Heroes
Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, November 9, 1977
The hospital wing was unnervingly quiet, except for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing down the corridors. Mary Macdonald lay in one of the narrow beds, her skin paler than usual, her body so still it was hard to believe she was breathing. The sight made Lily Evans’ stomach churn with rage and helplessness.
Around Mary’s bed stood her friends—Marlene and Dorcas - along with Remus James, Peter, and Sirius, each struggling to process what had happened. But for Lily, the anger was sharp, like glass under her skin.
Peter broke the silence first, his voice hushed. “What happened?”
Lily swallowed hard, her voice tight as she answered. “Mulciber ambushed her on the way to the tower.” Her jaw clenched. “He didn’t even bother hiding it.”
“Is she going to be alright?” Dorcas asked, her voice tremulous as she stared at Mary’s comatose figure.
“They don’t know yet,” Lily replied tersely, not trusting herself to say more.
James, ever the fixer, spoke next. “What can we do?”
Lily let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and without humour. “Nothing, James. As usual.”
She couldn’t hold it in any longer. The frustration, the anger—it all came rushing out in a torrent of words she’d been swallowing for too long. “I’m so bloody tired of you!” she exploded, her voice ringing out in the tense stillness of the hospital wing. Her friends flinched, their eyes widening as they turned towards her, startled by the outburst.
Lily continued, her voice shaking with fury. “You give your speeches about equality and how you don’t see blood, but you don’t lift a bloody finger to change this messed up system!”
James looked as though he’d been struck. “Lily, I didn’t mean to—”
“That’s the problem, James,” Lily cut him off coldly. “You never mean to, but you do it anyway. None of you do anything to stop it.”
Sirius, who was normally quick to jump in with a retort, remained silent, his lips pressed together as if holding back words he knew wouldn’t help. Marlene cast her eyes to the floor, biting her lip.
Lily’s anger was a tidal wave now, rushing out unchecked. “It’s easy for all of you,” she spat, her voice growing louder with each word. “You can afford to be complacent. You sign the odd petition, pat yourselves on the back, and then return to your bloody mansions. And even when you go too far, even when you’re labelled ‘blood traitors’” — she threw the words at Sirius with a venomous edge — “they’ll still let you back in.”
Her eyes, burning with anger, flicked between Marlene, James, and Sirius, who all looked stricken. “But Mary and I don’t have that luxury. I’ve had to fight every day, to prove myself over and over, because I don’t have a choice. I never did.”
Her words hit like a hammer, reverberating through the room. Mary had been her friend since their first year. The others didn’t know where to look, caught in the painful truth she had laid bare.
“So yes, James,” Lily continued, her voice raw now, on the edge of breaking. “I’m angry. I’m so bloody angry. You’re sitting here with all this privilege you don’t even see. You don’t have to worry because the system’s made to protect you!”
James stood rooted to the spot, guilt and confusion battling in his eyes. His hand half-raised towards her, like he wanted to reach out, but didn’t dare.
“Lily, it’s not that simple,” he said weakly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“It is that simple!” Lily snapped, turning on him fully now. “You live in a world where you can afford to care from a distance. You can play the hero when it suits you because it’s not your family they’re coming after. It’s not your friends being attacked for no reason other than existing.”
Sirius shifted uncomfortably next to Marlene, his jaw set tight. “Lily, we’re on your side—”
“Are you?” Lily’s eyes flashed as she rounded on him. “You hate your family, but you still don’t get it. You can walk away from it all, Sirius. You can escape. Mary and I can’t.”
The words hit Sirius hard, but he didn’t argue. Marlene, usually so fierce, had gone quiet, her guilt written plainly on her face. Even Remus, always the mediator, remained silent, staring at her.
Lily’s voice trembled, the fire in her slowly cooling to ash as the exhaustion caught up with her. “I know you care. I do. But caring isn’t enough. Not anymore. Mulciber and people like him… they won’t stop. And Mary’s lying here because we haven’t done enough.”
The weight of her words settled over them all like a suffocating blanket. No one dared to speak. The room, filled with the quiet hum of magic and the sound of their uneven breaths, seemed smaller, stifling.
