Rebel Rebel

Mckinnon Manor, Isle of Skye,  August 20, 1977

The next day, Alastair roused everyone at dawn for the return to the Isle of Skye. The children, heads heavy from the previous night’s excesses, managed to stumble their way back, bleary-eyed but intact. Alastair watched them, amused. Their laughter and energy from the day before had been a relief, even the Black heir’s brooding seemed to have lightened. As usual, the Potters had gone along for the fun, content to enjoy the day’s games and festivities.

Now, Alastair sat in his office, the late summer light creeping through the tall windows, casting uneven shadows across the room. From his desk, he glanced out at the garden, where Max, Merrick, Marcus were playing Quidditch, their brooms cutting through the warm air as Marlene and her friends had decided to go into town. The noise of their shouts and laughter mixed with the occasional thud of a quaffle. The fleeting tranquility of the scene struck him, knowing that soon, he would return to London, where the political battles were far from playful.

Monty sat across from him, a familiar figure in one of the old leather chairs, his face set in the same calm way it had been for years. He hadn’t wasted time once they returned, insisting Alastair fill him in on the clans’ meeting. Alastair trusted no one more than him who since he was a young man had taught him everything he knew about Wizengamot politics. Although they disagreed sometimes as Monty was a Reformer and him a Liberal, he knew he could count on him to give him the right advice.

“A storm’s coming’,” Alastair said finally, the weight of it pushing the words out. “I don’t know if we’re ready for it.

His gaze drifted back to the window, to his eldest son, Merrick. The boy had just finished school, and though Alastair was proud of him, he wasn’t blind to how sheltered and untested he still was. War would demand more of him than he was ready to give. Then there was Marlene—too fierce for her own good. She wouldn’t wait for the storm to hit; she’d run headlong into it... Alastair worried they’d let her run too wild. Letting her get away with things, shrugging off her mischief with Potter’s son—it seemed harmless at the time. Now, with everything shifting, he wondered if they’d made a mistake in letting her believe the world would always bend around her. Marcus was another worry, forever following in his sister’s footsteps, likely to be swept into trouble before he knew how deep it ran. Max, still young, was harder to predict, as he was just starting Hogwarts, though Alastair hoped he might take after him more.

“Don’t be blind. The storm’s already here, Al’,” Monty  said, not looking up as he swirled the firewhisky in his glass. “We’ll get through it. We always do.”

Alastair frowned, leaning forward. “And if we don’t? If we’re not as strong as we think?”

Monty set the glass down, his gaze steady but sharp. “It’s not about strength, not in the way you’re thinking. It’s about your family staying together when it hits. No one’s strong enough alone.”

Alastair exhaled slowly, the knot of worry still sitting heavy in his chest. “I just want to protect them.”

“You won’t be able to. Not from everything. But you can teach them to stand on their own when they have to.”

Alastair’s jaw tightened. “What if it’s already too late for that?”

Monty let a silence settle between them for a moment before speaking again. “It’s never too late. Besides, what is it you lot always say…you’re Mckinnons”

Alastair wanted to believe him, to cling to that legacy. They were Mckinnons, the blood of the Isle of Skye. But as he looked back out at the garden, watching his children laugh, oblivious to the shadows gathering just beyond their reach, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this storm would be different.

**

Remus’s summer drifts by in a hazy solitude, each day blending into the next. He longs for the raucousness of the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, where laughter, loud voices, and late-night whispers fill the stone-walled room. In comparison, his home feels small and muted—just a weathered terrace on the edge of a quiet village, with paint flaking off the window frames and a roof mended here and there by sympathetic neighbors.

The village itself is the sort of place where everyone knows everyone, and strangers draw immediate attention. Neighbors gather bits of gossip like treasured keepsakes, and even the lightest whisper of news spreads quickly. Most houses here have chimneys that breathe faint tendrils of smoke into the cool evening air, and the narrow high street, cobbled and lined with uneven stones, is home to just a handful of businesses—a post office, a bakery, a newsagent, and the small supermarket where Remus works a few hours a week to bring in a bit of extra money.

