Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

July 1st, 1977

She is dead. 

Her soul, her twin, her life — all gone, breath snuffed by her own hand. And at the graveyard stands another girl, wearing the same face but not the same eyes.

“They killed you.” Her raspy voice, broken after what felt like years of screaming in pain, is almost snuffed from the raging wind. Despite everyone telling her it was suicide, she knows it was the phantom arms of the privileged who ruined her sister’s life, forced her into desolation. “And I will hurt them in return.”

The early-June breeze blows through her curls. She fists them, and darkened eyes stare at a gravestone.

“Is that wise?” her mother asks, soft palms gripping a shaking shoulder. “We can — we can leave, escape the path your father planned —”

“I am aching,” she confesses, “and only their blood will cure me.”

A mother is supposed to guard her daughter. But when the girl is a tsunami, a force to be reckoned with, even the strongest of caretakers know to surrender.

The hand squeezes her. “Be careful, my love. Anger is a weapon, but many have died by their own tools.”

“Like her?” Rage swallows her whole, the madness of a tormented sister. “Her fate will not be my own.”

They were twin flames, once. Platonic, no, familial soulmates. Linked with only the purest of love. A sword and a shield, a girl and her knife.

There is no stronger bond than two twin sisters, tied with a raw magic that only certain children could produce — that is the gift of being born an Allen, of having a lost magical heritage. 

Always called lucky, one girl would use her golden words. Sentences strung like poetry, she failed to channel them into bullets. The best she could produce was a shield full of holes; her heart was never guarded.

When one has a guard dog, the twin with golden fists, there is no need for a wall.

And what is a heart with no protection? Dead.

With a corpse buried in the soil, the ichor from one sister latched onto the other. There are many lies in the world, but the largest one sits with the remaining girl’s grief-addled mother, unaware of the blood she possesses.

“Only you can decide your fate, my love,” her mother returns.

And so be it.

Chapter Text

THE BLACK FAMILY’S BASTARD: CARINA ALLEN
Published December 28th, 1974

FOREVER PURE NEWS, since 1948
Liria Skeeter, Renée Fawley

EVERY FAMILY HAS THEIR SECRETS —— hidden rooms, unspoken family traditions, or possessions unheard of to the public. 

The Black Family’s secret is, in fact, a child.

While prominent Heads of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are known for their infidelity, their bastard children are often brought to light within the first couple years of birth. A scandalous newspaper article and many donations later, those children are forgotten, lost to the world. They enter Hogwarts and keep their parentage a secret.

Carina Allen, however, managed to stay out of the radar for fifteen years. It is almost unheard of, a bastard child being discovered this late in life. In fact, as one of the most powerful Wizarding families in the world, the Blacks are expected to have a degree of loyalty to their spouses, and to keep their familial affairs clean-cut — not have a secret vital to their power escape this quickly.

Rumours of the unruly Black heir, Sirius, have already worried the Sacred 28 — pranks, disturbance, and the dismissal of family tradition have led many families to discount his competency as future heir — along with his Hogwarts House being Gryffindor instead of the traditional Slytherin.

That is one thing. A bastard is another; a bastard with a Muggle woman is, in fact, worse. 

Carina Adhara Allen is currently fifteen, attending Hogwarts with her peers. Unlike her older half-brother, she is a Slytherin. Other information is unknown, but it is expected that she was aware of her parentage, her family — and her situation may change forever, whether that means reconnecting with family or being ostracized forever.

(ALL ABOUT THE MINISTRY’S ROSIER MANOR INVESTIGATION, page 2)

I, a simple star in the sky

Hogwarts, 1971

Carina misses home.

On top of being away from her family, she’s made no friends. Every time she attempts to open her mouth, only air flows out, leaving nothing. Carina’s used to nothing, reliant on her healing words and pleasant expressions. It’s what her mother says is magical about her, that Carina can light up the whole world with one smile.

But even if the world is blessed with light, Carina’s still friendless. Gemini would say something about how they’re intimidated, as a stupid joke, but Carina’s pout would cause her to relent. And then a combination of shaky hands, nerves, and Gemini’s encouragement would have Carina finally talking to someone, her stuttered words filled with an awkward charm.

Without Gemini, Carina feels like a void. Despite having rocks-for-brains, Gemini’s the people-person, even if she uses her fists instead of words. Maybe it’s her brash confidence, or crooked smile, or the way insults roll off her back like rainwater. The way that Gemini uses her gilded hands to draw boundaries, but also draw people in, has Carina baffled.

Confused or not, Carina’s stuck as a floater. She doesn’t mind, really, being protected. It’s a comforting feeling, but without Gemini, her role is destroyed. She is nothing without Gemini, her mother, her old friends the only thing Carina has that they don't is an affinity for magic. Or, at least, a chance to train said magic while Gemini sits at home and shoves it inside her, like the protector she’s always been.

Gemini’s dreams are sparse, seeing the harsh realities of the world their mother never shied away from, but Carina somehow finds a way to hope. Since she was little, wisps of magic clouded her mind, and fairytales were more than just escapism — they were her future. So, of course, the moment Gemini learned of their magical abilities, it’s only fair that Carina gets to go and that she gets to stay.

(It’s all complicated, really, but all her mother told her is that Gemini gets to be normal and Carina gets to live out her dream. A fair bargain, really.)

Well, at least Carina’s able to look at the beautiful fake-sky above in the Great Hall, twinkling lanterns of light flying above her, without having to deal with her grimy apartment or the cockroaches that refuse to die. She’s in her own fairytale, now, a magical castle awaiting her. An academy for training her golden magic, and people just like her.

It almost puts a smile on her lips.

The group of nervous first years are ushered by a strict lady into a line, where the Sorting waits at the very end. She doesn’t really know what the Sorting is, only it’ll determine who she’s living with, and place her into some sort of group. Carina’s not fond of splitting up from the rest of the students, but she’s also curious. 

And it seems like she’s not the only one, since all the children in front of her are buzzing with excitement and words. A student says something about a hat, and she’s about to get lost in her own thoughts when she hears the word troll.

“It’ll be horrible,” a boy with glasses says, as if he’s narrating a tale of his own. “Only half of us are going to make it out alive.”

She musters the courage to speak. “A troll? They can’t make us fight one in front of the whole school.”

The boy ruffles his already messy hair. “Yes, they can.”

“They’re planning on training us,” Carina murmurs, words soft. “They can’t kill us before we even start. It’s probably something simple.”

“Like what?” he challenges, and Carina already finds him snooty.

“Well —”

“What’s your name?” the grey-eyed boy near the now-pouting boy asks, voice not unkind, but features so familiar that it has her looking away. “I’m Sirius.”

Face hidden in her curly mane, she flinches. “Carina.”

“A constellation,” he says, sounding delighted. “My name’s after the Dog Star. I haven’t heard a star name besides my own family’s in a long while.”

“My father likes stars,” Carina says. Her brown eyes are still aimed at the ground. “He wanted all his children named after them.”

“Are all your siblings named after stars, then?” he asks.

Her eyes finally meet his own, lips forming a sad smile. “Yes.”

He’s grinning cluelessly, moving on as if Carina is one of many stars in his life. And maybe she is, because in the Sorting, he gives her an almost sad, disappointed look when she lands in Slytherin.

And in her head, all Carina can think about is the fact that she does have family here, but he can never know, and the rest of the students can’t, either.

When the Sorting finishes, she’s seated at the Slytherin table, watching everyone reach out to make connections. They ask about her family, with a tone so casual that it has her suspicious. 

“My father’s a wizard and my mother is not,” she says, and while that generates a few disgusted looks, most of them don’t seem to care.

All she can think about is her family: a secret brother sitting tables across from her, her twin who’s forced to be separated from her, and her overworked mother working an extra shift at the hospital — all while Carina’s forced in a castle to pretend to be someone she isn’t.

Because as much as magic is a dream, her origins are a nightmare.

“Hello,” a blonde girl says, and Carina’s nudged out of her thoughts. “I’m Pandora Rosier. What’s your name?”

The brunette musters up a smile. “Carina Allen. Lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” Pandora says, grinning, colourful hearts clipped onto her hair. “I have to say, the feast looks wonderful, isn’t it? Dad’s a terrible cook, so —”

Pandora continues to blabber, Carina listening attentively. And as the blonde continues to talk, she smiles. Maybe with a friend, things won’t be so bad, after all.

And she’s right, of course. Pandora is a blessing in disguise.

Carina realises this quickly; the world is getting larger, and Pandora is the only reason why she isn’t hiding behind long corridors or missing all her classes. The two girls stick together like glue, navigating school, eating lunch, and watching the sun set into the sky. 

The Slytherin Common Room becomes their second home as the girls attempt to communicate with aloof mermaids — sea creatures who are nothing like Carina’s fairytales, but fascinating nonetheless. It’s the benefit of having an underground Common Room where the Black Lake meets the building, so mermaids can observe the humans and vice-versa.

“They can’t understand us,” Pandora says, “so we need to understand them instead.”

“A compromise,” Carina agrees, nodding as she attempts to memorise the mermaids’ hand patterns, “which, in the end, is for our own benefit.”

She frowns, an exaggerated expression that has Carina laughing. “You talk funny.”

“I just know words.”

“Hard words,” the blonde complains. “And people say I speak funny.”

“That’s why we’re perfect for each other,” Carina teases, laughing when Pandora huffs. “Just two girls who speak funny.”

“Two girls who speak funny,” Pandora hums. “I like that.”

Carina scrunches her nose in a very Pandora-like way. “You’re not supposed to.”

For some strange reason, they laugh. Carina still doesn’t know why, even after the mermaids swim away, even days after they sleep, that she’s carrying this happiness in her heart. 

Perhaps having only one friend isn’t terrible, after all. Maybe it’s a blessing, reaching out to her and telling her that this is all she needs.

“Oi, Allen,” a voice calls, and she finds herself staring at another boy in her year — James Potter, the same boy who tried convincing everyone that the Sorting was a troll and not a mere talking hat that put people into their respective Houses. “How’s it being a snake?”

She immediately retreats into her shell, feeling like that day she got Sorted again. “It’s fine.”

“Don’t be mean, James,” the boy next to him reprimands, and Carina stiffens at his observant grey eyes — Sirius. “Nice to see you, Carina.”

She swallows. Maybe the blessing is a curse, for her parentage is a secret and the key to her lies spilling stands in front of her.

“Hello, Sirius,” she greets, voice wobbly.

“You should’ve been in Hufflepuff,” he says bluntly. “You’re too shy.”

“Right,” she says, turning red from embarrassment. She glances at another boy in their clump of students — a tall Gryffindor with a scarred face — before returning her gaze to James. “I’ll be going. Nice seeing you.”

James says his goodbye: “You’re the only nice Slytherin, Allen!” 

The moment Carina escapes the trio’s presence by awkwardly waving, Pandora gives them a dirty look. The two girls take their usual spot at the Slytherin table, seats away from the remaining first years.

“He’s weird,” Pandora announces. “There are more nice Slytherins. And you’re not shy.”

Carina finally smiles. “I’m shy with everyone but you.”

“I’m special!” Cheering, she throws an arm around her. “No one can beat my friendship status. Well, except for your twin, I guess.”

“You’re both nice,” Carina says, and that immediately makes Pandora smile.

She thinks of Gemini, how she’d react to her adventures here. How she’d smile when Carina would tell her she’s made a friend, a real one, without Gemini’s pestering.

Even if the sight of Sirius has her heart plummeting, she has no reason to worry. 

She glances at Pandora, obviously humming as the two girls continue to eat their food. Pandora can never know, being the only friend she’s made in the castle, and she can’t lose the kindest person she’s ever met. Secrets will stay secrets, and no one will find out — not if she can help it.

No one will know her father is Orion Black, even if it means keeping to herself for seven years.

II, for hate is nothing but

Hogwarts, 1974-1975

Carina misses her sister.

Gemini would tell her stories she learned from the homeless man down the street, even if they were garbled and difficult to understand. When their mother was at work, it was Gemini who bandaged Carina’s wound, it was Gemini who slept next to Carina when the latter was scared of the piercing thunder; it was always her sister, the protector, and Carina, the protected.

For the first time in her life, there is a disconnect. Sure, she has Pandora, her only friend in the castle, but as far as Carina knows, that’s all the friends she’s ever going to make. People leave her alone for being a half-blood, and it’s not like she really minds, because at least they don’t hate her.

Some of them throw little glances at her, perhaps suspicions at her parentage. She’s been questioned at least five times about her father, the one she claimed to have magical heritage. What is she even supposed to say? The truth?

They, after no success, let her go. And then no one but Pandora talks to her, as if she’s been blacklisted from her own house. Which she’s fine with, really.

But maybe she’s a little lonely. Maybe Pandora will find better friends, and then she’ll truly end up sitting alone — at the corner of the table, at the back of class.

For now, however, Pandora sits behind Carina, hands weaving into her hair, braiding strands together. If it was anyone else, her scalp would feel like spiders crawling on her skin — but it’s Pandora. Her touch is healing.

“How’s Evan?” Carina asks, referring to Pandora’s twin brother. 

Her voice is soft and unsure. It usually doesn’t project, but, of course, Pandora hears her. She pauses braiding, her deft fingers frozen.

“He’s a little banged up,” Pandora admits. “Quidditch tryouts did a number on him. I told him that if he didn’t eat, he’d get tired.”

“Well, I hope he feels better.”

“Oh, he will, don’t worry,” she assures, braiding another strand. “I’ll probably visit him today. You should come with me.”

“Are you sure?” Carina questions. “I don’t think Evan’s the fondest of me.”

“Oh, Rin,” Pandora says, “no one could hate you.”

She finds herself smiling like an idiot. “You’re biased.”

“Of course I am,” she says, with absolutely no shame. It only makes Carina feel warmer. “You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” Carina replies easily.

Pandora coughs from behind her. “Aw, you’re making me blush.”

“You said it first —” Carina frowns. “— so you should believe it. We’re each other’s best friends, and I’m not disappearing anytime soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Pandora says, and then lets go. “There. Finished.”

Carina turns around, facing her surprisingly red-faced friend. “Did I make you do too much work?”

“What?” she asks, taken aback. 

“You’re all red.” The brunette pokes a flushed cheek. “Right there.”

“Oh,” the blonde whispers. “I didn’t notice.”

Swallowing, Carina’s tempted to reach out again, to feel something of Pandora’s, now that her hair is lying limp behind her. She’s always greedy for something — for warmth, for a touch, and for Pandora. 

It’s something she’d prefer the other girl never find out. The more Carina stays, the more secrets she’s accumulating. 

