𝐓𝐄𝐍

" it'll all work out "

✤ ✾ ✤

. . . DECEMBER, 1975

AS MAEVE walked back through Mayfair, she felt impossibly light.

Everything around her was a wonder. The scent of coffee outside of the neat little cafés. The late afternoon sun that was trying to peek through the grey clouds. The Christmas carols echoing faintly through shop doors. Possibility had opened its arms to her once again, and Maeve had already begun to dream.

Katerina had introduced her to two of her friends. One was called Annie, a witch who now taught a course on history at the University College in London. The other went strictly by his last name, Henderson. He had worked in the Ministry for three years before deciding to go to university and enter the Muggle workforce. The three of them together were wonderfully eccentric and they welcomed Maeve as if she was one of their own and not a fifteen-year-old with enormous dreams.

They had told her boundless stories of their lives. Maeve wanted to write everything down and collect it in a small novel, and she left them feeling as if she was fully understood. It was wonderful and freeing and erased all of her doubt.

"This is your life," Katerina had told her as she hugged her goodbye. "It is what you make of it."

There was a small set of market stalls at the end of the brick road. People were selling Christmas wreaths and cinnamon candles beneath awnings of bright green and red. Maeve stopped in front of one of the booths, fishing her Muggle pounds out of her purse at the sight of a jar of golden honey, which was her Aunt Josey's favorite. She thanked the stall keeper and tucked the jar into the deep pocket of her long coat. It would be the perfect gift.

A shout of annoyance rippled up through the air. Maeve turned, expecting to see shoppers at arms with each other. The holidays did crazy things to people's impulse control. Curiously, a plume of smoke was rising at the end of the stalls. She had been too oblivious to notice at first but she saw them now. Fear clasped cold hands around her throat. Three cloaked figures stood at the end of the alley way with the backdrop of flames and the sound of rising screams.

Death Eaters.

Her first instinct was to run. Several people had already had a similar idea. Maeve was jostled and shoved as panicked Muggles hurried past and away from the brunt of the danger. The jar of honey slipped from her pocket and onto the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces of glass. She had seen tens of photographs of scenes like this in the past few years as reports had populated the Daily Prophet. Folding the newspaper and putting it away had been enough to ease the largest worries. It had all felt very far off.

It was real now.

Maeve turned and ducked behind the brick wall just as another ear-splitting explosion of magic echoed in the alley way. Neon green light flashed with blinding clarity. Wood splintered and flew through the air, clattering against the ground. There was a loud crack of three people apparating away. When Maeve stood again, they were gone.

Carefully and quietly, she picked her way through the wreckage. "Finite Incendio," she whispered, discreetly pointing her wand at the flames. They died down to ashes. There was enough magic bouncing around; the Ministry wouldn't be able to detect the simple spell against what she was sure had been the Killing Curse.

At first, she saw nothing. She had been wrong. The green light was something else, a different spell. But then she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight in front of her.

Maeve tried not to look at the body that now lay lifeless on the cobblestone ground. A pale, bloodied hand was outstretched as if reaching for something it could never have. She quickly averted her gaze. She should leave. She should be running away. If she was still nearby when the police arrived–attention was never a good thing.

"Help, please," a voice croaked. "Please."

People were picking their way through the wreckage, but only she was near enough to hear the woman crying out. It was unfair to all of them that a world they had no knowledge of was waging war.

Maeve dropped her bag on the ground and began lifting pieces of wood, carefully hefting up the stall wall that was trapping the woman's leg. She was startlingly young, and even with the dust smeared across her cheeks, Maeve knew she couldn't have been older than twenty.

"Thank you," she rasped, unable to tear her stare away from the man's body that lay on the ground. Maeve helped her as she limped, slinging one of the girl's skinny arms across her shoulders and pulling her over to the waiting crowd. An elderly woman with the same dark skin and coily hair as the girl pulled her out of Maeve's grasp and into her arms. Both of them were in tears. The woman made eye contact with Maeve and nodded once, her brown eyes flooded with relief.

Police sirens rang in the distance. Maeve snatched up her discarded bag and bolted down the other end of the alley. She didn't stop running until she was all the way to the train station. The journey back to South London was a blur of color and sound. It was a miracle that she even changed trains in the right place.

When she arrived back in Norbury, exhaustion dragged at her. Her coat was covered in dust and grime. With a shaking hand, she knocked on the door. Josey threw it open as if she had been waiting right next to it.

