco. “The safer path didn’t pay off for my mother.”

“Your mother is the one who –”

“Then she should tell me that herself, not send her pet wolf to do it!”

They stared at one another, magic bristling between them. Remus opened his mouth, then closed it again, screwing his eyes up in frustration when the words slipped away before he could grasp them. “Cissa,” was all he could manage, and the fragile peace snapped apart.

Draco turned on his heel and stormed back toward the castle. Hermione called after him, but he didn’t pause. The light pulsed painfully in his wrists as Remus rounded on the others.

“I know you all think you’re adults now,” he snapped, voice sharp enough to make them flinch, “but see reason.”

”It’s just Hogsmeade, Remus – be serious,” said Harry, smiling a little. Merlin, he looked so like James.

”The outside world isn’t safe right now, and you should know that better than anyone,” countered Remus. “Don’t make me ask your godfather to revoke your permission slip, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth fell open at that threat, but he soon recovered and began loudly listing off all the reasons Remus was a complete pillock (“You got up to so much worse when you were our age!”). And so he left them, sighing and rubbing at his eyes. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him; the dual role of guardian and strategist was relentless.

***

In the safety of his private quarters, where the fireplace flames licked the stone, Remus drained his thermos, tossed a pinch of Floo Powder into the grate, and conjured a link to Sirius through the green flames. 

“I can’t come next week; I wish I could,” he muttered, pacing. “I have to manage a pack of hormonal teenagers, and research an ancient relic that might kill us all.”

Sirius’s face wavered in the emerald blaze, eyebrows raised. “And hello to you as well, Moons,” he said. “You look like you’re having a restful weekend. Did you forget all of Snape’s warnings, or…?”

“Do me a favour and write to your godson,” snapped Remus, light flickering at the scars in his wrists. “Tell him it isn’t safe to leave the grounds. I’ve just tried to do the same with Draco.”

“Ah yes,” said Sirius gravely. “Telling teenagers not to do something. That always works so well.”

“What if they’re already watching?” Remus said, voice tight. “Cissa says they’re displeased with Draco. They know Dumbledore won’t hand him over, so what if they snatch him from –” He faltered, unable to remember the name of the place he’d visited with his friends a thousand times before.

“Hogsmeade,” supplied Sirius. “Deep breath, Moons. Terribly unsettling to be the calm one for once.”

“Sorry,” muttered Remus, massaging his temples. 

“Don’t be,” replied his friend merrily. “Potion?”

Remus sighed, but obediently drained the thermos. “Disgusting.”

“Sorry, Moons,” said Sirius, sounding anything but. “Now, my thoughts: giving orders to that lot? Bad idea. Harry has a cloak, a map of every secret passageway in the school, and he’s 50% Prongs, so we know he’ll use them to sneak out – deranged murderer on the loose or not. Draco sounds far more Black than Malfoy, which is a very good thing. Even if it means he’s likely to smell the stink of hypocrisy whenever his mother comes up in conversation.”

“But Draco has no idea about any of that.”

“Kids are smarter than we give them credit for, Moony, and your face always gives you away when you hear Narcissa’s name,” chuckled Sirius. “Advise them to be safe. Appeal to their egos. Maybe try the old, ‘don’t do it for me; do it to protect your friends,’ line; that’s how I’d go about it. And the ancient relic? The one that might kill us all? Write to Andromeda,” he said casually, as if the answer were obvious. “She’s the best person for this. She’ll know what to do.”

Remus paused, letting the suggestion settle. It was all… it was all annoyingly excellent advice, quite frankly.

“You’re right,” he conceded, and Sirius mimed a fainting fit. “What brought on this uncharacteristic bout of logical thought?”

“There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for,” Sirius intoned, and Remus allowed himself a small, tired smile.

“You finally read it, then?”

“My schedule cleared up a bit when school started,” admitted Sirius. “Still one book to go, though. I can see why you love it so much. You’ve always got that bloody ring in your pocket, for starters – and Strider reminds you of me, right?”

Remus’s laughter echoed around the room.

***

Later, he sat at his desk and stared at a blank sheet of parchment.

Asking Andromeda for help felt selfish. He had already taken too much from her in kindness, discretion, and silence. But Narcissa’s warning echoed in his mind, braided with Minerva’s insistence that Dolores Umbridge was not a threat to be underestimated.

If there was anyone who could trace the academic ghosts of a shattered relic, it was Andromeda. And if there was anyone who could follow those traces into the dangerous, shifting spaces where theory became practice…

Remus dipped his quill and began.

Dear Andromeda,

I hope this finds you well, and your home calmer than when I was last there. I also hope that I am not imposing too dreadfully by writing.

I’ve come across references to an artefact – lunar in nature, reflective rather than destructive – and I find myself in need of someone who understands Defence not merely as curriculum, but as lived magic.

I hesitate to ask, knowing how much I already owe you. Still, if you were able to recommend anyone with a particular talent for transformation, adaptability, and thinking on their feet, I would be most grateful.

Someone with ever-changing hair, perhaps?

With affection (and apologies),

Remus

He sealed the letter, letting the owl whisk it away before he could second-guess himself. And he hoped, as Samwise Gamgee once had, that even darkness must pass, and that a new day would come – brighter and clearer than any before.

Chapter Text

It was still snowing when he finally woke up; soft, lazy flakes that drifted past the cabin windows like little scraps of moonlight. Remus watched them contentedly, his nose buried sweetly in Narcissa’s tumble of vanilla hair, wondering what time it was. Surely closer to lunchtime than breakfast – later, even, considering how high the sun seemed to be.

“We overslept, then,” she said sleepily, and he smiled.

“Did we sleep?” he replied, gently kissing her bare shoulder.

She turned in his arms, grinning wickedly at him when she felt his body stir in response. “Surely you need to eat first?” she asked, pressing herself against him in a way that made it all too clear that she absolutely didn’t.

Remus’s answer was lost against her mouth, and time marched on without them once more.

***

Later, much later, they sat together at their tiny table, silently devouring their bowls of porridge (Remus had chopped up the last of the spiced pears to adorn it) like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. He kept stealing glances at her and smiling to himself at the sight; even in her white jumper and jeans, she looked like a faerie princess, he thought… which most likely forced him into the role of the beast at the feast.

“You look different,” said Narcissa suddenly, as if she’d caught the tail end of his thoughts. 

“Bad-different?”

“No,” she replied with a smile. “You look… well, you look really relaxed, Remus. It suits you.”

He smiled at that, picking up her empty bowl for her and kissing her forehead as he did so. “More?”

“I’ve already had two bowls.”

“There’s more if you want it, Goldilocks.”

She giggled at that, and his heart felt like it was exploding in his chest. Merlin, how he loved the sound of her laugh. “I’m fine, honestly – but I’ll never say no to a hot chocolate.”

Remus threw her a mock salute, and set to work heating up some milk in the little saucepan as the dishes washed themselves behind him at the sink. She watched him for a moment, before her eyes landed on the letter from James and Lily – the one with the photo pressed inside of them smiling and showing off the emerald ring on her finger.  She lingered over the postscript at the end: Really hope you can be there, Moons – and Narcissa, obviously. Wouldn’t be a wedding without you.

“Are we going to go, then?” she asked.

“Where?”

“To the wedding.”

Remus paused for a moment, then continued stirring. “Prongs said they haven’t even decided on a date yet.”

“But when they do, we’re going to go?” she persisted.

He set the chipped mug down before her and she fell upon it greedily. “Well, it depends on where it is, and when, and whether we can manage it,” he told her softly. 

“He’s one of your best friends.”

“I know he is,” said Remus. “I know that. But I’m not going to risk your safety.”

She found his hand and wrapped her fingers around it. “I don’t want you to be shut off from everyone, though.”

“It won’t be forever,” he replied. “We just need Malfoy to hurry up and choose a new victim.”

Narcissa mimed a shudder. “I don’t envy the woman who does end up marrying him,” she muttered. “He’s going to make her life a living hell.”

Remus reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face with his ever-gentle fingers. “I suppose it’s enough to put you off marriage for life?” he asked, trying to sound as if he didn’t mind either way.

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised and a hint of a smirk on her lips. “I’m opposed to marrying the great Lord Malfoy, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m already part of a fated pair, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” he said softly, kneeling down on the floor before her. “And I don’t have a ring, I’m afraid – not a proper one.” His voice wavered despite himself. He’d imagined this moment in so many ways, every word and every pause; now that it was here, none of them mattered. “Not yet. But I need you to know, Cissa, that I’m yours, body and soul, for as long as I live. I’ll be yours long after I die. I’m desperate to marry you the very second we can. And if that isn’t something you want, it doesn’t matter to me, because you are the only one, Cissa. The only one. Whatever happens.”

Narcissa stared in wonder as he brought out the little piece of ivy vine, and watched as he pressed his wand against it with a murmur. The greenery twirled and twisted itself into a circlet – just the size of her finger – magical sparkling frost covering it until it was the colour of moonlight.

“You can choose whichever hand or finger you want to wear it on,” he continued, his golden eyes fixed on her own. “It’s a promise, more than anything else. A promise to love you until –”

The force of her kiss almost knocked him over. “You’re an idiot, Remus Lupin,” she told him breathlessly. “In what world, in what possible lifetime, could you ever believe that I wouldn’t want to marry you?”

***

The week passed in much the same way; with kisses, laughter, card games and treasure hunts that usually ended in at least one of them completely naked. She wore her ring and marvelled at how it sparkled, even in the dull gleam of the paraffin lamps. He read aloud to her from her book, and she sighed over Buttercup and Westley’s great romance

They’d spent the entirety of the Sunday indoors, and the sun was very low in the sky when Narcissa finally glanced at the window. She padded barefoot across the wooden floor, rescuing her clothes from the many places they’d been scattered (she grinned guiltily as she removed her jumper from the top of the lampshade) and dressed herself. Remus watched her through half-lidded eyes, loving her all over again in the orange glow; she didn’t look ethereal or untouchable, as she did under the moon, but warm, human, and flushed with joy. 

The cold breeze hit him hard when she opened the door, stepped into her boots, and walked into the light of the dying day, her breath curling in front of her.

“Come see,” she called softly, without looking back.

Wordlessly, he pulled on his shirt and jeans, and stood on the stone doorstep in his bare feet. The world was silent, save for the soft hiss of falling snow. Narcissa knelt a few yards away, wand in hand, sweeping it in a gentle arc so the white flurries gathered, swirling upward and shaping into a tiny crooked snowman.

Remus couldn’t help it; he laughed, barely noticing the cold. “I hope that’s not supposed to be me, Cissa.”

“Of course,” she teased. “Lifescale model.” 

“That’s not what you were saying earlier,” he said merrily, tossing a snowball at her. 

“Fine,” she called back. “You’re right; it’s missing something.” Turning back to the little snow sculpture, Narcissa whispered a single word under her breath. A word Remus had heard once before, whispered in old Black corridors. “Sidera.”

A harmless little charm; she meant to make the snowman sparkle. Except… the air rippled. A cold shiver ran through the trees. A ward pulsed; something ancient, vicious, and built into Narcissa’s blood.

The snowman didn’t merely glitter; it blazed. Starlight erupted across its crooked body, too bright, too sharp, throwing fractured light across the snow and trees like broken glass. The magic hummed, high and thin, and the forest seemed to lean away from it.

Remus’s stomach dropped. “Cissa,” he whispered, “what did you just say?”

She blinked. “Only a charm my mother taught me when I was –”

The light flared again, brighter still, and Narcissa gasped as something pulled; not at Remus’s wand in her hands, but at her chest. A sudden, sickening tug behind the ribcage. 

Recognition bloomed. horrible and certain: her mother hadn’t taught her sweet childhood magic.

She’d taught her a locator trigger.

Chapter Text

There was snow on the ground, and blood on the snow, and the unmistakable crackle of magic in the air.  “Please,” she screamed, “please don’t do this.”

And then, before the rest of the terrible story could play out as it always did, Narcissa found herself staring into the darkness of her own cavernous bedroom at Malfoy Manor. 

It wasn’t the first time that she had woken to find tears on her face, and she sorrowfully suspected it wouldn’t be the last, either. Briskly, though, she wiped her cheeks with one of the handful of silk handkerchiefs the elves insisted on stowing beside her bed, and stared upwards at the black space above her head where she knew the ceiling was.

After midnight, she suspected. The dream – the nightmare, she supposed – had been the same one that had plagued her for nearly two decades now. It wasn’t, however, the thing that had jolted her from sleep, and so she forced herself to breathe a little slower, to let her body quieten and still beneath the tangle of heavy sheets. And then, ever so faintly, she heard it again.

Someone was calling her. 

No, something was calling her.

Immediately, Narcissa slipped from her bed and reached for the wand that was no longer there, but locked in the secret drawer of her husband’s desk. Too dark. It was too dark to see anything, let alone find her way through the house without anyone hearing her. But then she summoned the memory of Remus gently pressing his hands over her eyes (“Sight is only one of your senses, Cissa; the world is far more beautiful if you allow all of them a chance to shine”) and forced herself to stop. To listen to the way the unknown voice sounded in the corridors. To feel the way the marble felt beneath her bare feet. To follow the unmistakable scent of roses curling their way up the stairs towards her. 

Remus had pretended it was a game; a treasure hunt based on scent and taste and touch, with – and she blushed at the memory – a wonderfully unexpected prize at the end (“I thought the whipped cream was for the hot chocolate!”). She suspected, though, that he’d been training her for moments like this. Moments when she was alone, and unarmed, and wholly dependent on herself. He had never left anything to chance when it came to her safety, after all.

The voice was calling to her without words – without sound, even. She followed it down the corridor, down the stairs (bypassing the creaky one near the top), and through to… a part of the house that she hadn’t been to in ages: the gallery, where Lucius stored all of his dubious treasures. Narcissa reached for the handle of the door, knowing it would be locked fast. As her fingers pressed against it, though, there was a definite ‘click’ – as if someone waiting on the other side had unlocked it for her.