One evening, while he sits cross-legged on the worn floor of his bedroom, his dad’s old guitar propped against his knee, he hears his mother’s voice, weary but gentle, calling from the kitchen after she returns from work.

“Remus, love?” Her voice pulls him from his thoughts, soft but edged with concern. Hope Lupin works as a secretary in Cardiff, commuting an hour each way from their quiet corner of Wales. She works long days, and Remus knows she’s exhausted, but she never complains.

“I’m here,” he calls back, fingers strumming a chord absently as he leans his head against the wall.

A few clinks in the kitchen, and she asks, “Did you eat?”

“Yeah, Mum, don’t worry,” he replies, though his tone is too quick, too dismissive, to be entirely convincing.

She presses on, closer now. “How was the shop ? No trouble?”

“Nothing unusual,” he says, still plucking at the strings, watching as the familiar shadows of their cramped home stretch across the walls. He’s halfway expecting her to turn back to the kitchen, but instead, he hears her footsteps in the hallway until she stops at his doorway. Hope is small, with mousy hair that she pins back, though stray wisps escape after a long day. She’s a quiet, stoic woman, her face etched with years of worry and late nights. Ever since the werewolf attack and especially after dad died last year, she’s been his fierce protector, though life’s hardships have worn her thin.

“Are you going to see any of your friends before school starts again?” she asks, and he can hear the subtle hope in her voice.

“Haven’t really heard from anyone, really,” he replies, trying to keep his voice light, though it comes out flat and guarded.

Pete was off traveling with his family. James had written a couple of letters at the start of the summer but then gone silent, leaving an odd, empty gap. Sirius hadn’t sent anything at all—which, if he was honest, worried him the most.

She sighs, shifting the weight of her worries visibly, one hand clutching a dish towel. “What about Sirius?” she asks, her brow creased with that same motherly intuition. “I thought you two… well, you’re close, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, feeling a pang of worry he doesn’t want to share with her. “But I haven’t heard from him in a while. Guess he’s busy.”

His silence had been worrying. They would usually write over the summer and even spend some days in London when Sirius managed to escape his parents, but this summer his letters had gone unanswered. 

His mum studies him quietly for a moment, leaning against the doorframe as if she might say more. “If you want, I could—”

“No, Mum,” he says, softer now, looking up and forcing a faint smile. “I’m all right, really. Just… thinking.” He flashes her a quick, reassuring grin that never quite reaches his eyes.

She hesitates, then nods. “All right, then. There is some cake in the kitchen if you want some dessert.”

He listens to her soft footsteps recede, leaving him alone with his thoughts, the quiet settling back into the room like a heavy blanket. After a while, he lets his guitar fall silent and decides to head into the village. He needs a change of scenery, even if it’s just the familiar walk through the narrow streets. 

As he passes by the grocery store, he spots Colin, one of the other boys from work, lounging near the bike rack, a cigarette dangling from his hand.

“Hey, Lupin, back so soon?” Colin says, his mouth quirking into a lopsided grin. He holds up the cigarette, a silent offer. “Fancy a smoke?”

Remus shrugs, a bit surprised by the invitation but glad for the company. “Sure, why not?” He steps over, taking the cigarette when Colin hands it to him.

They lean against the brick wall of the shop, their quiet conversation blending with the dim murmur of the village around them. Colin glances over at him as he exhales a plume of smoke. “Heard you’re off to that fancy boarding school again.”

Remus chuckles wryly. “Something like that.”

“Must be weird coming back here every summer. Nothing ever changes,” Colin remarks, a sidelong grin tugging at his mouth as he exhales a plume of smoke. Remus can’t help but laugh softly, glancing out at the quiet street with its shuttered shop fronts, narrow lanes, and the faint glow of house lights in windows.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, taking a drag, his gaze drifting.“Nothing ever does.” 

The quiet streets felt like another world compared to Hogwarts—Hogwarts, with its grand staircases and high towers, bustling halls and laughter echoing through stone corridors. It had been his escape, a place where magic felt boundless, where he could almost forget the smallness of this life.

