They said to write the book you want to read. I wanted to read a four-book series about Harry Potter's dead parents and their friends. follows and replies from chdarling. no terf nonsense here.
ok so I am probably going to disappear from tumblr again for another long stretch of time, as I've come to recognize that the dopamine rush of social media is not so good for maintaining the quiet, focused headspace I need to do the actual writing...but before I go, I thought I'd toss a bone (get it) to my long-suffering wolfstar shippers.
don't say I never give you anything ;)
Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders End
“Everyone thinks of me as either this…this posh, poncy, pure-blood prick—”
“Nice alliteration.”
“—or this arse who just wants to pick a fight at every opportunity.”
“Or both,” said Remus.
“Or both,” agreed Sirius. “But that’s not what I want to be. That’s not what I want to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
Sirius sprawled back on the couch, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling as he contemplated this question. “I want…I want to make things. Things that matter, you know? Things that last. Like the map.”
“Right…and your mirrors, and your motorbike.”
“Yeah.” Sirius took a long, pensive drag on the cigarette and exhaled a plume of curling smoke. “And music.”
Remus cast a curious glance at his friend. “Been making much of your own?”
“A bit.”
“Really? Will you play some for me?”
“Fuck no.”
“Oh, come on.”
“It’s all shit. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t buy that for a second,” said Remus. “I doubt if anything you’ve ever done is shit. In fact, I bet when you actually shit, the toilet says thank you.”
“Fuck off,” said Sirius, but he looked somewhat mollified.
Emboldened, Remus carried on. “Come on, I want to hear. One song?”
Sirius considered him for an unbearably long moment. The ash from his cigarette tipped onto the carpet, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Fine,” he said at last, stubbing out the cigarette. “But if you laugh, I’ll fucking hex you.”
“I won’t laugh.”
Sirius glared.
“I won’t. Cross my heart.”
“Hmph.” Sirius downed the last slug of whiskey from his glass, reached for his guitar and slung it onto his lap. “Bat bogies,” he threatened as he fiddled with the tuners. “Big ones.”
Remus mimed drawing an x over his heart.
With a sigh, Sirius gave the guitar a few exploratory strums and adjusted the tuners once more. Then, eyes still firmly on the guitar, he said: “Right. I started this one last year, but I’m still working on it. It’s called, ‘Son of a Bitch.’”
Remus snorted into his drink, then quickly composed himself. “That wasn’t a laugh.”
But Sirius just gave him a rueful half-grin. “All right, well, the title’s a work in progress.”
“Go on.”
Sirius shot him one last glance then turned his attention to his fingers on the fretboard and started to strum. Remus couldn’t quite suppress a smile as he watched his friend slip into the song, eyes drifting off into the distance as his nimble fingers danced upon the strings, coaxing out a melody — soft at first, but quickly growing stronger, more sure of itself…He was so spellbound watching this negotiation with the instrument that it almost took him by surprise when Sirius began to sing:
I was born a pure-blood son of a bitch
A first-born bait-and-switch, chokin’ on my silver spoon
With a black eye
Remus jolted slightly, staring at his friend in astonishment. He’d heard Sirius sing before, of course — an endless litany of birthday ditties, vulgar Christmas carols, The Ballad of Carter-Myles — but this was different. This was…raw. Intimate. Intolerably seductive.
Found a new road racin' through the deep wood
Swear I'm up to no good, dreamin’ of a new moon
And sayin’ goodbye
His voice was not exactly what one would call smooth or melodious — he was no Stubby Boardman — but it was deeply captivating all the same. Remus found himself thinking of a dog’s low, husky growl. He let his eyes roam over Sirius’s features as he sang — the faint furrow in his brow, the soft line of his lips, the long, dark lashes that framed those distant eyes. He listened, entranced, as Sirius’s words snaked from verse to chorus:
Then they said I was a new man, they said I was a stranger
A plot without a plan, a hopeless flirt with danger
Takin’ the low road, wherever it goes
I’ll tell you where that is, whenever I know
Just don’t—
Don’t give up on me, I know
I fucked it all up
But I’ll go on tryin’…
Just don’t give up on me, I said
I’d be a better man
I wasn’t lyin’
I wasn’t lyin’…
Remus froze. Was this…was this song for him?
