Maps And Madmen
James is practicing his flying skills when the idea comes to him.
The weather has been lovely as spring sweeps through the grounds, banishing the whipping chill of the winter months in favor of gentle breezes and pleasantly perfumed air. One such lovely Sunday morning, James suggests they all go for a fly around the grounds. It’s wonderful weather for it, even if the air is still a bit nippy, and he’s made sure the pitch isn’t booked for Quidditch practice, so there’s no worry of other students or Madam Hooch, the sports instructor, butting in.
Much to James' disappointment, Sirius is the only one who wants to accompany him. The other two don’t much take to the idea of flying. Remus makes it very clear that he prefers to remain on the ground, where it’s solid and safe, and Peter has a pesky pollen allergy, so he tends to avoid the general outdoors during the warmer months.
Regulus absolutely loves flying, Sirius says, but he has a rather lukewarm reaction when asked if he’d like to join them for a trip round the Quidditch pitch and possibly the Astronomy Tower. Of course, it could very well be because first year students aren’t technically allowed to have brooms at school, but Regulus isn’t much of a stickler for rules, so it’s more likely because he doesn’t think they could get away with stealing if they get caught in the act. Getting detention would be very bothersome indeed, but having someone kick up a legal storm over their broom being stolen would be thoroughly irritating.
Pranks are one thing, he says, but actual crimes are out of the question. (At least until he’s figured out how to fib properly. His ears still turn incriminatingly red.) Regulus' definition of a crime is, admittedly, wrought with the juvenile fear of being locked up over having a bit of fun, but he still declines the invitation, even after Sirius has looked up the Ministry policy on petty thefts by underage perpetrators and assured him nothing would come of being caught.
So, leaving Peter to study with Willow in the Great Hall and Remus and Regulus cordially chatting with Lily in the library, James and Sirius slip off to the little wooden shed behind the Quidditch Pitch to pinch a couple of brooms for the day.
They kick off from the ground easily and glide around the goal posts and over the stands, high-fiving whatever objects they can reach as they fly by. Sirius does a little spin, to which James responds with a forward flip, and this starts a little competition that ends with Sirius hanging off a goalpost by the end of his robes after a brazen attempt at a corkscrew dive. James laughs so hard he nearly crashes into the stands.
Sirius flips him a neat middle finger after he’s been helped back onto his broom, zooming away as James laughs in indignation and makes to knock him down again. They end up lazily circling each other high above the ground in plain, unobstructed view of the castle, all wrung out and calm from chasing each other around all day and utterly uncaring that someone might spot them through a window.
The sun was high when they broke into the broom shed, but it’s setting now, winking between the turrets of the castle and glancing soft, yellow rays of light off the surface of the lake where the Giant Squid is basking in the spring sunset, just under the surface of the water.
James turns to sit in an undignified sidesaddle position on his broom, drifting higher to come level with the height of the top of North Tower, which stands proudly in the distance. The air is chilly, but clear and pleasant, softly ruffling his hair and flicking at the hanging hem of his robes.
“We should wait here,” he whispers, bobbing gently on his broom. “See the stars or something.”
Sirius smiles beside him. “We said we’d watch it from the tower. C’mon, I’ll show you my star.”
“What?”
“Well, it’s not my star. It’s my namesake. If you don’t want to see it-”
“No, no! I’d love to see it. Only, I thought you were calling me your star for a moment.”
Sirius snorts, leaning forward to rest his chin on James’ shoulder and grin teasingly. “Would you like me to call you my star, Jamie?” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down.
“I like Jamie just fine, actually. I don’t really fancy myself a star.” James says thoughtfully.
“Yes, you’re more the sun, aren’t you?”
“Do you think so?”
Sirius pulls back and observes his face for a moment. “Yes, I think you are. Regulus says so, too.”
“Does he?” James leans in interestedly. “I'm never quite sure if he likes me.”
“He can be a bit prickly sometimes, but he likes you a lot. He likes all you lot a lot.”
“He likes our lot a lot?” James giggles.
“A lot.” Sirius concurs, shouldering James playfully. “Now c’mon. I want to see the sunset from the tower. I’ll race you.”
“Oh, you’re going to lose, Black.” James swings his leg back over his borrowed broom and leans almost flat against it. He zips away as fast as he can toward the highest turret of Hogwarts Castle: the Astronomy Tower. Sirius darts after him immediately, his robes flaring out behind him.