“It’s obvious,” she returns, throat dry.

“Well, it's because of you.”

The world seems to stop. “What?”

“You’re always complimenting me, Carina,” Pandora continues, and Carina deflates and relaxes at the same time. “It brings my hopes up.”

“I’m not lying to you.”

And yet, she’s lying to a myriad of people, including Pandora.

“Alright. I’ll believe you.”

She allows herself a small smile. “You’d better.”

“Always,” she replies, and Carina can’t help but notice that Pandora’s the one with the last word, the last compliment, the last promise.

It has her relaxing, she has to admit. 

“Hey, Al,” Aster Parkinson calls, and Carina flinches. “Rosier! Come sit!”

She feels as if she is floating. Only a month ago, she was relaxed, and life was perhaps more perfect than she’d ever thought it could be. 

And then her life, all her secrets, and all her ambitions fell apart with just one news article. Her father refused to help, claiming she herself leaked her own parentage, despite her determination to keep it hidden, all while his wife kicked her from his house.

Sirius watched, then, and Carina noticed his eyes: light-coloured, but lacking any happiness. Regulus observed, too, calculating. And she let them read her soul, then, because there was no need to hide at that moment.

Now, all she wants to do is disappear, especially with everyone’s eyes on her.

“We should join her.” Pandora’s voice is a soft murmur, a contrast to her usual cheer. “Just for today.”

“Okay, Dora,” Carina murmurs, following her like she follows everyone she’s ever loved, because that’s all she’s ever done. “Just for one day, right?”

Pandora eyes Aster, a blonde whose intentions the girls deduced were too friendly, and whose beliefs were drenched in blood supremacy. “Of course. Just today.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Carina hums, seating herself next to Aster. “Hello, Aster. How are you doing?”

“You’re a Black,” Aster says, and Carina flinches as the whispers continue to follow her. “How long have you been hiding it for?”

“I didn’t know you kept up with the tabloids,” Pandora says coolly, concerned eyes on Carina and no one else. “You’ve always seemed above mere gossip.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Aster sneers. “I know what I read.”

“Do you?”

“Watch it, Rosier,” she spits, before turning to Carina. “I want to hear it from her. You’re a Black, and everyone knows. A slimy bastard, keeping it a secret. You thought you could get away with it.”

“You never asked,” Carina says quietly.

Aster’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“I said,” she repeats, “you never asked. I didn’t lie when I said my father was a wizard. As you can see, he is, but maybe not the wizard you expected him to be.”

“You’re pathetic.” A glimmer of malice lingers in her eyes. “You don’t belong with any of us. You’re not worthy of Slytherin.”

“She doesn’t need your opinion,” Pandora retorts. “You invited us for what? To insult Carina? Just leave her alone, Aster.”

The two girls leave, retreating from the scene. Carina catches her brother’s eye. Regulus turns away, a boy who’ll have a pinch of sympathy but a lack of defense. And then Sirius looks at her, and she falters.

The melancholy in his eyes matches hers. She is the first to look away. Sirius may be her brother, but she doesn’t know him — and therefore doesn’t need him.

She’ll stay away. It’ll be better for everyone involved.

“I’m sorry,” Pandora says.

“It’s not your fault,” is her easy reply, before she glances at Aster.

Hatred is a powerful motivator. It is all-consuming. All Carina needed to be afraid of was skepticism, until now. Until the news gives a reason for people in her own house to hate her — until Aster Parkinson is dead-set on seeing her as vermin.

She can already tell that loneliness is something she’ll be craving in the next few years, something she’ll wish to return to when the hatred stabs her in the stomach. In the heart. In the eyes. 

Pandora squeezes her hand. “You should be careful.”

“There is no point,” she says sullenly. “Aster has it out for me.”

“Don’t worry, Rin. She’ll get over it. Give her a couple of weeks.”

Perhaps she’s right, Carina can’t help but think. Perhaps her cynicism is incorrect, and Aster will redirect her hatred elsewhere.

“Okay,” she concedes.

And that is only the beginning.

III, rage, spite, a tsunami

Hogwarts, 1977

“Carina.”

She turns to Pandora, hair billowing past her shoulders like the water spilling past her cheeks. Tears are an echo of sadness, she wrote in her journal two days ago, an attempt of shitty poetry in her ratty diary — the only thing Aster hasn't paraded around to her friends in an attempt of turning Carina into even more of a joke.

That’s all Carina is to all of them: a target, a punching bag, a bastard.

And all she can really do to protest is lock herself in a room and let out a feral scream muffled by her torn pillow. 

“It’s going to be alright, Rin,” the blonde promises.

Rumours spread, Aster told her with a big, bright smile. There’s nothing you can do but watch. Or fight, but you’ve never done that before.

“No, no, no,” Carina’s whispering, running, and then she shakes Pandora’s shoulders, nails digging into her skin. “Do you know what they did?”

“I know, darling, I know,” Pandora soothes, pressing a kiss above her brow. “It’s going to be alright, I promise —”

“How can it?” she cries out, tumbling into the blonde’s arms. “It’s all wrong, how did they find out, why did they need to make our lives miserable?”

Pandora’s smile is something Carina can’t see. “You’re so kind.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” She wipes her tears, sniffling. “I’m not supposed to be. They parade me around like I’m their little burnt trophy to hold up to the world, when the only wrong I’ve done is be born.”

“Kindness is strength, and you’re so strong.” 

A kiss lands on her lips, now, and it has Carina reaching out for her like a lifeline, like the only warmth she has left. It’s true, isn’t it? All her life, Carina’s been hurt — and all of Gemini’s life, she’s been Carina’s saviour. Until a few years ago, when the universe ripped them apart.

“Come with me,” Pandora insists between kisses, an exhale leaving her lips. “Tonight, in the forest. A picnic. It’ll make us feel better.”

“Bad idea,” Carina says, but she kisses her harder. 

“You can never say no,” is her reply, something so close to the truth that it almost rips Carina’s heart in half. “Even if I want you to.”

She smiles, something romantic tumbling out of her warm mouth like golden honey. “And you are my reason for life.”

Pandora caresses Gemini’s cheek, fingers gently drawing circles on slippery skin. “We can get away for one night. Forget the rumours. Just us.”

“Forgetting sounds nice,” Carina agrees, sighing. “I can’t deal with this anymore, Dora. I don’t know how everyone else does it, but being here is unbearable —”

“You have me,” she promises.

Carina smiles. “I do, don’t I?”

Her entire life is a lie.

“I asked for one night of peace.” Carina’s raspy voice cuts through jeering laughter, moonlight shining on her face. “And I am greeted with nothing but hatred.”

“Wise words, Allen,” Aster breathes, each puff of air a chill on Carina’s face. Her friend — a loose term for follower, really — stands behind her: Albert Avery. “All pretty and dolled up for tonight, are you? Perhaps I can change that.”

Carina flinches. “Why? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“Because you’re a disgrace,” Avery says, unsurprisingly, “to our House, to the Black bloodline.”

“Did Regulus tell you that?”

Her words, obviously, get her slapped. Carina violently coughs, blood leaking from her mouth, fists shaking as the people around her laugh.

Hyenas, she thinks. Animals.

“Tell me something,” she continues instead, dark eyes focused on the sneering Slytherins in front of her. “Was Pandora blackmailed to reveal our location? Or was it of her own volition?”

Aster laughs, an echo in the forest. “No one is on your side, Allen. Not even your girlfriend. Funny how that works, being born.”

She finds herself speaking, a surprise. “Never asked for it.”

Someone behind her laughs. It is a cruel thing that has her skin crawling.

“Perhaps you should die, then,” Mulciber crows from behind her, eliciting another round of laughter. She’s never found out his first name, a show of how unconnected he is to her. “Pandora would be better with a man like —”

Something in her snaps. “Leave her out of this —”

A fist slams her head to the ground, and she sobs out in pain.

“Time to teach you a lesson, Allen.”

Carina catches the face of Severus Snape, and begins hyperventilating. She knows who he is: a smart, cunning boy with enough spite to rival her own sister’s, spells in his mind enough to torture fifty men. His past friendship with a Muggle-born only increases his thirst to prove himself, to wrong what everyone else believes to be a mistake.

It makes him, and this situation, that much more dangerous.

And so she succumbs to her fate. Her hands stop shaking, bracing for the blistering pain she’ll face for countless hours, right up until the edge of death.

Maybe they’ll kill her, too, a mercy.

“Get on with it,” she whispers, something covered by the wind.

And then her screams could rival gunfire.

Two things produced by extreme violence, but one of hurt and the other of a machine. Maybe Carina’s endurance makes her a machine, and maybe the cogs in her brain no longer want to work, want to feel.

Then is red, laughter, red, laughter, pain —

The one time she wishes to be saved, there is no one to save her, no Sirius to fuck things up further by antagonizing Aster, no Regulus to change the topic from attacking her. Carina can only writhe in pain, wishing for someone to get her.

It’s as if all the fight is gone. There is nothing left when one’s own girlfriend leaves with Carina’s only means of defense — not just her heart, but her wand. Carina’s already terrible with magic, but perhaps she could’ve caused a distraction and ran.

Now, she can’t even do that.

“Please, stop!” Carina cries out, and it is her last, for her throat is choked and strangled until air is nothing but a fantasy, until —

Until it keeps going. Until the pain becomes louder than her thoughts, until the echo of the wind can no longer cover her need for it to stop.

SHE NEEDS IT TO STOP.

Her whimpers have faded into silence, pain faded into numbness. Each slash and each mark of blood only has her succumbing to the darkness, to the relief of not being able to feel. 

No need to protect me, Gemini, she thinks, for I don’t think I can live much longer.

It stops, after what she feels are hours. All she can remember are the dark echoes of laughter, slaughter, and red. Enough red to create an ocean of blood, enough rage and hatred to form a tsunami.

Raging, growing, blooming. A typhoon.

A part of her wants to laugh, as she lies there, unable to move. Carina’s poetry only comes in times of crisis, but since when is her life filled with happiness? Gemini’s a mere dent in her life, years after being apart and barely connecting. Her magic is useless, words only charming the one person who managed to leave her, too.

She still hears Pandora’s apologies, the regret —

And then everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

My Dearest Sister,

I want to say so many things to you — but I cannot. You are out of my reach, in the vines and ground, while I am still standing.

Still breathing.

And yet, I will cut a hole in my body if you wish to see my heart. It will rest on a white platter with golden markings. They should be flowers, I think, carved into the plate. And in the middle will rest the organ, still beating, still red, drenched with blood.

Do you see it? That is my heart, out open for you to see. Every piece of emotion I’ve ever felt rests within the blood. I have it etched onto my wrist for anyone to see, to trace with their fingers and then leave it alone.

I know my vulnerability comes with costs, and I know that not everyone has a platter: some are shattered on the ground the day they are born, and others choose to hide it behind their back. 

There is a range of mistrust and proper boundaries, a range of how much you can hide without it corrupting you. I walk the tightrope of vulnerability and a lack of boundaries, often falling into the latter category.

Do you see my heart? It is there, beating, feeling. Do you see it?

I don’t see yours. You tell me to talk, to speak, to divulge, and yet you do not do the same. And I know I’m not supposed to feel this resentment, but I cannot help it. Every given heart is managed by their body alone, but you’re telling her and not me. We share the same room, the same house, the same old school; you haven’t even known her for half a year. It bugs me. It bothers me when it shouldn’t. I know I love you but you cannot love me in return; all I can do to love you is to listen and occasionally put my arm around my shoulder because your heart is deep in your chest with its walls while mine beats on a white platter.

It does not matter whether an assailant is choking my heart with two hands or whether a girl is stabbing it with a knife. It sits on a plate, ready for the violence and hate. And then once the slashes and blood fade, the heart beats again.

Beats for love. Beats for hate. Beats for a lack of reciprocation.

I understand the way you grew is different. I understand that you were never given proper love. I understand that what I received was different from yours, that our pain and experiences are a vast range of just different. I understand that you refuse to trust me, that I am a random girl in your beautiful life. You will meet plenty; regardless of how I see you, you don’t see me.

And I will move on. You will slash me with your words and I will move on. You will use your logic and words and brains on me, a girl with too much emotionality, and eventually I will move on. Sometimes feelings aren’t connected to a thread of logic.

You may be a machine, but I am not. Not everything I feel is linked to my brain. Sometimes my heart beats on its own.

I hate that I’m feeling this way. Sometimes it becomes too much that I feel numbness entering until I forget again — and then the cycle of too much and too little continues to repeat in my head.

That is all. A girl with a heart too open and another with a heart too secluded.

With all the love I have left to give,
Your sister.

Hogwarts Express, September 1st, 1977

Remus feels their stares.

He’ll never get used to it. Despite studying in Hogwarts for six years, and about to enter his final year, students never stop judging at his face, at his new scars that mark his face. Pale, jagged lines give what Sirius once described as a “ruggedly handsome look”, but he doesn’t believe it. 

Perhaps his classmates theorize the scars are self-inflicted. And he can’t blame them, considering they aren’t even wrong. Pain, for him, is a way of control, the only way he doesn’t lose himself to the monster inside. 

It doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable, though, especially with his fellow Prefects being the smartest students in the school, and therefore able to theorize about his condition — although, that is not his greatest fear.

Everyone has fears, he knows, but his is unconventional: the moon itself, the one thing that makes him hunger for human flesh when it is at its fullest, the one that his friends continuously protect despite his hesitance. They don’t see him the way he sees himself. Perhaps all Peter, James, and Sirius think is that he is a boy with a werewolf curse. An affliction that they can handle, and not a creature needing to be put down, like the rest of the world believes.

Someone shifts in their seat, and Remus spots the new seventh year Gryffindor prefect replacing Lily: Mary MacDonald, a Muggle-born girl with dimpled cheeks, curly hair, and dark eyes. She shoots him a hesitant smile, which he returns.

“Welcome, everyone,” a voice greets, and Remus turns to the warm face of Lily Evans. “I’m Lily Evans, your new Head Girl this year —”

The door bursts open, and James stumbles into the complaint. “Sorry, I’m —”

“Late,” Lily snaps, a scowl taking over what was once a welcoming beam. “You were supposed to be here two minutes ago.”

“I forgot,” James replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Remus tries to hide an amused smile, but Lily’s eyes narrow at him.

“It’s fine,” the redhead continues, sighing. “There’s not much to say, anyway. I know you’re all going to do great. Pott — James and I made schedules over the summer, assigning randomized patrols for the nights, and for today as well. You’ll be sticking with your patrol for the rest of the year.”

Mary sighs in relief, but stiffens when James says, “It’s not with the people in your House.” 