And then, there were the Marauders: Sirius, with his pure-blood pedigree and charisma; James, heir to old wizarding money, confident and golden; and even Peter, whose family, though modest, still belonged to the world of magic. They were used to summer homes and family heirlooms, to holidaying abroad or visiting grand old wizarding estates. All of them were, in their own way, posh, with lives that seemed more full than anything Remus had known growing up.

But here, in this village, he was just Remus Lupin—packing the bags at the supermarket, helping his mum pay the bills. Here, he wasn’t the mysterious boy with the secret scars or the quiet Gryffindor with a mischievous streak. He was just the half-blood kid from the edge of the village, slipping in and out of places where he never felt fully at home. 

“Must be nice, though,” Colin continues, oblivious, flicking ash to the ground. “Getting away to a place like that.”

Remus shrugs, a faint smile flickering on his lips. “Yeah. S’pose it is.” He doesn’t tell Colin that sometimes he feels out of place even there—that sometimes he feels like he’s straddling two worlds, not fully belonging in either. Instead, he takes another drag and watches the smoke curl into the quiet summer night.

After a few moments, Colin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled joint, his grin turning playful as he holds it up between two fingers. “Want to really change your mind?” he asks, voice low, his eyes glinting in the fading light.

Remus hesitates, feeling the warmth of Colin’s gaze linger on him, then nods. “Why not?” he murmurs, drawn in, and follows Colin to a small clearing behind the shop. They settle close, passing the joint back and forth in the twilight, shoulders nearly touching as they laugh and let the quiet stretch between them. The world around them softens at the edges, the weight of his loneliness lifting, if only for a while.The smoke fills his lungs, and for the first time in weeks, he feels something other than the ache of waiting and the silence of summer nights,  a quiet thrill settling in his chest under Colin’s playful glances.

**

The Three Broomsticks felt unusually quiet, absent of its usual bustle of Hogwarts students. Only a few locals lingered at the bar, nursing their drinks and chatting away in the afternoon. Sirius realized with a strange sense of detachment that he’d never actually been to Hogsmeade outside of term time. In his mind, the village almost ceased to exist once the students left.

Marlene, of course, greeted Madam Rosmerta and a couple of patrons with her usual enthusiasm as they made their way to an empty booth. “Tell your Da’ I said hello,” called Old Pete, one of the regulars, raising his pint in recognition as she passed.

They settled in and ordered their first round of butterbeers. They had decided to get out of the manor for once after playing quidditch.  As Marlene and James started their usual debate about the upcoming Quidditch season—whether the Holyhead Harpies could recover from last year’s disastrous form—Sirius let himself sink into his seat, feeling the familiar warmth of the pub surrounding him. Maybe it was the soft red booths or the cozy, unhurried atmosphere, but for once, everything felt... almost normal. Even Marlene’s constant need to argue wasn’t getting on his nerves today.

He let the others talk, half-listening to their conversation, but tuning out the specifics. After all these years, he still couldn’t muster the same passion for Quidditch that James or Marlene had. Instead, he observed the regulars, listening to the snatches of conversation drifting across the room—half of it unintelligible through thick local accents. Old Pete’s infectious belly laugh echoed in the background, and for the first time in ages, Sirius felt a flicker of contentment. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be fine. Maybe he wouldn’t feel that sickening twist in his gut every time he thought of home. Or Regulus.

But the peace didn’t last long. The moment was interrupted as the front door creaked open, and four figures slipped inside. Sirius might not have noticed them if it weren’t for their odd, furtive behaviour. At first glance, he didn’t recognise them in their dark cloaks, but then he spotted the unmistakable blond hair of Rosier. Beside him was the lanky frame of Mulciber. The other two? He couldn’t quite place them.