James finally took a step forward, his voice soft and pleading. “Lily, I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make it better. But I’m trying. We’re all trying.”
Lily looked at him, her anger fading to something sadder, more resigned. She could see the sincerity in his face, the guilt, the confusion. But it wasn’t enough.
“I know, James,” she whispered. “But it’s not enough just to try.”
And without waiting for a reply, she turned away, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion as she walked to the door.
**
The room seemed to breathe out as she left, the tension easing only slightly. James stood there, staring at the door where she had disappeared, his chest tight with guilt and the weight of everything unsaid.
“I need to talk to her,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, before he bolted after her, leaving the others in stunned silence.
He caught up with her just outside the hospital wing, where the torchlight flickered dimly in the darkened corridor. She had slowed her pace, her head bowed as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.
“Lily!” he called, his voice hoarse with desperation. She stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Lily, please,” he said, his steps slowing as he reached her. “You’re right. I know you are.”
She stood there, still as stone, her back to him. “Do you?” she asked quietly, her voice thick with exhaustion.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.”
She finally turned to look at him, her green eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “Trying isn’t enough anymore, James. This is getting serious”
James swallowed hard, his heart aching. “I want to do better. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
Lily’s expression softened, just a fraction, but the exhaustion in her face remained. “I don’t have the answers, James,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m just… so tired.”
He stepped closer, his hand hovering near hers, uncertain if she’d let him take it. “I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to fight this alone.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence between them was heavy but filled with a tentative understanding. Finally, Lily nodded, just barely, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He still didn’t know how to fix it, but at least she hadn’t pushed him away. Not completely.
**
After Lily had stormed out with James on her tail, Remus Dorcas, and Peter exchanged a glance, then mumbled something about giving everyone space and left too, their footsteps fading quickly down the corridor.
Sirius remained, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on Mary’s pale still face. The cuts and bruises marring her brown skin were like a map of someone else’s cruelty, and the sight of her lying so small and fragile on the bed made his stomach twist, reminding him of his own past.
He barely noticed Marlene until she sat down in the chair next to him.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said quietly, her voice breaking the silence like a fragile thread snapping. “We don’t owe each other anything.”
Marlene, who usually brushed everything off with sharp quips and a brash laugh, was clinging so tightly to the rules they had laid down in the Astronomy Tower. Rules that kept them in a strange, carefully balanced limbo, as she slept with him every other night.
Sirius straightened slightly, the tension in his shoulders softening as he glanced at her. She looked worn out, her usual fiery energy buried beneath exhaustion and worry. He hated seeing her like this, her sharp edges dulled by pain.
“I know,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but steady. “But I want to.”
Marlene exhaled sharply, a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so hollow. She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest as if to shield herself from something unseen.
“You’re bloody stubborn,” she murmured, but there was no venom in it.
“Same as you,” he replied, as he sat down beside her, slowly letting the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. If anything, it felt necessary.
After a moment, Marlene glanced at Mary, and her composure crumbled. Her shoulders shook as she stared at her friend, her eyes brimming with tears.
“She looks so… broken,” Marlene whispered, her voice trembling. “What if she doesn’t recover? What if—what if we can’t keep this from happening again? I feel so useless, Sirius. I should’ve been there. Lily’s right, I should’ve done more.”
Sirius hesitated for only a second before reaching out, gently taking her hand in his. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly as they gripped his, and he squeezed back firmly, anchoring her to the moment.
“This wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. “And Mary—she’ll fight. And we’ll be here when she does.”
She shook her head, wiping at her tears with her free hand. “I just… I hate this, Sirius. I hate feeling this useless”
He understood. The helplessness, the simmering rage—it sat in his chest too. But instead of saying it, he just held her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
As her sobs quieted, he took in her face—the tear-clumped lashes, the flush of her skin. They had known each since they were seven. Before Hogwarts. At some dull pureblood party, she’d stirred up trouble, even as a child, laughing even as she was scolded. She’d always been different—not reckless like him, but deliberate. She picked her battles, which to Sirius had always looked like compromise.
She’d never fallen for his charm or his carefully constructed personas. She’d called him arrogant once—loud enough for half the common room to hear—and he’d retaliated with a cutting remark about her playing it safe. They’d clashed for years after that.