“What?” a Ravenclaw hisses from Remus’s left.

“This is ridiculous!”

“You can’t possibly —”

“Enough!” Lily cuts in. “House unity is important. Separating Prefects based on their House only allowed bias and unfair punishments, which won’t happen anymore.”

James’s slightly widened eyes meet Remus’s, a sign that he clearly gave into what seems to be Lily’s idea. 

“Your schedules are here,” James continues, removing parchment from his book bag. “If you genuinely can’t make the times provided, we can switch your partners. But your reasons need to be something important, like an afterschool club, or a family emergency.”

“Any questions?” Lily shoots everyone a threatening look. “Great. James and I will pass you your schedules. Make sure to patrol the train at your given times.”

“Sorry,” James murmurs, sliding Remus the slightly crumpled parchment.

Before Remus can truly ask, his eyes widen at the name next to his. There seemed to have been a previous name, crossed out and replaced with the current one — the one that continues to haunt him.

James is avoiding his eyes. 

“My partner isn’t here,” Remus says, his statement a question. “What do I do?”

Lily, who’s answering a timid Hufflepuff’s questions about their large number of patrols, turns to him. “She probably didn’t know she’s made Prefect, considering Pandora gave up her position only a week ago. James?”

Said boy jumps, glances at Remus, and sighs. “I can find her.”

“You’re all dismissed,” Lily announces, “unless you have any other questions. Go to your designated positions. Remus and James, you two can find her — and, James, send Remus where he needs to be afterwards.”

Remus nods, and the two head outside.

“Listen,” he starts.

“I can’t patrol with her,” Remus says simply. 

James stiffens. “Listen, Rem —”

“You know what happened.”

“I know.” James ruffles up his already messy hair. “But it was random, I promise. I had no idea until Lily showed me, and by then —”

“Do you know what I am?” he asks lowly. “Do you know what hurt her last year?”

“That wasn’t you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We were with you that day,” James insists, “and nothing happened. It’s just rumours, Moony.”

“What if she thinks it was —”

He cuts himself off when a Prefect walks past the two of them, but James seems to understand, squeezing Remus’s shoulder.

“You’re not a monster, Remus. And even if she thinks so, she doesn’t know who you are. It’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Remus says, sighing. “Fine. But if anything happens —”

“Then we can talk,” James promises. “Lily will understand. She likes you.”

“Right.” Remus smiles slightly. “Speaking of Lily, you should go before she yells at you.”

He laughs, smacking Remus’s shoulder heartily. “And you can head to your patrol — our compartment, as usual.”

“I think I have the most work out of everyone here,” Remus drawls. 

“Sirius,” James says solemnly, before grinning. “See you soon, Moony.”

He disappears, leaving Remus to walk to his designated compartment. As he walks past groups chattering students, his brain continues to dwell on, well, that stupid schedule.

Could a monster like him really interact with her, and not lose his wits? 

“Ten galleons Evans finally starts finding Prongs’ antics endearing,” Peter loudly offers from afar, his voice somehow projecting all the way to Remus, “and then asks him out before December.”

“She’s always found James endearing,” Sirius defends, and Remus winces at how rambunctious his group is. “October.”

Remus walks closer, hearing: “You’ve got to be kidding me. No way.”

“Yes way,” he insists. “October. I’m thinking of the twentieth. Wait, no, the thirty-first. By Halloween Day, the two lovebirds will be dating.”

“You’re on.”

The compartment door is thrust open, and Remus enters the room, throws his bookbag on a seat, and collapses. 

“Well, Moony,” Sirius says, eyeing him curiously. “You’ve certainly had a day, and the train’s barely started for Hogwarts.”

“A shit day,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair. “The prefect meeting only lasted two minutes, and yet the rest of my last year in this stupid castle is severely fucked.”

Sirius grins. “Language.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, fuck you. Do you know how many patrols I have this year?”

“A lot,” Peter guesses, and then grins at Remus’s glare.

“Funny,” he drawls. He opens his mouth, hesitating, before releasing a sigh, deciding to test Sirius rather than reveal his bad news. “What were you talking about before I arrived?”

“Ah,” Sirius says, eyes lighting up. “James forgot his wand after running late for the Prefect meeting he was supposed to lead.”

Remus raises a brow. “And?”

“And we’re betting on him and Evans.” Sirius grins, tossing a smirk at Peter. “You’re going to be much poorer by November, Wormtail.”

Peter frowns. “Well, you’ll have a small dent in your vault by January, Padfoot.”

“Just wait and see, my brother,” he says dramatically, smacking Peter’s shoulder, who lets out a squeak. “I am the ultimate matchmaker. The Seer —”

“You’re the reason Hestia and Benjy broke up.”

“Hey!” Sirius squawks. “Don’t bring up that one failure! When else have I failed?”

He raises a brow. “Do you want that list in order of most embarrassing or —”

“How rude, Wormy!” Sirius cries, placing a hand over his heart. “Spent a lot of time with Remus this summer, haven’t you?”

“It’s just easy to insult you,” Remus drawls.

Sirius gasps. “This is the utmost of an offense, the most terrible thing I have ever —”

“Yeah, alright,” he dismisses, and Sirius pouts. “I hate to make you actually upset —”

“I am actually upset!” he cries out.

“But we’re collaborating with different houses this year,” Remus continues, “so my patrol partner this year is —” He eyes Sirius. “— Carina Allen.”

Peter sucks in a breath. Sirius, on the other hand, looks completely unaffected, even at the name of his avoidant half-sister. But Remus knows him well enough to see the tick in his jaw. His sister’s aloofness has always bothered him, even before he found out that they were related.

Carina’s just misguided, he’d insist, no matter what he heard.

“Since when was she a prefect?” Sirius asks instead.

“She wasn’t supposed to be, actually,” Remus continues, taking a proper seat. “But from what I heard, Pandora Rosier dropped out last week, so she got replaced with Carina last-minute.”

“Ah,” Sirius says. “And?”

“James went to find her,” Remus finishes, “and sent the rest of us on patrol.”

Sirius raises a brow. “What patrol are you doing, exactly?” 

“Watching you,” Remus shoots back. “That’s patrol enough, clearly.”

A “Hey!” echoes in the compartment before Sirius launches a wad-up candy wrapper at Remus’s face, hitting him on the nose.

“That hurts,” he says dryly.

“Of course it does,” Sirius replies, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Suffer.”

Remus scowls, takes the same wrapper, and attempts to chuck it in Sirius’s general direction.

An unfamiliar hand catches it, and painted red lips form a smile. “This isn’t an effective maiming method.”

The trio stiffens. 

Remus’s new patrol partner, however, who’s standing at the doorway, appears to be completely comfortable. Her brown hair is pin-straight, gaze calculatingly cold. She’s already in her uniform, only no tie hangs on her neck like a noose — a contrast from her timid, shaky exterior only a few months ago.

“Was she always like this?” Peter mouths.

Sirius shrugs helplessly.

“What an interesting dynamic.” Her lithe fingers hand the wrapper to Sirius. Dark eyes skim Remus’s scarred face, Peter’s smile, and then Sirius’s scowl. “Lupin. We’re supposed to be on patrol.”

“Allen.” Remus frowns, staring at a cold face rather than a shorter-than-usual skirt, revealing long legs. “James said I could remain here.”

Her smile expands. “Then I suppose I’ll stay as well.”

She takes a seat, posture pin-straight. Legs crossed over another, she leans back, almost lazily taking in the surroundings around her.

The three boys exchange puzzled looks.

“Look,” Sirius starts, “you don’t have to be here —”

“Oh, but I do, dear brother,” she says delightedly.

He flinches, and the other Marauders are too busy gaping to defend him.

Her fingers drum up and down her thigh, as if anticipating something. “I only have one year with you, after all. I wouldn’t want to waste it on trivial things.”

“A waste.” Sirius scoffs, still looking shocked. “As if this isn’t trivial.”

“This is hardly trivial.” She lifts her chin, staring directly into Sirius’s eyes. “Family never is.”

“Oh, family,” he says, before laughing. “You’ve certainly changed, have you? You spent six years avoiding me to associate with the people who hated you, last year included. Now what, Carina?”

“Hmm,” she replies, sounding displeased. “Everyone’s done something they’ve regretted, become someone they’ve hated. How will you learn otherwise?”

“What the hell,” Peter breathes out, and Remus huffs in agreement.

Sirius doesn’t seem to notice. “What do you want, Carina?”

“For you to stay out of my way.” 

He laughs, but stops when she clenches her fists. For the first time since she’s arrived, Remus sees a fire flickering in her face, something so angry and alive.

“I’m warning you, Sirius,” she continues, words lifeless but eyes filled with too much of a soul. “If you come in the middle, family won’t matter anymore.”

He blinks. “Since when have I come in your way?”

“When have you not?” She rolls her eyes. “All you cared about was your stupid, self-righteous quest to save some poor little girl from the big, bad Slytherins — clearly forgetting I’m not only a Slytherin myself, but targeting certain individuals won’t stop the violence you so clearly wanted to end.”

Sirius’s eyes widen. “What happened to you?” 

She laughs. “What didn’t? You and every single person that wasn’t terrible to me failed to commit. You wanted to be the saviour but refused to actually do anything for me. And that led to absolutely no change.”

“What are you going to do, then?” he questions, almost a challenge.

“You’ll know.” She runs a hand through her rough hair. “And then you’ll understand why I’m asking you to back down. See, Sirius, you hate seeing people hurt — at least when you’re not doing the hurting.”

“Hey —” Peter begins.

“You’re being cryptic on purpose,” Sirius accuses, although his flinch doesn’t seem to have gone ignored. “Fine. Forget that. What if I don’t listen to you?”

The brunette lets out a sigh, and Remus swears her fists spark with gold. “I sincerely hope it won’t come to that.”

“I don’t get a pass, then?” Sirius asks, light eyes flickering with mockery. “I thought you said family isn’t trivial.”

“If it wasn’t,” she retorts, “I wouldn’t have warned you at all.”

And then she walks out, graceful body leaving the triad staring at her back. It’s as if all the shaking and shyness from the past six years never existed, as if the starstruck girl from before disappeared with her fear.

Peter speaks first. “Do you think this was because of what happened last —”

Remus flinches, and the sentence doesn’t get finished. 

“Sorry,” Peter mutters.

The werewolf shakes his head. “We know it wasn’t me. That’s enough.”

“I’m going to kill Snape,” Sirius announces, and Peter nods emphatically. “If he sends you even one more dirty look —”

“We don’t even know what attacked her,” Remus says thoughtfully. “I’m the only one of them in this school, so it couldn’t have been what the rumours are saying —”

(“Carina Allen got attacked by a werewolf!”)

“— or, well, anything else. Not many beasts have a similar attack pattern.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sirius says, his signature mischief missing from his eyes. “The first few sentences she's ever spoken to me in over two years are threats over something I don’t know about, acting like I’ve never tried helping her escape her vicious ‘friends’ in the first place. Something happened besides the attack.”

“Maybe she’s possessed,” Peter suggests, “and a ghost took over her body.”

“Or maybe she’s been a bitch all along,” Sirius grumbles, clearly not meaning his words, “who wants to be associated with them and is telling me to quit it.”

Remus frowns, but says nothing. For six years, the Slytherin stayed out of sight and mind. The only thing he remembers about her from the past is a hazy face, and sullen eyes as she paraded around with the other Slytherins.

Or, maybe —

“You have an idea, Rem?” Peter asks.

“The attack,” Remus says, and then sighs. “She’s probably going to go after the thing — or person — that caused her attack.”

Sirius blinks in surprise, but before he can say anything, James and Marlene wander in.

“You saw her, right?” Marlene asks Sirius, eyes wide, as James retrieves his wand.

He blinks at her. “Who?”

“Allen, you idiot,” she deadpans, snatching a seat next to Peter. “They’re saying she has amnesia from that attack. That’s why she’s acting so differently.”

James pushes up his glasses. “Really?”

“Yeah,” the blonde continues, leaning closer. “I heard she came into the train wearing her uniform all different.”

“We saw,” Remus cuts in, already exhausted by the topic. “The uniform change wasn’t too dramatic.”

“Everything else was,” Peter mutters.

“It wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t a Slytherin,” Marlene points out. “She’ll be eaten alive. More than last year.”

They all sneak a glance at Sirius. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks defensively, manspreading on his seat. 

Marlene frowns. “Isn’t she your sis —”

He cuts her off. “Half.”

“Still your sister.”

“I have to admit,” Sirius says, silencing the group, “she is different from before. She warned me to ‘stay out of her way’, whatever that meant.”

“She did?” James asks. “Didn’t think she’d say something like that.”

“I wonder what she’ll do.” Marlene leans on Peter’s shoulder. “Maybe graffiti the school walls, or something. They’re looking empty.”

Peter shakes his head. “Sirius would support it, so not that.”

“Maybe hit someone, then,” she suggests, wringing her hands. “Like Mulciber. Merlin knows how much he needs it.”

“Most of Slytherin deserves it,” Peter grumbles. “Wouldn’t that be great? If she shows all of them that being an arse is actually a terrible thing to do?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I bet she’s just being dramatic.”

“I think you’re being dramatic,” Marlene counters, and that starts a row that has both Peter and James completely engaged.

Remus, on the other hand, ceases to pay attention. The scarred boy simply looks at the window, sees the greenery, and remembers the menacing gold in her eyes.

The train comes to a stop, and the Marauders clamber out, laughing about the prank Peter pulled on his annoying neighbor. Sirius’s arm is slung over a jovial James, all while Remus turns the page of a story he’s read at least five times in the last year.

Raucous laughter in front of them, and Remus looks up from his book, annoyed.

“Oh, Allen,” Aster Parkinson sings, slinging a shoulder over a scowling girl. “Didn’t think you’d make it this year.”

“Yes,” Remus Lupin’s prefect partner drawls, picking Aster’s hand off her shoulder, “neither did I.”

The quartet exchange looks.

Aster only smirks, tossing her light hair. “Ready for tonight?” 

The brunette’s dark eyes glance at the carriages, her expression flickering for a split-second, as if the thestrals Remus’s seen his whole life has her shaken. “What’s tonight?”

“Do you really have amnesia, Allen?” she demands, flicking her on the forehead.

Dark eyes narrow. Remus stiffens, ready for the blow, but nothing happens. Instead, the taller girl inhales, fists clenched by her side.

“Perhaps I do. Remind me?”

The blonde bursts into cackles. “Didn’t know you could make me laugh like that, Al. Maybe Pandora really did see something —”

Remus clenches his fists.

“Hey!” James calls, causing the two girls to turn around. “Are you going to climb into your carriage or not?”