The group hushed themselves to a table at the back, keeping their heads down. Sirius noted how Mulciber kept glancing over his shoulder before sitting. They clearly didn’t want to be noticed and had probably thought themselves clever by choosing the Three Broomsticks over their usual haunts in Knockturn Alley. Sirius, now intrigued, wondered what on earth they were up to that required such secrecy.

“Guess who just walked in,” Sirius murmured, eyes fixed on the group. “Rosier, Mulciber, and two other dodgy-looking blokes.”

Both James and Marlene immediately turned to gawk, subtlety be damned. Fortunately, the Slytherins were too engrossed in their hushed conversation to notice.

“What d’you reckon your cousin’s up to?” James asked Marlene, raising an eyebrow.

It took Sirius a second to realise who James was referring to, and then he remembered: Marlene’s mother was a Rosier. He’d almost forgotten.

“Probably nothing good,” Marlene replied dismissively. “What do I know? We only see each other at the odd family thing these days.”

“Ask Black,” she added with a teasing smile. “They’re family too.”

Sirius shot her a dark look. “Barely, and only by marriage. Anyway, every old wizarding families related, aren’t they?”

It was true. Pureblood society was a tangled web of interconnected families. Hell, even he and James were distant cousins if you traced the lineage back far enough.

“They do look like they’re plotting something,” James said, turning back for another look. This time, Rosier and Mulciber noticed. They exchanged a few quick words before Rosier and Mulciber stood up and approached their booth.

“Here we go,” Sirius thought grimly. He and the Slytherin lot had never seen eye to eye. At Hogwarts, it was an all-out war in the few classes they shared.

“Fancy seeing you here, cousin,” Rosier said with a genuine smile, kissing Marlene on the cheeks before glancing at Sirius and James. “Black. Potter.” His tone was deceptively cordial, but the tension was palpable. Mulciber, for his part, looked like he’d rather hex them than exchange pleasantries.

“Evan, I could say the same to you. You’re in the Highlands but don’t Floo your own family?” Marlene joked, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

“I meant no offence,” Rosier said smoothly, though his expression remained unreadable. “I’m only here for the day.”

“What brings you to this side of the woods? The cheap butterbeer?” Marlene asked, sounding almost innocent, though Sirius knew better. She was fishing for information.

Mulciber finally spoke, his voice gruff. “I’m more surprised to see you here, Black.”

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the Scottish air, Mulciber?”

“I heard you cried like a baby when they threw you out of Grimmauld Place,” Mulciber sneered.

Sirius’s fists curled under the table. So, word had spread. If Mulciber knew, then the whole wizarding society probably did. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, mate,” James said through gritted teeth.

Mulciber’s sneer deepened. “They should’ve kicked you out earlier. Can’t have a mudblood-loving blood traitor like you sully the family name.”

That was enough. Sirius shot up from his seat, grabbing his wand. Who the hell did Mulciber think he was? The rage coursed through him, and all he wanted was to knock that smug grin off the Slytherin’s face.

“What did you just say?”

Before he could throw himself at Mulciber, a hand grabbed his arm. It was Marlene, her eyes locking with his, in a silent plea. Don’t. Sit down.

“Sirius is a guest of the McKinnons,” she said, directing her words at Rosier. “I’d appreciate it if you’d treat him as such.” He had never heard her throw her family’s weight around.

The message was clear: Rosier didn’t want this getting back to his parents. That would raise too many questions about what he and Mulciber were doing in Hogsmeade during the summer holidays.

“I’m so sorry, Marlene..,” Rosier said, shooting Mulciber a look.  He almost sounded sincere. Mulciber opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it. “We’d best be going.”

“Good idea,” James said, barely containing his irritation.

Rosier gave Marlene one last kiss on the cheek. “Lovely to see you. Do send my regards to the family.”

Marlene smiled sweetly. “Of course. Send my love to yours.” Her words were as polished and insincere. Sirius couldn’t help but be impressed—Marlene was far more cunning than she let on.

As the Slytherins finally left, James muttered under his breath, “Tossers.”

Sirius, still seething, noticed that the other two hooded figures had disappeared entirely. Whatever their secret meeting had been about, the mystery remained.

