This dedication is for Teddy because she is a beautiful, hilarious friend and it's her birthday today! Hope it's as good as it can be considering school! ♥️♥️♥️
hpaddict_marauders

(5th February 1977)

Remus wasn't jealous. He wasn't. He was concerned, that was different. Very different as far as Remus was concerned.

Since the beginning of the new term it had been abundantly clear that not only had Sirius found his way back into the seventh year Ravenclaw dorms to see Keegan Trista (like he had done at the beginning of the term prior) but it had become more of an amatory habit. A habit that concerned Remus. He wasn't jealous.

He awoke the morning first of February without much intention of doing much that Thursday morning –he had a free first thing– but his internal alarm system had other, abhorrent plans. The sun was barely in the sky when Remus snapped out a particularly peculiar dream with a jolt that felt like a speed bump.

The morning air was crisp (James had obviously managed to open the window last light without Peter's knowledge –who often went shutting windows after James) and the smell of dew and perhaps a light coating of frost gave the room a tonic aroma which he enjoyed for all of five seconds before he realised that sleep wasn't coming back.

He swung his legs round the side of the bed, passive aggressively; hoping James was still there so he could chastise him about leaving windows open in February but the bastard had already slipped silently out the room and was probably off somewhere in the castle grounds running. And so Remus huffed and shut the window by himself, it was only one bed along seen as he was the closest after James but that didn't stop him making a song and dance about it (even if it was only for his grumbling benefits seen as no one else was awake to witness his petty tantrum).

The window firmly shut, Remus got a chance to admire what sort of day it was going to be. And it shaped to be a decent one. Cold, but decent, the sun was still low but when it rose it would surely thaw most of the frost, and leave behind only a bitter wind that was always around the highlands at this time of year. It rarely left as a matter of fact.
Despite still being in a foul mood he couldn't deny that the dawn at this hour was rather spectacular, the sky looked as if it had been painted by John Constable himself; curves of orange pierced what was mainly a pale, in only slightly dull, blue. There weren't any clouds, not so much as a single drop of snow, hail, or rain since the snow had been melted by the bitter warmth in the sun.

He padded back to his own bed and lay atop the covers, doing his best to recall whatever dream it was that he'd been having. It was a well known fact that Remus Lupin did not do well in mornings. Any mention of brain usage before ten seemed ludicrous to him and therefore he did not wish to participate in such things. Particularly when the full moon was close– as it was now. But try as he might the peculiar dream never came to mind.

What did come to mind was Keegan Trista and the fact that he had been smirking at Sirius during meal times (which as far as Remus was concerned –which he was: just concerned– seemed a little bit inappropriate). Keegan was a seventh year, muggleborn, Ravenclaw and seemingly a bed for Sirius to frequent whenever he was bored and feeling in the vagabond mood. That was just Sirius' way: always doing things for the kick and not for the consequence and more often than not, it ended up ruining people like Keegan Trista.

Remus shook his head, clearly thinking was also out the question too. James still wasn't back from his run and so he took the advantage of the empty bathroom.
The shower was on the perilous verge of ripping his skin off but maybe that's what he needed, a sort of new skin. All this thinking, and dreaming and tales had worn him to the point of wondering if he was trying to clean the dirt on his body or underneath.

When he emerged from the shower he still felt like he's rolled around in mud but there wasn't much to be done about that apart from taking his finger and wiping the words 'fuck off' in the condensation.

"I don't think I've ever seen you up at this time in all my years at Hogwarts," came a voice of a well trained accent perched on top of the bed closest to the window with the absence of a T-shirt (that particular garment had taken residence on the floor).

"Yeah well you know me: always breaking stereotypes."

James tittered, making a face that anyone that didn't know James might have mistook for genuine disappoint, "that's sarcasm. What did we say about sarcasm?" His tone sounded vaguely like one's might be when addressing a child accused of nicking a biscuit.