“I’ve got you,” Sirius murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Marlene looked at him then, her eyes still red-rimmed but steadier. After a beat, she gave a small, shaky nod.
“I’m going to make them pay”
Her breath hitched, but instead of agreement, her expression hardened. “We can’t just act on anger. That’s what they do. That’s how they justify everything.”
Sirius scoffed, fingers curling into a fist before he let go. “Since when are you the peacemaker?” His tone was sharp, but beneath it—accusation.
Marlene exhaled sharply. “I’m not.” A flicker of hesitation. “I just—” She stopped, biting back something unspoken.
That sparked something in him. She was compromising. And to Sirius, compromise had always looked like surrender.
**
James watches Lily leave in a daze, Lily’s words still ricocheting around his mind. Everything she’d said, every accusation, every reminder of his privilege—it all rang true. He had always thought he was doing the right thing, standing up to Snape, defending his friends, pushing back against the ugliness in their world. But what had any of it really accomplished? Mary was still lying in a bed, unconscious.
His footsteps felt heavy as he approached the hospital wing again. The guilt was suffocating. He had to check on poor sweet Mary, if only to distract himself from the helplessness curling tight in his chest. As James neared the door, he slowed, the sight before him stopping him in his tracks. Most of their friends had left but there, standing beside Mary’s bed, were Sirius and Marlene. He hadn’t expected to see them here, together, like this.
Marlene looked distraught, her usually sharp features softened by worry and exhaustion. She stood close to Sirius, her shoulders slightly hunched as if the weight of everything was pressing her down. She was speaking quietly to him, though James couldn’t hear what she was saying.
What he did see, though, was Sirius reaching out, his hand sliding into Marlene’s with a tenderness that James had never seen before. It wasn’t a grand gesture, not even meant for anyone else to see. It was intimate .
He knew they’d grown closer over the summer, had even teased Sirius about it. But this was different. This was real.
And somehow, witnessing this private moment felt wrong, like he was intruding on something sacred. The weight of it settled over him, mixing with the guilt already gnawing at his insides.
James backed away quietly, almost stumbling over his feet in his haste to leave unnoticed. He didn’t want to see any more, didn’t want to think about what it meant for Sirius and Marlene or how everything around him seemed to be shifting in ways he couldn’t control.
His heart pounded in his chest as he slipped out of the room, shame burning hot in his cheeks. There were so many things happening all at once—Lily’s anger, Mary’s injury, and now this. It felt like the world was crashing down around him, and for the first time in a long time, James Potter didn’t know how to fix any of it.
**
The atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room had been tense, particularly after Lily’s emotional outburst in the hospital wing. She had lashed out at her friends, reasonably frustrated. The others gave her space, knowing her anger came from a place of pain, but Remus found himself more affected than the rest. As much as he empathized Lily, as much as he wanted to tell her she wasn’t alone, it left him feeling slightly hypocritical.
Later that evening, after Lily had calmed down and retreated to a quiet corner of the common room, Remus decided to approach her. She was curled up by the fire, the dim glow casting flickering shadows over her face, still blotchy from earlier tears. A copy of the Hogwarts Herald rested in her lap, unread. She glanced up as he sat beside her, offering a tired, weary smile.
“Hey,” he said gently.
“Hey,” she replied, her voice soft and hoarse.
They sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire filling the space between them. Remus supposed they were friends—great friends, even. She had always been one of the few people outside of the Marauders who made him feel truly seen. Maybe it was his sickly looks or his quiet, bookish demeanor, but she had always been kind to him, even when others weren’t. He liked Lily well enough, though she could be stubborn when she had made up her mind about something.
Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry about earlier. You’re right,” he said quietly. “It’s not fair, what happened to Mary, or what’s been happening outside.”
Lily let out a deep sigh, frustration still simmering beneath her exhaustion. “I just... I feel like I’m constantly fighting this battle alone. Like no one else sees it—or worse, they see it and they don’t care.”
Remus frowned. He knew that feeling intimately—the suffocating weight of knowing something terrible and carrying it alone.