**

Lily felt the air in the house grow heavy the moment Petunia walked in. It wasn’t that things had ever been perfect between them, but that summer, after Petunia started seeing Vernon, the tension was unmistakable, prickling at her whenever they were in the same room.

“Tuney,” she greeted her sister carefully as Petunia came into the kitchen, fussing with her handbag and looking every bit the part of someone older and sharper than she’d been just last term. Lily offered a small smile, hoping, as she always did, that today might be different.

Petunia barely looked at her, and when she did, it was with that same withering glance. “Oh, you’re here,” she muttered, busying herself with tidying things that didn’t need tidying.

Lily sighed, looking out the kitchen window to distract herself. The familiar street stretched out in the early evening light, and there, just two houses down, she caught sight of Severus’s home—shadowed and quiet, but painfully close.

Petunia noticed where she was looking and scoffed. “Still avoiding him?” she asked, her voice laced with mockery. “Honestly,it is a miracle you have finally seen what sort he is by now.”

Lily’s heart twinged, a mix of shame and frustration bubbling up. She turned back to Petunia, her voice softer than she meant it to be. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Petunia snapped, folding her arms. “First your little…freak school, and now…all that trouble you bring around here. Vernon’s right—normal people don’t need to deal with this. You’re lucky Mum and Dad haven’t—” She bit her tongue, clearly stopping herself.

Lily just stared at her, her throat tight. For all the arguments, she didn’t remember ever feeling this much distance from her sister. She could tell Vernon’s influence was seeping into Petunia like an ink stain.

“Right. Well,” Lily muttered, too drained to even respond fully, and left Petunia in the kitchen, the quiet tension pressing on her as she slipped out to the garden.

Later, she found herself in the living room with her dad, who sat in his armchair, reading the paper. When he saw her enter, he put it down and smiled warmly, patting the chair beside him.

“Hey there, Lil’,” he said, calling her by the childhood nickname that had stuck, even as she grew older. “You alright? You look… like you’ve been thinking a bit too hard.” 

Lily managed a small, tired smile as she sat down. “It’s… just everything, Dad. Petunia can’t stand being around me, and then there’s Sev—" She broke off, struggling to find the words. "He… came by earlier, actually.”

Her dad gave her a steady, knowing look, nodding as if this explained everything. “You had mum tell him you weren’t here?” he guessed, his voice soft and understanding.

She nodded, her throat tight. “He keeps coming by, and I just—I can’t see him, not after everything that happened.” The memory of Severus’s words, that awful slur hanging between them, stung fresh again in her mind. “I know he’s sorry, or thinks he is, but… it’s not that simple. It’s like he’s someone else now.”

Her dad placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his voice gentle. “You don’t owe him anything, Lil’. People have to live with the choices they make.”

Lily nodded, her gaze drifting out the window. Through the thin gap in the curtains, she could see the street where they’d both grown up, now feeling somehow unfamiliar. Severus had once been her best friend, her closest confidant. Now he was just a reminder of words and choices that had changed everything.

Her dad watched her quietly, seeming to read her expression. “He’ll come around again, you know. People like that—they try to hang on, even if they know things can’t go back to the way they were. But you have to keep being yourself, love. Don’t let anyone make you feel smaller for it.”

Just then, her mum walked in from the hall, her face still faintly troubled. “That Severus boy looked down when he left,” she said gently, glancing between Lily and her dad. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him, love?”

Lily took a steadying breath, looking up at her mum with a grateful but resolute expression. “It’s better this way, Mum. I just… need to figure things out on my own.”

They both nodded, understanding but a little sad. But they didn’t press, and for that she was grateful.

After a moment, her dad gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Now, go on, get some air. Freshen up a bit. It’s a bit stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

Lily smiled, the warmth of his words sinking in, and stood, slipping out the back door to the garden. The soft twilight settled around her, the village street stretching out in the fading light. Hogwarts felt a world away, and the people in it—Petunia, Vernon, Severus—felt like they belonged to different lives altogether. She took a deep breath, letting the air settle her, and found herself a little more ready for what lay ahead. 