He grumbled, "no sarcasm before noon."
It was a long standing rule that had been put into place originally by Peter and Sirius and fully supported by James and Peter. The rule was fairly self explanatory: there was to be no sarcasm until such times as those sleep deprived were woken up enough as to deal with it. Wit, it appeared, was for the awake.

"Bingo. Now if you don't mind I need a shower." James clicked his fingers and pointed at Remus to indicate he had got it in one.

"What took you so long back up anyway? Aren't you usually back by now?" He spoke quietly to avoid an unwanted run in with the kind of Sirius Black that exists before seven o clock.

"I bumped in to Esme-Leigh," James shrugged before disappearing into the bathroom and not emerging until a groaning and grumbling Padfoot was rolling out of bed and whining like a toddler.

♣ ♣ ♣

(5th February 1977)

The truth was that technically bumping into Esme-Leigh while running was not the issue that kept him back at hand; they often ran together when they saw each other and it rarely effected the running time. It was more the conversation that they had while and after running that veered the course of things.

"You're here again?"

"I'm here everyday, Ez."

Esme jogged up till they were shoulder to shoulder. Her hair was a manageable dirty blonde and pulled into a severe ponytail. James noticed that, like him, she didn't wear her glasses while out for a run in the mornings.

And what a morning it was. Criminally cold, but the sky looked like the gods had spilt a watercolour of orange over the pale blue, looking like a five year old had been set loose with free reign over a canvas and yet there was an odd sort of majesty to it. Clouds danced shyly across the sun and protected the layer of frost that gave the grass a satisfying crunch under foot. It hadn't rained in a very long while, weeks in fact but still the morning was wet. The thaw was still working its magic on the iced over black lake in preparation for the inevitable spring although looking at the bitter blue above them it was hard to imagine any sort of warmth in the sunshine.

"Well are we going then?" She asked him, tapping the back of his head in what he considered quite a sharp way.

He didn't reply but instead watched her jog ahead for a short moment. Even without her glasses and her variable-coloured hair she was perhaps the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

It was nearly impossible for one not to be at least passively in love with Esme-Leigh Bisset even if one acknowledged the fact or not. Whether that was her Veela blood that caused this or just her eccentric personality it was
difficult to decipher. Despite, James was one of the later: those who preferred to discredit the fact and repress its existence entirely. She had been his first fourteen-year-old crush and he decided after seeing her 'date' Nicholas Finch for all of twenty minutes that crushes weren't worth it anyway and so he ignored and neglected his affection for her and refused to entertain the prospect that it might come back, or, for that matter, that it had ever left.

"I can feel you looking at me from here, you bloody pig!" Came her oddly comforting melodic ring; somewhere between a Bristolian drawl and a Parisian cadence song.

"I'm not staring at you! I'm admiring your technique!" James protested, putting his hands to his face to readjust the glasses he had left on the bedside table.

"Yes well you can admire it from beside me rather than behind me before you burn eyeholes in my arse!" She took off again before James had the window to interject her crass accusations.

"Hey hey hey! I was not looking at your arse!" He maintained, chasing after her and levelling her pace, enjoying the appeasement of the crunch and frosty footprints they left behind on the crisp white grass.

"Apologies, I tend to assume. You know I'm used to that sort of thing by now, you've seen what it's like in Hogsmede these days," she was panting as she spoke to keep her pace but she never sounded any less angelic. As discussed, the mere presence of Esme-Leigh coaxed one began to take an interest in the existence of god, or perhaps angels.

"Oh god, I'm convinced Remus was going to punch that ministry bloke. What a fucking spanner he was, eh?"

She shook her head, sending the dirty blonde ponytail at the top of her head go haywire in the wind, "let's not talk about it. I'm here to run, not be a Veela."

James nodded, despite being heart breakingly pretty she rarely wished to talk about the times she was grossly reminded of the fact. She could do without the stares and the licked lips, and the smug winks that came with being quarter Veela. That was why she liked running (although she hadn't told James this), it was one of the rare times where she felt like a human and not a magical creature, or something to be won or desired. It was cleansing to know that there was something she could do to improve herself that didn't require innate magic, unlike her looks.