***

Narcissa’s heart broke a little when she saw her precious mirror; it had once been a thing that filled her with so much joy – that connected her to Remus, even when they were apart. Now, seeing it nailed to the wall, thrumming like it were a living creature, she felt an overwhelming urge to smash it. 

She moved closer. There was a red fingerprint on the frame, she noticed with detached horror. Dried blood. Remus’s blood. 

Pressing a hand to her mouth, she turned from the tainted object – and realised suddenly that the wall beside it wasn’t a wall. It was glass. 

Not whole, but fractured; a dazzling mosaic of cracks and missing pieces, each shard catching the light at a slightly different angle. The magic here felt desperately wrong here somehow; heavier, older. It pressed against her teeth.

“Lunares Speculum,” she breathed at last, one hand slowly reaching forwards – until she caught sight of her reflection.

In the mirror, she looked… different. Darker. Sharper. More powerful. It frightened her, especially when the reflection moved slightly faster than she did. When it smiled at her, slow and deliberate, Narcissa felt her breath catch. As if she were the echo of her true self.

Fighting the urge to flee, she instead forced her trembling fingers to brush the glass – to snatch a shard free from the frame before the woman in the mirror was able to grab at her wrist. She walked backwards, eyes never leaving her reflection, until she felt the door against her spine and could escape into the silent corridor beyond.

***

Thank Merlin for the moon; she tore back the heavy curtains in her room and let its light spill across her bureau, wrapping the stolen shard in silk with shaking hands. It felt warm under her fingers; not comforting, exactly, but alive. As though it knew where it was going.

By the time the sun had begun its arduous task of chasing away the night, Narcissa had written three letters and burned two of them.

The one she kept was short, careful, and deliberately ordinary. She told him about the dream. About the roses blooming far too early in the west wing. About how the house had been quiet lately; as if it were holding its breath. About the visitor who watched her with hungry eyes. She did not mention blood. She did not mention mirrors. She did not write the words, I am afraid, though they hovered between every line.

At the very end, she added only this:

Seventy-two days until Christmas. I am counting them. I hope you are, too.

She tied the silk-wrapped shard to the owl’s leg, whispering an apology that the beautiful bird could not understand, and watched until the gleam of its wings vanished into the grey morning.

Then Narcissa returned to her bed, folded her hands over her ribs, and stared at the ceiling.

Seventy-two days, she told herself again. Seventy-two days – and then, perhaps, she could finally return to the one person who felt like home.

Chapter Text

The owl watched Remus with one yellow eye from its perch on his windowsill. He absent-mindedly smoothed its feathers, offering it a bite of his morning toast as he untied the scroll of parchment and the little bundle of silk from its leg. Narcissa’s scent clung to both, and he felt a familiar ache deep in his chest as he breathed her in, as if she were there before him.

Her letter was a potent mixture of hope and dread; he read her words over and over as he unwrapped the parcel, barely noticing the blood blooming on his fingertip when he caught himself on the shard within. She was plagued by the same nightmares as he. She was tormented by her sister. She was terrified, even if she didn’t dare admit it.

“Seventy-two days,” he murmured, staring out at the world beyond the window, as if she might somehow hear him across the miles. It felt like an impossible number to wait – too many, far too many – yet barely anything compared to the long years that had passed since he had last held her in his arms. He could wait. He had become very good at waiting.

Remus’s gaze drifted to the shard of mirror on his desk, its jagged edge stained with his own blood. It hummed with magic; not dark, exactly, but powerful. Ancient, too. A piece of the very artefact she’d warned him about.

He sucked his fingertip and reached for his thermos. Work awaited, and he needed to begin immediately.

***

“Why exactly have you summoned me, Weasley?” Severus asked, sweeping into Bill’s office, cloak swirling. He caught sight of Remus behind the lanky redhead, and one eyebrow quirked upwards.

“Professor Snape,” said Bill easily. “Remus mentioned that you’d probably want to be here for this.”

The shard lay on the desk between the two men, and Severus glanced at it. “Hardly a matter for a Potions master,” he said carelessly, dark eyes fixed on Remus. Did she send you this? his voice demanded within the confines of Remus’s mind.

Yes, he thought back. 

Then she is incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. 

We both know it’s the former.

The Dark Lord will not forgive her if he ever learns she is to blame for this loss.

“But why does Voldemort even have this in the first place?” Remus burst out, frustration threading his words.

Bill looked between them, assessing, then spun his wand to strengthen a privacy ward around them. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to pretend I didn’t just hear that?”

Severus glared at Remus. “You are disastrously ill-equipped for subterfuge, Lupin. And in answer to your question, even I do not know why the Dark Lord wants this particular item rebuilt.”

“Probably not because he wants to look at his ugly face all day,” Bill interjected, attempting to lift the mood. Neither man laughed. He sighed, leaning forward to study the shard again with careful eyes. 

“I don’t think there’s a curse on this, not exactly,” he said slowly. “But… it’s hungry. Hungry to be whole again, to reunite with the rest of itself. That power humming through it? It’s very old, older than most magic we deal with, even at Gringotts – and it could be used for dark or light, depending on whose hands it falls into.” He looked at Remus grimly. “Obviously… not Voldemort’s. We can all guess which way he’ll be leaning.”

Remus’s fingers tightened around his thermos, and he forced himself to take another deep sip from it before he spoke again. “So it reacts to… intention?”

Bill nodded. “In a manner of speaking. That’s why we need to be cautious. Every touch, every thought near it, could stir something unintended.”

Severus’s dark eyes flicked between the two of them. “So, we have a fragment of dangerous, unpredictable magic in Lupin’s possession, stolen from its mother source and sent deliberately from Black family hands. Marvellous.”

Remus reached out to touch the shard again, but Bill’s wand barred his way. “No touching, Remus. You’ve already marked it. Call me old-fashioned, but spilling blood onto something like this is never a good idea.”

“It’s from the Lunares Speculum,” Remus said quietly. “I’ve already asked Nymphadora Tonks to investigate it, find out its original purpose – how it works, why it exists. But I don’t think she understands quite how dangerous it is.”

A sudden noise pulled their attention to the doorway: the first-years lining up for class, chatter rising like wind through bare branches. Remus exhaled, trying to steady himself. He wrapped the shard back in its silk wrapping and lifted his head, forcing his shoulders back.

Severus swept forward, cloak trailing over the floor as always. “We have delayed you, Weasley,” he said, loud enough for the students to hear. “Come, Lupin – surely you must have somewhere to be. A room full of armed children intent on murdering one another, perhaps?” 

“I’ll keep this,” said Bill quietly, taking the bundle from Remus. “Let me talk to Tonks, help her investigate it properly. You shouldn’t have to handle this alone.”

***

The corridor was long, narrow, echoing with student footsteps. Severus fell into step beside Remus, eyes forward. “You must remain calm, Lupin.”

Remus barked a laugh. “How can I possibly keep calm?”

“It used to be something you were particularly skilled at, wolf.”

“You don’t underst–” 

“I understand these stakes better than anyone,” whispered Severus furiously, glancing about to make sure no one was listening. “And I will do my utmost to ensure no harm comes to her. You have my word, Lupin.”

Severus’s presence grounded him… but barely. The moment they peeled off in separate directions, the pulse in his wrists flared again. He rubbed them quickly, swallowing another glug of potion as he did so. He had a plan, of course – and Narcissa clearly did, too. But as he had learned long ago, even the best plans could fail.

***

It was his last lesson of the day, and he was beyond exhausted – especially so, as Draco and Harry were still treating him like the wicked witch in a fairytale. Neither had looked at him once, clearly still steaming over the Hogsmeade situation. Harry had resorted to one-word answers whenever he had to speak to Remus, which the teen ensured was as little as possible; Draco was simply silent. 

Hermione and Ron did their best to make up for it, shooting him apologetic smiles whenever he passed their group. Remus didn’t care; let them all hate him, if they must. Just so long as they were safe.

He stopped beside Neville, warmly praising the boy for the excellent body-binding spell he’d sent rocketing at Dean Thomas. “Where did you learn that one?” he asked.

Neville smiled nervously, glancing over to where Hermione was firing counter-curses at Draco. “A friend introduced me to it back in first year,” he said.

“You should be proud – binds are fiendishly tricky,” Remus said again, undoing Dean’s invisible bonds with a twirl of his wand. “Although it might be worth reviewing your shield charms, Dean.”

Everyone had improved significantly, Remus thought as he surveyed the room. When they’d first begun Duelling last year, they’d only really had a grip on the most basic of all the stunning and disarming spells; now they were using genuinely impressive protective magic – the kind that many adults themselves would struggle with. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to smile, even as Harry glowered at him from across the room (Merlin, the boy shared his godfather’s penchant for drama). But then…

He felt it more than he saw it: the shift of focus as Vincent Crabbe turned toward Draco and the others, wand in hand. The vicious glint in the boy’s eye. Gregory Goyle laughing beside him. The muttered, ugly words: “Projectus intestinus.” 

There was a sudden leap of fear in the others’ eyes as the deadly curse rocketed toward them. Without thinking, Remus fired a defensive charm – at the exact same moment as a surge of magic in his wrists flared uncontrollably. The resulting bloom of power came out far stronger than intended, his spell lifting both Slytherin boys off the ground and hurling them against the wall like ragdolls. They crumpled to the floor, eyes closed, completely still.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Class dismissed,” Remus said hoarsely, his eyes fixed on Crabbe and Goyle. “Everyone out. Now.”

He ignored the stunned stares and the buzz of frightened voices as he sent his Patronus racing down the corridors to fetch Poppy. He shook his head, too, when Harry lingered at the door. “Out, I said. Now.”

When the last student had left, he sank to the floor beside the two unconscious teenagers, resting his head gently on his knees. And that was exactly how Poppy and Minerva found him when they came rushing into the classroom together.

***

Dumbledore had ordered him to rest, of course, even as he thanked him for stopping another ugly bout of unwanted publicity (Rita Skeeter would have had an absolute field day if Crabbe’s Entrail-Expelling Curse had hit its mark). His resignation attempt had been pushed to one side and ignored.

“Although,” the headmaster had added, blue eyes lingering on the pale scars at Remus’s wrists, “a little extra support may be prudent, while you contend with the… shadows of the summer.”

Now Remus sat alone in his room, wondering if it was too soon to bother Sirius again – Padfoot always knew how to make him laugh, even when everything hurt – when there came a quiet knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called, expecting Minerva – or possibly Severus – to appear. Instead, Draco and Harry entered together, and for a moment Remus had to blink hard; both boys looked so much like their mothers in the light of the setting sun.

“Professor Lupin – Remus, I mean.”

Remus cursed inwardly. “How can I help you both?” he began, but then Harry crossed the room and hugged him fiercely, and all the awkwardness between them was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said into his shoulder. “We’ve been such gits.”

“Speak for yourself, Potter,” Draco muttered, though he offered Remus a nervous smile as he did so. 

“I think it’s me who owes you both the apology,” Remus said quietly. “I haven’t been myself. And I handled the Hogsmeade situation very badly.”

Draco’s smile vanished. “That’s not what we came for, sir.”

Harry pulled back, green eyes sharp. “You’re hiding something. You look thinner. You forget words. Your magic –” His voice caught. “Are you dying?”

The question landed too fast, too bare.

Remus sighed. “I hope not.”

“The potion you keep drinking, though,” Draco pressed. “There’s a light at your wrists. And what happened in class? You don’t ever lose control like that.”

Remus closed his eyes briefly, then reached for his thermos. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. “You already know there was a ritual,” he said. “In the graveyard. It tethered me to him.”

Neither boy interrupted now.

“As he grows stronger,” Remus continued, “it drains me. There’s no cure.” He hesitated. “Not unless Voldemort dies.”

Harry went very still. “But you weren’t even supposed to be there,” he whispered. “It was supposed to be me.”

“Or me,” Draco muttered, running a hand through his hair. “The light nearly took me too, Potter.”

“And Merlin help me, I’m grateful every day that it was me,” Remus said. “I would never have forgiven myself if it had been either of you. Cissa certainly wouldn’t have – and Lily would have clawed her way out of the ground to finish the job.”

Harry scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, suddenly very interested in the view out of the window, while Draco stepped closer to place a steadying hand on Remus’s shoulder. “So,” he said, voice thin but determined, “we just have to kill the Dark Lord. Potter did it once already; he’s not all that with a wand now, and he was a baby at the time. How hard can it be?”

Remus let out a quiet, broken laugh. “That is, in theory, the plan. Preferably one carried out by people of wizarding age, though.”

“No,” Draco said firmly. “You said that my mother expects to see you at Christmas.” His jaw tightened. “And she’s already waited long enough.”

Chapter Text

Narcissa’s face drained of all colour, even as her fingers clenched tighter around Remus’s wand. “We need to go,” she murmured to herself. Remus was already moving, his bare feet flying across the snow. “Now. We need to go now.

The world cracked open before he could reach her. 

There was a sound like thunder, snow exploded outwards, and the temperature plunged. The ground underfoot was suddenly glazed with ice, the dying light of the sun fracturing across it in sharp, distorted shards. And, stepping through the drifting white like she was dressed for a gala, was Bellatrix.

“Well,” she purred, eyes fever-bright and smile sharp as broken glass. “Isn’t this precious? Expelliarmus.”

The wand tore itself from Narcissa’s grip, and landed on the ground at Bellatrix’s feet. Remus’s hand was suddenly there, though, pulling her behind him and pushing her back towards the cabin. 

“Run,” he told her urgently, squaring his shoulders and turning to face the oncoming nightmare.

“No wand,” said Bellatrix, looking him up and down. “No shoes, even. And no witnesses.”