They race neck and neck to the top of the tower, and indeed, Sirius loses. It’s a close call, but he still makes a show of being disappointed.
“Unfair!” he protests as James crows gleefully in the background, “You had a head start!”
James blows him a raspberry and does a silly little victory dance with an impish grin on his face. Sirius sticks out his tongue good-naturedly and sets his broom aside, sitting himself cross-legged on the roof of the tower and facing the sunset. James plops down next to him, still holding his own broom.
“Lovely view,” he says, “But don’t you think it would look better if we were even higher?”
He prods Sirius in the shoulder goadingly. “I want to see how high these brooms go. See if we nabbed good ones.”
“You go ahead,” says Sirius, “I just got comfortable.”
James shrugs amicably. “Alright. I’ll be back so you can show me your star.”
Sirius gives him a grin and a thumbs up, leaning back to lie down below the darkening sky.
James takes off gently, slowly building height as he guides the broom higher and higher. At some point, he stops, no longer wanting to subject himself to the chill of the ever-approaching night air that gets fractionally colder the higher he goes.
He coasts softly, riding the wind over the grounds, careful to stay within the castle boundaries. The light is fading fast now, turning the sparse clouds pink and graying their edges. The castle doesn’t look quite as big from this high up. It looks almost like a handmade miniature or an eccentric collector’s item.
James can see Hogsmeade from this height, nestled on the other side of the lake, and the tracks that carry the Hogwarts Express to and from the village whenever necessary.
It’s all quite peaceful. The castle looks silent, despite the hundreds of students James knows to be milling about inside, and for a moment he wishes he could always be like this. He lets his thoughts drift, absentmindedly counting Hogwarts’ many windows, which now shine gold below him in the newly arrived dark blue night. His hands are going a bit numb, but he ignores his body shivering slightly as his mind is drawn back to his first week of school as he looks from windows to roof shingles to the train tracks in Hogsmeade.
The Giant Squid splashes faintly below him, drawing itself back under the surface of the lake. James laughs as he remembers Peter splashing into the water halfway through their boat ride. Then he sobers up, recalling as well that it was his fault.
A lot of things are his fault, he thinks. Like Lily’s coldness toward him and his friends, Sirius nearly getting written up by Filch, and Remus lying to teachers to keep them off the scent of who’s been responsible for the vast majority of the practical jokes carried out through the school year. He feels guilty for it, but not in the usual way.
Instead of wishing that he might regulate his temper better or avoid any general joking about, James tries to think of a way to stay as low risk, high reward as possible.
It would be easier to stop the rubber ball, chia seed eyebrows (Merlin, Willow Evans is a genius), rancid potion shenanigans altogether, but the notion of doing what he’s supposed to just feels so dreadfully dull to contemplate that he barely considers it an option.
No, he decides. What he and the others need isn’t to stop having fun, it’s to make sure they have insurance. The cloak serves them well, but it’s only suited to conceal two people at most. The only reason all four of them can fit under it is because they’re barely eleven and not yet grown. It’s going to be a lot harder to fit everyone behind a cloak when they’ve all grown far past five feet tall.
James rolls on his broom like sloth and hangs himself upside down from the handle by his knees, closing his eyes and letting the blood rush to his head. Something like the parchment in the Gryffindor common room would be best, he concludes. But a more helpful version that would provide pictures. And maybe a log of hiding places and a way to see if any authority figures were nearby. A way to see all the ins and outs at once.
James pulls himself up with a start, nearly banging his head on the broom handle. “A map,” he says, laughing incredulously. It’s a shockingly simple solution, but Merlin, a map. He’s almost angry he hasn’t thought of it before.
He constructs a loose plan in his head of how to move forward. He’ll have the others’ help, of course, if they offer to. They would need parchment, lots of it, and a way to illustrate the map itself. James is sure that Remus can find a handy spell buried in a book somewhere. It’s the part of identifying people on the map as they move from place to place that’s the trickier bit, but he loves a good challenge.
James returns to the top of the Astronomy Tower buzzing with excitement. It's difficult, but he tamps his giddiness down for the time being, remembering that Sirius wants to show him a star. His star.