They took the classic route that they always did when they met each other in the mornings: round Hagrid's hut, across the border of the dark forest and back via the quidditch pitch. It wasn't a particularly strenuous route besides the hill on the way up from Hagrid's but that aside it was an enriching way to start a day and it usually only took them under an hour, especially on a brisk sort of day like this one where they were eager to get a sweater back on and hot water around their muscles.

On this particular morning they had the circuit done and dusted in less than forty five minutes; considerably red in the face and sweating a deal but somehow still feeling the bite of a thousand needles that came with the unforgiving wind that had made its presence known about ten minutes prior.

"Pretty fast, eh?" James remarked because there was nothing much else to say.

She nodded, panting. James, by this time, was watching her in such a manner that would make the queen blush.
"What is it?"

"Did you mean what you said back there?"

"What?"

He stood up straighter, leaning against the castle wall demonstrating the type of nonchalance that gave him a name around the school for being quite a lithe character.
"About how you presumed I was staring at you?"

"Which you were!"

"I wasn't! But don't change the subject!"

Esme sighed, pulling her hair out its sweaty ponytail and shaking it out in a way that might cause cardiac arrests.
"Yeah, yeah I meant it. I mean, it's not all singing and dancing is it?"

James frowned, doing an award winning impression of a greek statue and clearly at a loss for words; his lexicon on such iniquitous things was failing him greatly and so he waited for her to speak instead.

"I can't go outside, especially in the Muggle world without a body guard, people look at me. All the time. And I suppose that should be a compliment but I suppose it just makes me hypersensitive to everything I do." Her smooth azure eyes seemed to rage with an impossible fire and yet she still looked somehow vulnerable, "and it's the jealous looks from girls as well and they're just as bad. I mean, I was lucky to have Marlene as a friend. She's never covetous or bitter because she's beautiful herself but it makes it hard to talk to the Muggle girls in my town. And the muggles in my mums city, they all seem to hate me too."

James' frown seemed to deepen enough to crawl inside, "oh my god, Ez. I don't think anyone could hate you."

"You're just saying that cause you're my friend."

He jumped to wrap his arms around her, she didn't seem to mind, they'd just ran a circuit of the school grounds, "no I'm not; I'm saying it cause it's true. And besides, you only go to Paris over Christmas and you can come with us down at my new house this summer?"

Esme-Leigh nodded, her hair slowly getting brighter as her tears dried.
"Besides: I'm convinced Remus is still saving the punch I had to hold him back from that day in Hogsmede with the ministry lackeys, if you pull the right strings the boy can pack a punch."

She grinned, forgetting her frustration almost immediately. James did that to people.
"Really?"

"Oh yeah I've seen it. Insane. Anyway, quarter Veela? Who cares? Im more interested in if you can pull off that new quidditch play for our game against Ravenclaw this Saturday?"

She nudged him with her shoulder, chuckling, "it's in the bag Potter don't you worry. Besides I'd like to see those ministry bastards faces when I turn into a Harpy over their sorry arses!"

"You can do that?!" He practically jumped out his skin at this new found information, his eyes wider than she'd seen them despite his absence of specs.

"Well full Veela can, my face just goes pointy but being a metamorphagus hides that." She told him inconsequentially, trying not to smile and remain aloof to his flagrant shock, "my ears are naturally quite pointy, I'll show you:" she proceeded to sweep her hair out her way to give him a clear view of her ear as she relaxed the magic over them.
James watched in astonishment as they began to expand upwards in little points.

"Those are lethal!" He laughed, admiring how she resembled one of the pixies in Muggle fairytales.

"I know, can you imagine if I went full Harpy?"

James pulled a tantalisingly real looking impression of fear, "remind me never to turn up late to a group project."

"Shut up," she said though she didn't wholly mean it.

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes laced with pity and admiration all at once and so full that it was unclear what he was going to do with all his emotion.

"'Be comforted, dear soul. There is always light after the clouds." James smiled at her in such a way that she felt inspired with the sudden high from the drug of stupidity.