“Bella,” Narcissa breathed, “please –”

“I told you to run,” barked Remus, but Narcissa’s legs felt frozen to the spot.

“What a noble monster you are,” said Bella, stalking closer, snow churning around her boots. Remus shifted his body so that he was fully between the two sisters. “And how woefully misinformed.” Slowly, hungrily, she fixed her black eyes on his. “You think I came for her?”

“Then leave her,” he said quietly. “Let her go.” 

Bellatrix’s smile sharpened. “Cruc–”

“NO!” Narcissa sobbed.

The curse hit, and Remus staggered backwards with a gasp. He didn’t fall, though, and he didn’t scream. Narcissa would remember that for the rest of her life: he didn’t scream. 

“Run,” he whispered again. And then he was moving forwards, moving towards Bella, and barreling into her so hard that she tumbled backwards into the snow. Her own wand went skittering across the ice.

Narcissa was running now – not towards the cabin or the safety of the woods, but towards Remus’s wand. Another crack split the air, and a full-body binding curse hit her squarely in the back. She fell forwards, snow pressing horribly against her face and making it almost impossible to breathe – until a hand yanked her upwards.

“Well met, Narcissa,” spat her father, his mouth against her ear and his wand pressed to her throat. Then, louder: “Unhand her, mudblood. Don’t think I won’t use Cruciatus on my own daughter.”

Remus stood immediately with his hands above his head, just as Narcissa had feared he would. His cheek was bleeding, four long claw marks torn across it. Bella was still sprawled on the ground behind him. 

“I think we’d all better go inside,” said Lord Black, pulling his cloak around himself a little tighter. “Bellatrix, on your feet. Now.”

***

Narcissa and Remus sat on opposite ends of the little sofa: she was trembling uncontrollably, and he reached across the space to take her hand in his. He squeezed it, just once, and the little ivy ring was gone from her finger when he let go. She glanced at him, and he shook his head minutely.

“I need to know,” said Lord Black suddenly, “whether you have sullied my daughter? Have you rendered her useless?”

“No,”’said Remus, barely flinching when Bella shoved her wand into his bloodied cheek. 

“You expect us to believe that, wolf? You expect us to believe that you’ve been living in this –” she hurled a curse at the clean dishes stacked neatly by the sink, and they shattered into a thousand pieces, ceramic fragments scattering across the floor and catching the light in warped, glimmering reflections, “– disgusting little shed for months, and you haven’t so much as laid one filthy finger on her?”

“We were waiting,” said Remus. “We wanted to wait until we could marry.”

Lord Black laughed humourlessly. Then, he turned to Narcissa, and she felt the familiar chill at the nape of her neck as he performed legilimens upon her. Carefully, she thought of the first night they’d arrived at the little cabin, when Remus had slept on a chair in the corner of the room, despite her pleading with him to come to bed. The night when she had kissed him and he had gently told her that she didn’t owe him anything. The evening after the full moon, when he’d fallen asleep on the sofa and she’d quietly tucked a blanket around him and padded off to bed. The sofa. The sofa.

“He’s telling the truth,” said Lord Black, even as Bellatrix screamed with laughter.

“Are you mad, father? Of course they’ve been –” but she stopped with a shocked cry when her father blasted a cloud of red sparks at her.

“You forget yourself, daughter,” he said silkily. “Now, the contract.”

The contract – the very same contract that Narcissa had run from, full of its claustrophobic clauses and demands – appeared in the air in front of her. Lucius Malfoy’s name swam before her eyes, and she blinked away the tears.

“You will sign now, Narcissa, and you will return home.”

She shook her head desperately. “Please, father. Can’t we just –”

“Crucio.”

The curse caught them both off guard, and Remus convulsed so hard he tumbled to the floor, his body rigid.

“Don’t worry, little dove,” Bellatrix crooned, stepping closer to Remus. “I won’t kill him. Not if you do as father says.”

Remus writhed, his teeth clenched and bleeding, and Bellatrix tilted her head, fascinated as she watched the curse at work.

“Stop it!” Narcissa cried. 

“You really love him, don’t you?” said Bella with vicious delight, lifting her wand. The curse stopped, but the pain remained, jangling through his nerves like electricity. “Oh, how delicious. How pathetic.”

“Bella, I beg you –” Narcissa choked, stumbling to the floor and wrapping her arms around Remus as his breath hitched in wet, broken gasps, each one sounding like it might be the last.

“No,” Bellatrix hissed, eyes burning like coals. “You don’t get to beg. You don’t get anything, Cissy. You are signing that contract and  coming home. And you will thank us for saving you from this –”

Another flick.

“Crucio!”

Remus convulsed again, choking out a hoarse sound that didn’t even sound human. Narcissa could feel it through the floorboards, the violent shudder of him echoing up her arms as she clung to him. She sobbed in terror, looking to her father, but he stared back at her in silence as he calmly readjusted his cuffs. 

Bellatrix held the curse for a terrible, calculated heartbeat longer, then let it drop. Remus collapsed, trembling, barely conscious.

Snow fell silently against the windowpane, and the glass rippled strangely, as if the world itself had blinked. Bella crouched beside her sister, gripping her chin. “You have two choices,” she whispered. “Sign and come home, now… or watch me finish him.”

Narcissa shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please don’t make me.”

“Choose.”

And Narcissa, who had held her own against the worst of their family, broke. “I’ll do it,” she whispered.

“Louder,” Bellatrix demanded.

“I’ll sign. I’ll come home,” Narcissa said, louder, each word was a blade in her throat. “I won’t run again. Just… please don’t hurt him anymore. Let him live.”

Bellatrix smiled, sharp and satisfied. “Good girl.”

Lord Black drew a quill from his pocket and handed it to her. Remus’s hand lifted weakly, trying to catch her wrist, but she forced herself to stand. To let the ink bleed across the parchment. To watch it glow a vicious shade of red before the ink dried.

“Take her,” her father said to Bellatrix, his grey eyes on Remus. “I will deal with the mess.”

Narcissa’s scream tore through the cabin as Bellatrix giggled maniacally, and she saw Remus reaching for her even as his body failed him. Then, the feeling of iron bands tightening around her chest took hold, and the world spun dizzyingly on its axis.

Her father’s voice roared: “AVADA K–”

Blackness swallowed everything. The last thing Narcissa knew was Remus’s name tearing itself from her throat, the locket humming hot against her breast.

Chapter Text

Bellatrix had fallen upon the talon-shaped wand like it was her longlost child, kissing the intricate, wood-like carvings and making sickly cooing sounds. Then, she grinned wickedly at Narcissa, and turned to the house elf stoking the fire. 

“Crucio,” she purred, and the creature fell to the ground with a scream of anguish.

“Bellatrix, really,” said Severus, sounding bored. He was still holding the wooden box he’d brought the wand in, and placed it carefully on the table. “This family finds it difficult to retain its staff at the best of times.”

“Fine,” she pouted, cutting off the curse mid-stream. The elf lay twitching and whimpering on the floor, as everyone sat at the table pretended they couldn’t see it. Lucius had gone very pale, and discreetly dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

Narcissa kept her eyes on the wand in her sister’s hand, wishing she could reach out and snap it into pieces. It was the source of all her heartbreak, she thought. It was the reason that she and Remus weren’t sitting together having breakfast right now, arguing over their Saturday cinema plans and wondering what their children were up to at Hogwarts. It was –

Have a care, Cissy, came Severus’s voice in the back of her mind. Your thoughts are incredibly loud right now.

She forced herself to focus on her reflection in the silver teapot, schooling her expression back into one of quiet neutrality. Severus’s eyes flickered to hers, and he inclined his head by the tiniest fraction. “No, Bellatrix,” he said aloud. “St Mungo’s is far too public. Your wand being returned to you does not render you invisible.”

“I don’t want to be invisible,” snapped Bella. “I want the Longbottoms to see me walking towards them, and I want them to know I’m there to –”

“No. The Dark Lord wishes you to remain here for the time being.”

Unexpectedly, Lucius looked up to catch Narcissa’s eye at that. For a moment or two, they held one another’s gaze over the table, discomfort all too apparent; her husband was as distressed by Bella’s constant presence as she was. He was, judging by the map of lines and shadows that crossed his face, also plagued by nightmares and sleeplessness. And he was all too clearly terrified at the prospect of living alongside the eldest of the Black sisters when she was armed with her wand.

“Perhaps, wife,” he began stiffly, “it’s time that your wand is returned to you, too.” Her heart leapt. “You seem to have learned your lesson. We should put the events of the summer behind us, and– ” here, he paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words, “try to pull together.”

The enemy of my enemy, she thought traitorously, and saw Severus’s lip twitch. “I would be very grateful, husband,” she said carefully.

“How sentimental of you, Lucius,” said Bella. “Perhaps there’s hope of another Malfoy heir yet, Cissy.”

“Perhaps,” murmured Narcissa quietly, eyes on her lap now.

“Did the mediwitches at St Gianna’s ever explain what’s wrong with you?”

“They continue to run tests. They’re hopeful we still have a chance.”

Bellatrix was suddenly too close. “Do you need me to come with you next time, sister? Time is ticking and I’m sure I could help them get to the bottom of this neverending mystery. Unless…” She paused, her red lips brushing Narcissa’s cheek. “Maybe the problem doesn’t lie with you; maybe it’s your fault, Lucius.”

Lucius coloured, a faint tremor in his hand as he dabbed again with his napkin. “This is a vulgar topic for the breakfast table.”

“Quite,” said Severus primly. “We’d just started eating.”

“Trouble getting it up, Lucius? Or keeping it up?”

Lucius banged the table, hard, and Bellatrix let out a peal of laughter. Narcissa kept her head down, all too aware of her sister’s intentions; she wanted to shatter the fragile alliance that had formed between husband and wife just as quickly as it had bloomed.

“Draco is proof of his father’s virility,” said Narcissa quietly, and Lucius glanced at her with something not unlike gratitude in his red-rimmed eyes.

“Of course he is,” replied Bellatrix, sharp white teeth gleaming. “He arrived almost nine months to the day after your wedding, didn’t he? I wonder what happened between his conception and birth that caused this dreadful bout of unluckiness. It certainly hasn’t impacted the Weasleys; they have a whole pack of brats.”

“Any number of reasons,” said Severus, rising from the table. “Perhaps there was an injury during Draco’s birth. Perhaps it is more difficult for a pure-blood line to produce viable heirs; diamonds are rarer, after all, than stones. Or perhaps Lucius simply spent some time with his sister-in-law and realised he didn’t wish to continue this particular bloodline.”

“You dare –” Bellatrix spat as she raised her wand, but Severus shook his head.

“I must report back to the Dark Lord,” he drawled, stepping toward the door. “I can’t wait to tell him how you plan to show gratitude for the return of your wand. More idle gossip and sniping at your family, perhaps?”

Bellatrix was at his heels, tugging at his sleeve. “Wait! What does the Dark Lord require of me, Severus? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

And then they were gone, the door clicking shut behind them. Lucius and Narcissa were alone, save for the quivering creature on the floor behind them.

“The fault lies with me, husband,” she murmured, voice low. “Draco could be your mirror image; it must be a weakness in my line.”

Lucius reached for her hand across the table, silver fingers brushing cold against hers. Narcissa felt a shiver of revulsion mixed with relief, and let him hold it. “There is still time, wife. Perhaps we shall be luckier this month.”

Wordlessly, she nodded, keeping her thoughts tightly bound. “I wish for Draco to have a brother or sister someday. Although,” she added, a daring tilt of her chin, “perhaps not one like mine.”

He smiled grimly, briefly resting his thumb over hers as he pawed through her mind in search of something. She offered him a memory of Draco as a newborn, bright blonde hair and grey eyes like his. Lucius nodded slowly. “Then we shall try for one. Come, let’s fetch your wand. You’ll need it, if Bellatrix continues to stay here.”

Narcissa drew in a steadying breath. The clock in the corner was still losing time, and every minute seemed to stretch ever so slightly longer than the last. Sixty-eight days left to go.

***

Narcissa knew it was only safe to remember him when she was alone. Tonight, as she readied herself for bed, she allowed herself to think of him kneeling on the ground before her in the cabin. Of the little circlet of twisted vine. Of his promise, too, to love her forevermore.

It should have been one that filled her with fierce joy; instead, the memory hurt as keenly as any curse from her sister’s wand. She had thought him dead for so many years. She had missed out on so much time. And yet…

And yet he had waited. Even when he must have thought she was lost to him forever, he had waited. He had kept his promise. 

Wordlessly, as if dragged by some unknown force, she rose and crossed the room. Lucius and Bella were down in the gallery tonight; she had heard them whispering over dinner. She knew that she should be listening at the keyhole, if she wanted to be of any use in the battles to come – but the thought burned away like an ember when she imagined Remus again. Not him as he was when they were at school, and not him as he was in the cabin; him now. The silver threaded through his chestnut curls. The new lines around his beautiful eyes. The new scars. The way he reached out to catch her hand and steady her without thinking. 

And so, rather than go downstairs, she used her wand to unlock the door to Lucius’s office.

***

The fire burned low in the grate, and she stared at it – stared, too, at the little onyx box on the shelf. Surely, surely, surely it was too dangerous. Even as she thought herself entirely stupid, though, her trembling hand moved: a pinch of powder into the flames, a flare of green, and the whisper of his name.

Casting a privacy charm against the door behind her, Narcissa leaned her face forwards into the warm breath of the flames, and felt her entire body become still when his golden eyes found hers. 

“Cissa?”

“Remus,” she breathed, wishing she could reach out to touch his cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, crouching down and pressing his own fingers against the grate. “What do you need?”

“You. Just you,” she replied quietly. “Same as always.”

He smiled at that, and scrubbed a hand through his hair sheepishly. “House elves not feeding you well enough?”