“We care, Lily. I care,” he said earnestly. “Sometimes... sometimes it’s just hard to know the right way to help.”
She looked at him then, her green eyes searching his. “You’re different, Remus. You’ve always been kind to everyone, kind to me. But the others... I don’t know. They can be so blind sometimes. Particularly Potter, who thinks he’s some sort of hero while doing the least.”
Remus hesitated at the mention of James, knowing how complicated her feelings were toward him. But this wasn’t about that.
“I think... we’re all blind in our own ways,” he said slowly, his thoughts drifting to his own struggles. “Everyone’s dealing with something, even if it’s not obvious. But that doesn’t excuse us from standing up. You’re right to be angry.”
Lily blinked, caught off guard by his candor. “I didn’t expect you to say that. I’m sorry for reading you all the riot act.”
Remus chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “I guess I understand what it feels like to be on the outside, even if it’s for different reasons.”
Lily furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
His chest tightened. He wasn’t ready to tell her the truth—not about the full moon, not about the wolf inside him, not about the other secret that lingered, unspoken, in the spaces between his words.
He rarely talked about girls—not that romance was exactly a priority when he spent half his life hiding what he was. But sometimes, he caught the way people looked at him—too curious, too knowing. The way James raised an eyebrow when he talked about his summer, the way Mary had once offhandedly asked if he fancied anyone, only for him to fumble through some half-hearted excuse.
Remus had kissed boys before—since fifth year, actually. Quick, quiet moments tucked away in the corners of his village, on the streets of Cardiff late at night, stolen between the rustling of cloaks and the hurried whisper of names that didn’t matter. Always hidden.
Because some secrets were manageable. Being a werewolf was something he could confine to the full moon, to the shack on the edge of the forest. But this ? This was woven into him, impossible to separate. This was every passing glance in the halls, every unguarded moment where his eyes lingered too long. It wasn’t something that could be locked away. And so he understood Lily's rage all too well.
And yet, it never changed the fact that every time he returned to Hogwarts, every time he sat back among his friends and pretended nothing had happened, the weight of it remained.
He gave Lily a small, careful smile. “Just... being different,” he said simply, letting the words hang between them.
Lily studied him, her expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, her face softened. “I understand… It’s hard, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t mean being alone.”
Lily hesitated before speaking again. “You know, if you ever… I mean, if you ever want to talk about it,” she said carefully, “I’m here. And I mean that.”
Remus’s heart stuttered, guilt twisting in his stomach. Did she know…? Was she talking about…? He opened his mouth, uncertain what to say, but Lily just gave him a small, knowing smile.
“I get it,” she added, so quietly he barely heard her. “Really. Just... know that I’m on your side.”
Oh, Merlin, Remus thought, his breath catching.
He hesitated, torn between telling her and letting the moment pass, but the look on her face stopped him. She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding answers—just offering understanding. And maybe that was enough.
“Thanks,” he said finally.
Lily’s eyes softened, and for the first time that night, she seemed to relax, leaning her head back against the armchair. Remus let out a quiet breath, forcing himself to follow her lead. His gaze drifted to the Hogwarts Herald still clutched in her hands. One headline caught his eye, and he couldn’t help but snicker despite the heaviness of the conversation.
“Is Your Cat Secretly a Dark Wizard? 5 Signs Your Pet Might Be Involved in Dark Magic.”
Lily raised an eyebrow as he chuckled. “What?”
Remus gestured to the article. “I swear, sometimes this paper just writes the most ridiculous things.”
Lily snorted, the tension in her shoulders finally easing. “The state of journalism at Hogwarts. We might as well start running ‘How to Know If Your Broomstick’s Been Hexed by a Slytherin’ next.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Remus joked, the absurdity of it momentarily lifting the weight off his chest.
**
Marlene lingered outside the classroom, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the stone floor for the 6th years to come out of their Transfiguration class. She was still shaken from seeing Mary in that state in the hospital. The moment Evan stepped into the corridor, laughing at something Regulus Black had said, she pushed off the wall and strode straight for them.
“Evan,” she snapped.
Evan barely glanced at her before rolling his eyes. “Oh, brilliant. What have I done now?”