"Where did you learn that one?" She asked him laughing, taking his hand and pulling him back towards the indoors.

"Have you ever read a book?"

Esme-Leigh raised an insinuating eyebrow, her dark caramel freckles shifting on her face, melting with expression.
"No sarcasm before noon, Prongs."

"Fine you got me, but you need to read a book one time, Ez," he leant down and stole a kiss off her cheek, "now race me down the hall!"

And off he went, leaving behind an perplexingly romantic odour that no doubt they would ignore and repress, much like the repression of clouds in the orange and blue sky above them because, like their friendship, as much as the cumulus clouds might try to trick them, a storm was brewing, no matter how hard the awe-inspiring colours of the sky tried to hide or deny it, a storm was due to come. Later...

(10th February 1976)

It was Christmas since Lily Evans' fallout with Severus Snape and still she hadn't dared tell a soul. She'd never felt so embarrassed about being wrong in her life. Dorcas had told her God knows how many times he wasn't worth an ounce of her time and yet she flew back to him like a bloody homing pigeon. Well no more.

Dorcas was the first person Lily wanted to tell but that wasn't exactly going to plan. Despite deserving to know first hand the prospect of owning her mistake was not something she planned on doing ever in her entire life and yet that was what she was setting out to do. Admitting defat, willingly.

Life had spent the entirety of its time dealing her shitty cards but now she was going to learn to play them...

"What are you staring at?"

"The abyss, its fascinatingly watchable, if you spend enough time in its company."

Dorcas chuckled, "can it, Oscar Wilde. You didn't come here to stare into the abyss so what are you here for?"

"Oh no I did, this elevated flat has a stunning view of said abyss and I just—"

"Lily," she said with a warning in her voice that one would have to dive to miss.

"Fine. I came to tell you... shit."

"I'm familiar with the term, what about it?"

"Shut it! I came to tell you that I spoke to Severus over Christmas."

This seemed to penetrate Dorcas' charming defensive wall of deadpan sarcasm.
"Really? And?"

"And we rowed. Big time. He confessed his love for me at probably the worst time I could ever imagine and we sort of just fell apart. I don't plan on speaking to him again." There was a sense of loss in the room that neither really knew how to address. This was perhaps the first time in Dorcas Meadowes' life where she felt no desire to gloat over being right, because being right was likely the very last thing on Dorcas' current agenda.
"You were right. He wasn't worth my time at all."

Lily avoided her best friend's gaze and trained it on the pale blue bedsheets that they were both perched on.

"No, no, it wasn't my right to poke my nose in your and Severus' business just because my girlfriend thinks he's a prat," she said, rubbing circles on Lily's back, "but if you want to talk about it I can give Alice a phone and she can bring some of her homemade biscuits– which I know for a fact she has because I spoke to her after school yesterday and she said she was making them."

Lily's lustrous eyes glittered with excitement, like emotion yielding emeralds, "the ones with oats and caramel?"

"The very same."

"Where's your phone again?"

Dorcas laughed, her charcoal curls bouncing with each broken breath, "I'll get her in a minute. But right now I want to remind you of something."
"Okay."

"Do you remember when Hestia Jones moved town and we broke up?"

Lily nodded earnestly, recalling comforting her through the bitter heart break of a juvenile relationship.

"Do you remember what your said to me while we were sitting on this same bed?"

This time Lily shook her head softly, feeling the ambiance shift to something more sweet smelling and profound.

Dorcas took Lily's pale hand in hers and squeezed it, "you said 'be comforted, dear soul. There is always light behind the clouds.' And to this day I haven't forgotten and it was perhaps the only time you ever convinced me to read a classic book. Little Women is the first and last I will ever pick up."

Lily smiled, suddenly remembering Dorcas' fifteen year old head on her shoulder with tears in her eyes and a broken heart.
"Technically I never said it. Louisa May Alcott said it, but I'm glad I've gotten you to read at least something!"