Sirius is dozing slightly, curled up and using his robes as a blanket with his cheek pressed to the stone of the roof.
James shakes him awake gently. "Sirius. Mate."
Sirius greets him sleepily, sitting up to have a look at where he is. His cheek bears a large, red pressure mark and his hair is properly ruffled.
“I fell asleep?” He slurs, rubbing at his eyes and blinking himself further awake.
“Yeah, but c’mon,” James tugs at Sirius’ sleeve to pull him up, “It’s late. We need to put these brooms back soon. Show me your star.”
“My star,” Sirius points upward vaguely, still woozy from his nap.
“Er. Where am I looking?”
“Right, sorry. There,” Sirius stands fully and guides James’ hand to point at a row of three stars clustered together, then directs it slightly over to a bright star just nearby.
“It’s part of a constellation,” he draws a line between a few of the twinkling points of light to create an undiscernible shape in the air. “The dog.”
“And you’re the brightest,” James says. “And you’re a dog?”
“A straight up bitch.”
James snorts and punches Sirius lightly in the shoulder. “Your star is lovely, bitch. Let’s go return these brooms. I have something to tell you and the others.”
A little while later, when they’re all in their pajamas and lying on the carpet in their dorm, ignoring their beds and their curfew, James illustrates his idea enthusiastically. They all agree that it’s a wonderful idea, and Remus, as James predicted, offers to research spells for the cause almost immediately.
Peter hesitantly suggests that he be in charge of finding the secret passages the school is rumored to have. He isn’t any great shakes at spell work yet, he reasons, but he does have a habit of falling through tapestries that conceal shortcuts behind them.
Sirius knows a bit about magical maps because his family home possesses quite a few, so he says he’ll help Remus with the mechanics of it all.
James finds an enormous piece of parchment buried somewhere in the school’s reserve of spare supplies. He keeps it carefully folded at the bottom of one of his drawers, even though simply having a lot of spare parchment isn’t out of the ordinary. He says it’s to make sure nothing happens to it, but they all know it’s because James enjoys the little thrill of having a secret.
And, for some reason or other, the venture of creating a map of Hogwarts manages to stay a secret. It’s likely because everyone is so used to seeing the four of them conversing in whispers that no one bats an eye at their behavior over the next few weeks, but not even Regulus finds out, which is admittedly unusual because the Black brothers tend to tell each other everything. But since Regulus has expressed that he doesn't want to be linked to any extremely incriminating details of their questionable ventures, Sirius decides it might better if he isn't in the know.
Like all projects, the map starts out as a new, exciting goal, but slowly fades out, blending into their normal class schedules. They don’t abandon the idea, not by any means, but they learn to divide their focus as they come to the collective realization that this particular project is considerably more complicated than they could’ve imagined.
Peter is deep into his spring allergies, sneezing and sniffling constantly, which puts his mind off scouting around for hidden nooks and crannies, especially with how he’s faring with his homework. (Which is to say, not quite as well as he’d like to, and certainly not as easily as the others.)
It takes weeks for him to be convinced to go to Madam Pomfrey for a more magical remedy than handkerchiefs and hope. It’s Lily that knocks him into doing it in the end, telling him in her usual no-nonsense tone that Madam Pomfrey is a bona-fide miracle worker.
Peter, who is quite the anxiety riddled thing, still asks Remus, who has become friendly with the school matron between all of his head colds, to accompany him. About five seconds after his first gulp of one of many potions (his allergies are quite severe), his itches and irritations are gone without a trace.
Lily has become quite a friend to Peter recently. He and Willow often study and chat together, not just at breakfast anymore, and Lily, who started joining them to be close to her sister, comes to like Peter’s bumbling disposition. She thinks he’s a confused, but sweet soul, sort of like a housecat lost in the rain, and she makes it a point to help him out when he visibly can't grasp the material they're learning as quickly as the others.
Remus enjoys Lily’s company too. They often exchange book recommendations, read them together, then compare notes in the back of the library. And when Lily expresses that, though she loves Hogwarts, she desperately misses Mars Bars, Remus surprises her with a huge stack of Muggle sweets taken out of his very own precious stores.
Classes wear on, bringing with them tests and essays and various other assignments that are mostly more tedious than time consuming, but still a special brand of pain in the neck that only schoolwork can achieve being.