**

That evening, after a raucous day in Hogsmeade, everyone was knackered. Sirius and James were still on edge after their run-in with Rosier and Mulciber. Marlene suspected that if she hadn’t been there, things might’ve turned uglier.

Later that night, despite the exhaustion that clung to her, Marlene found herself tossing and turning, sleep stubbornly out of reach.Frustrated, she reached for her journal. She scribbled a few sentences, trying to get her thoughts in order but to no avail. 

By 1 AM, she’d had enough. She decided a bit of fresh air might do the trick. Slipping quietly from her bed, she padded softly through the dark, silent halls of the manor. Even the portraits had settled for the night, their painted eyes closed in slumber.

As she neared the solarium, her eyes fell on her grandad, still fast asleep on the sofa. She draped a blanket over him, the quiet rustle of the fabric the only sound before she stepped outside.

There, sitting on the stone steps that led into the garden, was Sirius. His back was to her, a thin curl of cigarette smoke rising into the cool night air. For a moment, she hesitated, uncertain. Being alone with him still had a way of making her feel—well, unsure.

“I know you’re there,” he called without turning around.

Caught, she stepped forward, walking to join him on the steps. The crickets serenaded the night with their soft chirping, filling the space between them as he lit another cigarette.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” Sirius said suddenly, breaking the stillness. It took Marlene a beat to realise he was referring to what had happened at the pub.

“I know,” she answered quietly, her voice soft but firm. “Doesn’t mean I won’t.” Because if Sirius had it his way, it would always be him against the world.

Sirius turned to look at her, his dark eyes studying her with quiet intensity. “What? Don’t look so surprised.” She gave him a small, teasing smile. “Despite everything, you’ve grown on me, Black.”

Her eyes fell to him as he leaned back slightly, the dim glow of his cigarette flickering in the night. His dark hair fell over his face, half obscuring his expression. Under the moonlight, he looked both boyish and hardened, like someone caught between two worlds.

He met her gaze, and for a moment, his features softened—no smirk, no tease—just something raw, something real. “You’ve grown on me too,” he said simply, the words carrying more weight than she’d expected.

Marlene’s heart gave a strange flutter. She quickly looked away, the night air suddenly feeling colder, despite the warmth of the conversation.

“You know what Mulciber said,” she began, her voice steady. “It’s all rubbish.”

Sirius snorted, but there was a heaviness in his tone. “Not all of it. I did cry.”

Marlene blinked, taken aback by his admission. He always carried himself with such calm detachment, it was hard to imagine him being anything but composed. Yet his words landed like a punch in her gut, making the air between them feel thick and charged.

“You don’t have to talk about that night,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. Her mind briefly flickered to the scars on his body—the marks of a time she had never fully understood.

Sirius’s gaze flicked to the ground, his cigarette still burning in the night air. “By the time I got to the Potters’, I was bawling like a bloody child,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. “I thought I was going to die.”

A flood of empathy rushed over her, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to pull him close, to hold him in a way that might ease even a fraction of the hurt he carried. She wanted to soothe him with the kind of warmth her mother had given her in times of fear, to comfort him until the weight of his past lifted. But she knew better—Sirius was too proud, too stubborn, to ever allow it.

Before she could speak, he glanced up, his eyes meeting hers with an odd vulnerability. “But here I am, alive,” he said quietly, the words hanging between them like a fragile truce.

“I’m glad,” she replied before she could stop herself. The sincerity of her words surprised her, but there it was. His parents did not deserve him.

Sirius’s lips curled into a faint, wry smirk. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Marlene chuckled softly, but the lightness didn’t break the tension between them. There was a charged silence that stretched on, a crackling electric current in the air. Her gaze flickered to his lips for a fleeting second, and she felt something stir within her. Something thrilling, and a little terrifying, all at once.

Sirius’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment, his eyes drifting to her lips as well. The distance between them felt like it had disappeared.

But neither of them moved. Not yet.