“What’s it to you?” Aster sneers.

“We’ve been waiting,” Peter continues, his voice high-pitched, typically the way it gets when faced with confrontation. “So either get in or leave.”

“Fucking Gryffindors,” the Slytherin curses. “Catch you later, Allen.”

“What was that for?” Sirius asks, watching Aster disappear into the carriage.

“Yes, what was that for?” the other girl asks coolly. “I had it handled.”

Sirius scoffs. “Clearly not.”

She blinks at him, brief rage flickering in her expression. “I suppose you’ll know plenty about handling things, hmm?”

And then, without saying anything else, she disappears, leaving the rest of them to watch her retreating back.

“There was a rumour last year,” James says, breaking the silence, “that Allen was in a secret relationship with Pandora Rosier. Parkinson was probably taunting her about it.”

“She was?” Sirius speaks up, looking frazzled. 

“You didn’t know?” Remus asks. “Everyone was talking about it.”

“It was the day I —” Sirius swallows. “I was busy.”

Remus blinks. “Right.”

“Pandora’s gone, right?” Peter chimes in. “Dropped out.”

“Yeah,” Remus says, eyeing the carriage the two girls entered. “She is. Probably because of that same rumour.”

“Wonder how Allen’s holding up,” James mutters. “It must be shit.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Sirius grumbles out, before changing the subject. “Let’s go claim a carriage before it’s taken.”

James nudges him, lips breaking out into a grin. “Yeah, yeah.”

They find an empty carriage, void of any children, whom Sirius refers to as gremlins, much to Peter and James’s amusement. The three of them chatter on about a prank Remus suggested last year. 

The wizard in question, however, finds the rest of the ride bumpy. He eyes the silvery creatures leading the carriages — thestrals — and remembers her dark eyes widening in shock at them. Her volatile attitude, cool voice, and clothing changes all have him baffled. It’s as if the attack and rumours turned her into a different person, and two months was enough for the change to complete.

After everything, he wonders if this is the real her.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts, September 5th, 1977

Marlene’s grand entrance has Remus already tired.

“Did you hear?” she questions, purposefully sitting in front of Remus.

“Hear what?” he asks, just wanting to eat his meal in peace.

Her eyes glitter with her usual mischief, a sign of everyday gossip constantly passed between various sources. “Aster Parkinson apparently got so wasted that —”

“Is that a Howler?” Peter interrupts, voice squeaking in fear.

“ASTER PARKINSON —”

Most of the students cover their ears, but Sirius looks unbothered enough to ask a question over all the noise. “Isn’t that the same —”

“— BETROTHAL IS CANCELLED —”

“Yeah, apparently she cheated on her fiancé,” Marlene practically shouts, her words somehow reaching Remus over the noise.

He only continues to eat in silence, hoping the screaming will tide over. Each word pierces through his eardrums, his especially sensitive hearing only hindering him.

“— SHAME TO THE FAMILY —”

The envelope crumbles into ashes, dripping onto the Slytherin table. Aster watches, tears falling, as she makes eye-contact with her now ex-fiancé, before fleeing the table.

“It was a woman,” Marlene murmurs. She looks the four boys in the eye. “She cheated on her fiancé with a woman, after spreading those rumours about —”

“Carina,” Sirius says.

Remus finds said girl’s eyes, ears still ringing.

Sitting, prim and proper, she tilts her head questioningly at Remus’s eye contact, expression almost gleeful. And yet, despite all of what happened, she’s the only one who looks unbothered, unsurprised. Like she somehow planned it.

“She’s strange,” Peter comments, following Remus’s gaze to her. 

“Wasn’t always,” Remus replies, still staring.

Her eyebrow raises questioningly, a smirk spreading across her face. It’s a challenge, he decides, one that he’ll win.

Something dark swirls in her eyes. It’s something he never noticed back when they were children. Carina’s irises were always filled with the brightest of joy, glittering with hope despite her spiteful friends, laughing even while bruises coloured her neck.

He’d told Sirius, the day he found her crying, about the bruises. And all his friend could do was challenge her incompetent acquaintances to a duel, one which had them serving weeks of detention under a disappointed Professor McGonagall.

“Forget strange,” James says emphatically, cutting through Remus’s thoughts, “we have class to cause mischief in! Up we go, boys!”

His first challenge is a loss, Remus realises, when he’s forced to break his eye-contact, much to her apparent amusement — even if the petty game he’s playing doesn’t matter in the end. 

“Ready?” Peter asks, nudging Remus.

Nodding, he sends Peter a reassuring half-smile. “Yeah.”

“You haven’t pulled a proper prank in months, Prongs,” Sirius reminds James after saying goodbye to Marlene, the four of them now walking to their first class of the day. “All because of the one girl who’s not even in your life —”

“She will be.”

“Keep dreaming,” Peter mutters.

Remus grins. “That’s how he gets those delusions.”

“Oi!” James cries out. “How rude —”

“How true,” Peter corrects, and James swats him on the head.

Sirius is frowning, Remus notices, before he asks, “Do you think Carina had something to do with the Howler?”

James pauses. Peter looks thoughtful.

It’s Remus who replies, “Absolutely.”

And when they enter class and settle down, Remus takes Peter and sits farther away from the other two boys, not wanting to fuel his and Sirius’s theories about the Slytherin just yet.

“Lovely morning, everyone,” the professor greets from the front. “I am Sela Rosier, your new professor this year.”

Every year, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher stands up, proudly brags about outstanding accomplishments, and then relishes in the applause. Remus doesn’t understand it, considering every teacher only lasts a year, and their accomplishments are meaningless if their teaching style is as drab and boring as it is every year. 

Sirius calls it a curse, and frankly, Remus agrees.

The new professor starts pacing in front of the empty chalkboard, having said nothing about herself but her name. “You’re preparing for the N.E.W.T.s this year, meaning I expect your attention and respect while I teach. Attendance is mandatory. So is participation.”

Her eyes narrow on James and Sirius, who stop talking and give her matching sheepish smiles. “Your antics are none of my business when they are outside my class —”

The door bursts open, and standing outside is Aster Parkinson.

“She looks terrible,” Peter whispers, his voice unsympathetic.

He’s not the only one who thinks that, considering the myriad of murmurs that follow the blonde’s arrival, and the black eye sticking out on her face. Both her eyes are also reddened, tear streaks staining her cheeks.

Remus hides a grin. An ugly appearance and a botched reputation? The world seemingly crashed on the pest in one moment, leaving her struggling — and he knows exactly who’s behind Aster’s downfall.

“Late by three minutes, Miss …?”

“Parkinson,” Aster says, swallowing. Her eyes dart towards the centre of the classroom, before she continues with, “I apologise.”

Professor Rosier waves her off. “Take a seat.”

Aster nods mutely, wading through a crowd of curious students — only to settle on this year’s enigma, Remus’s very own patrol partner. Sitting with perfect posture, the brunette offers Aster a smile.

It’s innocent enough, but Remus catches the wicked glint in her eye.

The next words out of her red-painted mouth, thanks to Remus’s enhanced hearing, are something he easily catches: “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Aster mutters, as Professor Rosier continues her speech.

“You don’t look fine,” she insists, exhibiting the kindness Remus knows Carina apparently had, and then at Aster’s glare, laughs gently. “Please go to the Hospital Wing. You need it.”

“Fuck you,” is Aster’s snarled response.

Her honeyed smile turns sharp. “Hmm.”

Remus averts his eyes, instead focusing on his professor. Peter’s look is knowing, and the note he slides to Remus only confirms that he, too, wants to know what happened.

Later, Remus writes back, and Peter seemingly accepts the answer.

“We won’t do much today,” their professor promises, but it’s the first time that Remus catches a look of passion on her face. “Only a quick exercise. Up, all of you.”

The students rise from their seats, hesitantly heading down. Remus and Peter, joined by James and Sirius, remain as a clump in the back.

“Shagged anyone lately, Parkinson?” someone jeers, and scattered laughter follows.

“Enough talking,” Professor Rosier cuts in. “Your exercise is simple. There is a boggart in the closet behind me. You know what to do; this is fifth year material.”

Peter gulps fearfully, amongst many now-terrified students. “Shit.”

Remus, however, doesn’t show his fear. He knows exactly what he is most scared of, knows that no one but his friends will understand.

“You’ll be alright,” James promises, squeezing his shoulder, as the professor continues to explain the line-up.

“Think of something funny,” Remus advises, “and then cast the spell.”

He, unsurprisingly, begins to panic. “What if I can’t?”

“It’ll be fine,” Sirius replies, only half-paying attention. Remus follows his gaze, spotting Aster and Sirius’s sister, both looking apprehensive. “It’s only for a minute.”

Nodding, Peter steadies himself. “Right.”

“Get in line!” Rosier commands.

Most of the students attempt to shift into the back. Remus wouldn’t say it’s all-out war, but it comes close. He’s never felt these many elbows to the gut in his whole life.

“Idiots,” he mutters.

“Think you’re above them all?” an amused voice calls, and he spots her, two students behind Aster and somehow standing in front of him in line. The Slytherin’s face is turned towards him, an unfamiliar locket hanging on her neck. “How expected.”

“Nothing I said warrants your opinion,” he drawls.

Her eyes narrow. “I am free to say whatever I want, Lupin.”

“Is she bothering you?” Sirius cuts in, and Remus sighs. “Get lost, Carina.”

She rolls her eyes. “Stay in your lane, Sirius.”

“Cry about it, you —”

Rosier interrupts their row. “Begin!”

One by one, students cast their spells, a repellent against a dark creature. Remus watches as their fears — ranging from death and calamity to bugs — all twist into something comedic.

And then Aster faces the boggart. Standing in front of her is another girl, wispy blonde hair and a whimsical smile: Pandora Rosier. And then it multiplies to a myriad of Slytherins, some familiar and some not, all surrounding the line.

“You’re a freak, Aster,” they all sing, eyes bright with hatred. “Ruining the life your father gave to you —”

“Riddikulus!” she cries out, and every human turns into a doll, eyes unstaring.

Peter trembles. “That’s also creepy.”

“Hmm,” Remus hears from in front of him, but he keeps himself from replying to her.

After two other students head to the front, facing a fear of clowns and the death of herself respectively, Remus’s attention is now completely focused on the boggart, on the Slytherin facing it.

And his face pales at the sight of a monster.

It’s scarily accurate to what he really is, at least how the textbooks depict werewolves. Wind ripples through the classroom, and with a growl, it lunges towards another human — a boggart-version of the Allen girl.

Her silhouette trembles at the sight. And, for a second, she does nothing. Just stares, and watches, almost curious, a clear thirst for knowledge.

He remembers James’s words — that he and the others were with Remus the entire time, and he definitely didn’t attack her. That the rumours were wrong. And that no beast has an attack like a werewolf.

And yet, she looks terrified. Either the rumours are right and her amnesia erased the event of the attack, causing her to believe the spreading rumours, or something else happened, something to change her this drastically.

Remus, despite it all, finds himself curious.

A clear voice sounds, wand swishing, but nothing happens. Murmuring voices flare around her, “Black bastard” coming from an idiotically smug Aster, before she says it again, and the werewolf turns into a harmless puppy.

But he saw. The magic didn’t come from her wand, but the tips of her fingers, almost like the gold burst from her hands and made a life of its own. Sure, she’s always struggled with magic in the past years, but her talent came from her words.

Now, it seems to come from her fists. 

He inhales. She meets his eyes, clearly still shaken, before heading to the back of the crowd, blending in. And even when he faces his own fear, a silvery orb representing the fate of his monstrosity, the glow of the full moon, his thoughts are on her.

Something is different, off, and he doesn’t know why.

Dearest Mother,

I know you’ll be shocked to find this letter addressed to you with this specific name. I do not wish to bring up past sorrows, and I know her loss has been hard on us both. I am terribly sorry, but due to the chance of someone finding out, I have no choice but to keep this letter vague.

If you’re asking why I am writing like this, I don’t know. It makes me feel closer to her. It’s like we are one, now, although I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that, either. So I’ll talk about something else.

Do you know Aster? The girl who once tried to ruin my life. Surprisingly, it is her life that is now ruined. I feel terribly sorry for her, how one moment carefully ruined the life she’d carefully built. It reminds me of something else, another girl’s parentage being revealed, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Actually, I can.

It doesn’t matter. She won’t bother me, but she’ll have her school and her marks. Nothing is completely lost.

Don’t worry. I doubt this is ending here. I’ll have much more to tell you in my next letter. In fact, you can have a hint. Do you remember specific wounds, three gashes across a stomach? You should see something like that in my next letter. 

That is my prediction, at least. Nothing ends at the very beginning.

Love,
Carina.

P.S. Ignore the smudged line above. I realised what I said could be interpreted in an incorrect context to people other than you reading the letter. I apologize.

“Hurt anyone lately?” a familiar voice asks, just as Remus is about to turn the corner.

He watches, from his hidden spot, as two girls stand in front of them. The one who spoke is smiling, malice glittering in an otherwise innocent-looking expression. Remus immediately recognizes her, having been looking for her for the past thirty minutes, wondering if the two were even going to be able to patrol tonight.

Instead, said patrol partner is instigating fights with Aster Parkinson.

The blonde is snarling, perfect teeth out. Aster, face contorted in an ugly expression, lunges towards the raven-haired student, who simply dodges with a smirk. 

“You don’t know anything, Carina,” she’s saying, breathing heavily.

“You’re lucky,” she replies, voice honeyed, “that everything you did isn’t heading straight to Dumbledore.”

Freezing, Aster’s face pales. “You wouldn’t.”

The other girl simply smiles, lips coated in dark red. From afar, it looks like blood, as if she eats human hearts for an everyday meal. Remus can relate, even if it isn’t voluntary. She’s a monster out of willingness, spite, after years of hurt.

He is a monster because he cannot be anything else.

“Oh, Aster.” She moves closer, footsteps soft. A finger reaches out, twirling a strand of Aster’s light hair. “The only reason you’re not dead is because I have better things to do.”

Remus freezes.

But unlike him, Aster laughs, a shaky thing. “You’re just a child. Like me.”

“And yet —” She tilts her head in amusement. “— you’ve threatened to kill me for years. But when I say I can do the same, I am a little girl, but when you do it, oh no!” A mocking cackle rips out from her chest, like butterflies erupting from her stomach, fleeing. “You’re wealthy, so it’s alright.”

“You don’t know who you’re making an enemy out of.”