Narcissa laughed – a soft, surprised sound – and pressed her hands to her mouth to keep from making more of it. It felt strange in her throat, like a language she hadn’t spoken in years. “I tried to explain the concept of pizza to them once,” she said. “It didn’t go well.”

“That was the first thing I thought when I saw Draco,” Remus replied. “I thought, that’s a boy who’s never eaten a pepperoni with extra cheese.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t report me for child abuse.”

“Luckily for you,” he said lightly, “I had other things on my mind.”

She nodded. “Sirius. And Peter – I heard.”

“I almost ate Severus again, too,” he added, only half joking.

Narcissa’s giggle, quick and unguarded this time, was every bit as good as he remembered. “He seems better for it, if you ask me,” she said, leaning a little closer. “You should’ve done it years ago.”

“Maybe that can be my New Year’s resolution,” he said. “Almost eat Severus whenever he shows signs of becoming awful.” Then, more quietly: “He’s just like you, you know. Draco, I mean. There’s so much of you in him.”

“Do you think so?”

“He argues exactly like his mother,” Remus chuckled. “I don’t envy you the teenage meltdowns; he nearly took my head off the other day.”

She hesitated, her mouth tightening. “He doesn’t really do that at home,” she said at last. “Not because I’m better at this than you are. It means he doesn’t feel safe enough to do it here.” Remus stilled, watching her face. “He doesn’t feel safe enough to do it around Lucius,” she continued, the words gaining momentum once she’d let them out. “His punishments are… similar to the ones my parents used to use.”

“Oh, Cissa,” he murmured.

“So him arguing with you?” she pressed on, almost fiercely. “A good thing. A very good thing. It means he trusts you.”

“I’m glad, then,” he said after a moment. “Even if it feels like the parent-teacher version of that awful ‘they’re mean to you because they like you’ argument.”

Her smile wobbled. “Hey, it worked for James and Lily.”

“For a little while, at least.”

Silence settled between them – not awkward, but overwhelming in its heaviness. “I’m so sorry,” she said suddenly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Remus.”

“You were, in a way,” he replied gently. “I used to come and sit on the hill beyond the manor, sometimes. Just to look. Whenever I saw your face, it –”

“– hurt a little less?” she supplied. “I used to feel that way whenever I saw a full moon.”

He smiled faintly. “Not exactly when I was at my best.”

“Every night with you was the best,” she said firmly. Then her breath hitched, and she laughed and sobbed at once. “I thought you were dead, Remus. I thought you were dead until Draco wrote about his new professor – and then I realised I’d been just as foolish as Buttercup.”

He blinked in surprise, then nodded slowly; he’d always been able to follow her tangled threads. “Death cannot stop true love,” he quoted. “All it can do is delay it for a while.” Then, his brow furrowed. “But… dead? Why would you think that?”

“Because my father used the killing curse on you,” she said, the words brittle and sharp. “I heard him. And he came back and told me he’d –” Her laugh broke again. “– buried what was left of you.”

This time he did try to reach through the flames, his fingers almost brushing her cheek before he pulled them back sharply from the heat. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t have written,” she asked, voice trembling, “if I’d known?”

“I didn’t know what to think,” he admitted. “I wondered if you were being noble and trying to keep me safe. Then you had Draco, and I didn’t know if –”

“– if I’d changed my mind?” she interrupted softly. “Never.”

He huffed out a weak laugh. “You say that, but I’m very grey and very poor now.”

“You always were poor,” she said fondly, without hesitation, and his eyes shone. “And you’ve seen my patronus; I think you look great in silver.”

“True,” he said. Then, quieter: “Your sister mentioned the loophole… and that it was still intact.”

“It is.”

“How?”

Narcissa smiled at him, gentle and knowing. “The loophole is intact,” she repeated.

“So you swore an Unbreakable Vow of silence too?”

“If I had,” she said, smirking faintly, “I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

He shook his head, fond and a little awed. “I may have the marks,” he admitted, “but you’ve always seen further ahead.”

She smiled at that. “Someone has to. Especially now that you’re –”

“Older,” he said promptly. “Wearier.”

“Still you, though,” she replied.

His voice roughened. “I’ve missed you. Every minute. Every day.”

“Even after all these years?”

“Always. You know that. You could have found me when we were as old as Dumbledore and I’d still have been waiting.”

She smiled through tears. “So, does that mean you’d fancy a date over Christmas?”

“I’ll check the cinema listings.”

“I’ll watch anything, so long as there’s popcorn.”

“Wouldn’t dare make you go without.”

A sound behind her made her flinch, and Remus straightened at once. “You should go,” he said quietly. “Not like this. Not when we’re so close.”

“I know,” she said. “I just – I needed you to know all of that. Can you close the connection?”

He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer. “As you wish.”

***

Narcissa positively glowed with serenity over breakfast. Bella scowled at her over the stack of almost-burnt toast; both she and Lucius were ghostly pale and exhausted.

“You look rested, wife,” he said, following Bella’s gaze. “A better night’s sleep for you?”

“Much,” she said. 

There was a bang in the corridor, and Severus strode into the dining room uninvited – like Maleficent at the feast, thought Narcissa, a small smile on her lips as she poured herself a tea. She had expected him, of course, although he did not even so much as glance at her when he addressed her husband.

“I attempted to connect with you via Floo last night, Lucius,” said Severus silkily. “I waited almost an hour, and you never came. You were supposed to report back on your little… outing.”

Lucius could not hide the alarm in his face. “I didn’t realise we’d made an appointment, otherwise I’d –”

You are playing with fire, Cissy, came Severus’s voice in her mind, and her attention was jerked away from her husband’s babbling excuses and apologies. I expect this sort of stupidity from the Gryffindor; not from you.

“Very well, Lucius,” said Severus, sliding into the seat at the head of the table. “I shall do my best to forgive the oversight.” Then, more quietly, “Tell me, did you both succeed in your efforts?”

I’m sorry, thought Narcissa – knowing he could tell that she absolutely wasn’t. 

I will not cover for such recklessness again. Even if, and here, Severus’s dark eyes flashed towards her for the briefest of milliseconds, it meant a great deal to him; he seems much more the wolf we both remember today.

Narcissa bit down the traitorous spike of happiness, chewing on a piece of toast as she did so. She suspected this poor show of a breakfast was the elves’ way of paying Bella back for her cruelty. A tiny rebellion – one too small to be commented upon. Admirable. 

“Narcissa, do you mind leaving us?” asked Severus suddenly, and she rose from the table. 

“Of course,” she murmured, gratitude flowing in her wake as she fled the room. Perhaps, if she visited them in the kitchen, the elves might make her a bowl of porridge. Perhaps she might sit awhile in the library and read poetry like he was sitting beside her. Perhaps she might walk the grounds and pretend she was free at long last.

Narcissa thought all of this, even as she knew that, should her sister and Lucius return to the gallery, she would have to follow them. Whatever it took to figure out the horrible thing they were planning before it came to pass.

***

In the end, she was invited inside. Severus passed her in the hallway as the others ushered him to the room where the mirrors were standing in wait, and he’d paused. 

“Perhaps your wife should be aware of the stakes,” he’d said, much to Lucius and Bella’s surprise. They had argued against it, of course, but in the end they had allowed Narcissa to follow them.

She took care to act as if she’d never seen the largest mirror before; more pieces, she noted, had been gathered and placed within the frame. She took care, too, to offer Lucius one reproachful glance when she saw her own tainted looking-glass – just one – and he turned his head away, cheeks burning, before excusing himself and fleeing the room.

She absolutely refused to even so much as peek at her own reflection, even as it flickered enticingly.

Narcissa was concentrating so much on all the things she shouldn’t be looking at, in fact, that she failed to realise that Bella was staring at her with an ever-widening grin. “Hold this a moment, little dove,” her sister told her, pressing something into her hands without waiting for an answer.

Don’t touch it, came Severus’s warning in her mind – but too late. The fragile orb glowed with a strange, liquid white light when it came into contact with Narcissa’s fingers, and a stranger’s rasping voice suddenly filled the air around them.

“The Dark shall seek its rebirth from one born of shadow, one born of light; a child of the Old Magic – Heir of Moon and Mirror. From his blood, the Light could rise anew. If love binds him, the world endures. If the mirror takes him, the world is undone.”

Narcissa wanted to drop the thing, to smash it against the wall, but her sister’s hands were suddenly around her own and pressing them tighter against the spun-glass globe.

“When the mirror cracks, the moon will break or heal the night,” it finished terribly, and then there was silence.

Narcissa looked up into Bella’s dark eyes, and her sister opened her mouth – undoubtedly to say something cruel. Something that would bring disaster raining down upon everyone’s heads. Then, the mirror flickered as Severus stepped into view and uttered the one and only word that could make everything better.

“Obliviate.”

Chapter Text

The classroom was unusually bright for a wet October morning, shafts of pale sunlight cutting across the desks. Remus leaned against the teacher’s desk, tapping a piece of chalk between his fingers, and felt a flutter in his chest he hadn’t experienced in years. He was early – far too early – arranging notes, setting out the dummies, straightening the board again. He knew that. Just as he knew, too, that the majority of the fifth-years had forgiven his little outburst the moment they’d learned exactly which curse the Slytherin boy had tried to use.

Still, it never hurt to be prepared. Even if he was humming under his breath as he did it. Even if he kept… well, even if he kept grinning like an idiot.

Remus frowned at his reflection in the window, then glanced at the thermos beside him. He took a sip from it, solely because he’d promised Severus he would, but he found he barely needed it. This lesson, he thought, might be his first one back, but it would easily be the most fun of the day.

“It won’t be long,” he murmured to the dark-haired man sitting at the desk. “We kick off at 9.30, and they usually get here a little early, because – ah, there they are now!”

He gave them a few moments to file up outside the door, before opening it with an unmistakable flourish. “Come in!” His voice carried a little more warmth, a little more mischief than usual.

The students filed in cautiously, and Remus’s eyes immediately found Harry and Draco. Both froze, caught mid-step. Hermione’s cheeks had gone pink, but nowhere near as much as Ron’s; the poor boy’s mouth hung open, eyes wide in astonishment.

“I believe you all know Viktor,” said Remus, not even trying to hide his grin as he swept a hand towards where the tall, broad-shouldered Krum was standing in tbf corner. “He’s joining us for the next few months – to gain teaching experience, and, I daresay, to challenge a few of your preconceptions.”

Krum nodded politely, eyes flicking to Hermione first, then to Ron. “I look forward to working with you all.” His accent coloured the words softly, deliberately.

Hermione blinked, caught off guard. “You… you’re really here?”

“Yes,” Remus said with barely suppressed glee. “He’ll be assisting with lessons, demonstrating techniques, and –” He paused, letting the moment stretch just long enough, “– I expect a certain amount of jaw-dropping today.”

Harry and Draco still hadn’t moved. Ron was grinning now, albeit in absolute disbelief, and Krum smiled faintly as his dark eyes caught the redhead’s in a moment of quiet recognition. “Weasley. It is good to see you again. Your letters…” he added, voice softening, “I have enjoyed them.”

It was now the turn of Harry and Hermione’s jaws to drop as Ron’s ears flooded crimson. Even Draco’s posture stiffened, caught between curiosity and disbelief. Remus suspected that Ginny’s absence mattered very little; she and the twins were going to be absolutely insufferable when the news got back to them. 

He allowed the room to settle for a moment, noting the empty spaces near the back; almost all of the Slytherins had failed to return after the accident. That was expected; he would have to work hard to regain their trust.  

“Now, we have work to do,” he said, quietening the clamour. “But I expect questions. Curiosity. And proper respect for your guest – who, I remind you, has faced down dragons, stadiums, and more than a few temperamental referees. This week, though, we’ll be going over shield charms… I think all of us, myself included, could do with the refresher.”

There were a few stifled laughs. A few more wide eyes. Remus’s grin persisted, though he tried to keep it contained. He felt the private, warm hum of joy again, just enough to make him tremble inside.

“You seem better,” muttered Draco out of the corner of his mouth. Behind him, Harry and Hermione could be heard whispering furiously at Ron (“Your secret penpal was VIKTOR KRUM? Does this mean you’re…?” “Of course it doesn’t! Ronald can’t date a teacher. It’d be like you asking Professor McGonagall on a date.” “Hermione, why would you even put that image in my head?”)

“I feel better,” said Remus, smiling and fighting the urge to ruffle the blonde boy’s perfect hair. 

“Does this have anything to do with Professor Snape’s mysterious absence?”

“What are you talking about?”

“All Potions lessons are cancelled for today; apparently he was taken sick over the weekend. It’s as if nobody realises we have our OWLs coming up.”

Remus’s chest tightened. The classroom warmth, the thrill of the surprise, the joy – it all fell away in an instant, replaced by that all too familiar, icy certainty: something serious had happened at the manor.

“I’ll check in on Severus later,” he promised, reaching for his thermos. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to supply extra homework if required.”

“No need to go that far, sir,” laughed Draco, his eyes on Hermione. She shot him a cheeky grin, and he strode over to her with his wand in hand. “Come along, Granger, stop gossiping – it’s beneath you. Let’s see how well your shields hold up against someone like me.”

***

The clatter of chairs and shuffle of robes filled the room as the students began filing out, still murmuring excitedly. Harry shot Remus a smile as he rushed off (“Sorry, Remus – got to catch Ginny before her next lesson!”), while Draco pulled Hermione’s heavy bag of books from her shoulders (“Don’t be stupid, Granger, at least let me carry it to Arithmancy”). 

Ron, however, lingered in the doorway with his eyes fixed on Viktor.

“Come on, Ron,” Remus said gently, leaning against the edge of the desk. “You don’t want to be late for Care Of Magical Creatures – if you miss the important bit at the beginning, you’ll likely be eaten by whatever Hagrid’s latest pet is.”