"Maeve. Merlin, I was so worried. There was an explosion in a market stall in Mayfair, they're already talkin' about it on the radio." Her aunt paused and took in the sight of her. "Maeve?"

"It wasn't an explosion," Maeve whispered.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Josey pulled her inside and shut the door, "so you were there when it happened?"

"I was," she said horsley. Again and again, she saw that flash of bright green light. "There were three of them. Death Eaters. They-they killed a man."

And then the tears began and Maeve could no longer speak. Aunt Josey looked somewhere between shocked and afraid, but she asked no further questions of her niece. She only pulled the girl into her arms and held her as uncontrollable sobs of shock wracked her body.

✤

CHRISTMAS in the Byrne household was a subdued affair that year.

By the morning of December twenty-fifth, stories of the market stall murder were plastered all over the Daily Prophet. Aoife and Maeve had decided it would be better not to tell their parents the truth of the matter. It wouldn't do any of them good now.

She and Aoife sat in front of the fireplace drinking mugs of tea. The rest of the house was still asleep. It was only the two of them and Serafina the cat, who was curled in a fluffy white ball.

"Aoife, you have got to stop staring at me," Maeve told her sister sternly. Sleep still deepened her voice.

"I know, I know," Aoife huffed. "I'm worried about you, Maeve. You've barely said a word since we got home."

"I just keep seeing that flash of light," Maeve murmured, staring into the flames. Gifts wrapped in brown butcher paper and twine were sitting neatly beneath the tree. All five of their stockings hung above the fireplace.

"Give it time," Aoife told her. "And stop reading those articles in the Prophet. It isn't helping you any."

But Maeve needed to know every single angle of the situation in order to understand it. Research and rumination had always been a kind of solace for her. "That was the fifth attack this month. And that's only the ones we know about. Can you imagine how many people have suffered in silence?"

"I worry that this is only the beginning," Aoife said. Such terrifying words to breathe into the air of Christmas morning. "This is why I want to become an Auror. To protect people from such awful things."

Footsteps creaked on the staircase. She and Aoife put on the most cheerful expressions they could muster as their dad stepped into view.

"Happy Christmas girls!"

"Happy Christmas, dad," they said at the same time.

"You two are up early," he laughed. He was wearing tartan pajamas and a red wool Santa hat that Aoife had knitted for him the previous year. Seeing him in all of his joy was jarring. Did he not know that he was in the gravest danger of all of them? "Now, who wants eggs?"

If there was one thing that Liam Byrne could not do, it was cook. Still, every year for Christmas he attempted to make them a full Irish. Last year, the tomatoes had burned and the sausage was so charred, it looked like a charcoal brick. So this time, Maeve and Aoife helped in the kitchen. Once their ma awoke, she too joined in. All of it was finished and sitting on the table by the time Sorcha decided to grace them with her presence.

Normally, Maeve would have said something scathing. Sorcha rarely helped unless it was convenient. Instead, she simply grabbed her plate, sat down at the table, and inhaled her eggs.

Once the presents had been opened and the table cleared, Maeve was back upstairs in her room. No music spun on her record player today, even though she had just received Joni Mitchell's newest album from Aoife. Instead, she listened to the sounds of the house. Her ma laughed downstairs. The chickens shuffled out in the field. Tory barked. Sleet began to patter on the roof. And then there were three sharp raps on the glass of her window.

Oat flew in and deposited a singular letter on her desk. It was odd. She had already received gifts from all of her friends, and even Katerina had sent a letter asking after her and hoping she hadn't been near the site of the accident in Mayfair.

Oat didn't ask for treats. Maeve sat down at her desk chair, and the owl hooted softly, nuzzling his soft head against her cheek. Small tears began to roll down her cheeks. Fear was not something she was accustomed to, but she felt it now.

"Happy Christmas, Oat," she said softly.

Oat only watched and waited as she picked up the envelope. It read only her name in cramped, slanted script. She tore it gently open and pulled the small stack of parchment into her hand.

Byrne,

I hope your inevitable headache has lessened after the festivities at the Celtic Harp. I have never seen someone become so incredibly sloshed so quickly. I commend you for it. But I promise this letter is strictly business, so you can quit frowning at my audacity to send you a letter at all.