A noose of golden thread
They said blood finds a way, but which way's which?
You son of a bitch, yeah, I'm a son of a bitch, but…
His mind drifted back to a sunlit day at King’s Cross, well over a year ago…and the words Sirius had offered him in parting after that awful term, the words that had haunted him for months to follow…
Just don’t give up on me, I said
I’d be a better man
I wasn’t lyin’
And I'm still tryin'
I swear I'm tryin'…
“I haven’t written the final verse yet.”
“What?” Remus blinked back to the present, suddenly startled to find that the music had stopped and Sirius’s gaze — once lost in his own faraway world — had returned and was now set firmly on him.
“I don’t know how the song ends.”
There was a long pause as both boys considered this. In the silence, Remus recognized that something miraculous had just happened: Sirius had let his guard down. He never did that, but somehow, without really meaning to, Remus had managed to crack through his hard outer shell and expose the softness he’d always suspected lurked underneath. So this is what Sirius had been doing all those summer days holed up on his own...
“I told you it was shit,” Sirius muttered.
“It’s not shit,” said Remus quickly. “I’m just…surprised. I never knew you were a poet.”
Sirius gave a disgusted snort. “I’m not a fucking poet.”
“That wasn't an insult, Padfoot.”
“Forget it.” Sirius shoved the guitar away. “It’s not poetry, it’s just a stupid song.”
Remus bit back a sigh. He could almost see Sirius’s outer shell hardening once more. “I liked it,” he said. “I hope you finish it.”
“Probably won’t.”
“That’d be a shame. I’d like to know how it ends.”
Sirius’s stormy eyes flickered up to meet Remus’s own, and with the faintest intake of breath, Remus knew that it was hopeless: all his desperate pretending, his self-deluding restraint, the violent quelling of nearly seven years of butterflies…none of it mattered when Sirius looked him in the eye.
He was lost.
ok I'm having a bit of a shit week (I'm aware it's Tuesday), so I have been retreating to my happy place, aka Hanging Out With James Potter.
In the spirit of maybe making someone else's shit week a little less shitty, here is me impulsively sharing a random TLE3 scene.
with the eternal caveat that everything I share could completely change in the final draft. 🙃
Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders’ End
The door swung open and James sauntered in. “All right, very funny,” he said, dropping himself in the armchair and kicking his feet up on the trunk that served as Sirius’s coffee table. He gave them an amused, exasperated smirk that suggested they were all in on the same joke.
“What’s funny?” said Sirius.
“Come off it. I know it was you.”
Sirius and Lily exchanged a confused look.
“What are you talking about, mate?”
James rolled his eyes, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled letter. Then he cleared his throat and read imperiously: “Dear Mr. Potter. We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite your rather colorful school records — nice touch, that — the Headmaster feels that you have exhibited exemplary courage, creativity, and leadership skills — pah! — We are certain you will…blah, blah, blah, responsibilities, blah, blah. Very clever. Very authentic. I’m impressed, really.”
Sirius gaped at him. Lily had covered her mouth in astonishment.
“So what does this do, then?” James went on, heedless to the shock on his friends’ faces. He held up a shiny red and gold badge. “Will it turn my hair green or piss at me if I try and pin it on?”
“You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?” said Sirius at last. “You’re not really Head Boy.”
“Of course not, because you sent me a counterfeit letter.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Come off it,” said James, whose amused expression had at last faded into something more closely resembling genuine alarm. “Joke’s up, I figured it out. We both know there’s no way Dumbledore made me Head Boy.”
Sirius walked over and grabbed the letter from James, examining it closely. “Did you try any anti-counterfeit spells?”
“N-no…”
Sirius began to poke the letter with his wand.