"Yeah well, it still applies doesn't it? Maybe in a different unconventional way but it does. So I'm flipping your own advice on to you. How does it feel to be counselled by yourself?" Dorcas grinned, her eyes glimmered like the sheen off melted chocolate.

"Empowering, but I must say I'd enjoy it more with Alice and her celestial cookies so that phone?"

"—is still in the hall where it's always been."

Lily stood up, still clutching Dorcas' hand like it would keep her from floating into the abyss she spent so long staring into.
"Thank you. For not... you know? Judging me for being wrong."

She smiled, "don't mention it. Even I can be wrong sometimes."

"Really?"

She dragged Lily to the hall by their joined hands, "shut up and get the number dialled!"

♥ ♥ ♥

(13th February 1976)

The storm arrived on the thirteenth of February.

Lily was at home, ironically watching the weather forecast and doing her best to drown out the sound of nauseating giggling coming from her sister's bedroom which was currently occupied by Lucifer's spawn: more commonly known as Margaret and Claire.

"It's the noise isn't it? Sounds like demented pink-jumper clad hyenas," came a humorous and welcome voice from the door frame.

"You can't say that, dad! Your daughter is one of those hyenas!" Lily scolded, her mouth wide open from the gasp that followed.

"Thou must not lie." He replied, taking a seat beside her on the other side of the couch.

"You're not religious."

"I hath found god in my struggles," Martin Evans replied with the sort of melodrama that only a father can achieve.

"Tripe."

"Oh shut up! I'm your father and whatever I say goes!"

Lily shook her head but mimed zipping her lips anyway, if more to make a point than anything else.

Martin Evans was quite the paradox to his wife. Faith Evans rarely knew positivity and only really communicated in meaningful stretches of profoundness. Martin preferred to live an easygoing lifestyle, spoken in short words but they always seemed to be the right ones.

She was also a mild drunk no matter how she hid it or denied it. Martin Evans' poison of choice was cigars. He was rarely without one once it had reached a certain time of the evening and so today was no different. As the sun slyly set behind its curtain of webs, Martin lit a cigar with the free hand that wasn't around his youngest daughter on their cream couch in the corner of the living room.

That was when it started to rain. Not just the usual sort of British spit that seemed to perpetually hang fire in the sky, but a vigorous, foreboding sort that looked as though it might cut you in two if one was stupid enough to leave their house.
The drops fell so quickly they appeared to look like little daggers that crashed and bounced into a million tiny pieces as they pummelled the concrete in a violent battle. It had been a while since it rained like this; or rather since they'd had a storm like this. And it was a storm. The thunder was yet to come...

"Why don't you get your sister and her minions down? Your mother'll make hot chocolate?"

Lily smirked, looking up at her father with the sort of admiration one might regard a superhero, "making promises on mum's behalf now?"

"No!" Martin Evans' jumped defensively "she'll have some too!"

She nodded, sitting up and turning away abruptly, that'll depend on the amount of brandy she puts in at the end.
She didn't dare dream of saying this, of course, "I'll go and get them, then."

"Good girl."

Lily thundered up the staircase to ensure that her presence was not unexpected before banging her open palm on the door.
"Petunia!"

The door opened but it wasn't Petunia that stood on the other end, instead Margaret screwed up her slightly hooked nose, "what's the message?"

"Do you want hot chocolate?"

The older girl turned her head to consult the entourage, "no," she said finally (and bluntly).

Petunia appeared by the door a few seconds later and shut the door behind her, sending Margaret back inside.
"What did I tell you about interrupting me when I'm busy?" She asked, dirty blonde hair between her finger tips and a sneer that not only projected on her pink glossed lips but it spread to her crystal blue eyes.

"Not to do it, but dad told me too!"

"I don't care what dad told you: don't do it! Claire and Margaret think you're weird and I'm inclined to agree! They won't come back if you keep barging in!"

Lily's stomach might have hit the floor if she didn't need it for future use. Something about her sister and her insults never failed to make a mark on her heart. It never broke completely, but sometimes Lily would wonder how long that would last.