Maeve paused there and schooled her expression. It was unnerving how quickly he had picked up on her mannerisms.

I've sent along some notes on our progress with the Animagus business thus far. Peter kept very detailed records for reasons I couldn't fathom at the time but I'm glad for now. I thought it would be helpful for you to read through them before school starts up again. Hopefully, you can solve what we couldn't on our own. We have come quite far, but you'll find the directions are rather cryptic and misleading.

Depending on when this letter reaches you, the first portion of my end of the deal will have already arrived.

Happy Christmas,

Sirius Black

Maeve looked up from his messy handwriting, slightly confused. Then something exploded with a loud bang in the other room and Sorcha let out a banshee-like screech.

Dried tears pinched at her cheeks as Maeve finally smiled. "Happy Christmas, indeed."

✤

. . . JANUARY, 1976

IT was 1976. A new year that would bring fresh possibilities. As the glasses were emptied and the table cleared on New Year's day, Maeve had promised herself that this year would not be marred by the way the previous one had ended. When she fell asleep at night she was still sometimes greeted with the bright flash of green light, but as her classes began anew, her mind was filled to the brim with different worries.

"Your O.W.L examinations will come in June. Though this may seem far off, it is remarkably soon in the scheme of things!" Flitwick squeaked. He stood at the head of their Charms class on Tuesday morning. The entire room was filled with tired yawns. "This is the time to begin your revision in earnest! For some of you, there is still time to turn things around and reach for that O."

And Maeve could have sworn he looked directly at her.

As the rest of the class perfected their Slowing Charms on apples and oranges, Elara had her head in her hands. "I can't believe we all have to meet with Flitwick again for career advising," Elara muttered. "How am I to know what classes I want to take next term? It isn't going to matter if I fail all my O.W.Ls, anyway."

"It's practical," Mimi told her, leaning back from the seat in front of them.

"You have nothing to worry about," Maeve assured Elara. "I, on the other hand, will be lucky if I scrape by with more than a Troll."

"Miss Byrne," Flitwick said, catching her attention. Before she could respond and apologize for talking (again), he threw one of the apples straight at her.

"Arresto Momentum!" Maeve shouted, pointing her wand. The apple came to a complete stop two inches from her face. The Slytherin boy nearest to her began to snicker.

"Excellent work," Flitwick said, pleased. Flitwick, for all of his pointed stares, still believed in her. "You work well under pressure, Miss Byrne."

Elara's mouth was wide open with a silent laugh. "Well this is a new tactic!"

"Unfortunately, I don't think anyone will be throwing apples at me during the examination," Maeve told her. If only it were so simple. The practical parts were easy. It was the writing and memorization, the things that she didn't have time to dedicate herself to, that were the real trouble.

"So you really can't come tonight?" Mimi whined, twisting around again on her stool once Flitwick had walked away. "We only just got back, how can you already have studying to do?"

"It's for Trinity, I'm sure," Avanti butted in. Maeve could hardly tell if she was kidding or truly irritated.

"I promise, next time I won't miss it," Maeve told them.

That evening, Avanti, Elara and Mimi were having their first game night of the term. It was tradition. They stole snacks from the kitchens, busted out their small stash of Firewhiskey, and had a spread of puzzles, Muggle cards, and Exploding Snap. Maeve had pleaded busy and said she couldn't join, as she would be in the library studying. It was partly true; she would be in the library.

But tonight was the first meeting of what Sirius had dubbed the ATF, which was code for the even more ridiculous name of the Animagus Task Force. He had run into her earlier after breakfast in the Great Hall and pressed the note into her palm that told her when and where to meet them in the cramped, nearly unreadable script of his handwriting.

She was exhausted by this term already.

✤

THAT night, all four of them sat in the secluded, dusty corner of the library. So far, they hadn't said a word. Maeve kept looking over her shoulder, sure that at any second, someone was going to peel around the corner and find her seated with Hogwarts biggest troublemakers. It was the last thing her already spotty reputation needed.

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with us, or something?" James finally asked. It was bold of him to speak first; Maeve knew he had given Sorcha his full support after the Bludger incident. And she knew that though Sirius had accepted they needed another person's help, James had not entirely agreed. And even if he had, Maeve was last on his list.

"I am, actually," Maeve told him bluntly.

"Thank you for your honesty," James told her through gritted teeth.

"I'm sure it's very refreshing to have someone tell you the truth instead of kissing your arse."