“Mate,” said James, “just tell me you sent this letter.”
“Would if I could, Prongs. It’s legitimate. This letter came from the desk of Minnie McGee herself.”
“No…no. There’s no way.” He turned beseechingly to Lily, who was still hiding her mouth behind her hand. “There’s no way. Leadership skills? I mean, I wasn’t even a prefect.”
“Well, you are Quidditch Captain,” offered Lily. “That’s a leadership position.”
“But that’s…that’s Quidditch. Head Boy should be a prefect. Remus—”
“—was a bloody awful prefect and he’d be the first to admit it,” said Sirius.
“Yeah, but—”
“They’re probably hoping a bit of you-know-what will sort you out,” said Lily.
“You-know-what? I don’t know what. What?”
“Responsibility,” she whispered in a conspiratorial hiss. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.
James, for his part, looked at them with dawning horror in his eyes. “Oh, sweet Merlin with his knickers out to dry. They’ve made me a figure of authority.”
At this, Lily dissolved into giggles, falling back into the sofa cushions.
“It’s not funny. Evans, stop laughing!”
Lily sat up and gave a sharp salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”
“Nice,” said Sirius approvingly.
“Well, I learned from the worst,” said Lily.
James looked on with a sulky glare. “You know, I’m not sure I like you two being friends.”
“Cheer up,” said Sirius. “I’ll still be your mate even if you are Head Swot. I mean, not publicly, of course. And you probably shouldn’t eat meals with us anymore, but you can still sleep in the dormitory. For now.”
“Shut it.” James chucked his Head Boy badge at him. Sirius dodged and the badge hit the wall with a resounding ping. “This can’t be happening,” moaned James, sinking further into the depths of his chair. Then, he sat up abruptly. “Oh, Merlin. Who do you think the Head Girl is?”
“Probably someone really awful,” said Lily with a commiserative grimace. “Sorry.”
“Yeah,” agreed Sirius. “Probably some stuck-up, frigid goody-two-shoes who — ow! — hits disturbingly hard for a girl” he finished, glaring at Lily while he rubbed his shoulder.
“You think it’s McKinnon?” said James, wide-eyed and appalled.
“God, you’re stupid,” said Lily affectionately.
Sirius tapped her on the shoulder. “Should we tell him? I think we should tell him.”
“But he’s so cute when he’s terrified.”
“You’re mean.”
Lily stuck out her tongue. “And you used to be fun.”
“What are you two on about?”
Sirius smirked and gestured at Lily. “Head Boy, meet Head Girl.”
“What? You’re Head Girl?”
Lily shrugged. “That’s what the letter says.”
James’s entire demeanor was suddenly transformed. “Blimey, why didn’t you say something? Letting me prattle on and on like an idiot…”
“It was much more fun watching you angst.”
“Hey, if you two need a set of matching crowns, I know a goblin,” offered Sirius.
James and Lily both flipped him off in unison.
Sirius snickered. "Look at that. A united front. Just what Hogwarts needs."
Well, Homer isn’t back yet, which I can only assume means he’s been seduced by those majestic American mountains one hears so much about. Or perhaps he’s decided he’s had enough of dreary old England and has gone off to start his new life as a cowboy. I assume that’s the sort of thing most Americans do, though I admit I have only a cursory knowledge on this front, having never been to the States myself. My dad did once, though. Spent a week on a Muggle dude ranch out in Wyoming. Or was it Wisconsin? I can’t remember, somewhere terribly American sounding where they have a lot of cows. Anyway, it was a great laugh, according to him, so maybe Homer’s onto something.
If he doesn’t turn up soon, I’ll send this letter via Virgil, my parents’ rather doddering old owl. I’m not strictly speaking supposed to use him for cross-country journeys, but London isn’t all too far, after all, and though it’s only been a few days, I am anxious to hear how you are settling into life with that charming sister of yours. Do let me know.
The quill that had been scrawling this cheerful missive paused, and James Potter scrubbed a hand over his face, frowning intently. Nearly a full minute passed before the ink-dipped nib of his quill returned to the parchment.