“Hopefully not Blast-Ended Scoots again,” muttered Krum fervently. 

“Skrewts,” said Ron awkwardly. “And no: pretty sure they all got exterminated over the holidays – or released into the Forbidden Forest, knowing Hagrid. Don’t go in there, by the way.”

Remus tactfully turned to shuffle a few papers on his desk, and Krum moved towards the taller boy with a faint, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks for the warning, Ron. It is good to see you,” he said softly. “Your letters… as I say, they were very kind.”

“I was surprised you had any time to write back,” admitted Ron. “You’ve been busy.”

“It is true, but I make time,” Krum said lightly, shrugging. “I enjoyed them; I did not want you to think otherwise.” He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “Though I wonder – if you exaggerate?”

Ron blushed, and he tried to look anywhere but at Krum. “Exaggerate? I… no, I –”

Krum’s smile softened. “Patience, then. You have been my friend for some time, though through words only. Today, it seems, we meet in… person.”

Ron swallowed hard, then managed a small, grateful nod. “Yeah. In person. Anyway, I’d better go, but… see you around?”

“Definitely.”

A final whistle of laughter from the back of the classroom drew their attention, and the last students spilled out. Remus straightened, tugging at the collar of his robes, trying to shake off the residual thrill of normalcy. He gave Krum a brief nod.

“You did brilliantly,” he said. “Just four more of those to go before we can call it a day!”

***

The little café in Hogsmeade was quiet this morning, the air smelling faintly of toasted bread and strong tea. Tonks stirred her drink absentmindedly, eyes flicking to the window, though she wasn’t really seeing the passing students.

Fleur sat across from her, shoulders relaxed but hands clasped lightly on the table. The privacy wards shimmered faintly around them. “Tonks,” she said softly, her French accent curling around the syllables, “you said this… mirror, it is dangerous. Mais… you cannot tell everything. Not yet?”

Tonks leaned back, watching Fleur’s expression. There was more than curiosity there; something sharper, hotter, just under the surface. “I can’t. Not until I know what Remus and Bill have seen, what they understand. But you… you may be able to help. You know about lunar magic, yes?”

Fleur’s eyes lit briefly, not with pride but recognition. “Oui. My family… we follow Selene blood. Old ways, old rules. We… we understand cycles. Reflection, balance, energy. Your Ministry calls it heresy – pah!” she said, shaking her silver hair. “Idiotic men with too much power.”

Tonks smiled, leaning forward. “Then you understand why this mirror is a problem. Voldemort is the ultimate idiotic man with too much power, and he obviously doesn’t want balance. He wants… control. Resurrection. From what I’ve been able to figure out, he is taking what should be reflective – what should show truth – and twisting it into dominance.”

Fleur’s lips parted, her eyes on Tonks. “If your suspicions are true, then –” she shrugged. “C'est une situation extrêmement dangereuse.”

Tonks nodded, her own hair darkening from pink to red. “The mirror is tied to certain bloodlines,” she said, her voice very low now. “Half of what we know is… legend. Half is warning. Narcissa Malfoy, for instance… her family line carries fragments of it. Which means that Bellatrix Lestrange..|” She shook her head, the edge of exasperation clear. “Well, corruption runs deep.”

Fleur’s hands tightened around her mug. “And the Selene Coven? ‘Ow do they tie in?”

“They were scattered, yes, and their magic hidden many centuries ago. What remains… is powerful, dangerous, but it also teaches restraint. Balance. What is reflected is revealed, Miss Delacour,” said Tonks urgently. “It is not just a saying. It is the truth.”

Fleur’s gaze softened, just slightly, and Tonks felt it like a brush of heat against her chest. “Fleur,” she said firmly. “You will call me Fleur.”

“Fleur, then.”

“So… we are to protect this knowledge?”

“Yes,” Tonks said, and then paused, letting her voice drop lower. “And we must keep it safe, even from those who think themselves invincible. Even from… old enemies.”

Fleur’s eyes flicked up at her, as her head leaned closer. “I will help,” she murmured, her accent catching the word in the curve of the syllable. “

They jumped apart when there was a tap on the window beside them, and Bill grinned at them through the glass, miming a cup of tea. Tonks sighed, and summoned another chair as she tried to get the waitress’s attention. 

“Let ‘im order his own drink,” said Fleur, watching the handsome cursebreaker duck his head to get through the door. “You are not ‘is assistant.”

“Hello Tonks, hello Miss Delacour,” said Bill, unravelling the long knitted scarf and collapsing into his seat. He waited for his drink to arrive before he strengthened the wards, and placed a little bundle of silks on the table between them.

“I’m not going to like whatever’s in that bag, am I?” asked Tonks miserably.

“Sorry mate,” said Bill, draining his cup in one go. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

***

The corridor outside Severus’s quarters smelled faintly of old parchment and polished wood. Remus paused, fingers brushing the orange thermos tucked under his arm. The warmth from the lesson earlier still lingered in him, but the moment he stepped closer to the door, a familiar chill settled over his chest.

He knocked softly, then entered, and found Severus standing beside the fire, eyes dark, hands clasped behind his back.

“I heard you were… unwell?” Remus said, trying to keep the nervous energy from bubbling over. “Is everything alright?”

Severus’s gaze flicked to the thermos, then back to him. “I trust you did not rely on that today?”

“I… not really,” Remus admitted. “Felt… calmer. More in control. Even happy, which feels strange after all this time.”

Severus’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “Careful, wolf. Happiness is not always an ally.”

Remus frowned. “I know. That’s why I came. I doubt you’ve ever taken a sick day in your life before.”

Severus exhaled slowly, stepping closer. “I had to act. There was no alternative.”

Remus stiffened. “Act? What…?”

“Bellatrix,” Severus said quietly. “If either of them had remembered, then she would have… endangered her sister.” He let the words hang, deliberately unembellished.

Remus’s throat went dry. “You –” he swallowed, “you Obliviated them?”

Severus inclined his head once, without a flicker of regret. “It was necessary, although I fear it may not last long. The spell is delicate, temporary only by design, but fragile. If the wrong person were to sense it… if Voldemort even suspected…” His voice trailed into silence, the unspoken threat heavy in the air.

Remus felt a shiver run down his spine. “Was it my fault? The Floo?”

“No,” said Severus. “It was not your fault this time, Lupin. It was to do with the prophecy.”

 “What prophecy?” asked Remus urgently. “Not Harry? It was being guarded round the clock! Arthur said himself that –” 

Severus’s eyes darkened further. “Not Harry; the Dark Lord had his followers fetch a different foretelling from a quieter area in the Department of Mysteries. It concerns The Mirror. Narcissa. The child of shadow and light.”

“Child of –” Remus began, but Severus cut him off with a single raised hand.

“Nothing must be spoken. Not to anyone. Not even the most well-meaning. I had to erase both of their memories to protect Narcissa, and by extension, all of you.”

Remus’s hands clenched the thermos like a talisman. “You didn’t have a choice?”

“Choice,” Severus said slowly, “is an illusion when the wrong knowledge can kill the right person. Everything depends on restraint. On what is unseen. Remember that.”

Remus nodded, chest tight. He could feel the weight of years and centuries pressing down on him, the echoes of magic, bloodlines, and fractured mirrors. Yet beneath it all, beneath the dread, there was a pulse of something else: determination. The pieces were dangerous, yes, but if they moved carefully, maybe… maybe they could keep everyone alive.

“It sounds familiar,” he said slowly.

“Unsurprising,” said Severus softly, holding out a small yellowing label. 

Remus paled as he read it. “But why would this have revealed itself to either of them? A prophecy can only be heard by –”

Severus turned, indicating the door. “That will be all for now, Lupin. I’m exhausted. Remember, you know nothing of what she – and what Narcissa – must never remember. Not a word.”

As the door closed behind him, Remus exhaled. His pulse was erratic, and his chest ached with the tension of it all, and so he took another deep sip from the thermos, hating the taste and hating himself for it.

Yet another secret so dangerous it could unmake them all, and it was only 9 o’clock on Monday evening. This time, though, Remus suspected he might be able to unravel things a little more quickly than usual.

He read the label again:

F.T to R.J.L. 

‘Shadow & Light’

The prophecy, you see, had been made to him. 

Chapter Text

Narcissa wore white silk, as requested by her new husband, and carried a single long-stemmed lily. Druella had suggested a bouquet of roses from the greenhouse, of course, but Narcissa had refused. When her mother had persisted, the bride had quietly and determinedly set the roses on fire (oh, how Bellatrix had cackled). 

No punishment was meted this time, for what else could they take from her? There was nothing left. 

***

The day passed in a nightmarish blur. 

Narcissa remembered standing beside Lucius as the hall applauded them – clapping politely, then loudly, then thunderously – as if volume alone could force meaning into a marriage that had already curdled in her chest. Someone had spilled petals across the marble floor. A very elderly relative had cried with deeply misguided joy. The orchestra had swelled. Severus Snape, there as a friend of Lord Malfoy, stared at her so strangely – as if he had never seen her before. 

Narcissa had felt nothing, though; not even the faintest flicker of fear. Just a clean, ringing numbness where her heart used to be.

***

“Smile, Lady Malfoy,” said her husband, gesturing towards the photographers from the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly.  “You still seem very frail – are you sure you’ve quite recovered from your illness?”

“Yes, husband,” said Narcissa, her eyes on the ground.

“You may call me Lucius,” he reminded her crossly, eyes on the guests in earshot, “for we are married now.”

“Perhaps –” drawled Severus, arriving at his elbow like an ill-omen in black, “– the word ‘husband’ is meant as a term of endearment. You are her one and only, after all.”

“True,” said Lucius, looking at his young bride appraisingly. “Very well, wife. If you’ll both excuse me a moment – Minister!”

They stood beside one another in silence as Lucius smoothly pressed himself into a group of passing men in expensive-looking robes.  Then, Severus glanced down at her. “I’m surprised by you, Cissy. I thought it was –” and here he actually smirked, “– true love with your wolf.”

She didn’t look up from the floor, but her voice was a poisonous whisper when she finally replied. “How naive you are, Severus, that you think I had any choice in the matter. That you think any of us have freewill in the world you’re helping them to build.”

“What are you talking about?” Severus asked, raising an eyebrow. “If you didn’t want to be here, why didn’t you –”

“Run away? Hide? Refuse?” Narcissa let out a bitter laugh that sounded completely unlike any sound she’d made before. “Oh Severus, but I did.”

He looked at her with dark eyes, then, and she felt him pushing against the barriers she’d thrown up around her mind. Fine, then; let him see the cabin. The snowman. The blood, and the pain, and the horror. The contract. She cut it off before the headache swelled into something more dangerous, before the final piece of the nightmare could slot into place; she could not bear to see it again.

“Narcissa,” he murmured under his breath, his cool hand on her elbow. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with empty platitudes, Severus. It is what it is,” she said flatly, smiling again for another camera as it flashed in their faces. “I know you never liked him anyway.”

“Do the others know?” he asked as he shook his head, trying to regain his composure. “Potter? And Black?”

“I doubt it. How could they?” Seeing his lips press together, Narcissa gripped his hand for a moment. “Remember this if you ever fall in love. They will find a way to destroy it.”

“But what –”

She couldn’t bear to talk to him a moment longer. Instead, she lifted her chin, straightened her spine, and forced herself to walk to Lucius’s side. To hold his arm when he offered it to her. To pretend she couldn’t feel Severus’s eyes on her back. And to smile, smile, smile, whenever she was ordered.

***

By the time she reached the bridal chambers, the numbness had petrified into snowfall inside her chest. Her face remained as still as a porcelain doll’s until the door shut behind her with a soft click.

Lucius had been summoned away by her father and the contract-keeper for some final signatures. That, at least, was a mercy; it meant, for the moment, she was alone.

She crossed the room like a ghost, her new silk hem whispering over the floor. She paused in front of the long mirror, but she didn’t look at her reflection. She couldn’t. If she met her own eyes she might shatter.

Instead, she lifted a trembling hand and fumbled with the locket at her breast, reaching inside its hidden chamber, beyond the mirror and the precious poetry book (‘Unable are the Loved to die,’ came the unbidden line) for Andromeda’s gift.

And there it was.

47. Reproductive Clause and Nullification

If the contract-bound wife produces no living heir within the first 16 years of marriage, the union’s permanence may be legally contested and the bond dissolved. The clause is activated only if love for another has equal claim upon the soul.

16 years.

16 years to keep herself whole.
16 years to keep Remus alive in the only way she still could.

Her throat tightened as she remembered him urging her to run, and she conjured a whisper of blue fire in her palm. A simple charm. A girl’s charm, some might call it.

Then – quietly, carefully – she pressed the flame to her abdomen and murmured the spell that would protect more than her body, but her future, her freedom, and her last, fragile chance, too. The magic settled into her like frost spreading over glass; cold, clean, and final. 

Narcissa exhaled shakily and stumbled back until her spine hit the carved bedpost. Then; she sank to her knees, her bridal silk pooling around her like snowdrifts.

Tonight, if Lucius summoned her, if he touched her, then her body would feel nothing, give nothing, and offer nothing that could bind her to him forever. 

She folded the little book and hid it beneath the mattress. Her eyes burned, but she would not cry: not for Lucius (she had a suspicion that he was the sort of man who would enjoy tears). But when she lay back onto the cold linen sheets and felt the charm hum faintly beneath her ribs, she whispered his name. Once. Soft as breath; soft as surrender.

“Remus.”

Then she turned her face toward the wall and waited for her husband to send for her.

Chapter Text

Narcissa and Bellatrix had been treading carefully around one another for the past week. Both sensed that there was some unfinished business flickering between them; neither, though, knew what on earth it was – other than the usual hurts and ills.

“Your son’s little bit is rabid about house elves, apparently,” announced Bella at the table one morning after Lucius had left. The toast, this time, was completely burnt; the staff had all quietly vanished overnight. “She thinks they deserve rights.”