He scoffed. "Says you. You're hiding out with us and pretending you're too good for it."

"I'm not pretending," Maeve replied sharply. She was entirely a hypocrite; she was nearly as bad as the rest of them. But she was not about to admit it now. "I don't want to be lumped in with the likes of you."

"Then why are you here?" James challenged, his eyes narrowing.

"Alright!" Peter shouted, surprising both of them with the strength of his voice. Madam Pince poked her long nose around the corner and shushed them all. "Enough, please," Peter said softly.

James and Maeve finally shut their mouths.

"Well, now that this meeting is called to order," Sirius sighed. He sat across from Maeve with an arm draped over the back of the chair. "We need to talk about the matter of you two."

"Us?" James and Maeve said at the same time.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yes, you. We aren't going to get anywhere if the two of you can't put your differences aside."

James snorted. "Are you mental? I told you it wasn't a good idea to bring her into this."

"As if you had any choice," Maeve laughed coldly.

James said nothing but crossed his arms. "Fine. We'll be civil."

"Fine," Maeve repeated.

"Excellent," Sirius continued, their cheery captain of an already sinking ship. "First things first, we can't keep meeting here. It's too public."

"What about the common room?" Peter suggested.

"That wouldn't be obvious at all," Maeve snorted. When Peter shrank back, she instantly regretted the barb in her tone.

"I know where we can go," James droned.

Sirius grinned, as if he had only been waiting for him to bring it up. "Alright, it's settled."

"Hold on," Maeve said, holding out her hands. "Where?"

Ten minutes later, they stood in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. It was located in a humid corridor that no longer held classes. As such, it wasn't well traveled. The tapestry itself was a dusty image of a wizard conducting trolls in a pink ballet tutus.

"Interesting choice," Maeve murmured.

James just shot her another glare. "What we're about to show you is completely secret. If you tell anyone–"

"I'm not going to tell anyone about your secret clubhouse," Maeve interrupted.

James looked ready to hex her, but Sirius cut him off by moving the tapestry aside and tapping a light pattern with his wand. The bricks began to spin and move out of the way until a doorway stood in its place.

The room was small with a sloped ceiling. It was tidy with a few worn but comfortable armchairs, three wooden crates used as tables, and a large red and gold rug. The enchanted candles on the wall sconces glowed brightly, casting a warm, flickering glow. The one thing that wasn't plain were the walls, which were nearly as covered as Maeve's were in her bedroom at home. It was a wild assortment of Quidditch posters, Muggle bands, and a motorcycle poster featuring a woman in a ridiculous fluorescent bikini. The space was decisively male and overwhelmingly Gryffindor.

"How on earth did you manage this?" Maeve said.

"Impressed?" Sirius grinned.

"No," she lied.

"We found it in our second year. It's been ours ever since. Remus knows about it as well, naturally, but you two will not be crossing paths."

Maeve began to count the sheer number of lies she had already told to keep this plan a secret. There were too many loose threads for her liking. Remus would be the first one to grow suspicious of all of this.

Maeve took a seat on the couch nearest to her. They had already wasted enough time tonight. "When are you planning on starting with the mandrake leaves again?"

"Ah, the mandrake leaves," James sighed, leaning back on the sofa.

Maeve narrowed her eyes. "You do have them, don't you?"

"We ate them all," Peter said mournfully.

Maeve stared at a Puddlemere United poster. The players whizzed past in their robes of blue. "You ate them all."

"You did read the notes, didn't you?" Sirius said.

"I did, but I assumed you would be ready to try again."

The notes had detailed every time they had failed at the first stage of the process. It entailed holding a mandrake leaf in one's mouth for an entire month. According to the notes, during one of their early attempts Peter had accidentally swallowed it on the first day, but had failed to tell Sirius for a week. Another time, they had reached day twenty-nine when James sneezed too hard and blew it into his pumpkin juice.

Then there was the time they had made it to the one-month mark. At this point, the directions said to place the leaf in a phial and add a single strand of one's hair. Then into the phial must also be added a " drop of dew taken from a place that has not been touched by sunlight or feet for at least seven days". The interpretation here had been rocky. The boys had tried all combinations thus far: dew that had been untouched for seven days added once, untouched dew added seven days in a row, and even a silver teaspoon left alone for seven days. They had ruled out many combinations as being incorrect, but had yet to find the correct one.