The four of them are having none of it.
James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus whisper constantly throughout any and every class, especially those that are mostly practical spell work. Charms is excellent for chatting because Professor Flitwick is always occupied making sure no one is pointing their wand at the wrong thing and accidentally blowing someone’s head off. Defense Against the Dark Arts is convenient because the professor teaching the class is new and not the most adept at their job. Potions more than qualifies because Slughorn doesn’t care nearly enough anymore to police the first years talking amongst themselves as they chop spleens or strategically tear dried plants into fourths for whatever potion they’re currently brewing.
Transfiguration has all the criteria ticked off to be a good class to chew the rag in relative privacy. The background of all the noise and chaos that turning bottle caps to buttons can create in the context of a bunch of eleven-year-olds with magic sticks should, in theory, be enough to at least be able to whisper without being overheard. But Professor McGonagall, though patient and competent to her core, is slightly rubbed raw by a specific group of four Gryffindor students that shamelessly pass notes and constantly giggle at nothing.
Regulus often reminds the others that Hogwarts is a school, not a hunting ground, as does McGonagall, who is at her very wit’s end more often than not. Still, she stays magnificently calm. Even when Sirius somehow glues himself to a chair with a Muggle brand of adhesive called Super Glue, she disciplines him and his friends appropriately with detentions and a reluctant docking of house points. (She refuses to show favoritism.)
Even though detentions are piling up, and not just for James and Sirius (Peter calls Snape a prickhead and has to spend an hour cleaning school trophies as punishment), trouble finds them anyway.
Trouble, in this instance, has a name, and that name is Peeves.
Peeves is a poltergeist. A small, floating spirit of mischief manifested in the form of a little man wearing a blazer colored a painfully bright fire-engine red and a garishly spotted necktie.
He often pulls tricks and jokes for a laugh, doing things like launching water bombs, flinging gum and spitballs, and calling rude names at anyone who passes by, staff included.
On this particular day, Peeves has been provoking the stoic suits of armor that stand proudly in most parts of the castle.
James, Peter, Sirius, and Remus are going to the trophy room to investigate it for hidden passages, and Willow follows behind them, writing an essay as she walks and somehow managing to balance an open inkwell, a book, and a two-foot-long sheaf of parchment in her hands at once. The Trophy Room, which is usually empty, is crowded with about fifteen suits of armor when they arrive, all of which are holding various weapons. They’re clanging and stomping at each other, flourishing their weapons occasionally and glinting in the light. Peeves hovers in a corner near the ceiling, cackling quietly.
“Er,” says Peter nervously, “Have we interrupted something?”
The armor all looks up in unison, which is a very unnerving sight indeed.
“You!” One of them points to Peter and strides forward impressively.
Peter squeaks in fear. “Y-yes, Sir, Mr. Knight, Sir?”
The knight points to its face, or rather, its helmet, and asks, “Am I shiny?”
Peter blinks in disbelief. “Pardon me?” he asks politely, mildly petrified that a six-foot-tall, faceless man made of metal and holding a mace is talking to him. It’s mostly the mace part, but the disembodied-voice-from-an-empty-suit-of-armor part is slightly off putting as well.
The knight sighs loudly. “Hellman over there,” it points behind to one of the other identical figures, “says us window knights are a disgrace. Says we’re not near shiny enough.”
It raises its arms in frustration and drops them again with a clang. “Not shiny enough! I mean, there’s more to knighthood than being shiny. I fend off birds, I protect my window. I’ve got a mace, for Morgana’s sake!”
“You do indeed,” Sirius says, stepping forward interestedly. Remus shoots him a hard look and says, “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Ugh, fine.”
Peter raises a tentative hand. “Erm, Mr. Knight, you’re very shiny, really. You’re just a bit... a bit dusty. That’s all.”
“Yes, I know,” the knight grumps, “The pollen is an absolute nightmare for us window armor. Still, we’re respectable, and we do our jobs.” It puffs out its breastplate proudly. “Not shiny indeed. At least we’re competent.”
There’s a rustle of agreement from the other window knights. Peeves floats down to hover near the armor with the mace and screeches, “Competent window armor you are! Did you forget the notes, tin-head? Forget all the nasty notes?”