“Hah!” Dark eyes narrow. “I’ve been your enemy for years, Aster. And, yes, perhaps you’ve brought turmoil, but who's to say that it hasn’t been given to you? Your engagement is broken, you soiled yourself, your parents despise you —”

Aster’s voice is a painful screech. “Shut up —”

“And what do wealthy parents do when they hate their child?” Her eyes gleam. “You’re cut off, inheritance gone, opportunities handed to people with silver spoons once just like yours.”

“I hate you.”

“You’ll live with it.” She turns away, but Remus still sees a smirk. “Or not, I suppose. I don’t particularly care where you’ll end up.”

Her back is to the enemy. Remus tenses when Aster’s grimace turns deranged, and she’s reaching for a lock of dark hair when —

Raven tresses whirl around, and within a second, Aster’s on the floor, a wand pointed below her chin. And even if it should terrify Remus, a part of his heart leaps. 

He tries to convince himself that he’s terrified, but he’s known from a young age that the monstrous part hiding beneath his heart longs for blood.

“Do not mistake my silence for compliance,” she hisses, rare anger flashing in nearly-black eyes. “Don’t forget, you are an inconvenience I can get rid of any time I want.”

“You’ve ruined my life!”

“I haven’t even scratched the surface.”

With a thud, she leaves Aster clawing at the floor, sobs echoing in the hall. Remus, sighing once, leans on the wall, an invisibility cloak covering his tall frame, before he gently packs it into his bag, fixes his expression, and heads in her direction.

Her eyes widen at the sight of him. “It’s late.”

His lips quirk into a half-grin. “Patrol.”

“Right,” she says, eyeing him. “I have patrol. I don’t know how you know that.”

Remus blinks at her, mouth opening and closing. “We have patrol together.”

Narrowed eyes glance at the wall and then back at him. “I could’ve sworn it was with Mary MacDonald, who isn’t here yet.”

“I don’t think you can read,” he says bluntly.

“I can read perfectly fine.” Her eyes bore into his, while his mind goes into complete overdrive. “How did you find me, Lupin? Are you following me?”

“Lupin,” he echoes, and she blinks at him. “You know my name.”

“Yes, who doesn’t —” She pauses. “That is not the point. I asked if you were following me, and you clearly don’t have a response.”

“I was trying to find you.”

She stares at him, disbelieving. “So, following.”

“Finding.”

“I somehow don’t believe that.”

“Fine.” He pulls out his schedule, having enough. “Take a look for yourself. We’re patrolling together.”

She takes it, scans it, and then nods. “Perhaps I truly cannot read, Lupin.”

His eyes narrow at her almost amused expression. “I somehow don’t believe that.”

“Using my words against me,” she hums, returning the paper. “I deserve it.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so it’s the comfortable silence that hugs him, instead, as the two begin walking. Even if she seemingly forgot his name, she seems to remember the patrol path perfectly.

She’s a walking lie, a confusing enigma.

“I apologise,” she says, startling him. “This year has been stressful, so I must’ve mixed your names up.”

He grunts. “Mary’s name has no similarity with mine.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, shoulders slumping for reasons he can’t understand. “I know this is hardly an excuse, but it’s easy to mix up completely different people. In hindsight, it appears foolish.”

Remus masks his perplexion. “Do you always talk like this?”

There is a hard edge to her voice. “Is there a problem?”

“None,” he says easily, relaxing his stiff shoulders. “Most people our age tend to talk a little … differently, that’s all.”

“You think I’m pretentious.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s an implication, then.” She glances at him. “Perhaps it came from the people in my house. Or my blood.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you insulting Sirius?”

“If I wanted to insult my brother, I would’ve been less vague.” Her lips narrow into a thin line, pressed against each other. Remus catches a slight imperfection, the dark lipstick slightly smudged below her mouth. “No. I mean my father.”

“Only a small number of people could be as terrible as him.”

He doesn’t know if she falls into that category yet. Her crazed smile is imprinted in his mind, but so is the many years before, when her terrified expression is the only thing Remus knew from her.

And then she laughs, a seemingly genuine one. “No, you’re right. I’m nowhere near his level.”

“You’ve talked to him?” he asks, even if Sirius already told him the answer, of the loud argument between Carina and Orion while he and Regulus simply watched.

He knows it still haunts Sirius to this day.

“Of course I’ve talked to him.” She grins, something bloodthirsty that he cannot look away from. “He is family, after all. And you know how important family is to me.”

“Telling Sirius to stay away isn’t —”

Her grin falls. “Don’t.” 

“Allen.”

“Lupin,” she stresses, “you can critique anything about me, but not that. It’s for his own good.”

“You don’t care about him.”

She shrugs. “You don’t know that.”

He sighs, not knowing where their conversation is going. “He doesn’t think you care about him, anyway.”

“Let him think that.” Remus notices her distance, now, how there’s over a foot of space between their shoulders. “At least then he’ll stay away.”

And that’s the last thing she says to him that day. They part in silence, with simple nods of acknowledgement, even if the pain on her face is clear to him, having known it his whole life.

Remus says nothing about it. He returns to his dorm that night, tired and confused, and falls asleep to a cycle of endless thoughts.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts, September 26th, 1977

Life is fucking shit, Remus can’t help but think.

He awakens to screams, eyes snapping open to James hastily shaking Sirius off his bed. Before he can say anything, a headache rips through his mind, leaving him groaning. Peter, surprisingly, is actively pacing around the room, biting his lip. 

“Hey, Padfoot,” James’s urgent voice calls, “you have to get up —”

Sirius grumbles something along the lines of “Five more minutes”, before smushing his face into his pillow.

“What’s going on?” Remus slurs, rolling off his mattress, head still aching.

“Regulus is injured,” James says, laying off Sirius. “Peter, get Sirius up. I don’t even know how the hell you managed to get up before him — you know what, doesn’t even matter. Remus, come with me.”

“Sure,” he says, before doing a double take. “You have your own room. Why the hell are you here?”

“I’ve always been here,” James says.

He’s given a blank stare.

“Okay, Peter let me in,” he concedes. “But still, we should —”

“Go, right,” Remus says, not even bothering to fix his bed-head as he’s dragged out of his dorm before seven. A blasphemy, really. “Where are we heading, anyway?”

“Not far,” James replies, acting frustratingly vague. “I don’t know what he was doing in front of the Commons this early, but —”

“James!” Lily calls out, hovering over a dark-haired boy. “Remus! Over here!”

“Why do we need these many people?” Remus grumbles, spotting a tired Mary and an even more exhausted-looking Hestia Jones, the seventh-year Ravenclaw prefect. “Just one person needs to take him to the Hospital Wing —”

“It’s not that simple,” Lily forces out, gritting her teeth. “He can’t head there in this state. I’ve sent someone to get Pomfrey, but until then, we should stabilize him.”

Regulus groans from his spot on the ground, his stomach soaked with blood. Lily’s handiwork — bandages covering his entire stomach — seem to barely hold him together.

“Also,” Mary whispers, “we need to find out who did this to him.”

“His wounds were deliberate,” Hestia continues. “I was walking when he was just on the ground, with three gashes across his stomach —”

Remus’s mind is taken to last year — a shaken girl, Sirius’s frantic eyes, and Pomfrey’s murmur of “Three gashes across her stomach, she’s bleeding out…!” — before James’s nudge pulls him back into the conversation.

“I —”

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice cuts in, and Remus pales at the sight of his current suspect, his nose immediately detecting traces of blood on her sleeve, despite not seeing any. “I ran all the way here.”

Regulus groans even louder, and Hestia tends to his wounds, quickly swapping his bandages with a flick of her wand. His old, bloodied bandages seep into the wood next to them, and James’s noise wrinkles at the smell.

“Is Carina going to be okay?” Sirius asked two years ago, watching his sister bleed out. Remus watches, now, as the same sister inflicts the same wounds as she once had — ruining lives, being the monster she once condemned. 

He can’t fault her. Remus, too, is trapped in the same vicious cycle.

Before he can say anything, bleeding-white pain cuts through his mind. Remus manages to steady himself, avoiding James’s concerned look. 

Thoughts about monsters remind him of his impending scars, the full moon being tomorrow — and that only brings him dread. Forcing his thoughts away, Remus watches the newcomer, the girl he has to patrol the castle with for the remaining year, the same one who ruined Aster’s life on purpose, and based on her scent, probably cursed Regulus. 

“Where’s Evan?” Lily questions tiredly.

“No idea.” The Slytherin shrugs, dark circles covering her eyes, before turning to Regulus. Her eyes widen in the slightest, bottom lip trembling as she asks, “What happened to him?”

Remus bites back a remark. 

Mary suddenly curses, like she just realised that Regulus is, in fact, wounded in front of his half-sister. “Someone hexed him.”

“Oh, dear,” she says, and Remus narrows his eyes. “Evan said Pomfrey’s on the way, right? Hopefully we don’t need to do much.”

“Changing his bandages should be fine,” Lily says, before her eyes crinkle. “I just wanted you to know before the rumours told you.”

At the word rumours, Remus watches her flinch. 

“Thank you, Evans,” she says, sounding genuinely grateful. Her smile does something to him, the change from crazed to genuine turning in his stomach. “Really, I appreciate it.”

Lily just nods, returning the smile.

“We still don’t know who did it,” Hestia cuts in, rubbing her eyes. “As much as I don’t care for him —”

Regulus groans in protest.

“— he’s still a student, and as Prefects, we’re responsible.”

“She’s right,” James says. His thoughtful eyes scan them all, before sighing. “It’s not going to help if we just throw out accusations, though. Once Regulus is healed, he can tell us himself.”

“And we’ll go to Dumbledore,” Lily continues, “so nothing else happens in the meantime.”

“Make way, make way!”

Remus sighs in relief. “Good. Pomfrey’s finally here.”

Regulus is healing, according to Lily.

When Sirius finds out, the next day is spent with him moping as Regulus lies in bed, refusing to speak. Despite James and Peter nagging him to join them in cards, he merely sits and stares at the ceiling, as if his brother’s wounds are his fault.

“I think I know who did it,” Remus tells him, voice low.

Sirius’s voice is raspy. “Me too.”

“Oh.” Remus inhales. “Are we thinking of the same person?”

He laughs, the sound startling Remus. “I hope not.”

Remus leaves him alone after that, joining a lone Lily for dinner. Her red curls are in a braid as she stabs her pasta aggressively with a fork.

“Bad mood?” he asks lightly.

“Just a lot of work,” she grumbles, continuing to assault her meal. “I hate this year already.”

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Remus delicately swallows his food, his headache still not gone. “I can’t imagine being Head Girl.”

“Oh, it’s horrid,” she says, sighing. “We have news on Regulus, but we’re also expected to keep even further watch on the castle, plan extra events for the school, and make sure they’re contained in the castle since Hogsmeade’s banned, and —” She inhales. “And with Aster’s whole ‘incident’, James is saying they’re connected, or something —”

“Connected how?” Remus presses.

“Someone told him that the party that Aster got drunk in,” Lily says, voice low, “was meant to ruin her reputation. It was specifically for her. Planned. And since Regulus is at least Aster’s acquaintance, maybe the person wants to ruin a certain group’s lives.”

“You don’t mind,” Remus concludes. 

He wouldn’t either, if everyone who hated werewolves dropped off the face of the earth. And, if he’s being honest, Aster’s demise doesn’t concern him. If Regulus wasn’t related to Sirius, he doubts he’d care much, either.

But Regulus’s sister hurting him out of spite, out of revenge, despite claiming to care about family? That is different.

“I do mind,” Lily defends. “Just not as much as I would if it was someone else.”

“I see,” he says finally. “And Regulus? How is he?”

Lily swallows. “Carina spoke to him.”

“She did?” Remus asks, leaning forward. “What did she say?”

“He only needs a day to heal,” she says, softly, “but Carina also said ‘his eyes tell a different story, something haunted swirling in the depths’. It’s so interesting, how she talks.”

Remus coughs. “I’ve told her that.”

An amused grin forms on Lily’s lips. “Did you? How’d she take it?”

“She thought I had a problem with her,” he says, leaning back on his chair, “which I don’t.”

“It would sound pretentious if it wasn’t her.” Lily finally stops mutilating her food, and that makes Remus look up from it to stare at her. “She has this way of speaking that makes it sound poetic.”

“Like a tortured artist.”

Lily points her fork at him. “Exactly.”

Remus stares. “Your pasta’s about to fall.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, before shoving the fork in her mouth. 

He tries not to laugh at her miffed expression, focusing on his food, instead. And when the two exchange goodbyes, he heads back into his dorm, only to see string and parchment strewn across the floor.

“What are you doing?”

Sirius stiffens. In front of him is a board strung up with red, and different notes of elegant cursive stuck on it. Multiple pictures of different students are taped and connected on the cardboard, and a newspaper clipping of Carina’s frightened face is in the center.

“Last night,” he starts, “I was talking to Andromeda up in the Astronomy Tower, who mentioned how strange Carina was acting in her classes. And I thought, there has to be a reason for all of this. I mean, I get that Carina and I don’t like each other, but Andi and Carina are cousins.”

Remus blinks. “And because of that, you decided to fill a board with red string and pictures.”

“Well, yeah —”

“Does that say ‘an imposter?’” Remus questions, reading one of the notes. 

“That’s more of a conspiracy,” Sirius admits.

“So, instead of listening to Carina and staying away, you’re —” He gestures to the board. “— choosing to investigate what she’s up to instead?”

“Uh, yes.”

He blinks at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know.” Sirius’s stupid grin is contagious. “You tell me that every day.”

“For a good reason,” Remus snaps, before turning his attention back to the board. “Okay, there’s Professor Black — is that Aster Parkinson? Your brother? And Pandora Rosier, Evan Rosier, you?”

“And Tobias Nott,” Sirius continues, referring to Aster’s ex-fiancé. “The board includes all the people who’ve hurt Carina, and therefore, people she’ll go after. And people who she likes, or she’s been associated with, just in case.”

“Do James and Peter know about this?”

Sirius ignores him. “I’m missing something, I know it. It has to be from that night.”

Remus stiffens, the ghost of the moon washing over him. “I don’t —”

“You didn’t do anything, Remus,” he says, scowling. “We were there. For some reason, Carina was attacked, and a werewolf was blamed. The people she’s going after … I think they did that to her. Regulus included.”

“She’s acting reckless,” Remus murmurs, “if you were able to make the connection so easily.”

“I’m her brother,” he says, sounding pained. After all, it is the first time he’s ever said that. “I think I know her slightly better than everyone else.”

“Carina saw Regulus earlier,” Remus blurts. “She probably silenced him.”

“Covering her traces,” Sirius hums, before placing a paper over Regulus’s photo. “Fascinating.”