Hello my loves! With TLE2 coming to a close, I thought I'd share the full TLE2 soundtrack. You can listen to it here, or I've included the track list below for those who don't use Spotify.
As before, this is a total mishmash of period appropriate and anachronistic music. The genres are all over the place. Some songs directly correlate to the plot, some songs are mentioned in the story, some are pure vibes. It's pretty long...but so is TLE2. 😌
Enjoy!!!
Track list under the cut:
The Times They Are A-Changin’ - Fort Nowhere
She Used To Love Me a Lot - Johnny Cash
Never Had No One Ever - The Smiths
Cherry Bomb - The Runaways
Father and Son - Cat Stevens
Water Under the Bridge - Tow’rs
She’s Not There - The Zombies
Break On Through (To The Other Side) - The Doors
Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - George Harrison
Raining in My Heart - Buddy Holly
Family Line - Conan Gray
With a Little Help From My Friends - Joe Anderson (Across the Universe)
Love Hurts - Roy Orbison
It’s Alright - Mother Mother
Bad Reputation - Joan Jett & The Blackhearts
Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood - Nina Simone
Play With Fire - The Rolling Stones
Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks
Blue Suede Shoes - Elvis Presley
The Princess Diaries Waltz (Score) - John Debney
Astronomy - Conan Gray
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Judy Garland
Dead Mom - Sophia Anne Caruso
Vincent - Don McLean
You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away - The Beatles
Mis-Shapes - Pulp
Golden Years - David Bowie
It’s a Heartache - Bonnie Tyler
Stayin Alive - Bee Gees
Dancing Queen - ABBA
I’d Love to Change the World - Ten Years After
Be More Kind - Frank Turner
One Toke Over the Line - Brewer & Shipley
Flying - The Beatles
Baba O'Riley - The Who
Villain - Maisie Peters
Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've?) - Buzzcocks
Will the Circle Be Unbroken - The Carter Family, Johnny Cash
This Woman's Work - Kate Bush
April Come She Will - Simon & Garfunkel
evermore (feat. Bon Iver) - Taylor Swift
For What It's Worth - Buffalo Springfield
You Belong to Somebody Else - PJ Harding, Noah Cyrus
Know Your Rights - The Clash
Broken Crown - Mumford & Sons
Fire - Etta James
Knockin' On Heaven's Door - Bob Dylan
Lily - Benjamin Gibbard
Dancing Queen - stories, Lizzy McAlpine
God Only Knows (Acoustic Slowed + Reverb) - Jae Hall
Homeward Bound - Simon & Garfunkel
Back to the Old House - The Smiths
New World Coming - Cass Elliot
...and one more secret song that I'll add after chapter 71 ;)
The entrance to Hell is hidden at the base of a large willow tree, a human-sized hollow tangled in its roots, ready to swallow you whole.
Down, down, down into the earth.
You find a low tunnel, as stifling as it is starless, an endless, Stygian squeeze to the core of the earth.
Down, down.
It is hot here, like the blaze of black pavement, like the sear of skin under an angry sun. But through the sweat, you press on, as fast as you can, chasing an urgency you cannot name.
This treacherous earth clenches its fist around you, tighter and tighter, a noose around a neck — until you are forced to crawl on all fours. Tighter and tighter and tighter — you slither on your belly like a snake, squeezing against the tangle of tree roots that strangle your path, until at last, at last, at last you see it: A way out.
A way in?
You press your palms against the trapdoor. Drip of sweat. Decay of destiny. You push…
“But what am I going to do without you all summer? Who am I going to talk to?”
Sirius gazed somberly at his companion, unsure how, and frankly, unable to respond to this question.
“I do recognize this is a rather absurd question to ask a dog,” said Lily. “Don’t think the absolutely pathetic nature of this arrangement has been lost on me.” She let out a snort of laughter and sat down upon the fallen bole of a felled tree. Its tangled roots sat exposed above the earth; a spiral of fungi clung to its bark, a slow devouring.