"Well I'm sorry but you can't blame me for doing what I'm told!"

"But you didn't! I told you to keep the fuck out!"

Ironically, Lily was very easily filled with a fury the same tone as her hair, like fire that licked her back the way a bonfire licked the sky. She was often like that: she felt every emotion like it was her last. Her heart, however scratched, was worn on her sleeve.

She stormed away from her sister, tears of anger and resentment stinging the backs of her eyes.

She stormed out of the house and directly into the storm outside. She didn't wear a jacket, in fact if she didn't already have shoes on it was a matter of debate whether she might have stopped to put any on.

The raindrops hammered her at all angles like a million little needles finding their way into her pores. It was uncomfortable but she sickly enjoyed the discomfort.

She didn't have a particular destination in mind, just away was good enough. She didn't pay much heed to any of the folks she passed on her way to nowhere. Perhaps she should have...

At first Lily thought her feet might have been carrying her to the park. The very same park that she was last in when there was snow to her ankles. Oh, how different it was now.

Lily had always been one to appreciate irony and now was no different. The storm painted a more than avid picture of her emotions; she had brought a storm down on her sister and now she was out to bask in it. If she'd brought her camera she might have snapped a picture to capture her anger somewhere concrete but nothing logical ever crossed her mind when her emotional range decided to burst.

It was only once she had stopped walking she realised where she was. Standing on the top of the hill that over looked Cokeworth and over to Derbyshire if one could stretch their sight far enough. Although today that was fairly unfathomable to see any more than ten metres away in this blanket of blindness that meteorologists call rain.

Standing there, alone and indignant, she was reminded of a time she stood here, exactly the same place she was now, feeling the same bubbling rage. She remembered feeling her crystalline heart shatter into a million pieces and she wondered if it had ever come back to be broke again. If so it better hurry up because all this waiting around with pathetic scratches wasn't doing her any good.

Ash had rained on her that day. She had made it so. Magic, for Lily, had always been fitting although it was rather few and far between in her recent years. And perchance without Severus it might never come back like it had the day it rained ash.

She could feel herself slipping away with every passing year, when she took out the letter from the bottom of her jewellery box and felt it's magic in her hands it steadily seemed to fade, little by little and in time, perhaps, it would never return.

She stayed they're until the water tore through every crack and pore of her clothes and left her feeling naked. She didn't suppose anyone would notice she'd left and so she decided it would be best to climb through her window when she got home.

The hill was much more perilous on the way down than it was on the way up and so had to be taken step by step to avoid tumbling down in one jolt.

The streets she crossed on her way home were more or less empty, no one else quite brave enough to venture out in such lethal weather.

Although 'more or less' was quite a different term to 'completely', especially in this situation. She didn't pass many people, but out of those she noticed there was one that stuck with her after she climbed into her bed that night, her hair still soaked and chilling; that person was a man, leaning with dexterity against the wall of a shut pub, eyeing her (Lily presumed– she couldn't see him well enough). He was tall and ominous; he wore a hood over his head that didn't do much to protect him from the rain although she suspected that was not it's desired purpose.

She couldn't see him well enough to count the amount of times he blinked, nor did it cross her mind...

(13th February 1976)

The storm arrived on the thirteenth of February.

Keegan Trista hadn't minded having Sirius Black in and around the Ravenclaw common room if he snuck in discreetly; or the prefect bathroom if it was late; or perhaps the astronomy tower on a weekend. He was never picky about where he didn't mind Sirius Black to be at a given moment .

Remus Lupin however? He minded a great deal for reasons that the seventh year Ravenclaw didn't quite understand; in Keegan's eyes he seemed to be taking the roll of protective best friend marginally to one extreme, almost like a Sargent given the chance.

The storm was easy to see; dark webs of clouds winded along the black sky had created foreboding shadows across the landscape, reeking of deceit and aberrant whispers. Everything on the landscape beyond the grounds of Hogwarts seemed anaemic and amorphous as it stretched pathetically along the miles, doing its best not to be shaded by twists of baleful mist.