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t like her.” Sirius sighs. “I just want to know why she doesn’t want me to know what she’s doing.”

“So, you’re curious not because you care, but because she asked you not to care?”

“Exactly.”

“You know,” Remus says, rolling his eyes, “there might be a reason why she asked you to stay out of it —”

“I mean, before,” Sirius continues, ignoring Remus again, “she would’ve subtly asked for my help, but in a way that wasn’t direct. Now, it’s like she’s a different person.”

Remus blinks. “You don’t think —”

“That’s my conspiracy theory, Remus,” Sirius deadpans. “That means it’s not real. She’s Carina.”

He inhales. “Right.”

“You’re probably just tired,” Sirius suggests, and then wilts. “It’s the full moon tomorrow, and I’m dragging you along with my investigation. Go to sleep.”

“No.”

“Who’s the idiot now?”

“Still you,” Remus snarks, but decides to obey. “Good night, Sirius.”

He hums, still fidgeting with his board. “Night.”

The night, indeed, is not fun. The moment Remus’s head hits the pillow, he’s transported into multiple hellish nightmares, each one involving more and more blood, his dead friends, and the moon’s bright glow, burning his skin until he’s nothing.

He awakens, the next morning, with another pounding headache. Clambering from bed, Remus slumps into the bathroom and stares into the mirror.

A monster stares back.

Sighing, he spends the rest of the morning in a fog, barely keeping awake in Transfigurations, wearing three jumpers despite the warmth outside, and sitting next to an extremely talkative Sirius, with his curiously silent sister staring at him a few seats to the left.

“This might be your worst one yet,” James mutters in concern, pressing his palm to Remus’s forehead as they sit in the Dining Hall. “You’re burning up.”

Remus shudders. “No shit.”

James flicks his arm. “Quit it, you prat.”

“You ready?” Peter asks from beside him. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Slumping onto the table, his groan is muffled. “Don’t have a choice.”

Peter pats his head. “Sorry, mate. I’ll get you chocolate soon.”

“I love you,” he murmurs deliriously.

“Yeah, you too,” Peter replies, before coughing. “Shit, it’s Carina. She’s staring.”

“When is she not?” Sirius complains, but Remus hears his curious tone, and dreads his next actions. “It’s like she has a problem with us. Maybe I should —”

“Sirius, no,” Peter says.

“Sirius, yes —”

“Maybe it’s because Remus is acting sick,” James cuts in, each syllable painfully drilling a hole into his head, “and they have patrol together tomorrow?”

“Or maybe —” Sirius starts.

“Be quiet,” Remus grunts. “Your voices are hurting my face.”

“Your face?” Sirius questions.

He resists the urge to start sobbing, and also the urge to punch a very annoying Sirius Black in the face. “Face, head, mind, whatever.”

“We should get you back to the dorm,” Peter says, squeezing Remus’s shoulder. “Now.”

James tugs Remus’s arm up. “Good idea.”

The fog persists, and he can barely tell where he’s going. The noon turns to night, and he stumbles into the forest, past the trees, and towards the Whomping Willow: his resting area. There, the night becomes his home. Every sound is amplified, and the whistling of the trees turns from background noise into a clear distraction. 

And as he enters into his resting area, he feels the transformation overcome him, and feels the curse overtake his body. 

At any moment, his friends will join, and he won’t feel like a monster. But until then, resentment crawls into his heart until he can no longer think. It bleeds into his heart, feeds into his hatred, and saps his remaining energy until memories fade into darkness.

He, routinely, awakens in the Hospital Wing, greeted with a combination of a migraine, fever, and severe nausea. Blinding white greets his tired eyes, and blinking, he gently adjusts on his bed, watching the light-coloured ceiling. Dark brown irises look light in the searing brightness, something Pomfrey refuses to turn down.

When he asked two years ago, she’d snapped out a quick response of something about the place looking about a real hospital. Or that it was none of his business. He doesn’t remember, every full moon meshing with another, pain and light blurring into singular evenings.

Sighing, he waits for the morning sun to rise before his friends clamber in, noisily interrupting the once-peaceful room.

“Remus!” Sirius cries out, dramatic as usual. “I missed you!”

“You saw me last night,” he says, blunt. 

“Still,” he insists, fishing something out of his bag. It’s always something attempting to cure Remus’s pain, despite failing every single time Sirius attempts to find a potion for him.

“Something came up,” Peter says, leaning against the wall, right when Remus begins to wonder where James is. “He said something about Prefect business, and that he’ll be here tonight when he’s done.”

“Tonight?” Remus asks.

“It’s odd,” Peter comments, “but I know it has to do with Reg —” He glances at a now-agitated looking Sirius. “— ulus?”

Sirius’s glare intensifies.

Peter swallows. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sirius says, before completely shifting his mood, something which Remus needs to learn how to do. “Anyway, I found the potion!”

“A hangover cure,” Remus says, dry.

“Just try it,” he insists, shoving the potion in Remus’s direction.

Remus sighs, hating his life. “This isn’t going to help.”

“Yes, it will,” Sirius insists.

“Fine.” Remus glares at his friend, but takes the potion regardless. “If this doesn’t make me feel better —”

“Beat him up,” Peter, Remus’s favourite person, offers.

“Don’t listen to him, Rem,” Sirius cries out, his dramatics making Remus smother a smile. “You love me.”

Peter grins. “He loves me more.”

“I love him more,” Remus agrees.

“You love the chocolate more,” Sirius protests.

“Don’t ruin the moment!” Peter yelps when Sirius hits him over the head. “Violence only occurs when there is nothing left to be said.”

Remus snorts. “And who said that?”

“Er, I think it was from —”

“Fuck,” Remus curses, “I have patrol.”

“Not, not that — wait, what type of books are you reading, Rem?” Peter asks. “That’s a stupid fucking book name.” He pauses, as if seriously considering the thoughts in his head. “Maybe just ‘Patrol’ would be —”

Sirius cuts him off, probably choosing to ignore Peter for his own sanity. “You’re not actually going, are you?”

“Lily and James are gathering us all for a meeting beforehand, and then we’re all patrolling together tonight, so it’s important,” Remus says, but when Sirius looks unconvinced, he adds, “And I can interrogate Carina afterward.”

“Never mind,” Sirius says, grey eyes lighting up, “you have to go! I have five more hangover cures you can drink, and maybe a pain-reducer, too …”

Peter groans. “Not this again.”

“Screw you, Wormy.”

He scrunches his nose. “Don’t call me that.”

“Wor —”

“Get out,” Remus deadpans. “I’ll take those cures, though.”

“James is going to kill you for showing up,” Peter says, all while Sirius excitedly hands Remus five questionable looking vials.

“He’ll be fine,” Remus concludes, chugging his potions.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts, September 28th, 1977

James Potter attempts to murder her patrol partner.

Her day, as boring and dull as it seems, was spent ruminating about secrets, about her mother. Ava Allen is soft, while her remaining daughter is nothing like that — and her words continue to haunt:

“Only you can decide your fate, my love.”

She doubts it.

“You’re supposed to be resting!” James screeches, cutting into her thoughts.

He reminds her of the drunkard neighbor across the hall, who’d resided in the crumbling apartment building she still calls home — and, yet, still had the audacity to lecture her for her bruises: a scar across her cheek, or a black eye.

Regardless, James’s concern for Remus causes her stomach to churn. Only one person ever cared like that, with such ferocity.

[“You’re a monster, Gemini.”]

Now, her sister is gone.

And the only thing she can think of is the people getting in her way; one of them is getting berated, scars lining his tired face. Instead of thinking of plans to be rid of him, she finds herself staring.

Pathetic.

Remus glances at her. “Staring, Allen?”

“Hungover, Lupin?” she counters.

“Worse,” he replies, voice low.

“Remus, if you don’t rest tonight —”

“James, calm down,” Lily commands, and the boy heels like a dog. “Remus, take it easy. You and Carina can stay out for half the required time. Just one round around the castle is enough.”

“Is that fine, Carina?” James asks.

She shrugs. “Sure. I don’t mind.”

In fact, she prefers this. The letter arriving in her mail was more inconvenient than anything. Pandora dropping out, and her having to take this useless job of protecting people she didn’t care about only made her even more tired and spiteful than usual.

The less time wasted patrolling, the better. And the less time spent around Remus Lupin, the better, too.

“So,” Lily says, turning to the rest of the murmuring Prefects, “patrol. You know what to do.”

Mary MacDonald, who seems to be Remus’s acquaintance, tips an imaginary hat from her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Just,” Lily says, voice sharp, “try not to be loud. And be careful. With Regulus’s attack —” She sighs as everyone goes quiet. “— we should look out for one another. Stick together. Don’t lose sight. You’re partners for a reason.”

“Get to know each other,” James says emphatically. Remus catches the look of utter disgust on the Slytherin’s face, much to her displeasure. “You’re going to be spending a whole year together. Might as well become friends.”

“Yeah, tell me all your deep, dark secrets, Allen,” Remus mutters, “staring with your middle name.”

She snorts, a half-smile on her face, before immediately smothering it. But she knows Remus noticed, considering the mirthful expression he’s wearing.

A numerous amount of insanely inappropriate words form in her mind.

“Now, shoo!” Lily says, waving them off. 

“So,” Remus says once the two are far enough to be alone.

She finds herself trying not to laugh. “Small talk doesn’t seem like your forte.”

“It’s not,” he admits.

“Ah,” she says. “Long day?”

“Long night.”

“Partying, I see.” When he gives her a look, she tries not to smile. “Joking.”

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Funny,” she drawls, before her eyes are drawn to the walls beside them. “Is this going to be what happens all year?”

“Talking?”

“Acting mysterious.”

He grimaces. “Fine. Ask, and I’ll answer.”

[“You know everything about me, and yet, you still want more! I can’t give it to you. You’re my other half, but a part of me is mine, and mine alone —”

“But you told her, and not me!”

“Are you jealous? Are you insane?”

“You’re not denying it.”]

She swallows, deliberating an extremely specific question, before asking, “What’s your favorite novel?”

“Don’t know,” Remus says, answering almost immediately. “I’m partial to mystery, though. And I do like the Lord of the Rings, but I wouldn’t count it as my all-time favourite.”

“Nancy Drew is one of my favourite series,” she admits.

“Really?” he asks. “I thought you’d be into classics.”

She coughs, lying again. “That too.”

“You sure?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, Lupin, I think I know what I’m reading.”

“You don’t know how to read, though.” His innocent tone makes her scowl. “After all, you mixed up ‘Mary MacDonald’ and ‘Remus Lupin’ —”

“Jesus, Lupin.” She crosses her arms. “I apologized.”

“Jesus?”

“I have a muggle mother,” she drones, electing to stare elsewhere. “My life was never supposed to be surrounded by magic.”

Remus says nothing, only nodding.

“Now,” she continues heavily, “it is. Even if I don’t want it to be.”

“You don’t like it?”

She snorts. “Of course not. It’s hellish.”

“Right,” he says. “I assume so.”

“And you?” she asks, and he startles. “If magic wasn’t your fate, what would you be doing? I could see you as an author. Maybe a teacher.”

“Teacher?” Remus smirks when she stares at his face for too long. “And why is that?”

“Arrogant little —” She pauses when his gaze turns from smug to curious, hating the way he goes from teasing her to analyzing every part she’s put forth. “Well. You’re calm, intelligent, already in a leadership position, reliable —”

“No need to stroke my ego,” he says, soft.

“I promise that’s not my intention.” She’s smiling, too, and therefore acting like an idiot. “You’re clearly the mastermind behind those ‘pranks’ your group likes to pull —”

“Oh, that’s not true —”

“Right,” she drawls. “I bet you make their ideas even more terrifying.”

“I’m very well behaved.”

“Now, that’s just a lie.” She laughs at his offended expression. “You can’t be innocent and hang out with my brother.”

He sobers. “You hate him, don’t you?”

[“Carina!” he cries out, but she leaves his house, fists shaking.]

She, too, stops smiling. “I wish I did.”

“But you don’t?”

“If I despised him as much as he believes I do, I wouldn’t have confronted him on the train.”

“So,” Remus says, “the incident was you, then?”

Pausing their stroll, she turns to face him. “What was me?”

Remus’s mouth, she notices, is pressed into a thin line. “Regulus.” 

“Sorry?” she asks, blinking. “What about Regulus?”

“You hurt him,” he says simply, “and don’t want Sirius involved.”

“I,” she says, eyes widened, “hurt my little brother.”

He flinches, and she relishes it. Every bit of guilt he feels for his accusation, no matter how correct it is, makes her skin feel on fire. 

“You think,” she continues, voice contorting to almost a snake-like hiss, “that I put his life in danger for what? For fun? Theatrics? Simply because I had the power to do so?”

“Well, you did that with Aster,” he tries, but is interrupted. 

“Don’t forget that it is them who’ve held power over me for years.” She’s forced to look up at him, despite standing at 178 centimetres. “Why would I hurt Regulus when he’s the only one who attempted to help?”

“He didn’t help enough.” 

She doesn’t say anything for far too long, instead clenching and unclenching her fists. The only sound being made are their light footsteps, continuing the walk, until he touches her arm.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have —”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “He didn’t help enough. No one did. This year, however, I’ll take care of it.”

“And by take care of it, you mean —”

“I didn’t hurt Regulus,” she stresses, a lie. “He hasn’t done anything to me.” Another lie. “Hypothetically, if I were to hurt someone, it would only be someone who deserves it.”

“Aster,” he suggests.

“Please.” She scoffs. “She ruined her life on her own.”

“Maybe,” he says, before briefly meeting her eyes. “But I’m sure she had a push.”

“That,” she says carefully, testing her words, “is still something I had nothing to do with. She cheated on her fiancé on her own.”

“It doesn’t have to be you.” He grins. “But I wouldn’t mind if it was. She’s a terrible person.”

“And who are you to play God?”

He laughs, something raucous. It sets her on fire. “I should be asking you that question, Allen. After all, as Aster said a few days ago, you’re ‘just a child’.”

She pauses.

There is a word for revelations. She knows when she’s been outsmarted, when people overhear things she plans to keep out of sight. And for this, there is an expectation for her heart to grow heavy, brain to grow sharper, retorts to be shaped by a knife.

Not for her stomach to erupt in butterflies. 

They cover her skin, each tingle magnifying when her dark eyes find their way to his. And, stupidly, their eye-contact is already becoming familiar.

Her one weakness, sadly, is someone’s intelligence.

“You overheard us,” she whispers, sounding more awed than horrified. “Right before our first patrol.”

“I did,” he confirms.

“And yet, here you are.”