Marlene didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Mulciber attacked Mary.” Her voice was tight, controlled, but the fire behind it was unmistakable. “I want to know if you had anything to do with it.”
Evan was a little shit with dubious friends but to think that he would be part of this was a step too far for Marlene to believe. Yet, doubts remained in her head.
Her cousin raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And what, exactly, makes you think I had anything to do with that doofus’ extracurricular activities?”
Marlene’s hands clenched into fists. “Don’t play coy with me, Evan. You run in the same bloody circles. You expect me to believe you knew nothing?”
Regulus, standing slightly behind Evan, shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe this isn’t the place—”
“Stay out of it, Black,” Marlene snapped, not even sparing him a glance.
Evan sighed dramatically, tilting his head. “Look, cousin,” he said, the word dripping with mockery. “I know you’d love to pin this on me, but Mulciber’s unhinged. No one tells him what to do. He went rogue..”
Marlene studied his face, searching for any flicker of dishonesty. He was infuriatingly good at keeping his expression unreadable, that usual smug amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
A new thought struck her, her eyes narrowing at Evan. “And,” she added, “what the fuck were you doing then at the Three Broomsticks this summer then?”
Evan blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then, ever so smoothly, the smirk was back. “Enjoying a pint like any other wizard. Why?”
Marlene took a step closer, her expression dark. “I saw you. With that shadowy figure lurking in the corners. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Regulus stiffened beside Evan, but Evan? He just chuckled. “Shadowy figure? You make it sound so ominous, Marls.”
“Cut the shit, Evan.”
His smirk thinned. “Look, I don’t know what you think you saw, but you should really mind your own business.”
Marlene scoffed. “Not when it involves people like Mulciber. Not when Mary is lying in the infirmary because of the kind of company you keep.”
Evan shrugged, his voice turning almost casual. “Mulciber and Avery get into dark shit. That’s their problem, not mine.”
Before she could press him further, a soft but firm voice cut through the tension.
“Evan.”
Eda Rosier stepped between them, her presence instantly cooling the air. Where Evan enjoyed the chaos, Eda was measured, composed. She glanced between them before settling her gaze on her brother, her expression unreadable.
“Tell me the truth.”
Evan’s smirk faltered. Just for a second. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, Eda. I had nothing to do with it.”
Eda held his gaze for a long moment before nodding, seemingly satisfied. “Alright,” she said simply.
Marlene exhaled sharply, frustration curling in her gut. “That’s it? Just like that?”
Eda turned to her, calm as ever. “I know when he’s lying,” she said. “And he’s not.”
Marlene wasn’t sure she believed that.
She wasn’t sure she believed any of them and that is what scared her the most. They were supposed to be family.
She turned her glare back to Evan and Regulus, voice cold. “I don’t care if you had nothing to do with it. Stay away from Mary. Both of you. Tell Mulciber, tell your little friends—if any of you come near her again, you’ll regret it.”
Evan gave an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand over his heart. “Oh, Marlene, your concern for my well-being is touching.”
Regulus frowned. “We’re not the enemy.”
Marlene let out a humorless laugh. “Aren’t you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. With one last glare, she turned on her heel and stalked away.
**
The soft clatter of the enchanted ceiling shifting between clouds and starlight filled the quiet space. The Gryffindor dining table was nearly deserted, with only Marlene and Dorcas lingering at the far end, their heads close together as they whispered about Merlin knows what. Sirius noticed absently that Lily was nowhere to be seen—she probably had gone off with James for a perfect meeting.
Sirius sat slouched, idly swirling his spoon through the remnants of his dessert. Across from him, Peter devoured his pudding with gusto, while Remus, more subdued, picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. His knee bounced, a telltale sign he was turning something over in his mind.
“You’ve been sneaking off a lot lately,” Remus said suddenly, his tone casual, though the question beneath it was clear.
Sirius tilted his head, smirking as though the accusation amused him. “Have I?”
“Yes,” Remus replied, meeting his eyes. “Late at night. And you always come back looking… I don’t know. Smug.”
Sirius’s smirk grew lazier, as if the conversation were a game he had already won. “Maybe I’ve just been enjoying some alone time,” he said with a mock-innocent air. But the words rang hollow.