“I highly doubt,” Narcissa replied, “that a teenage girl would care enough to post socks to our home.”

“Then who did it, Cissy?”

“I don’t know, Bella, as I’ve told you several times already.” A lie, of course; she’d immediately recognised her cousin’s looping handwriting when they’d found the discarded wrappings in the kitchen. She’d particularly enjoyed the crude cartoon, and the message ordering Lucius to “suck it”. She had no idea, however, what had possessed him to come up with such a prank: she certainly hadn’t told him about Bella’s fondness for torturing any and all living creatures under her roof. 

Bellatrix rolled her eyes as she rose from the table, pulling on a pair of black lace gloves as she did so. “I’ll be out until late this evening, sister,” she announced. “I trust you’ll be sensible. It would be a shame if I had to pay a visit to your son, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” replied Narcissa. “And I will. You have my word.”

Narcissa didn’t relax until she heard the telltale crack of apparition from the garden. Then, and only then, did she allow herself to sigh with relief… until the scream of the doorbell echoed through the empty house.

***

When it became apparent the visitor would not be leaving, Narcissa crept to the heavy front door and pulled it open – but she almost slammed it shut again when she saw who it was on the step. A woman with elaborate and curiously rigid curls, jewelled spectacles, and an acid-green quill clutched between her crimson nails.

“Not today, thank you,” said Narcissa politely, but a crocodile-skin bag wedged itself between the door and its frame. 

“Lady Malfoy,” said Rita Skeeter in impossibly honeyed tones. “Please, I’ve come all this way – you could at least let me in for a glass of water. Or do you want my readers to think you and your family have something to hide?”

“But my husband isn’t home.” 

“I’m happy to sit and wait.”

Narcissa was torn: she could order Rita Skeeter to leave, of course, and expect all manner of awful stories to appear about herself in the papers. She could allow her inside and let her wait for Lucius in his office. Or – and this option was dangerously appealing – she could let the woman in, leave her to her own devices, and hope she might stumble across the mirror herself. Perhaps people would be more likely to believe what was happening if someone like Rita Skeeter’s name was on the byline.

“Come in, then,” she said softly. Rita pasted a smile onto her shiny lips as she bustled past, and Narcissa clicked the door shut behind her.

***

“I could make you a tea, if you like,” said Narcissa, as the older woman examined the tightly-shuttered windows, the burnt toast, and the cluttered dining table with a critical eye. 

“Three places,” said Rita, turning to look at her properly. “Who else is staying here at the moment? Surely your son is at school?”

Narcissa lowered her eyes as she began gathering up the dirty cups and dishes by hand. “My husband often entertains friends and associates; I don’t know everyone by name.”

“A clever woman like you, Lady Malfoy? I find that hard to believe.”

Rita tipped one of the cups back before Narcissa could reach it, and examined it under the light from the fireplace. A stain from Bella’s lipstick was clearly visible, and the journalist glanced back at Narcissa’s own bare lips. 

“My husband did not want a clever woman when he married me,” murmured Narcissa quietly. “I was chosen for my status and my name. They didn’t even let me take my NEWTs once the contract had been drawn up.”

“Are you saying that yours is –” and here Rita’s quill positively quivered with excitement, “– a union of blood and parchment?”

“No comment,” replied Narcissa, meeting the older woman’s eye. 

“Were you offered to him against your will?”

“No comment.”

“What did your parents threaten you with so that you would sign?”

Narcissa shut her eyes for a moment, and breathed deeply. When she opened them again, the quill was scribbling furiously. “No comment, Miss Skeeter.”

A log in the fireplace suddenly shifted and spat, sending  a cloud of sparks up and into the chimney. Both women jumped, and Rita chuckled uneasily.

“You seem nervous, Lady Malfoy,” she said, her voice unexpectedly kind. “Frightened, even. Are you worried you’ll be punished for my being here?”

“Perhaps it would be better if you came back when my husband was home,” whispered Narcissa. 

“Do you believe Remus Lupin’s claims that your husband was involved in a dark ritual?”

Narcissa looked at the crackling fireplace in terror, grabbing hold of the ever-watchful Rita’s sleeve to pull her from the dining room into the safety of the corridor beyond. “Yes,” she whispered. “I was at school with Remus Lupin, and he is an unfailingly honest man – a very good man.” 

The words felt dangerous in her mouth, as though they might leave a mark she could not erase. “If he says that my husband was the one who chained him up and assaulted him in a graveyard, I believe him. Without even a shadow of a doubt. But if you print that, please don’t name me.”

Rita stared at her, quill scribbling against the parchment that hovered beside them. “You are frightened,” she breathed. “And this house – why are the curtains drawn? Where are the elves?”

“No comment,” said Narcissa, trying to steer the woman back towards the front door. Rita, however, broke free and made her way down the corridor towards the locked door of the gallery. “Miss Skeeter, please. If they find you here, they’ll –”

“They’ll what?” called Rita over her shoulder, rattling the doorknob and pulling out her wand. “Alohomora.”

Narcissa blocked the way with her body. “Miss Skeeter, I made a mistake letting you in here today. You need to listen to me – please, please leave. Please.”

“Step aside, Lady Malfoy,” said Rita pleasantly; her wand was suddenly pointed squarely at Narcissa’s face. “Don’t make me ask again.”

***

Rita had done her best to sketch the mirror, “for research purposes”, and made several attempts to draw Narcissa into conversation. Narcissa, however, remained silent; she did not wish to speak in front of her reflection here – not even to utter another, ‘no comment’.

“My readers are going to love this,” muttered Rita to herself. “Fairytale princess locked in a castle, a magic mirror, a monster for a husband… it practically writes itself.”

The reflection of Narcissa pressed a finger to its lips and smiled at her. She shifted slightly, so she didn’t have to look at herself in the glass. “You have to leave, Miss Skeeter,” she murmured again. “It isn’t safe for any of us to be here.”

“So you keep saying, Lady Malfoy, but you have yet to explain why,” snapped Rita, reaching out to run a thumb along one of the mirror’s cracks. “Fascinating. When will your husband be back?”

“It would be better for you if he didn’t,” said Narcissa quietly. “I don’t suppose he’d be happy for you to leave if he knew you’d seen any of this.”

Rita looked at her, sharply. “Is that a threat, madam?” 

“No – a warning,” and now her voice was barely louder than a breath. “You heard what he did to Remus.”

A flicker of magic, a dimming of the lights, and an unmistakable crack of apparition made them both freeze where they stood; someone was here. The reflection of Narcissa blinked slowly at them, its gaze flicking past Rita to the corridor beyond. Now, it seemed to say, raising a hand to point to the little door behind them – the one that led out into the gardens. Narcissa nodded, grabbing Rita’s sleeve and pulling her towards it. The ornate handle was stiff, but together they managed to wrench it open.

Narcissa all but shoved Rita outside, and the woman stumbled on the stone step. “If you make your way to the front gate, you’ll be able to apparate from there,” she whispered breathlessly.

“What about you?” Rita asked, eyes flicking back to the house of shadows and mirrors. She was never usually one to be frightened, but this… this was different.

“I can’t leave,” said Narcissa. “You know I can’t. You know what this is. Go now, before it’s too late. Don’t let them see you.”

Rita stumbled away into the growing shadows, bundling her quill under her cloak as she went. Narcissa fastened the door tight behind her, feeling the temperature dip as the front door opened and clicked shut. She mustn’t be found here, either – not in this room. 

Footsteps pounded along the corridor towards her, and she backed herself against the mirror. Then, strong hands reached around her waist, and she was yanked backwards into the icy black beyond.

***

If Lucius was unnerved by the yawning silence that greeted him, he didn’t show it. He simply shrugged off his cloak as he surveyed the dining room with a critical eye.

“Wife,” he called softly, waving his wand over the table to vanish the breakfast things.

The library, he thought to himself. Or the rose garden. Or possibly she was sleeping upstairs. There was no way she had dared try to leave – but the sound of running feet suddenly had him whirling back to the front path, and firing an explosive body-bind at the woman hurtling her way towards the gate. She fell forwards instantly, body stiff as a board.

“My apologies, Miss – why, it’s Miss Skeeter, isn’t it?” he said, crouching down beside her and turning her onto her back. He undid the binding curse, and helped her onto her feet. He did not lower his wand.

“Lord Malfoy,” she replied, hand pressed against her bleeding nose. “I came on behalf of the Daily Prophet, but I’ve been summoned back early; another story has unexpectedly been pulled forward. I need to go and dot the Is and cross the Ts, so to speak.”

Her meaning was clear: they know I’m here. They will investigate if I don’t return. Lucius, however, merely smiled. “Strange,” he said, “as I thought you had been placed on disciplinary leave for –” and here his lip curled, “– the use of discriminatory language in your recent piece about Remus Lupin.”

Rita’s smile barely flickered. “I’ve friends in high places, as you know.”

“And you don’t want to interview me now I’m here?”

“I would love to reschedule,” she said, pulling out a leatherbound planner. “Name the date and I’ll be here – the public wants your side of the story, Lord Malfoy. They want the truth.”

“How gratifying,” he replied smoothly. “Would you care to step inside for a moment while I consult my own diary?”

Rita swallowed, and his eyes watched her throat. “I would love to, but I’m afraid my editor was very clear: he wants me back immediately. So –”

“Your editor has no idea that you’re here,” said Lucius matter-of-factly. “No one knows you’re here. Did my wife let you inside?”

“She had me wait in the dining room,” replied Rita. “She wouldn’t answer any of my questions – I think she was embarrassed about the mess.”

“I don’t doubt it. And where is she now?”

“She asked me to leave,” said Rita. “She said she had a headache.”

“Why were you running through my gardens, then?”

“I got turned around,” said Rita with a shiny lipstick smile. She was sweating now, ever so slightly; the sheen on her forehead caught the light of the dying sun.

Lucius reached out to pluck a leaf from the woman’s collar, and held it before her wordlessly. “It’s a short walk from the door to the front gate. Did you take yourself on a tour of my home?”

“No. Your wife wouldn’t let me – she seemed frightened,” said Rita, her eyes on his wand. He prodded it into her shoulder and she turned and walked back through the front door, back into the cavernous corridor, back into the awful house full of its shuttered windows.

“You’re lucky,” he smiled as she hovered awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, “that it was me who found you and not my sister-in-law.” Lucius sighed, as though the afternoon had already asked too much of him. “Avada Kedavra!”

When the flash of green faded, Lucius was amused to see that absolutely nothing remained of Rita Skeeter save for her crocodile-skin bag. He kicked it to one side with a heeled boot, then climbed the stairs two at a time in search of his wife.

He didn’t notice the tiny beetle perched on the handle, of course. And so the insect beat its little wings and flew back into the dining room, perched itself on the mantelpiece, and waited. 

Chapter Text

“Do I want to know,” asked Severus, “how you acquired your new fleet of house elves?”

Sirius grinned. “Probably not,” he admitted, “but I promise it’s a very funny story, if you decide you do want to hear it.”

The two men were sitting together in The Kiln’s living room, fending off the steady stream of snacks and drinks being brought in by Baldric and his team of underlings. Despite the fact that they had already eaten their weight in pie and mash.

“I suppose it will come in useful, now that you have so many people coming and going,” said Severus, finally accepting a plate of cheese and crackers from the smallest elf hovering at his ankles. 

“Exactly.” Sirius’s voice was indistinct and full of cheese. “More of a party.”

“Again, I have to stress that it’s not a party, Black; you’re offering your home as a secret headquarters for those of us who are working to stop the Dark Lord coming to power.”

“If you were here on the same nights as Tonks, Bill and Fleur, you’d know I was right and you were desperately wrong,” chuckled Sirius. Then, seeing Severus’s face, he added hastily: “We get the work done first, obviously. We just… well, a stiff drink goes down remarkably well after a night spent poring over dark magic books and trying to muddle out Voldemort’s plans for resurrection. And I swear not a single sip of alcohol passes my lips on the days when the Weasleys or Andromeda are here, obviously.”

Severus nodded. “Perhaps you are wiser than you look, then,” he said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Not that it’s hard.”

“You ought to get to bed earlier, Sev,” said Sirius with a grin. 

Severus nodded, draining his glass of wine and rising to his feet with a whirl of his cloaks. “Are you offering?”

“A bed? You know there’s always one here,” replied Sirius. “Can’t promise you’ll get much sleep, though.”

“You are, as ever, painfully over-optimistic about yourself and your abilities,” murmured Severus, crossing the room and leaning down to press his lips against Sirius’s. The other man responded hungrily, his fingers finding a handful of the Slytherin’s dark hair. He pulled it gently, and Severus’s unexpected moan of pleasure was lost against his mouth. 

A hot jolt scalded Sirius, and he was on his feet. He staggered forwards until his entire body was pressed against Severus, until no space remained between their chests and groins and thighs, until they were treading on each other’s toes, until they were forced to pull apart with a gasp just so that they could breathe. Until everything else fell away and all he could see were those maddening dark eyes staring back at him.

“Upstairs,” growled Sirius, biting down on Severus’s lower lip. “Now.”

***

Afterwards, they lay at opposite ends of the bed, blankets tumbled around them. 

“You’ll stay, won’t you?” asked Sirius suddenly, his voice sounding strange in the dark. 

Severus’s lip twitched as he stared up at the ceiling, the sheet slipping just enough to brush the backs of his shoulders. “You ask this every single time, Black. Every single time, I stay.”

“I know,” came the quiet reply. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Severus, voice softening a little. “It’s nice to be wanted.”

There was silence for a heartbeat, save for the rain pattering against the windowpane. As Severus’s eyes drifted shut again, though, Sirius rallied. “Dumbledore must think you’re hardly ever in the castle nowadays – you’re either here, with Lucius, or reporting to Voldemort. How do you fit teaching and corridor patrols in around all of that?” His shoulder pressed against Severus’s ankle as he stretched lazily.