Remus’s eyes don’t leave hers. “Here I am.”

She turns away, the butterflies fading. “I expect Sirius will find out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, Lupin, you’re not,” she says, her voice almost blending into the silence. “And neither am I.”

“Who are you to play God?” he echoes.

“Oh, darling,” she says, something so automatic that falls out of her mouth. His breath is caught, she can tell, body unmoving. “I never intended to do this for a good cause.”

“Then what?”

“That’s not for you to know.”

“Will you go after me?” he asks, almost lightly.

“You didn’t —” Her voice is strained, and she wishes to tell him the truth, that he did, he could’ve — before shaking her head. “You didn’t do anything that concerns me.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really,” she lies, something she’s been doing all year.

And that reminds her of an attachment she cannot have. No matter how intelligent he is, Remus Lupin is dangerous. This, she knows. She cannot get attached to someone she plans on ruining.

“What if you do?” he continues, agitating her. “Would you kill me? Threaten me into silence? Blackmail me?”

She flinches. “Stop.”

“I’d go for the last one, personally —”

“Lupin,” she says bitingly, “Stop. I’m not going to answer, nor am I going to hurt you. Aster is a horrible person, but you —”

— are also terrible, her mind supplies. And yet, you vow to leave him be, after what he’s done.

“You can’t pick and choose monsters, Carina!”

“Well, why not?” she snaps, and his eyes widen. “If innocent people can die —”

She’s panting now, having said too much. His stupidly beautiful eyes choose the wrong moment to bore into her own, for she pushes him away and stalks forward, unable to speak.

When her words fail her, her fists become her shield, until the shield turns into knives and stabs and stabs and stabs —

She replays Remus’s previous words. Oh.

“You think you’re a monster,” she says, after minutes of silence.

He doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know if she agrees with him.

“Why?” she asks. 

Does he want her to hurt him? Does he think he deserves it?

“I —” he starts. He swallows, all while she fights the urge to look at him. “I don’t …”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me.”

Remus swallows again. “Carina —”

“No, I shouldn’t have —” She inhales. “I didn’t hurt her because I thought she deserved it based on a morality standpoint. I hurt her because I’m selfish, Lupin. I can’t pretend I’m moral, because I’m not.”

“Even if I tell Sirius,” he starts, almost gently, “he won’t do anything. I swear.”

“Hmm,” she says, soft. “I don’t trust that, but …”

She lets the rest of her sentence wither into silence. He doesn’t need to know how quickly her soul latches onto kindness. It was her mother and sister and maybe one other who she held close to her heart, all because they were kind.

“Thank you,” he says. 

He’s sullen, she notices. Especially because in this conversation, she knows how he feels about himself, while he only knows of Aster’s hurt — which she’s sure he could very easily figure out on his own.

Either way, she won’t tell, and neither will he. Her motives are there, of course, but she was careful with alerting Aster’s parents, influencing the party, and having Aster succumb to her desires with another touch.

It was all Aster.

But Remus? Him believing he’s a monster?

They’re nearing the end of their patrol when she gulps down her nervousness and says, “It’s Nashira.”

Remus blinks. “What?”

“My middle name, since you wanted to know. Nashira.” 

She turns away after the peace-offering, unsure of why she isn’t lying to him. He isn’t supposed to know any part of her.

And yet, she finds the calm in his dark eyes, finds herself wanting to calm the sadness that lurks behind him. If he can be vulnerable, she’ll let one secret slip through her lips.

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mine is John.”

The stiffness of her shoulders melts. “John?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles out, as she struggles to contain her laughter. “It’s not a terrible middle name —”

“No, of course not,” she says, her lips curling into a genuine grin. “But your name is Remus Lupin. It’s simpler than I thought it would be.”

“What did you think it would be?”

“Bartholomew,” she says immediately.

“What?”

His disgusted expression breaks her composure. Suddenly, she’s laughing like she always had, her loud voice echoing in the halls.

“I’m —” She catches her breath. “Wow. God, I’m sorry.”

He appears to be dazed. “I didn’t know you could laugh like a normal person.”

“Funny,” she drawls, before wiping a tear from her eye. “Thank you for the laugh, Lupin. Looking forward to next time.”

She turns, and for some strange, godforsaken reason, hopes he is staring at her retreating back.

Her sister’s ghost watches her walk away, in the dark corners of the hall. Even though her corpse is buried deep underground, her face follows her everywhere: in mirrors, glass, pictures —

[“I’m your other half, please, talk to me —”

“No, I can’t!”

“God, I don’t even know who you are anymore!”]

An exhale escapes her lips. She thinks of Remus, melancholic after his vulnerability, inquisitive after hers, beautifully intelligent, and wonders just how many layers she can uncover underneath the façade of calm.

She must be careful, though. Vengeance is difficult when the Slytherins are breathing down on her neck, begging for her hands on them. She’s itching to leave blood in the halls, but restrains her fingers, drumming them up and down her thighs instead.

Violence must have a reason, she reminds herself. Patience.

After her patrol with Remus, she watches the Marauders take their seats at the Great Hall. Resisting the urge to send a dirty look, she just observes them, aware they know about her staring. The group, especially Remus and Sirius, seems to be taking a keen interest in her hobbies ever since the beginning of the year — adding another problem to her growing list. 

Let them think she’s curious about them. Maybe, then, they’ll be careful around her. Maybe, then, they’ll give up on her motivations.

And even if Sirius is attempting to investigate her secret, she knows his best friend’s — thanks to following him the night before, pulling a trick she’s sure the Marauders themselves have used. 

She knows Sirius’s too, how all the Marauders transform into animals under the light of the full moon, how they treat Remus like their own — despite his condition.

Her lips curl into a smile. Remus’s identity is now her possession, something to keep and use as a card tucked in her pocket. A secret is nothing more than an item in her disposal, but a secret like lycanthropy is far more precious, far more personal.

He is hers, now, she muses. 

A secret identity is dangerous [a twin flame nestled in her pocket, a death she only knows about —]; she knows this better than most. A part of her pities him for his pain, hates him for his monstrosity, but her vengeful heart only aches for blood, and it doesn’t matter whose skin her fingers will rake.

After all, trust is nothing when it comes to secrets.

She sighs, and her eyes find their way to Tobias Nott’s. He immediately responds with a blood-curling smile, a promise of violence.

[“HELP!” she screamed, but no one —]

Her fists clench, and she resists the urge to claw his eyes out of his skull. Patience, she tells herself, for his demise is planned soon.

Even if his hands were never coated with blood, she knows he is tempted, drawn from his throne of gold and jewelry to the girl who is rumoured to have orchestrated Aster Parkinson’s downfall and Regulus Black’s wounds. After all, the former is his ex-fiancée, and the latter is his powerful ally.

But to her, they were merely stepping stools, fools playing with beings much higher than them. Regulus Black is merely a bystander, not someone she truly needs, and Aster Parkinson is too lowly to be considered a true opponent.

Neither of them could best her. Neither can Tobias, she knows, but he’ll certainly try. He’ll try harder than Aster, harder than Regulus —

And she’ll still end him, either way.

Remus eyes her at dinner.

Right after their patrol, after laughter spilled out of her mouth like honey, he almost drowned in it.

Sirius’s sister. A monster, just like him.

“You alright?” Sirius asks.

Their unspoken agreement lingers. Remus, the moment before Sirius left the Hospital Wing, promised to tell his best friend everything about her, his patrol partner.

And yet, a part of him doesn’t want to.

After all, she hasn’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. Aster Parkinson, despite spending the past few weeks hollow, spent six years bullying everyone she deemed lower than her. Regulus Black not only believed in blood supremacy, but ruined Sirius’s life.

“Remus?”

His head snaps up. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

Sirius’s eyes narrow. “Okay …”

“I am,” Remus lies, causing Sirius’s hardened grey eyes to bore into his. “And … I have a lot to share with you this evening.”

His friend brightens, despite Remus wishing for the earth to swallow him whole. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Remus says, without looking at him. His eyes, despite him wanting to look anywhere else, are drawn to his Prefect partner, who only smiles at the sight of him.

“You’re staring,” James notes from beside him, his voice quiet. “Did you really get to know each other that well in one patrol?”

Sharply sighing, Remus tears his eyes away from her. “What are you talking about?”

“She is pretty,” Peter muses, but at Sirius’s glare, sputters out, “crazy. Pretty crazy.”

James snickers. “Nice save.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter squeaks out, avoiding contact with Sirius’s hardened eyes. “That’s what I definitely meant to say.”

“You —” Sirius says, launching at him.

Remus watches them with mild interest, but all he can feel are the remnants of her laughter hanging in his skin.

“Sirius,” he says lowly, “I can’t tell you what she said.”

He blinks. “Why not?”

“I don’t have enough,” Remus replies, pinching his brows. “But when I have more … that’s when I’ll tell you everything.”

Sirius nods, satisfied. “Thanks, Moony.”

Remus just smiles, ignoring how his stomach tumbles at the lie on his tongue. 

She’d actually been enjoying her breakfast until Sirius corners her afterwards, eyes wild and lips thinned into a line.

Did Remus tell him what she said already?

A part of her almost feels hurt, but she knows he’d tell his best friend anything and everything, even her truths jumbled into lies.

“You hurt him,” he accuses, and she blinks. His eyes are narrowed in a way that reminds her of Orion. Only instead of pure disgust, it is righteous hatred. “Admit it.”

Ah, she realises. He means Regulus.

“Why do you believe that?”

Sirius frowns. He glances at her outwardly calm face, all neutral lines, and falters. “I know you did. Who else could’ve done it?”

“Well,” she murmurs, “he’s angered plenty.” 

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be so crass.” She smiles. “I’m not his enemy. You, on the other hand ...”

“You think I hurt him?” He’s staring at her in pure disbelief, something so expressive that she’s reminded of something locked in her mind. “I would never —”

“But I don’t know that.” She shakes her head, preparing to end her performance. “See, you oppose any and all blood supremacists. Look at Snape. Surely you’re not making an exception for — let’s see — family? Is that where you draw the line? What about on the battlefield? Will you spare him while he has blood on his hands?”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

He seething, fingers curled into tight fists, the sight making her lips curl into a vicious smile.

“Oh, I don’t,” she admits, “but that’s what makes you so interesting. Apparently, family is what makes you tick.”

“You —” Sirius turns away. “You know I didn’t do this. It was you, no matter how much you try to deflect. All I want to know is why.”

“Why?” She laughs, startling him. “I could swear you didn’t care about him. Or me, for the matter. So what if he’s injured? According to you, he’s not your brother, and he’s never been mine.”

He narrows his eyes. “So you admit you did it.”

“Believe what you want. In fact, you should question Regulus.” She pats his shoulder. “Break your silence. I’m sure he’d admit anything to his disowned, runaway brother.”

“Fuck off.”

“You can do that yourself.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Although, I’m surprised. Wouldn’t your type prefer to befriend — rather than accuse — someone like me? You know —” She squeezes his shoulder. “The family disgrace.”

“Who even are you?” he breathes out.

For a second, she falters. His features aren’t contorted into the one emotion she can sabotage. She can’t have that.

“I tried,” he continues, raking a hand through his hair, “so hard for us to get along. All you did was push away and away! In fact, you’re the one who admitted on the train that you did choose to associate with those fucking blood supremacists —”

“Associate is a strong word,” she says mildly.

“Then what in Merlin’s name were you doing with them?”

“If you were a dog —” 

Delightedly, she notices his flinch. 

“— tied to a chain, forced to please your owner, would you bite the hand that feeds?”

“I did,” he says, bold and bright as always.

“Not everyone,” she murmurs, “is like you. Maybe family was your chain, but power was mine. And my insubordination only condemned me in the end.”

“You didn’t even do anything.”

“I found love.” She glances at the way his expression shutters. “And if there is one thing Aster Parkinson despises, it is my happiness.”

He says nothing, but his fists clench.

“And you’re incorrect,” she whispers. “You didn't even try to be friends; you hexed the people around me. If you’d reached out to me, not condemned them for me, maybe things would’ve been different.”

“I —” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“And I —” She refuses to smile. Not for him, not after he couldn’t save her. Even if she doesn’t want to hate him, even if she cares for him, she hates him too. “So am I.”

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

“And you’re not getting one,” she replies, refusing to look at him. “Your opinion is not going to change, and I don’t plan on attempting to sway you.”

“Are you —” He swallows. “Is this why you asked me to stay away? Because of him?”

She stares at him, before sighing. “No.”

“Then what?”

“If you actually listen to me this time,” she says, “then maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Then I’m not going to tell you. Goodbye.”

“Carina —”

She scowls. “Goodbye.”

As she leaves, Sirius grumbles a bunch of curses, but doesn’t attempt to follow. Footsteps echoing in the near-empty hallway, her ears pick up on the slightest of noise behind her.

What an annoyance.

She makes her way to an abandoned classroom, schooling her face into neutrality. “Had fun eavesdropping?”

Regulus steps out from the shadows, scowling. “You’re a terrible person.”

“There is a generic saying for your type, if you’re aware.” She smiles at his scowl, before closing the door behind her. “‘Don’t throw stones from a glass house’.”

“Screw you.”

“You know I’m right,” is her reply in return. “Especially since you spent your day stalking the boy who you claim isn’t your brother.”

He scoffs. “I wish you died that night.”

She doesn’t falter. “I wish you wouldn’t lurk. It’s bizarre.”

“I hope you know I hate you more than anyone.”

“And what an honor that is,” she drawls, almost cackling at the look of pure disgust on his face. “I can’t believe I surpassed Sirius. I’m sure he would hate to find out —”

“I could kill you right now.”

She steps closer. “You could try.”

He flinches.

“Making all those threats after what you endured is such a Gryffindor trait.”

His fear morphs into horror. “I am not —”

“Save some love for yourself.” He looks as if he’s about to lunge at her, which only makes her want to continue. “Those wounds are barely healed. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt … again.”

She remembers his screams, the gashes across his stomach mirroring what he did two years ago. In fact, she almost didn’t want to do it, but he’d caught her bribing that Hufflepuff girl to snog Aster Parkinson.

She’s not cruel, though. Despite a pounding headache and a lack of memory — Obliviation can be a handy thing — Aster Parkinson’s affair woke up with mysterious Galleons stashed underneath her bed, only knowing what she did but not who told her to do it.

And Regulus? He suffered not for what he saw, but his actions afterward.

“Sirius knows you did it.”

“And what can he do about it?” She raises a brow. “Go to Dumbledore without the proof you’ll never give?”

“What if I do?”

“Go ahead.” She taps his forehead. “Although, personally, I wouldn’t.”