“The notes!” the armor roars, frightening the children out of their socks. (All except Willow, who is still writing her essay.) It strides to one of the other knights (presumably Hellman) and shoves it in the chest. “All those notes saying all those rude things. Incompetent of floor armor, as always!”
A few suits of armor, presumedly those that don’t work the windows, clang their helmets in indignation. The one that’s just been shoved pushes the other one back and demands, “What notes? You can’t even read!”
“Peeves can! And Peeves is kind enough to let me know what those notes you send say!”
“I never sent any notes!”
“Oh, but it did!” cackles Peeves. “It sent lots of nasty notes to you. All calling you names and bad words.” He floats closer to the knight. “You should do something. Something to show it who’s boss.”
“I should,” the armor agrees. “But what?”
“If I may,” James says promptly, all thoughts of maps gone from his mind, “Can I suggest a joust?”
“Oh, yes!” Sirius agrees excitedly. “Just throw each other around a bit. Whoever wins gets honor, glory, and exercise. And whoever loses has to roll around in the greenhouse.”
The knights eye each other, carefully sizing up their chances of winning. None of them much like the idea of rolling around on the dirty floors of the school greenhouses. Professor Sprout is a spectacular gardener, and she keeps quite the spectacular garden, but her greenhouses aren’t the cleanest on account that they’re full of dirt, and being shiny is evidently very important for a knight. Still, honor and glory are important to knights as well, and a little exercise never hurts anyone.
“Capital idea,” the knight with the mace says. It hefts its weapon and stands to attention. “Soldiers of the windows of the esteemed school of Hogwarts!” he announces, “Bear your weapons to the enemy! We fight for honor and glory!”
“And exercise,” Sirius reminds him.
“And exercise!”
The knights all point their various swords, spears, and lances at one another, creaking into offense positions.
“Charge!” the knight with the mace calls, and the suits of armor all run at each other at once.
Three get violently bowled over almost at once, and one is propelled into a wall of academic achievement ribbons. Peeves cheers as one of the window knights gets scratched loudly on the helmet in a blow that would’ve without a doubt killed any human.
Willow looks up when a metal kneecap slides past her feet, sees the carnage, takes two short steps back, sits herself crisscross applesauce on the ground, and goes on writing.
Sirius whoops loudly whenever something crashes, which is about every five seconds because the entire room is full of enormous glass cases of trophies and plaques. James is making bets with Remus on who he thinks will survive the longest and they both start loudly counting to ten whenever they see a knight take a fatal hit and get knocked down. Peter is hiding behind them to avoid any shrapnel, glancing nervously at the door every now and then, but he too gets caught up in the theatrics of a local civil war joust eventually.
The fight certainly has the potential to last for hours because the suits of armor, shiny or not, don’t house any flesh and blood humans inside them and never stay down past the count of five. But roughly fifteen, human-sized, hulking figures of metal make quite a lot of noise if engaged in casual warfare, so it isn’t long before a passing student hears the racket and approaches the Trophy Room to investigate.
Severus Snape pokes his head into the room and is making himself known before anyone has the chance to conceal themselves.
“Excuse me,” he says loudly, sneering unpleasantly at the scene before him, “but what exactly is going on?”
The knights all halt their tussling, dropping their weapons like a child with its hand caught in the cookie jar. Peeves quickly retreats into the shadows and disappears. The children turn to face the intruder and Sirius rolls his eyes and groans.
“What’s it to you?”
“It’s rule breaking. Destroying school property, instigating a fight. It’ll get you a whole year’s worth of detentions,” Snape says gleefully.
“We didn’t destroy anything,” Peter points out, “We’re just spectators.”
“Bystanders get punished too.”
“Go away, Snape,” James says coldly, not willing to entertain the boy.
Snape tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “If I leave, I’ll be back with a teacher. And no teacher is going to let this go. Not even the nice ones. Like Flitwick.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Sirius waves a passive hand, “We were just about to turn ourselves in. Get a little head start by pleading guilty.”
“What, really?” James asks.
“No, not really. Snivellous here is going to walk away and let us deal with our own problems.”
“As if,” Snape spits. “You idiots really think I’m going to let you get away with this?”
“Yes, we do.” Sirius deadpans. “We think you’re a noble soul that understands the sorry plight of fellow students that have gotten into themselves into trouble and wouldn’t dare involve authority because you’re not a flaming cunt.”