“Listen to me,” she said, with a derisive eye roll. “‘Arrangement.’ Ha. Which reminds me….” She reached into her bag and withdrew a small parcel. “Turkey today,” she announced, unwrapping the parcel to reveal, predictably, a sandwich. Sirius — or rather, Snuffles — padded over and accepted the offering.
Lily smiled. “And yet…even though you are a dog who has no idea what I’m saying and who I bribe into companionship via turkey sandwiches…you’re still far and away a better conversationalist than Petunia’s going to be this summer. I’m going to go mad, I know I am.”
The fog hung low upon the dewy lawn as Remus followed the school matron across the grounds, away from the gentle sway of the Whomping Willow, away from yet another full moon. The last of the school year. It had just been him and Sirius again this moon, much to James’s irritation.
“I can sneak out after Poppy falls asleep,” James had insisted from his hospital bed the evening before. “She’ll be none the wiser.”
“It’s not a good idea,” Remus had countered. “What if she wakes up and you’re gone?”
“I’ll say I fancied a walk!”
“You need to rest.”
“I’ve had nothing but rest. I am overflowing with rest, I’ve reached my rest tolerance, I am all rested out. Besides, it’s the last full moon of the year—”
“He said no, James.” It had been Sirius who’d put his foot down, surprising them all. Perhaps he knew he was the only one who could. “There will be more full moons. I’m sorry, mate, but you have to sit this one out.”
“Fine,” was James sullen reply. “I’ll just stay here and rest.”
“No — I’m fine. I don’t need a mediwizard, I need someone to listen to me!”
Lily pushed frantically through the chaos of the ruined street, trying to find some authority figure who wasn’t completely useless. The air was acrid with smoke — plumes of it choked the village as columns of Fiendfyre still raged on — and though the dueling had ceased and the Death Eaters had vanished, still all was a bustle of frantic, terrified activity as the Ministry officials who had apparated in at last to quell the fighting and flames now attempted to regain a modicum of control over the situation. Wounded students and civilians were herded in a daze towards white tents for medical treatment. Friends separated by the fray reunited with tears and shouts.
Lily didn’t know where any of her friends were. She was desperate to find them — but first, she needed to get help, and no one would listen to her.
Whatever adrenaline or delusion had kept her moving, kept her feet dancing just out of the way of hexes and flames, kept her mind sharp amidst the chaos — it had faded now, and she felt as though waves of weariness had crashed upon her as she stumbled bewildered through the wreckage.
James ran. He ran faster than he’d ever run in his whole life. He hurtled out the door of the apothecary, slamming it shut with his wand as he went, lest the others try to follow him into the fray. He weaved and dodged through spell and smoke, flinging up a shield charm just as a masked man raised his wand — the curse hit the invisible barrier in a cascade of sparks. James paid it no mind. Kept going. Distantly, he was aware of someone shouting at him through all the chaos, recognized adult figures that weren’t masked or dressed in black — he ignored them all. Only one thought filled his brain, drowning out everything else amidst this swirling hurricane — only one word, one idea, one purpose commanded his mind’s eye: Lily.
He was nearly to the bookshop, just a few more paces. The fire was growing — roaring, spitting, spreading; it circled the shop like a snake about to squeeze its prey. If he didn’t make it through, the shop would be cut off — and Lily trapped inside.
A burst of heat blossomed behind him; he pushed harder, ran faster.
Skid of heel against cobblestone; air hot with smoke and ash. He slipped through the circle of fire just as it closed upon itself, a flaming ouroboros. James paused for half a second to catch his breath, sweat pearling on his brow in the heat of the blaze. Then the fiery snake flicked its tail, and a wall of flame crashed into the shop.