“It would be worth it. You’d be gone.”

“So would you. Try it, and I’ll rip out your throat.”

“I thought you cared about family.”

“You spent years pretending I was the dirt beneath your shoe.” She laughs, something controlled, yet enough to visibly terrify him. “Why would I give you any grace?”

“I did the best I could —”

“The moment you caught me standing up for myself,” she drawls, “you chose to try and blackmail me. You have never done anything for anyone but yourself.”

“Same for you.”

“At least I’m honest about it.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.” He raises his chin. “Does it?”

“I suppose not,” she admits. “Would you like a round of applause for realizing that?”

He scowls, before: “I want to know who’s next.”

She laughs. “Why? My agenda doesn’t concern you.”

“They’re my fellow Slytherins.”

“Fellow, my arse.” He startles at that. “You certainly have a way with words, grouping yourself with people when it benefits you.”

“Merlin, you talk weird,” he mutters. “You’re pretentious most of the time, but then you’ll say something weirdly normal.”

Her eyes betray nothing, even if every nerve in her body is on fire. Of course he’d realize. As cowardly as Regulus Black is, he’s intelligent, and she’s too exhausted to constantly spout long, beautiful sentences.

“Maybe that’s how I am,” she says vaguely.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs out. “As long as I’m not next.”

“If you’ve learned your lesson, then I have nothing left to do to you,” she says coolly. 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“And as for who’s next,” she murmurs, causing him to perk up at the slightest, “you’ll find out. If all goes well, you’ll see the body soon enough.”

Chapter Text

Hogwarts, October 16th, 1977

She dreams of her mother.

Ava stands in the fog-covered graveyard, tear-stained cheeks shining in the moonlight. Her hand is wrapped around her daughter, and they stare at the gravestone together.

Loving sister, daughter, and friend.

“I promise,” she says, voice rough, “that I’ll avenge her.”

Only her mother hesitates. “I can’t lose you too.”

“No,” says her daughter. She smiles for the first time since her sister passed. “I have her with me. In fact, I’m more like her than I ever was.”

“You’re not her, you’re you —”

She wakes up, panting.

“Your hair is messy,” Aster says from above her. “You should tame it before class.”

“And you,” the dark-haired girl mutters, standing up, “should stop talking before I lose my temper and skin you alive.”

Aster pales. “You wouldn’t.”

“Please. If you could actually defeat me, you’d have murdered me ages ago. I know it, you know it; hell, our entire house knows it.”

“I hate you.”

She sighs. “Something on your mind?”

“What?”

“You don’t talk to me, Aster,” she says bluntly. “Not unless you have something else to say.”

“Fine,” the blonde spits out. “My ex-fiancé asked about you.”

She raises a brow. “Nott?”

“Yes, he —” Aster swallows. “He’s trying to arrange something with your father. If not marriage, then an alliance.”

“He used to bruise me.”

“And now he wants to use you.” For the first time, she feels a pinch of sympathy for the blonde. “Just like he did me.”

“Poor, poor Aster.” A malicious smile forms on her face. “You’ve suffered, haven’t you? With your violent fiancée under your control, despite your abnormal fantasies …”

She snarls out, “You had them too!”

[“It’s not normal,” Aster had sneered, “dating a woman. But you’ve never been normal, have you?”

Carina jutted out her chin. “Shut up.”]

“And what did you do with that information?” When Aster doesn’t speak, only looking away, she sighs. “Tobias Nott is a curse, love. I’d rather die of poison than enter an allyship with him.”

Aster nods mutely. “Good.”

“Don’t worry.” She lifts the blonde’s chin with a finger. “I’ll destroy him.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Tell that to someone who’ll believe you.” A laugh escapes her mouth. “I’ll be fine. He’ll be the one wishing he was dead, about to succumb to his wounds before he’s found, unable to say anything.”

“I — why are you telling me this?”

“Even if you don’t tell a soul, Nott will inevitably find out you know. I’ll be safe, but he’ll come after you.” Her smile widens. “After all, you’re the one who taught me that power is everything.”

Aster trembles. “I hate you.”

“And look what that’s causing you.” Her fingers cup Aster’s cheek. “Eternal suffering, along with the boy you hate more than me.”

“I —” A tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m sorry for what I did.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“I am!”

She drops her hand to her side, and then sighs. “You weren’t apologetic when we last spoke.”

“My life was just ruined.”

“And what were you doing to me, then?” Aster, once again, remains silent. “Does that not count? Personally, I think your fate is karmic. And his will be too.”

Tobias Nott. She has plans for him. While Aster held him by the throat, he always craved to rip his then-fiancée’s victim apart on his own terms. 

“Although,” she hums, “anything you have on him could help.”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

She shrugs, hiding a smile. “You’re already at rock-bottom. You’re disowned, friendless, poor, and without an engagement. The least you could do is drag Nott down with you.”

Something gleams in Aster’s eyes. “I —”

“Think about it.”

“I don’t need to,” Aster says, before she nods. “I have too much on him. Might as well tell you a thing or two.”

Something blooms in her stomach. Aster, despite her ruthless bullying and terror, is easy to trap, easy to bait, and easy to have fall at her feet.

[“Hey, Al, sit with me —”]

“I’m glad to hear it.”

If Remus is one thing, it is not glad. Hiding his suspicions from Sirius — that he is absolutely sure it was his sister who attacked both Regulus and Aster — is killing him on the inside, and would take him out before the full moon did. And yet, he can’t stop looking for her in a crowd, wondering why. What makes her tick? 

And why Aster and Regulus? Back in their fifth year, Sirius told him about the numerous enemies his sister had, and Aster was only one of them. Regulus didn’t even bother her (or acknowledge her, for the matter, as far as he knows). If he could pick anyone for her to go after, it would be Tobias Nott; not only was he Aster’s fiancé, but he hates everyone he deems below him to an extreme, his friend’s sister included.

He can’t help it. Somehow, he’s just as obsessed with her changes as Sirius is. And this fact deeply concerns him.

“Hey,” Lily says, seated next to him, as their DADA professor drones on and on. “Why’re you staring at her?”

Remus rips his eyes away from his Prefect partner’s general direction, frazzled as he looks into Lily’s knowing eyes.

“I’m not staring at Carina,” he mumbles tiredly.

“Didn’t say which her.”

He groans softly. “Fine.”

“You fancy her?” she asks bluntly.

“No.”

She gives him an unconvinced look, before sighing. “Please tell me you’re not suspecting her of anything.”

He pales. “What?”

“Sirius,” she says. “James told me he’s been obsessed.”

“You’re talking to James?”

Lily flushes. “He’s … alright, I guess.”

“He’d be thrilled to hear that,” Remus says honestly. 

“I’m sure he would,” she mutters. “Anyway. Carina. She’s nice, Remus. I had a conversation with her the other day, and sure, I can’t understand half the words she uses, but I can tell she means well.”

Wow, he wants to say, you have horrible judgement.

But he says nothing, only nodding.

“Good.” She gives him a smile. “Remember, patrol tonight, with the girl you apparently don’t fancy. Don’t mess it up.”

He blinks. “Why would I?”

She waves her hand. “You’re James's friend for a reason.”

Remus hides his laugh behind his scarred hand. Professor Rosier doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes directed at the back of the classroom. Clearly, she’s bored as well.

The rest of the class involves more than half the students attempting to stay awake, which Remus fails. Sirius practically drags Remus out of the classroom, gives him a pep talk about how to subtly interrogate his sister (which Remus doesn’t need, as she’ll see through all of it), before dropping him off at the library.

“Thinking about something?”

He groans, head smashed in a pile of parchment. His very patrol partner is standing in front of him, and an amused smile on painted red lips.

“Lily said you might be here,” she says in explanation. “We’re already five minutes late, and I don’t want to sleep late tonight.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, scrambling to pack up his parchment.

She snickers, reaching down to help with his parchment. Their fingers brush each other at the slightest, but neither of them retract their arm. Remus doesn’t know if it’s a coincidence or a challenge, but he’ll accept either way.

“Have you read any Nancy Drew recently?” he asks.

Usually, when he patrols with his other partners, there’s a slight distance between them. Today, he’s only a few centimetres away from her, making sure to brush their shoulders every now and then. She doesn’t seem to mind, reciprocating the gesture.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I wish, but I just don’t have the time. I didn’t think I’d be so busy, but I suppose life will find a way.”

“N.E.W.T.s are coming up,” Remus says wisely. “Personally, I couldn’t give less of a shit.”

She snickers. “I feel the same.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I don’t care much for marks, as long as I understand and learn everything properly.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

“Pardon?”

“After Hogwarts,” he clarifies. “I mean, you can only apply to certain jobs with certain N.E.W.T.s and all.”

“Ah. Would you believe me if I said I wanted to work with muggles?”

His eyes widen. “You do?”

“Yes,” she says softly. “Either that, or teach. I think nurturing young minds could be fascinating. If I have the choice to push children into becoming better versions of themselves, I’d gladly take it.”

“You’d make a good teacher.”

“Empty flattery will get you nowhere,” she says immediately. “Not with me.”

“That’s why you’d make a good teacher.” He gives her a crooked grin. “You don’t take any bullshit.”

She turns away. He can’t help but smirk at the sight of her reddened ears.

“How do you do that?” she asks softly.

He blinks. “Do what?”

“Catch me off guard.”

It’s ironic how that sentence catches him off guard. He opens and closes his mouth, mumbling a curse when she laughs at him, her ears still red. He’s pretty sure his ears are red too, and that she can see it as well.

“Sorry,” she says unapologetically, her lips still curved upwards. “I was being genuine.”

“So am I.” He nudges her shoulder once more. “I don’t mean to catch you off guard. Apparently, I just do.”

“Naturally talented,” she says wryly.

“Only one out of many.”

“Oh?” Her eyes are on his, brown on brown. “What other talents do you have?”

He swallows. “I —”

“Flirting with a Gryffindor, Allen?”

She turns sharply, her wand immediately pointed in front of her. “Outside of curfew, Mulciber?”

Mulciber has the audacity to grin, yellow teeth glinting in the candlelight. Remus, however, still feels a flush on his neck. 

“The perfect Prefect telling me what to do. Didn’t know the day would come.”

She cocks her head. “The day I’d put you in your place?”

“The day the bastard Black would be a Prefect.”

Remus raises an eyebrow, touching her arm gently. She turns to him briefly, shaking her head, before her eyes narrow. It’s as if she’s a completely different person, three more walls added to her already cold exterior.

“Well,” she says softly, “the day has come. You’re lucky I don’t like to abuse my power.” She laughs, then, at her own statement. “I’m just joking. I’ll see you next week in detention for breaking curfew. Insult me again, and I’ll refer you to the Head. Do not test me, Mulciber.”

He steps closer. “You’ll pay for this.”

Remus points his wand towards him. “You can try.”

“He won’t,” she murmurs. “He knows what will happen.”

“You can’t duel for shit, Carina,” he sneers. “That night proved it. Perhaps I truly am the better suitor for —”

Remus pales, the back of his neck ice cold as she lunges at Mulciber, slamming him against a wall to the right. She digs her wand into his throat, rage contorting her every feature.

She looks monstrous, just like him. Even as he cautiously watches, preparing to step in, he can’t help but admire the way her eyebrows are furrowed.

“Your parents’ opulence is saving you,” she hisses, “not your wit or intellect. Never forget your roots, because that is the only strength you and the rest of your friends have.”

Mulciber screams insults at her, but none seems to affect her the way her words affected him. And when she laughs, Remus feels a chill down his spine.

It almost feels like butterflies.

“Two detentions,” Remus says finally.

She lets Mulciber go, eyes narrow into slits. “We can make it three if you do not get out of my sight.”

He does, not before calling her a bastard once more.

“He’s … a character,” Remus says finally.

“No, I —” She shakes her head. “I lost my cool. If he was someone else, I’d apologize. But I am apologetic towards you, Remus. You shouldn’t have had to —”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s —”

“It’s alright,” he insists. “He was provoking you. He learned his lesson.”

“You are …” Her eyes crinkle when she laughs, and he finds himself grinning at the smile lines on her cheeks. “... a terrible influence.”

His grin widens. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“And not the last time.” 

“Oh? I get more of your marvelous company?”

“That better not be sarcasm, Lupin.” The warning is dimmed by her glowing eyes. “I find that I’m rather delightful.”

“Debatable.”

Her gasp turns into another laugh. “Wow. I see how it is.”

“Yeah.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Maybe you’re more than delightful.”

She turns to him. “Really?”

Her tone is dry, but he nods. “Really.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” she teases.

“And not the last time,” he echoes.

Her face is already beautiful, but her locks of hair fall past her face in a way that reminds him of ocean waves. In fact, she reminds him of the sea: calm and once, turbulent the next. An unpredictable force, but something he’s drawn to regardless.

“I, uh —” He clears his throat. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to. I swear.”

“An invasive question?” she guesses.

“Yeah,” he says bluntly. “Mulciber mentioned something about a night …”

“Remus,” she says, her smile dimming.

His stomach drops. He misses it on her face already.

“I can already guess what happened,” he says softly. “It’s just … he said something about being a suitor. And there were rumours about you and Pandora.”

“Ah.” She exhales. “I like both men and women, if you must know. Mulciber has always been … perverted towards Pandora and upset at the rumours of the two of us. That being said, it isn’t like Pandora was on my side, either.”

He gawks at her. “What?”

Her heartbeat’s slightly off, but he senses she’s telling at least a partial truth.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” She shakes her head. “I never got the full story, especially since she dropped out. Might not ever get it. But she also left me hopeless in the end, just like everyone else in my house.”

He inhales. All of this information … she’s just willingly giving it away to him, even if some of it is wrapped in lies? Why?

“You could find out. Visit her over winter break.”

“She did invite me,” she muses as their patrol comes to a close. “I didn’t want to see her face. I thought I would punch her if I did. At least I knew the others despised me. I thought she did not.”

“She could give you answers,” he says. “And if you want, I could go with you?”

“That’s kind of you to offer, Remus.”

He shrugs. “I want to.”

“You’re a good person.” 

She’s turned away, but he senses her irregular heartbeat. Unlike the information about Pandora, where she was being truthful, she’s fully lying.

Oh. She doesn’t think he’s a good person.

He remembers the day on the Hogwarts Express, James telling him that she can’t possibly know his secret, that he becomes a monster in the full moon, that he wasn’t there the night she was beaten bloody and blue last year. 

But what if he was? What if she knew, and Merlin, what if she hated him for it?

“You too,” he says, lying as well.

Her smile is strained. “Good night, Remus.”

He nods, watching her back. “Good night, Carina.”