The moment Remus Lupin left for class, Sirius Black stepped through the floo network into the living room at the Potter house. Lily was bent over her books and parchment at the dining room table, biting her lip and running a hand over her belly. A bowl of cheese and onion crisps sat at her elbow, and she munched, marking down something in her notes as she studied.

"Gods how can you read? My eyes can barely focus, I'm so nauseated," Sirius declared, dropping dramatically into the chair beside Lily.

"I have a paper," she murmured.

Sirius grabbed a couple crisps, ate them, and regretted it, groaning and laying his head down on the table.

Several moments passed. Upstairs, Dora started coughing and Sirius glanced at the ceiling.

"She coughs more between flint removals now," Lily said quietly, answering a question Sirius hadn't asked with an answer he didn't want to hear. He didn't move, didn't react. Sometimes, it was easier to pretend such statements were never said.

When several additional moments slipped past, Sirius said, "If James wanted to do something reckless and kind of insane to help someone else, would you stop him?"

"Knowing James, nothing could stop him if someone needed his help," she replied. She paused, then looked up, "Why? What's he doing?" Lily's eyes were full of worry.

"Nothing I know of!" Sirius said quickly. "It's a hypothetical question."

"Hypothetical like you asking Minnie about animagi or hypothetical like real humans use the word?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sirius paused, then said, "Remus wants to go like... liberate werewolves or something."

Lily hesitated.

Sirius looked up, feeling her emotions. "You knew about this?" he asked.

Lily nodded. "I'm sorry. He mentioned it in private the morning after the full moon. He hadn't decided to go forward with it, though. Dumbledore had just approached him the first time and he mentioned it to me, and I said to him he needed to have a talk with you about it."

Sirius leaned back in the chair and sighed heavily. Lily reached over and held out her hand for his. He reluctantly leaned back forward and took hold of hers with his and studied their fingers as he wove them together.

"He's not leaving you behind, Sirius," Lily said, feeling his fears. "And he's not bored of you. You are enough. This isn't because you're lacking or letting him down in anyway. It's just the opposite, honey... You've built him up so much over the years, and given him confidence he never had before because of his furry little problem and now --" Lily squeezed Sirius's hand. "Now he wants other werewolves to know their worth, too. You've ignited him."

"I suppose," Sirius replied.

"You said once you wanted to help others like you'd helped Remus, remember?" Lily asked.

It still stung, thinking of that dream - that dream he had been denied of because of his family name. Because of politics and judgment. He wondered how many people would have benefitted if he had gotten to fulfill his dream - and whether those anonymous faces would ever be helped. Whether his failure had sealed their fates as it had sealed his own? Or were the gods less cruel than that? Would they simply find other ways, other healers, who hadn't let them down before they ever met?

Of course he remembered. He never forgot.

Sirius nodded.

Lily said, "Well, Sirius, in directly you've done it. Remus wouldn't be who he is without you... and if he helps the werewolves, it's because you helped him first. See?"

Sirius shrugged.

Lily let go of his hands and took another couple crisps, eating them. "Remus loves you, he'd never do anything that might risk losing you. Never forget it, Sirius, love."

James sat at his desk, leaning back in his seat, watching as Harry Underhill stood in front, leaning against his own desk, half seated on the desktop, reciting a speech he planned to deliver the next morning.

"...and as Minister, I will stand for the rights of underserved communities whose rights are unprotected by muggle or magical law. There is no reason why we have overlooked and under cared for these members of society for so long. They contribute to our world in meaningful ways and we ought to enrich their lives equally in turn, protect their lives as fiercely as we protect any other, and stand up for their rights."

James nodded along with the words, agreeing, and thinking how strong Underhill's voice was. He had the tone of a leader, James could hear it, could imagine Underhill making addresses over the radio from the Atrium as Ministers tended to do. And knowing Underhill so well as he did, he knew that the man had the heart of a leader as well.

This speech proved it.

But it had to prove it to the rest of the wizarding world - not just to James Potter, who was basically Underhill's number one fan by this point.