High above him, bright gleaming emerald stars glittered against a smoke-stained sky. They formed the shape of a skull — gaping eye sockets as dark and empty as those of Professor Carter-Myles’ several feet away. A serpent slithered through the skull’s teeth…Peter could almost hear its hiss, echoing in his own skull, slinking through his thoughts, unfurling through all the horrors that flitted about his brain. And amidst the hiss, there was a voice — his own voice — that couldn’t stop squealing: It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault!
But how could he have known this would happen? His little plot with the mirror had been completely innocent. He’d just wanted to impress his friends, to get back what was theirs, to show them that Peter Pettigrew wasn’t useless. And he’d gotten the mirror back, had it stowed safely in his trunk in the dormitory. He hadn’t told his friends about it yet — there hadn’t been time, he’d wanted it to be a moment of triumph — and he hadn’t wanted to tell them about the little incident with Snape. But he couldn’t have known this would happen! He thought at worst Snape might tell a teacher, or perhaps some of his Slytherin pals would show up and harass them…but this? This?
Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with him at all. Maybe it was all just a terrible coincidence.
“The Dark Mark,” said Sirius, and Peter wrenched his gaze back from the heavens. “That means—”
“I know what it means!” snapped Peter, and he hated the hysterical shriek in his voice but he couldn’t turn it down.
At first, the only thing that registered was the heavy thump of pain that echoed through the body like the aftershocks of a quake, each heartbeat a blast reverberating against this battered bag of flesh and bone.
Then, slowly, Sirius became conscious of the fact that the heartbeats were his own, the pain his own, and he began to make further inquiries into the status of his body. He discovered that he was lying on his stomach, cheek and palms pressed to the hot earth, and they ached. There was some sort of pressure atop him, keeping him down. He couldn’t move. After a heart-stuttering moment, he determined with relief that he could — though it was most unpleasant — feel his legs. They also ached, all the way down to his tiniest toenail. Even the gums of his teeth seemed to ache. His skull clanged like a ringing bell.
He tried to determine where he was, to remember how he got here, but he came up empty. Perhaps he’d been attacked by his cousins again. It felt about the same.
It occurred to him at this point that he might open his eyes. He tried it. It didn’t make much difference. He could only see straight ahead — all an endless, dusty grey — and of that he could only glimpse a sliver as there was most certainly something large and painfully heavy atop him. Like a wall. It was as though a wall had collapsed on him, pinning him to the ground.
“Here we are,” said James, breezing into the bookshop as merrily as the jingling bell that announced their arrival. “Hotbed of dangerous political activity, and all that.”
He peered around cheerfully. Though he, Remus, and Peter had arrived on the early side, arms laden with signs for the protest they’d crafted in the dormitory earlier, the place was already quite full of activity. He’d been inside this tiny little shop once before, and it had been utterly empty. Today, however, it was teeming with people, all students, all milling around picking up books and chatting.
“Blimey,” said James. “I guess we successfully got the word out?”
“I’d say so,” agreed Remus. “Here, give me those signs, I’ll set them up on a table over there to hand out later.”
“Right you are.” James unburdened himself of his political paraphernalia and turned back to beam around the shop, basking in the bustle of activity as one might enjoy a really sunny day. He’d been quite grumpy on the way over, to tell the truth. They’d taken that tunnel hidden behind the mirror, not wanting to draw attention to their protest signs and Muggle clothing, and James had engaged in a good sulk most of the way about the fact that Sirius had opted to stay behind to “get to know Garrett.” It didn’t take a genius to spot that Sirius was, one might say, up to no good.
The cup of tea was hot in her hands as Lily watched the milk she’d poured unfurl in a riotous blossom. She gave it a stir, gazing intently at the swirl, the storm, the eventual settling. Eternity in a teacup.
She sat alone at the Gryffindor table. Only a few other students were freckled around the Great Hall, sleepily assembling their own breakfasts. She’d come down far earlier than was her usual habit. No one would ever accuse Lily Evans of being a morning person, but she’d woken up early today. She couldn’t sleep. The frantic week prior had flitted away like a fretful spring breeze — all their planning and plotting, whispers in the corridors, owls in the evenings — until suddenly it was Saturday.