"Il fait mauvais," Esme-Leigh commented dully, staring in a rather wistful manner out the window; she looked like a philosopher, commenting on theories of evolution when, in truth, it didn't take a poet or a wise man to know something was coming.

"It is quite miserable, isn't it?" Sirius –the only one understanding her– replied from the arm chair opposite her in the common room. The other four just frowned, joining her eyes out the window.

Peter nodded, not breaking eye contact with the ever darkening, ominous, cumulonimbus clouds and yet he didn't quite look as thoughtful as Esme; intimidated maybe, but not thoughtful.
"You reckon the match'll still go ahead?"

James Potter's attention was peaked and he became the first of the group to break off the intense stare down with the closest window.
"It better not be. We've trained like bloody maniacs for this match!"

Marlene –the second loser of the staring battle– turned to glare at James for confirmation to those that were in any doubt. "You don't say, Potter? Besides I thought you didn't like the rain? You go all Billie-Jean King with your specs."

"I do, but by no means does that mean I'm going through all this vigilant prep for jackshit!"

Marlene shrugged, "you make a fair point. And Ravenclaw will be pissed too; I've seen them practice— not that I'm spying!... I'm not spying!"

Remus laughed but did not look up, "sure. If you are playing sleuth you should mark their plays down in that notepad of yours."

"I like to call it a journal thank you very much, and they're not worth stealing anyway; it would be taking a step back for our team dynamic," was her reply, she still seemed unsure of what to do with her eyes seen as her and James were the only two not tantalised by the clouds.

Eager (and perhaps suicidal) to change the subject Marlene nudged Sirius, "how's Keegan Trista?"

Now this, above anything else was the moment that Remus decided he would be the third person to lose the unspoken game of stare off. He turned his head bitterly to the door, not because he was jealous –he wasn't– but simply because he was concerned.

"Oh you know, he's alright, we don't talk much." There was an undertone in his voice that made Remus' eye twitch. Luckily the back of Esme-Leigh's currently blue coloured head was blocking the view of his twisted expression from James and Marlene.

"I've already had enough of this conversation, I can sense where it's going and I don't like it," Peter said simply, almost inducing a sigh of relief from Remus.

"Your loss. I was considering asking him out but clearly you don't want to hear about it..."

Esme was the next loser of the game.
"What?!"

"I said considering, I'm not proposing to him!"

This didn't seem to shake her jubilant mood in the slightest, she was beaming in that radiant way she did when she was overly vivacious and excited about something.
"Oh, but you have to!"

"But he doesn't!" James jumped in, grabbing Sirius' shoulder and making him the next loser; he shot him a look that luckily Remus did not catch.

"I said thinking about it, my god it's as if I just said I'm going to joust his suitors or something!" Padfoot stood abruptly and was followed by the rest of his entourage– or marauders.

"Peter! Jigs up, let's go do something illegal!"

Peter had unexpectedly triumphed in the peculiar game. He sprang out his seat and scurried to Remus' side before being the last out the portrait hole just as it began to rain.

♣ ♣ ♣

(13th February 1976)

The storm arrived as per discussed on the thirteenth of February.

That evening to night might have been a fun one if it wasn't for Keegan Trista and his elusive smile and his winking dark eyes and all of the other stupid things that gave Remus Lupin malicious thoughts.

They bumped into him on the way back from the kitchens at precisely twenty three minutes past midnight although none of them were wearing a watch so that couldn't be checked.

"Trista. We were just having a lovely conversation about you weren't we?" Marlene smirked in a know-it-all kind of way, eyeing Keegan with the sort of superiority that one holds when they have a fantastic secret they could share at any moment, positively dropping a nuclear bomb into multiple lives.

Sirius narrowed his eyes dangerously at the blonde, his silver eyes glimmering like knives in starlight.
"No we were not."

Keegan smirked, "whatever you say then," he had an attractive Scouse accent, "I'm going to bed now, but I won't tell anyone I saw you here if you don't?"