"It is wrong that the He Who Must Not Be Named is offering a better deal to them than we, the good guys, are offering. It is alarming that good people can be turned because of their hunger, because of their thirst for education and the right to be treated fairly. It is a human right - and we ought to be treating well the humans that are in our care."

Underhill paused here, glancing up at James, then back down to a sheet of notes in his hand, his eyes nervous and excited at once. It was clear that he really wanted to make a difference, to change the world for the good.

Underhill drew a deep breath and continued:

"As Minister, I will fight for the rights of all people under my care. I will fight for the safety and protection and well being of the pureblood, of the half blood, the werewolf, the mermish, the goblins, the house elves - any who answer to our law, we must answer with our care. This is the only way to fight You-Know-Who. We must love our people more than he hates them."

James nodded fiercely.

"What do you think, Potter?" Underhill asked, lowering his notes.

"So far, brilliant in my opinion," James answered.

Underhill stared at his papers, shuffling them against his chest. He looked up when James fell silent. "...but?" he prodded.

James shook his head.

"Potter, there's clearly a 'but' you're holding back."

"It's just that I don't know how well everyone's going to take the equality," James admitted. "I hate it, I hate the way our world is so judgmental, but - you know the minute you mention equality, you'll lose the vote of probably ninety percent of the pureblood families."

Underhill nodded. "But fuck them for being purists."

"And you bring in the werewolves and mermish and such and the remaining ten percent and a great deal of the... less progressive... half-bloods and muggle-borns are going to fall away. You know there's been so much werewolf propaganda over the years and now with Greyback being wanted --"

Underhill sighed in frustration and put the notes down, circling 'round his desk, "But that's exactly it, isn't it? Greyback wouldn't be posing half he threat he does if he wasn't attacking the damn Ministry. He fights for You Know Who, sure, but he's also fighting for his own agenda and it's his damned own agenda that motivates him so blasted much and there's dozens of werewolves under him that have no intention of being dark but are dragged along side --"

"Sir. You know nobody agrees with you more than me and that I understand perfectly well about the way werewolves are treated," James interrupted. "But the rest of the wizarding world doesn't see things that way. They see through the lens of the propaganda and the stories and lies they've grown up hearing. You know? They don't know first hand like - like we do." He paused, then, "I just think your platform needs to be... more subtle. You can push more blatantly once you're in office, sure, but the campaign... you gotta get people to listen to you before you can tell 'em otherwise you're preaching to the choir while the congregation ignores the message."

Underhill nodded and he ran a hand over his notes, spreading the sheets out. "Alright. I'll try at subtly."

James nodded and looked down at the paperwork on his desk - mental tests developed by the Ministry that were designed to assist folks who had been obliviated to retrieve fragments of memory stored in the subconscious in an attempt to recover some of what had been cleared out of the forefront. Underhill had assigned James to take the tests and figure out what he'd seen in Blackburn, but so far nothing had come back to him.

Underhill mulled over the papers for a few moments, then he said, "You know, I am not a man who is much good at subtly."

James looked up, "You don't strike me as such, sir."

Underhill guffawed at this. "Thanks for the bode of confidence, Potter."

"You said it, I just agreed based on observation." James grinned. Then, "What of it, sir?"

Underhill answered, "I'm wondering if it really is so  bad to say fuck it and just stand by my campaign as is." He tapped his finger against the speech notes as he'd written them. "Let them answer for it if they aren't for equality! And we may lose the votes of the purebloods but we'll be reaching an untapped voting pool by including the werewolves, won't we? They would be motivated to vote if they saw someone taking up for them, would they not?"

"That's true, I suppose," James nodded.

Underhill grabbed a sheet of paper and read aloud as he wrote, "Historical records of voting percentage of individuals infected by lycanthropy by term... Complete data records dating as far back at recorded." He rolled up the parchment and went over, attaching it to the interdepartmental owl, who fluttered up the chute in the wall.

"I doubt there's ever been much turn out," James said. "I imagine the registry dodgers wouldn't vote."

"So the records pre-1963 may reflect the numbers we could expect if we drove the campaign with the promise to increase the rights," Underhill nodded. "We could see the drop off from pre-Registry and what the turn out could possibly increase to."