“Have you?” Remus pressed, his gaze unwavering. “Because if I had to guess, I’d say you’ve been spending that time with—or rather, in—someone else.”
Sirius chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I thought you didn’t like me sharing my ‘sexcapades,’” he drawled, deliberately emphasizing the word in his most obnoxious tone.
“Well, not when you call them that,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes.
Peter looked up from his pudding, grinning impishly. “Oi, come on, tell us! I reckon it’s someone from Slytherin, isn’t it?”
Sirius shot him a sharp look but couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Wormtail?”
Peter leaned forward eagerly. “Come on, Padfoot, you can’t leave us hanging like that! Who is it? Or are you just keeping us guessing?”
Sirius shrugged, though there was a flicker of unease beneath his usual bravado. “It’s nobody important,” he muttered, almost too quickly. “Just someone to pass the time.”
“But you won’t tell us her name,” Remus pointed out, his voice calm but probing. “Very unlike you… Just tell us, mate.”
“Who says it’s a girl?” Sirius countered smoothly, his grin sharpening as he leaned against the table.
That stopped Remus in his tracks. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before turning his gaze to the enchanted ceiling. “Fine. Keep your secrets,” he said softly, his tone quieter now.
But Sirius didn’t miss the flicker of something—surprise, perhaps jealousy?—in Remus’s expression before he looked away. Sirius studied him for a long moment, his grin faltering. Guilt crept in, unwelcome and uncomfortable, but he shoved it down, burying it beneath his well-worn mask of carelessness.
Sirius straightened abruptly, the tension between them dissipating as he shifted the conversation. “We need to do something about those Slytherin bastards,” he said, his tone hard.
Remus blinked at the sudden change. “What do you mean, ‘do something’?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Sirius said, his jaw tightening. “After what Mulciber did to Mary, we can’t just let it slide. Lily’s right. They think they can get away with anything. It’s time we reminded them who they’re dealing with.”
Before Remus could respond, the heavy oak doors creaked open, and James strolled into the hall, his usual grin lighting up his face. “Oi, what are you three still doing here?” he called out, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on them. “I thought you’d have gone to the common room ages ago.”
“Plotting revenge, I’d wager,” Peter chimed in with a smirk.
“You’d be right,” Sirius said sharply. “We’ve got to put Mulciber and his lot in their place.”
James’s smile faltered as he joined them at the table. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with concern.
“I mean,” Sirius said firmly, “it’s time to show them they can’t mess with us—or Mary—and walk away unscathed.”
James’s brow furrowed. “That’s not how we do things, Sirius,” he said, his tone even but resolute. “Not anymore.”
James had sworn that he would stay out of Slytherin’s schemes and their petty provocations, especially after everything had spiraled out of control at the end of their sixth year. He could not stomach the way Lily and even Marlene and Dorcas had looked at him after the confrontation with Severus.
“They’re not going to stop, Prongs,” Sirius shot back, his frustration bubbling over. “Not unless we make them.”
“Yeah?” James asked, his voice rising slightly. “And how does stooping to their level help? Mary doesn’t need us to escalate this.”
Sirius glared at him, but James didn’t back down. “Dumbledore will handle Mulciber,” James said firmly.
Peter shifted uncomfortably, the earlier excitement in his expression replaced by unease. Sirius exhaled sharply, his jaw tight as he looked away, tension radiating from him.
“Did you see her face?” Sirius emphasized, his voice quieter now. “Mary’s half-dead in the infirmary. She’s our friend.” It was probably the first time Sirius had ever called Mary Macdonald a friend, but that was beside the point.
“Think carefully,” James sighted. “We’ve seen what happens when we take matters into our own hands, Sirius.”
Sirius stiffened, and a charged silence hung in the air. The memory of the Prank—his unspoken, shame—hovered between them, heavy and uninvited.
Remus, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “James is right,” he said gently. “Adding more fuel to the fire doesn’t fix anything.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Sirius leaned back, the hard set of his face softening ever so slightly. “Fine,” he muttered. “But this isn’t over.”
They sat in silence, the enchanted ceiling above them shifting once more into a tranquil expanse of stars.