“You may recall that my school reports described me as ‘aggressively organised,” replied Severus, leaning ever so slightly into the other man’s touch. “It’s just a matter of multitasking.” 

“Yes, I suppose you are very good at doing several things at once,” agreed Sirius with a chuckle. Then, without any warning: “Do you think Remus is alright? Without you there, I mean?”

“You ask me this every time, too. Should I be offended that your mind immediately goes to the wolf whenever I’m in your bed?” Severus’s voice was low, almost a murmur, and he lifted his head ever so slightly – enough to catch the faint glow of the moon on Sirius’s cheek.

“I wish we could just storm the bloody manor and smash all the mirrors before Voldemort uses them,” said Sirius, barely listening.

“And as I’ve told you before, Black, patience is a virtue.” Severus’s hand flexed, brushing against Sirius’s in the dim light. He lingered there. “Move too soon, and we risk everything… including your precious Moony.”

Sirius’s breath caught softly, not with fear but with recognition – a quiet, shared understanding that patience, tonight, was the only weapon they could wield. He wrapped his hand around Severus’s and squeezed it gently, before he let it fall away under the warmth of the blankets.

“Sleep now, then; plot tomorrow,” he said, voice muffled as he pressed his face down against the pillow.

“Agreed.”

***

They awoke early and ravenous. Sirius, still half-lidded with sleep, summoned Baldric – who appeared utterly unfazed by the state of undress in which he found them – and asked the elf to bring them breakfast in bed.

“How decadent, Black,” murmured Severus, propping himself up on an elbow.

“It’s just buttered toast and tea. Hardly a stack of smoked salmon blinis!” Sirius countered, grinning.

“Perhaps we have different definitions of the word,” mused Severus, waving his wand at the teapot and pouring each of them a cup. “Or perhaps it’s the naked mass murderer –”

“Falsely accused mass murderer,” corrected Sirius, leaning back with a dramatic flourish.

“– that adds to the wantonness of it all,” Severus finished, sounding ever so slightly amused.

They munched in companionable silence, until the warmth hit them: a flicker in the wards, and a pulse of energy, as if the house itself were delighted to see one of its own returned. Sirius yelped, sitting straight up, plate clattering to the floor. Wide-eyed, he stared at Severus.

“Pads? You up? I managed to slip away for the weekend,” called Remus, barely tapping on the door before bounding in. He took in the scene, raised an eyebrow, and walked straight back out again. “Sorry! See you downstairs; I’ll get Baldric to fix me something. Take… take your time.”

Sirius blinked at the empty doorway. “Well,” he muttered, picking up his tea, “that was less awkward than expected.”

Severus glowered at him from across the bedclothes. “Indeed. But perhaps next time we should give him advance warning. I’m not sure it’s wise to surprise a man who’s prone to bursts of unstable magic.”

***

They found Remus sitting crosslegged on the kitchen floor and deep in conversation with one of the new house elves when they eventually got themselves dressed and went to find him. Severus coughed pointedly as he moved towards the pot of freshly-brewed coffee, and Remus smiled guiltily at them. 

“I promise I’ll call ahead and ask next time…” he began, but Sirius shook his head. 

“This is your home,” he told him. “You can come and go as much as you want. Just… just maybe wait at least 30 seconds after knocking on a closed bedroom door next time?”

“Deal. I am sorry, though – to both of you,” said Remus. Severus waved away the apology with a grimace, as Sirius pounced on yet another plate of toast. “Now, have either of you met Wheezy?”

“And Wheezy is…? Oh, yes; Wheezy is the house elf,” said Sirius indistinctly; his mouth was very full. “Of course. I freed them!”

“Yes,” said Remus with an exasperated smile. “All of them. From Lucius Malfoy.”

“Lucius Malfoy is a very bad man,” squeaked Wheezy, before raising her hands to the hot kettle. Remus, however, gently barred her way before she could do herself any harm.

“That’ll be all, Wheezy,” he said softly. The little elf bowed her head and scurried away. Then, he looked at Sirius. “Really, though – all of them?”

“It’s good, right? Imagine how disgusting it’ll be in there by now. I bet they’re drowning in dirty dishes and blocked toilets,” Sirius grinned. 

“But why…?”

“He stabbed my best friend.”

“Black is apparently attempting biochemical warfare in your honour,” muttered Severus, leaning against the kitchen counter. He looked startlingly different without his teaching robes; the t-shirt (still black, of course) and jeans made him look… softer, Remus thought. More human.

“Well, thank you,” smiled Remus. “Obviously. But have you spoken to any of them, either of you? Because Wheezy was just telling me that Bellatrix isn’t spending her days in the manor as you thought, Severus. She’s been away for hours at a time ever since she got her wand back – often at the same time as Lucius. Which means there are often entire days when Cissa is there alone.”

Sirius looked at Severus knowingly. “So I was right, then: we could storm the manor!”

Severus clicked his tongue irritably. “Don’t encourage him, Lupin.”

“But he’s not wrong,” argued Remus, and Sirius smiled smugly at Severus. “Not entirely, at least. If we moved when they were both out, tackled the mirror issue, surprised them when they came back…?”

“And I suppose you’ve both forgotten the Dark Lord in all of this? He has a direct tether to the house.”

“I had a thought about that, too,” said Remus surprisingly. He pulled out his thermos and took a sip, grimacing as he did so. “If he’s draining my energy to cling onto his form, surely it would… well, surely it would stop working if I were to drain it from myself?”

Severus looked at him coolly. “I’m not having you self-annihilate after we went to so much effort to save you, wolf.”

“I want to live!” Remus burst out, light in his wrists pulsing ever so slightly. He took a deep breath, before he continued. “Surely a gate, once opened, works both ways? Maybe there’s a potion or something I could use to weaken myself for a short window, to keep Voldemort at bay.”

“Are you mad, Moons?” snapped Sirius, hurling a piece of toast at his friend’s head. Remus, as always, ducked it without thinking and it sailed over his head and out through the open window. Both men watched it go; Severus, however, was staring at Remus thoughtfully – and mulling over the implications.

“I think it could work,” he said slowly, and they both spun around. 

Now it was Sirius’s turn to look annoyed. “Don’t be a pillock, Sev. We’re not doing the ‘storm the Manor plan’, you said, and we’re definitely not doing the ‘kill Moony to kill Voldemort’ plan.” He glared at Remus. “Sorry Moony, but we’re not. You’ve outrun death too many times already now; that lucky streak isn’t going to last forever.”

“I’ll die anyway if we don’t come up with something soon, though,” countered Remus quietly, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Sounds dramatic, but that’s about the long and short of it. May as well go out on my own terms if I have to do it, right?”

“Wrong,” muttered Sirius. 

Severus rolled his eyes. “See reason, Black; we wouldn’t leave anything to chance. I could get word to Cissy, ask her to break the mirror at the same time. The first mirror, I mean – the one which was used in the ritual. That would shatter the tether when the Dark Lord was at his weakest, and he wouldn’t be able to power himself back up using Lupin. Which means we could –”

“Heal him up, good as new, and then storm the manor. Like I originally suggested, I hasten to add,” said Sirius, sounding much more onboard all of a sudden. “Can we all agree now that I came up with the plan that brings down Voldemort? Just so we’re all on the same page for the Daily Prophet interview?”

The colour, though, had drained from Remus’s face. “But that’s her mirror. She would never…”

“She would, Lupin, if she knew it was the mirror or your life.”

“She’d better,” said Sirius gravely. “Otherwise I’ll have to steal all of her house elves, too.”

Remus’s fingers tightened around his mug until the heat should have hurt. He didn’t smile. None of them did. They all knew there would be no room for error. Not with this… and not with him.

Chapter Text

Cold came first; aching, marrow-deep cold. Then, the sharp smell of spellfire. Finally, yawning blackness gave way to the red glow of his eyelids, and he could hear the muted murmur of voices. Soft. Familiar. Impossible.

A hand brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Moony,” someone whispered. Sirius. Of course it would be Sirius.

Remus fought his way up through the dark, breath dragging.

“Easy,” James said – James – hovering above him with that ridiculous mixture of worry and fondness he used to wear every morning after a full moon. “Slow breaths, mate.”

Remus blinked until their faces resolved: James, Sirius, Peter – and Lily beside them, her eyes wet. He glanced down at himself and realised he must be in James’ new home; no hospital would feature knitted blankets quite so lurid. But hadn’t he just been in Scotland with Cissa? They’d been talking about coming back for James and Lily’s wedding, but surely it couldn’t be…

Then, memory came crashing back; the snow. Bellatrix. Screaming. And Cissa –

“Where is she?” Remus asked, voice cracking painfully on the words. “Where… where’s Cissa?”

No one answered at first, and somehow the silence hurt more than the Cruciatus ever had. James actually looked away, and Sirius’ jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. Then, Peter squeaked miserably, and the spell was broken: Remus tried to sit up.

Sirius put a hand flat to his chest and pressed him back down again. “Moony, don’t…”

“Where is she?”

Lily was the one who finally moved. She reached toward the bedside table, hands trembling slightly, and picked up a folded sheet of newspaper. She hesitated – oh, he would remember that hesitation for the rest of his life – before she offered it to him.

There, on the front page of The Daily Prophet, stood Narcissa Black – no, Narcissa Malfoy – in ivory silk and pearls, cool and perfect and hollow-eyed, standing beside Lucius with her hand in the crook of his arm.

SOCIETY WEDDING OF THE SEASON: BLACK HEIRESS WEDS LUCIUS MALFOY 

Remus stared at the picture until it blurred. He didn’t make a sound. Didn’t crumble, didn’t rage. He just… folded.

Sirius caught him before he could fall off the cot, and held him tightly in his arms. “It wasn’t her choice,” his friend murmured, voice shaking. “Moony, look at me. She didn’t leave you. They took her.”

James rested a palm gently on his ankle, grounding him the way Prongs once grounded the wolf, as Peter tactfully removed the newspaper and tucked it out of sight.

“Tea, anyone?” Lily asked. They all looked at her, confused, and she shrugged. “It’s what people do,” she said defensively. “I’ll go and… I’ll go and put the kettle on. Can you help me with the cups, Pete?”

“Can’t you just –” he began, but then he caught her meaning. “Sorry, yes. It’s this way, isn’t it?”

Remus closed his eyes as they shut the door behind them. Every single nerve in his body felt as if it had been scorched, yet he couldn’t keep himself from shivering. And, as the minutes ticked by, more of that horrible day clicked back into place – like a puzzle slowly being pieced together against his will. Bellatrix thrashing in the snow beneath him, biting down on his hands and scratching at his face as he begged Cissa to run. Lord Black holding a wand to her throat. The contract. The deal she had made for his life. The lie they had told. The pain.

He felt in his pocket for the ring he had given her. And, as James and Sirius held him, he wept for the girl he had known, and the future that had been stolen from them.

***

Later, much later – after Peter had gone home for the night, and James and Lily had gone to bed – Sirius crawled into the cot beside him and they lay together in silence for a while, staring at the ceiling.

“I failed her,” muttered Remus eventually, eyes drifting to the window and the weak moon hanging in the sky. “She had one chance, and I failed her.”

“You fought for her, Moons. You made her feel happy and safe for as long as you could. Don’t you dare call that failure.” Sirius pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and held it up triumphantly. “She wrote to me, you know. After you proposed.”

Remus went very still, his hand reaching again for the ring in his pocket. He squeezed it once, then handed it to Sirius. “I took it off her, when I realised it wasn’t going to end our way. I didn’t want to give them any more excuses to hurt her.” 

“She was so, so, so happy, Moons. She wrote that you two are fated to be together – and, cynic that I am about these things, I actually think she’s right.”

“But she signed the contract.”

“You told me yourself that she found a loophole. That even if you had to wait decades for her to be free, you’d wait,” Sirius reminded him.

“I’d wait as long as it took,” said Remus quietly.

“Exactly. And she’ll do the same – we know she will. So it’s not over for you two. It’s just… it’s just on pause for a while. And if there’s anything I know about the Black family, it’s that we’re very bad at giving up.”

Remus nodded, dragging a sleeve across his eyes. He couldn’t seem to get warm, no matter how many blankets Sirius piled upon him – as if something deep inside him had gone cold. Sirius hated that there was no quilt thick enough to fix it.

For a moment, he briefly considered sending for a hot chocolate. Then, after another look at Remus, Sirius asked the elf to bring up a hot toddy instead. Two, in fact, so he could keep him company.

***

“How did I get here?” Remus asked eventually. Peter, who had been dozing in a nearby chair, jumped; he hadn’t realised his friend was awake. 

“James found you on the doorstep,” said the smaller boy, pulling his seat a little closer to the cot. Remus had deduced, by this point, that his friends were pulling shifts to make sure someone was with him day and night. Just in case. “He thought you were… well, dead. You looked dead; you were half-frozen and barely breathing.”

“But how did I get from there to here? I didn’t even have shoes on.”

Peter smiled nervously. “Maybe you apparated?”

No, Remus thought, he couldn’t have apparated. He didn’t even have his wand when he’d been brought down in the cabin… although, saying that, it was here with him now. It should have been buried in the snow where he’d tried to smother Bellatrix Black with his bare hands, but it was here. 

“I doubt I went digging through the snow after all of that,” he murmured to himself, remembering just how many times Bellatrix had fired that same curse at him. Payback, he assumed. 

“So what are you saying?” Peter asked. “Do you think someone found you, dug your wand out of a snowbank, and dumped you here in Godric’s Hollow?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not a dog with a collar, Moony – how would they have tracked us down? Unless you woke up and told them where your family lives?”