Peter nodded, "sounds like a deal, Trista. Kind regards to you but we really must go; there's a round of Marauder Dares that really is begging to be played, if you don't mind."

Keegan knew better not to quiz them of the rules of Marauders Dares because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to involve aurors at the school so instead he gestured a hand in a dismissive wave, "as you were. Don't let me stop you."

But the matter was the that stopping had already been done the moment Remus set eyes on him.
"Give me a minute, lads, I left the caramel cauldrons I asked for in there," he pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchens, "I'll catch you up."

James nodded, gabbing Sirius by the scruff of his neck before he had time to protest and dragged him up the stairs, the rest of their group in tow.

"What is it?"

"What's what?"

Keegan laughed in a way that was almost patronising (although anything Keegan Trista did seemed to patronise Remus these days).
"Well that was clearly a lie so I'm asking you why you made an excuse to talk to me? Don't get me wrong I don't mind I'm just curious as to why it needed to be a secret."

Remus looked Keegan in the honey-brown eyes with a stare as hard as he could muster, feeling only slightly intimidated by his easygoingness in this whole exchange.
Keegan was a good looking boy, nothing special, but decent. His skin was dark, his hair was darker but somehow his eyes were the same colour as honeycomb.

"I didn't want Sirius staying behind."

"Well you didn't need to worry about that as Potter practically manhandled the boy away."

He shook his head, his vision in his left eye became impaired by a lock of gritty chestnut hair.
"Besides the point. I wanted to talk to you alone."

Keegan nodded, looking genuinely curious (or doing a good impression of it anyway), "go well."

This was where Remus became rather stumped. He wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say to him before he was slap bang on front of him with no where to hide. He became increasingly aware of the fact nobody was around to save him from himself.

"Sirius. He doesn't need all..." he waved a hand frivolously towards Keegan, "all this. He's a sixth year, your seventh and you're letting him break a number of school rules by doing, whatever it is you're doing with him."

"Jealous?"

"No I'm concerned."

The Ravenclaw seemed to be highly entertained by this whole performance, "why? Why are you concerned I'm not going to do anything to upset him, am I?"

This above all else filled Remus with bubbling, indescribable emotion, "you already have. He's thinking of asking you out."

Keegan's annoyingly honeycomb eyes widened.

"And I know you wouldn't plan on saying yes to anyone so I think the damage is already done."

"Well," Keegan paused, slumping his shoulders but his guard was by no means down, "I fail to see why this is any of your business but I may well say yes. That's nothing to do with you."

"Yes it is!" Remus snapped, immediately regretting that decision. "Yes it is. Because Sirius doesn't ask anyone out. Much less the kind of bloke that spends his time in casual polygamous relationships. Sirius has always been a little... hedonistic. It won't end well."

"That's not up to you to decide, unless there's something else you want to say? Any other reason why I shouldn't say yes to him?"

Remus didn't answer, nor did he move to defend himself against the reason that Keegan was clearly trying to get at.

"Really?" His voice was soft, again patronising, but Remus paid it no heed. He simply grew a sudden infatuation with his shoes (they needed a clean).
"Then I can say yes?"

His reply was out long before his conscience had time to decipher whether or not that was a good idea or not (although as soon as the words had left his lips his brain told him his conscience should have been faster).
"Please don't."

Finally, he looked up, watching Keegan Trista with a look much softer than he had imagined going into this conversation and previous days spent wondering what it might be like to punch him.
He didn't reply, simply nodding once and heading back into the direction of the Ravenclaw tower.

As if on queue the heavens opened and descended down onto the castle. The storm had arrived.

So I'm back! I haven't updated in a while because I've been writing my Jilytober project which is getting new releases almost everyday. It's called Press Pause and it would mean a lot if you checked it out!

Anyway, this chapter was originally going to be called No Sarcasm Before Noon but I changed my mind. Which name do you prefer?

Thank you so much for reading and hopefully I'll see you soon!

Love you all millions,

Abbi ♥️