"We can take care of the mandrake leaves," James told her. "Professor Sprout is starting that section of Herbology with the second years, so there'll be plenty in the greenhouses. We'll go down with the invisibility cloak this weekend."

"And what about the Death's-head hawkmoth chrysalis?" Maeve asked. That was to be used in the step after the silver teaspoon of dew.

James lost some of his easy confidence. "Er, yeah, that's another thing. Those aren't kept in any of the school's stores of potions ingredients."

"I've never even heard of such a thing," Maeve admitted.

"We've scoured every book in the library for information about them, but we couldn't find anything," James said. "We even went into the Restricted Section."

Maeve thought for a second. "Did you try lookin' in Magical Lepidoptera?"

Sirius frowned at her. "Leprosy?"

"Lepidoptera. Butterflies? A Comprehensive Study of Magical Insects and Their Life Cycles?"

"Is that light bedtime reading for you?" James said, bewildered.

Maeve ignored him. "Elara has a copy of it. I'll take a look tonight and see what I can find."

"We can't get too far ahead of ourselves, though," Sirius reminded her. "The issue with the Mandrake leaves is also how long it takes to get it right for the whole month. It's part of the reason why we still haven't figured out the answer to the second step. We can hardly reach it."

"We've done it eight times!" James defended.

"Seven, according to Peter's notes," Maeve corrected. "Which were very well-written, by the way." Peter flushed crimson and beamed. "Have you ever read why you have to hold the Mandrake leaf in your mouth for a whole month?"

"To marinate it in spit," James said.

Maeve glared at him. "It's also to maintain control and stability over the transformation. To prove your dedication to the process."

"You talk about it like it's a living thing," Peter said, shifting uncomfortably.

"It is. That's why it's such a difficult task. You're essentially merging yourself with an animal that exists outside of you. In order to become it, you have to form a stable connection with it first."

"So do you think there's a way to make it easier to hold the mandrake leaf for a month?" Sirius asked, leaning forward.

"Tampering with it could risk messing up the actual transformation, though," Peter reasoned. Out of the three of them, he was the only one who acted appropriately apprehensive.

"Sure look, there's always a loophole," Maeve said. "There have been hundreds of advances in technology since the original directions were transcribed." Wizard directions almost always discounted the potential of Muggle sciences to be of use. Maeve had just spent months reading about chemistry; perhaps it might even be able to help them now.

"Is this all just a plot to try and mess with us?" James asked, half joking and half accusing.

"It isn't," Maeve said defensively. She had already had enough of him. His arrogance was suffocating.

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"At least I'd be discreet. You Gryffindors tend to just use an entire Bludger when you try and off a person."

"It was a Quidditch game, Byrne. People get hit with Bludgers from time to time."

"Not after the final whistle."

"It was an accident. You lot had already cheated to get ahead in the match–"

"Cheated? I can't believe how sore of a loser you are."

This time, it was Sirius who shouted, "Enough! Would you two lay off each other?"

Maeve stared at James who had a rather smug look on his face. She had never doubted that Lily Evans disliked the boy for a good reason, but now she understood it for herself. "I want an apology," she decided.

"For what?" James spat.

"For defendin' Sorcha."

"Byrne–" Sirius sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Maeve stood now. "It isn't askin' very much." To Sirius, she said, "Or would you like to keep defendin' her as well? Because that's what you're doing every time you tell me to shut up."

They all stared between each other until James finally said, "This is ridiculous, I'm not apologizing to you."

Maeve snatched her bag up off the ground. "Good luck, then."

And she left the room without another word.

✤ ✾ ✤

a/n Maeve saying 'good luck, then' is to the tune of 'good luck, babe!' btw 💃

When I originally started this story I was thinking it was going to be a real enemies to lovers but as I've written more it's made sense for Sirius and Maeve to be stubborn-grudgers-to-lovers. Don't get me wrong, they're definitely going to have their moments where they butt heads (they already have lol), but as far as dynamics go it makes far more sense to me that James and Maeve would be at each other's throats. They have a lot of overlap and James is (unfortunately) good friends with Sorcha because of Quidditch. Sirius is a lot more removed and less entrenched in the idea that Sorcha is in the right. 

 You'll see in the next chapter what life is like in Gryffindor tower with Sorcha around, which I'm so excited for. It's gonna give a lot more scope to the sides of the story!