Remus almost, almost, almost smiled at that; he liked hearing Peter refer to them all as a family. “I can’t remember anything after Bella took her,” he said, unsure how to put the nightmarish images into words. “I can’t remember anything after that. I couldn’t hear anything – it was like I’d gone deaf. I could see her screaming, and Lord Black shouting. Then it’s just… nothingness, until I woke up here.”

Peter shuffled closer, his chair scraping along the ground with a groan. He looked strangely eager, all of a sudden. “Maybe it’s like when you’re a kid, and you don’t know you can do magic, and it just sort of… happens without you knowing what’s going on.”

“No,” said Remus firmly. “I don’t think it was me. I’d know if it was me.”

“Then how did you survive the final curse?”

Remus looked at Peter strangely; the boy was pale, chewing his lip nervously. “Cruciatus doesn’t kill its victims, Peter. Weren’t you listening to Professor Tutela when she explained it?”

“I know that,” said Peter quickly. “But you said that you thought Lord Black shouted one last curse before you passed out.”

“I just said that I saw him shout something,” said Remus carefully, hairs standing to attention on the nape of his neck. “Not that it was a curse.”

They stared at one another for a long moment, before Peter patted Remus on the shoulder. “I must’ve misunderstood. You know what I’m like. Sorry, Moons.”

***

“Mum sends her love, by the way,” said James, quietly writing letters at the desk while Remus kept his endless vigil of the ceiling. “She said I should offer you a sleeping draught, but I told her you wouldn’t want it.”

“You’re right,” said Remus. “I wouldn’t.” 

Silence fell between them again, broken only by the scratch of James’s quill against parchment. 

“I can feel you wondering what I’m writing about, Moony,” his friend said eventually. “It’s Order stuff. And wedding stuff. All of which could use your help, when you’re up to it.”

Remus heaved himself up against the pillows, gasping with the pain of it. “I suppose you think I should be up and at it by now.”

“No,” said James evenly. “Most people who get hit by Cruciatus more than once tend to spend the rest of their lives in St Mungo’s. The fact that you’re talking coherently is enough for me at the moment. Recovery isn’t a race, Remus.”

There was a beat. Then: “I get the Order, but what help can I possibly offer you with the wedding? Flower arranging?”

“I was thinking food,” replied James, not turning around. “Food and music. Maybe a speech, too, to balance out whatever mad thing Padfoot’s planning on saying.”

“Food and…”

“... and music, yes.”

“You think I can think about food and music while she’s locked up in Malfoy Manor?” said Remus bitterly, turning his face to the wall.

“Yes,” said James patiently, finally turning around. 

“She’s probably sat there hating me for…”

“She loves you, Remus. She was going to marry you. She signed her life away to save yours. Do you think she’d thank you for repaying that debt by wasting it?” James crossed the room, and sat himself next to his friend. “Budge up, mate, because this is important.”

Remus obediently shuffled to make room, wincing as he did so.

“Narcissa Black fell in love with you for all the same reasons we love you,” James told him, hand firmly on Remus’s shoulder. “You’re kind, and funny, and you see beauty in the world even when it’s been nothing but ugly to you. You make people feel interesting. You look out for them. You love with every fibre of your being. And you’re the most ridiculous specimen of a werewolf the world has ever known – because you’re gentle, and you guzzle chocolate like oxygen, and you just… you’re the best of us, Remus.”

“But…”

“And I know the plan: I know you’re going to wait for her, as long as you have to wait. I don’t blame you one bit – I’d do the same thing. But remember she’s waiting for you, too.”

Remus sighed. “I can finally see how you won Lily over.”

A joke. A weak one, true, but it was a start.

“Pop that in the speech, then,” said James with a grin, and returned to his endless stack of letters.

Remus watched him for a while, even as his thoughts strayed back to Cissa: what she might be doing, and thinking, and feeling. Whether she might be wondering about him in turn. And then, quietly, something in him shifted.

He realised that more than anything – more than answers, more than justice – he wanted her to be safe. He wanted her to find moments of happiness wherever she could, even if those moments did not include him. Even if he never saw her again, never held her, never laughed with her in the way they once had.

The thought hurt. But it did not break him. Love, he understood now, was not a thing you clung to until it bled. It was something you carried. Something you protected. And so he would wait for her: not in bitterness, not in stasis, but as himself. He would live, and love, and remain gentle in a world that had given him every reason not to be. He would honour what they had by surviving it intact.

Outside, the moon climbed higher in the sky. Remus closed his eyes, one hand curling loosely around the ring in his pocket, and let himself believe, just for tonight, that somewhere, Narcissa was doing the same.

Chapter Text

Narcissa staggered as the silver light rippled around her, and for a moment she felt the world tilt beneath her feet. One heartbeat later, she was standing on a polished floor that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. Shadows clung to the corners, the fireplace stood cold and empty, and the towering wooden bookcases that encircled her were covered in dust. The two squashy armchairs under the circular window were motheaten and grey with age.

“How…?” she began, turning on her toes. Behind her was an ornate mirror in a golden frame, its surface unnervingly calm. She glanced at it, and for a fleeting heartbeat, she glimpsed herself holding Remus, whole and safe. Just a fragment, impossibly beautiful, impossibly cruel, and yet she knew: she had walked through a mirror that reflected desire itself, where longing and loss always shimmered just beyond reach.

A low, almost imperceptible hum filled the air, and she realised the Room had recognised her need: not just for safety, but for connection. The fire sprung to life in the grate, the candles blazed up around her, and the grey detritus that clung to everything rippled upwards into the air like stardust, disappearing through the cracked window before it healed itself.

A soft shuffle of footsteps drew her gaze. The handle turned, just as it had done all those years ago, and a tall boy with golden hair stepped in.

“Mother?” 

Draco’s eyes were wide as he stared at her, and she half-fell forwards to wrap him in her arms as the Mirror’s surface shimmered, reflecting not only her own face but the two of them together. 

“How did you find this place?” she asked, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“Professor Lupin told me that – wait, are we just going to sidestep the fact that you’re at Hogwarts right now?” he asked, holding her shoulders and stepping back so he could stare at her face again. “Does father know?”

“Of course the great Lord Malfoy doesn’t know, Draco. Don’t be so ridiculous.”

He laughed, and hugged her again – tighter this time. “At least I know you’re not a dream or a mirage created by the Room, then,” he said, voice muffled against her shoulder. “You’d be nicer. But what are you doing here?”

They stood for a long, silent moment, the room thrumming with unspoken words. “The room… it brought me here,” Narcissa said eventually. “Or the mirror did. I’m not really sure what happened. One minute I was at home, the next – here.” She didn’t mention the gallery of mirrors, or the darker Narcissa she’d seen in her reflection; some things he didn’t need yet.

“Me, too,” he said softly. “I… I needed to talk to you. I was thinking about it while I was looking for this place, and I guess the Room must have heard me.” The Mirror rippled again, acknowledging them both, a subtle reminder that magic could serve protection as much as reflection.

“Well, then,” she said softly, steering him towards the armchairs. “Let’s talk.”

***

It was as if the mirror itself had called the Room into being, bending space to cradle her and her son, a sanctuary woven from both longing and safety. Even if Draco had laughed when she’d offered him a mug of hot chocolate. 

“Between you and Professor Lupin, I’m going to wind up with – what’s the name of that muggle disease again? Diabetes, I think Potter called it,” he told her, before taking a sip.

“You sound like you’ve been spending a lot of time with Professor Lupin,” she replied lightly.

“He’s brilliant,” said Draco fervently. “A bit overprotective sometimes. And you… you did say I could trust him, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I’d trust Remus with my life.”

Her son looked at her, his eyes flickering from blue to gold and back again in the candlelight. “He talks about you a lot, you know. He has his own name for you, even.”

“Cissa,” she said with a grin. “I know. But what about your Gryffindor friend? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Granger,” he replied. “Hermione, I mean. Your letter… you called her a –”

“I didn’t, Draco. Bellatrix threatened to have you removed from Hogwarts if I didn’t send it.” Narcissa interrupted, smoothing her skirts. “I won’t let them brand you.”

Draco sagged with relief, reaching out to grasp her hand in his. “Thank Merlin for that,” he said softly. “Because I think I’m falling in love with her, mother, and I don’t know what I’d do if you forced me to choose between you both.”

She reached for his face, cupping it softly in her hands. “I would never, Draco. I love you. I want you to be happy.”

“Even if father –”

“If Lucius doesn’t approve of her, then I’d say it’s a ringing endorsement.”

“He was right, then,” said Draco. “Professor Lupin, I mean. I gave him such a hard time about it, but he knew exactly what had happened.” He paused, eyes glinting with mischief. “He seems to know you better than even I do. I wonder why that may be?”

Narcissa wiped her eyes. “Keep your suspicions to yourself. We don’t need another target on his back.”

“Don’t worry,” he said smoothly. “Granger, Potter, and I have a plan to keep him alive. Can’t lose the best teacher we’ve ever had just because Voldemort’s on a new crusade.”

She laughed, and hugged him all over again. Reluctantly, though, she loosened her hold when a narrow panel along the far wall opened, bathed in pale moonlight, revealing the shadowed path she knew must lead back to the Manor. 

“Time to go already?” he asked.

“I think so, my beautiful boy. I don’t want Lord Malfoy wondering where I’ve got to… and certainly not Bella.”

“I’ll see you soon, then,” he said, smiling weakly. “Christmas isn’t far away.”

She kissed his head once more, marvelling again at how different he looked in the golden glow of her favourite room. “I’ll be counting down the days.”

With one last glance at her son, she stepped through. The world shifted, and in an instant she was back in the Manor: the polished floors familiar, the corridors beyond the library – because, somehow, she had arrived in the library – thankfully silent. No one was shouting her name yet; it seemed no time had passed at all.

Somewhere, faint and nearly imperceptible, she felt the lingering echo of their connection – a quiet promise woven through magic and blood alike. And she smiled.

***

The library was quiet when Lucius entered, firelight glinting off the varnished shelves. Narcissa sat hunched over a book of poetry, her eyes moving across the stanzas even though her mind was elsewhere. She stiffened at the soft click of his footsteps.

“Lady Malfoy,” he said smoothly, his gaze sweeping over her. “I trust you found the morning… eventful?”

Narcissa closed the book and set it aside. “I handled it as best I could, husband,” she murmured, though a cold weight settled in her chest. “I’m so sorry. I should never have allowed her inside, but she said –”

“I’m sure she did,” Lucius replied, crossing the room and lifting her chin so she was forced to meet his eyes. “You did well to protect me. Your discretion has been noted.”

“Was I wrong to ask her to leave? Should I have had her wait for you?”

Lucius smiled. “I found her in the gardens,” he said lightly. “I dealt with the… situation.”

Narcissa thought of Rita Skeeter and felt a sharp pang of guilt. “I feared –” she faltered, swallowing. “I hope she hasn’t been harmed because of my mistake.”

A slow, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips. “You are overly conscientious, as always,” he said, stepping closer. He did not stammer, or bluster, or look to anyone for permission to speak this time. He had no need. “Rita Skeeter will not trouble us again. I am not your sister – I see no reason to draw things out unnecessarily.”

“Does that mean you –”

“It means you acted correctly.” His voice cooled, and he reached out to brush a beetle from her hair with his silver hand. “The Dark Lord will be pleased with us both for keeping this… wolf from his door.”

Narcissa lowered her gaze. “Yes, husband.”

Lucius studied her for a moment. “It is good to be allied with you once again,” he said at last. “Perhaps you might put aside your pretty books and prepare dinner. Bella will be joining us at eight.”

He left as silently as he had arrived, and only then did she realise what had unsettled her most: her husband was no longer diminished. Bellatrix’s shadow had lifted, and in its absence, Lucius Malfoy had stepped fully back into himself – composed, decisive, and terrifyingly familiar. She had thought aligning with him would shield her; never once had she considered what it might restore.

The firelight flickered, shadows dancing across the shelves. Narcissa pressed a hand to her chest and drew a slow breath. She thought of Rita Skeeter, of mirrors and silver light, of her son safe behind ancient walls. She thought of Remus, as she always did. Somewhere, he endured, unaware of the threads she and others were weaving to keep him whole. She hoped he could feel, in some small way, that he was not alone.

She had survived this encounter. And as the fire burned low, her thoughts returned to her son – to his warmth, his kindness, and his stubborn insistence on loving freely, whatever the cost.

At least, she thought, he is nothing like Lucius Malfoy.

Chapter Text

Ginny was leaning against Harry’s shoulder at breakfast when the huge tawny owl broke away from the others and dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of her.

“Oh Gin, surely not?” Harry asked disappointedly, even as he brushed a kiss against her hair. 

“I’m not a fan of their work, obviously,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “But I thought I’d take out a subscription after last year – if only so I can give Hermione the heads up when they write their next big exposè on her.”

Both of them glanced at Hermione’s empty spot; she had been disappearing more and more often of late. And, Harry noticed, Draco was conspicuously absent from the Slytherin table, too. 

“Bet they’re holed up somewhere doing homework again,” he said wearily, taking another bite of toast. 

“Yes, Harry,” teased Ginny. “Bit like the homework we’ve been doing, right?”

Ron grimaced as he sat down beside her. “I’m leaving if you start snogging, or talking about snogging, or even thinking about snogging,” he warned, piling his plate high with eggs and bacon. “And don’t ask how I’d know. You aren’t exactly subtle about it. Although at least you aren’t as bad as those two,” he added, nodding up the table to where Fred sat with a laughing Angelina in his lap. 

“Jealous, are we?” she replied, cocking an eyebrow towards Krum, who was sat scowling at the High Table. “Don’t be. It’ll be your turn soon enough.”

Ron went beetroot, and shushed her furiously. While the two began a whispered argument, though (“He’s my friend, Gin, and that’s it.” “Then why do your ears go pink every time he looks over?”), Harry leaned over to pluck the newspaper from its wrappings.