Peter, Remus, and James have to choke down their laughter at Sirius’ use of the word “cunt”.
“Oh, very funny,” Snape fumes, “You’re a right cunt yourself, you know that, Black?”
“I do. And I don’t really care if I am, honestly, because even if you do run off to a teacher like the upstanding civil service worker I’m sure you and every tardigrade leeching off your body is, there won’t be anything for them to see when you drag them back here.”
“You can’t possibly hide all this.”
“I’m the king of the fucking world. I can do anything.”
Snape, seething with anger, pulls out his wand and points it at Sirius’ throat. Peter yelps, and James pulls Sirius a pace or two backward, but Sirius remains unphased.
“And here we have a majestic example of the fabled Wizard,” Sirius jeers, “Known for his acts of bravery and selflessness, the Wizard will now hex a defenseless civilian in a fit of rage. It’s a rational reaction that’s sure to get the higher-ups on his side when he accuses his victim of a crime.”
“Repellere!” Snape shouts, and Sirius flies backward onto a sea of broken glass and metal.
Peter screams, James shouts, and Remus runs forward immediately to help him off the ground. Willow looks up from her essay and gasps in shock. Snape slips out of the room as they all rush to help Sirius out of the sharp shards of debris.
“I’m fine,” Sirius insists, brushing stray bits of glass off himself with his sleeves so his hands don’t get splinters. He isn’t fine. His hands and the back of his neck are lightly bleeding, and he’s visibly shaken, but he ignores his wounds and continues. “I’m fine. We need to fix this. He’s gone to get teachers.”
James is glowering hard and clenching his fists. The flames in the lanterns on the wall flicker wildly. “I’m going to-”
“Save your breath and your magic for people who are worth it, Jamie. Now please, we don’t have a lot of time.”
Sirius reaches for his wand, flinching in repressed pain as he grips it. A trail of blood runs down his wrist. He flicks his wand at a glass case and says, “Reparo.” Awards, trophies, and a slurry of glass lifts off the ground and flies back into place.
“It’s not the easiest spell, but try anyway, yeah?” Sirius begs. “I don’t think I can fix it all myself.”
“I know the spell,” Willow says, and points her wand at another pile of glass. “Reparo.”
The others get out their own wands and start trying to help fix the aftermath of their impromptu jousting ring. The knights stand there, looking as ashamed as they can manage without having actual facial expressions.
“Apologies,” says the one with the mace. “We got a bit carried away. We will all be rolling in the greenhouses to atone for our wrongdoings.” The other knights nod in resigned agreement.
“That’s alright,” Sirius says kindly, “Instead of that, you can just let me use your mace.”
“Whenever you wish,” the knight bows its head.
“Wonderful,” Sirius smiles widely. “Now here, hold still. Reparo!”
The scratches and scuffs on the knight’s armor fade, leaving it buffed and polished as the day it was made.
One of the other knights raises an arm and says, “Oh! Me next!”
Sirius laughs and obliges happily. Less than two minutes later the entire room is spotless, and the knights have all disappeared back to their usual posts. Willow gives Sirius a tentative hug and departs for the Ravenclaw common room. They return to their own soon after, taking an alternate route to avoid students and teachers.
They lie awake in their dorm room that night, not talking to each other, but not yet being able to fall sleep.
James frowns as he stares at his curtains. He can’t help but feel like this is all his fault. He’s the one who proposed a joust in the first place, and on top of that, they were only in the Trophy Room because he’d suggested making a map.
Peter sniffles a bit into his pillow, embarrassed at his heart’s quickness to draw tears from his eyes, but needing to get his feelings out anyway. He’s scared. So scared. He knows that being part Gryffindor house means he isn’t supposed to feel afraid, but how can he not be when one of his friends gets hurt or injured?
Remus just blinks listlessly into the darkness. He’s unable to fall asleep not only because of what happened earlier but also because he feels another bout of sickness coming on.
Sirius lies on his bed, curled into an uncomfortable position because his hands and neck still ache, and wishes he had the sense to fight back.
Sleep evades them all that night, and the next morning, when Lily approaches them at breakfast and asks why Severus is so angry with them, they tell her the truth
In all the years to come, none of them ever forget the sinking look on her face as she grapples with the ebbing realization that her closest friend might not be a good person after all.