James looked impressed, "Then compare to an expected margin. Very clever."

Underhill said, "No one ever campaigns promises of safety and equality. If they turn out, they could gain the control and protection they currently lack that keeps them from voting in other terms. The community is larger than most suspect, and stronger, really. They could be the key to their own future if they just have the right leader to guide the way."

This last sentence was something Carl Lyson had said that very morning when he had read Underhill's draft. Underhill had been a bit confused by the statement - it had seemed almost negative when Carl spoke it, but now it almost made sense. His speech would drive the werewolves to vote and the popular vote would win the election if the numbers of werewolves responding were high enough to out number the purists...

There was a hoot and they both looked up as the owl flew back through the chute, a new parchment attached to his leg. He stuck out his leg as he landed on the perch, and Underhill hurried over and took it off him. "That was mighty fast," he muttered, and unrolled the parchment. He stared at it for several moments. "Bollocks," he said.

"What's that?" James asked.

"The on hand copy of these records were among the items stolen from Minchum's office the day of the assassination," Underhill said, "In order to get records predating the Act of 1963 again, they must be collected from the direct records held at the Bodleian."

James raised an eyebrow. "Why did Minchum have those?"

"Indeed... and how did Greyback know that to steal them?"

James frowned.

Underhill balled up the parchment and tossed it into the bin. He paced a moment, then said, "Alright. Well... Guess I know what I'm doing this evening." He collected his coat and slipped his wand into the holster on the Ministry issued suspenders, tucking in his shirt. He grabbed the stack of notes from the desk top. "Bring those tests home, work on'em there. No need for you to be mucking about here when you don't have to. Maybe a change of scenery will help jog up the mind."

"Yes sir," James replied.

"I'll send you a revised copy of these notes tonight to read over for me before the speech for your final opinions."

"I'll await the owl, sir."

Remus got off the bus one full stop before he ought to have done, even though it was raining outside, because the ride from the muggle art school back to his flat had not afforded him enough time to think.

In class, Lula had sat next to him just as the class began, and removed a pair of sunglasses to reveal blood shot eyes, red from crying. Remus had looked at her, perplexed, "Lula? What's the matter?"

"It's nothing," she'd shaken her head and quickly hastened to pull out her supplies as the model of the day was disrobing and setting into their pose on the table at the front of the room.

Remus glanced up at him and then back to Lula.

"I just miss Stewie," she admitted quietly.

Remus looked down at his drawing pad, his heart tugging as he bit his lip. "I'm sure he misses you as well," he murmured.

"Does he ask about me?" she asked, "When you see him?"

Remus hesitated. Truth was, Spencer had asked only once about Lula, and otherwise had been so preoccupied with his new life and learning about the new world he had had no idea existed before that the topic of Lula Kensington had not resurfaced since.

"He does," Remus lied.

"I just wish I could see him, and talk to him, just to tell him I'm quite sorry for everything. I was a brat, and - I just miss his laugh and his art and his thoughts and..." she let the words drift off and started faintly blocking out the angles of the model in the front of the room, starting her sketch.

Remus knew the feeling of missing those things. He remembered times he'd been separated from Sirius, when he had yearned for the chance to see Sirius, just for a moment or two...

"Perhaps if we met up for a drink later," Remus suggested. "I mean, maybe he'd be alright with something of that sort."

Lula perked. "Yeah?"

"Maybe. It doesn't hurt if I asked him at least," Remus said, "I mean if he says no obviously I'm not going to force him, that wouldn't be right, but if -"

Lula turned and hugged Remus close. He closed his eyes as her softness pressed against him, and he felt a surge of energy spark through him. He sucked in a breath and she hugged all the tighter. "That would be wonderful."

They'd talked and made plans, Remus saying he would let her know if Stewie positively refused to go. After class, Lula had hugged him again on the street by the bus stop, and Remus had felt his legs go jellyish. He'd ridden on the bus nervous and wondering what Stewie would say.

Hopefully "yes", that he'd go.

Otherwise, Remus realized as he sloshed through the puddles in the alley behind the flat, he'd be basically showing up to a date in a pub with a heartbroken Lula later that night, all alone.