The day of the big protest.
Probably it was some combination of nerves and exhaustion that kept her staring into the depths of her tea, and she lost track of precisely how long she’d been at this before she noticed a presence behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. It was Severus.
At least, not at first. He’d been working on his essay on poison antidotes (trivial stuff, he couldn’t wait to get to N.E.W.T.-level, leave the rest of these third-year dunderheads behind and learn the real art of potion brewing) when he’d been distracted by a reference in the text to something call a bezoar. He was in the library, waiting for Lily to meet up with him as they often did on Friday afternoons, but she was late, as she often was, and he found himself irritated by his own shameful state of unknowing, so he’d got up to find another book that would provide an answer to this new, itching question. His studies often lead him down such circuitous paths of learning. It may not be the most efficient method, but there was a reason he far excelled his classmates in every subject.
As he stood to begin this hunt for knowledge, he noticed something that made his skin crawl: Sirius Black and James Potter were seated only a few tables away, partially obscured by one of the library’s tall shelves, so that Severus hadn’t noticed them before. All Black would have to do was tip his chair back and he’d easily spot Severus sitting behind him.
This felt like an unbearable intrusion. This was his place, the one part of the castle where they weren’t supposed to bother him. And yet, here they were. Intruding. He wondered if they’d sat there on purpose, if that was their goal, to make sure that Severus knew that nowhere in the castle was safe from their hooliganish behavior, their constant torment that had steadily escalated in the nearly three years they’d been at school.
The annoying thing about Sirius Black was that he wasn’t just good at things: He always had to be the best. This obnoxious perfection extended, it turned out, to the protective charms he’d placed on the remaining half of his two-way mirrors. This was perhaps effective in preventing Snivellus from snooping on them, but it was proving extremely irritating for Peter, who had been working for weeks and hadn’t yet cracked the spells.
At first he’d thought it wouldn’t be a big deal if he couldn’t get all the protective magic scrubbed off, but it turned out tracking spells were extremely sensitive to magic, and any deviation from the original charming messed the whole thing up. It occurred to him with a sort of heavy sinking in his gut that this meant any tinkering Snape might’ve done could derail his whole plan and put Peter firmly back at square one…but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.
The frustrating thing was that he knew if just asked his friends for help, they’d be able to fix it in a moment — but he was determined to do this on his own. To prove that he could do this on his own, to finally show them up just once…so he’d squirreled away for the evening in the dormitory while the other boys remained downstairs, spending his evening in solitude, fiddling with charm-breakers and other complex spells that made his head hurt.
After about an hour of this, Peter actually felt as though he’d made some progress. None of his revealing spells showed any traces of magical barriers…but then he was faced with a new complication: How would he know if he’d got it right, if the connection between the two mirrors was indeed fully cleared again?
He stared into the small, square mirror, his scowl reflected back to him as he thought. What harm could it do, really? Just for a moment…?
“Dreadful, dreadful thing,” said Professor Slughorn, shaking his head sadly as he spread a great glob of clotted cream upon a scone. “There’s simply no rhyme or reason to it — especially when you add those Muggle automobiles into the mix—”
“I really—” interrupted Lily, because she couldn’t bear it. It was a Saturday afternoon, and Professor Slughorn had invited her to tea in his office. She sat across from him — he in a plush armchair, she on one of the grand leather chesterfields — a spindly table set up between them, topped with a tiered tray of sweets and scones, bright and colorful as baubles in a shop. A stout silver teapot glinted in a beam of afternoon sunlight that filtered through the windows. She didn’t particularly want to be here, but she understood this was the sort of invitation a student had to accept. Professor McGonagall had summoned her for the same sort of thing a few days earlier — a handful of biscuits and the obligatory check in from which Lily desperately wanted to check out.
“I really just want to focus on school right now,” she said at last. “Catch up on what I missed and everything.”
“There’s that classic British phlegm,” said Slughorn approvingly. “I’ve always known you were made of tough stuff.”
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