𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

" magpies "

✤ ✾ ✤

. . . APRIL, 1973

IN THE spring of Maeve's second year at Hogwarts, everything changed.

After a first year spent realizing that her twin sister no longer wanted to be seen with her, Maeve had finally found where she belonged. She had a best friend in a Pureblooded witch called Elara Harvey, and two other friends in the form of Avanti Singh and Miriam Green. The four of them were almost inseparable; they studied together, ate in the Great Hall together, walked between classes together. Never had she felt less alone. Maeve had not only earned a spot on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team—she had secured it with such skill that Hamish, the team captain, declared her the best Beater Ravenclaw had seen in years.

The victory was sweeter still knowing that Sorcha, who had tried out for the Gryffindor team, had been cut without a second thought.

All year long, Sorcha and Maeve Bynre had been locked in a prank war. Their older sister Aoife saw it as a silly game between twelve year olds, but to Sorcha and Maeve, it was life or death. Sorcha had swapped out Maeve's wand for a rubber joke wand in Charms when Maeve hadn't been looking. Maeve had charmed Sorcha's shoes to make duck noises with each step in retaliation. Sorcha had cast a Hiccuping Jinx on Maeve, which was one of her favorites, and Maeve had cast a Tongue-Tying Jinx to get back at her. On and on it went. Sometimes, Maeve even found it entertaining. It at least proved that Sorcha was still willing to engage with her on some level. The thought was almost comforting.

But that idea had been absolutely shattered when Sorcha grew bored of the pranks after the Christmas holidays. Maeve couldn't quite place what had happened. There were moments—quick glances and furrowed brows—that made Maeve wonder if something else was troubling her sister.

By the time the ground had thawed and flowers were starting to bloom, Sorcha's tactics had changed. Gossip. The one weapon that Maeve could not match. Her wit was nothing compared to the popularity and charm that her sister commanded. Sorcha's rumors were living things that grew and morphed with every passing day. In her sister's tales, Maeve became a joke that had cheated her way onto the Quidditch team. Hamish, ever the temperamental captain, had told Maeve that she would lose her spot if the stories continued no matter how many times she told him they were lies.

Maeve decided it was time to meet fire with fire.

Last week, the Quidditch Cup was stolen from Professor Flitwick's office. The Ravenclaws were in an uproar; it was the first time it had been won in years. To think that someone had the audacity to take it was unheard of. To know that it hadn't been found in seven days was unthinkable.

But Maeve knew exactly where it was. She had stolen it, after all.

After seven agonizing days of hoping no one would catch her, she continued on with the next phase of her plan. Elara, the only person she had told, had warned her that it was too risky. But Maeve hadn't wanted to listen. She had charmed the trophy to be invisible with relative difficulty and was currently carrying it right up to the main entrance of Gryffindor tower.

Finding a disguise had been far easier than swiping the Quidditch Cup from Flitwick's office. She had gone down into the humidity of the laundry rooms and swiped a Gryffindor tie and gold and red trimmed robe from the piles of clean clothes. Though there was little she could do about her face, her hair was charmed to be several shades lighter. It was now nearly blonde instead of its usual brown. The matter of the password hadn't been hard to come by, either.

"Cor Nobile," she whispered to the Fat Lady. Though the painted woman looked on with disdain, the portrait swung open.

Where the Ravenclaw common room was a vision of blue-hued peace, the Gryffindor common room was red and gold chaos. No students lingered at this hour, but there was plenty of evidence of them. In front of a yawning fireplace sat dozens of red sofas. Every inch of the walls were covered in tapestries and paintings and the lion emblem was everywhere her startled eyes looked.

She hefted up the invisible trophy up to get a better grip and made her way to the girl's dormitory. Last summer, Sorcha had described the Gryffindor common room in painful detail to Aoife and Maeve, who had been bored to tears. Luckily, Maeve had listened long enough to hear the story of the charmed staircase of the girls' dorms that would turn into a slide if it were walked on by a boy. She clambered swiftly up it now. Her footsteps were light, soundless. When she came upon the second floor landing, she softly pushed open the door.

There were five girls dead asleep in the room. Sorcha's bed was in the middle. Every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet seemed deafening, and she winced with each step, her heart hammering in her chest. If even one of them stirred, it would all be over. A red-haired girl in the bed nearest to the door turned in her sleep, but didn't wake.

As Maeve stood before Sorcha's bed, she hesitated. Her fingers gripped the silver handles of the trophy. The sight of Sorcha walking away from her after the Sorting flickered in her mind. All of the pranks, all of the petty fights, all of it was only to keep Sorcha's attention. To make a bid for her sister's friendship. What if this pushed Sorcha away for good?

But then she remembered the sneer on Sorcha's face as they passed each other in the hall. The righteousness in her eyes as she doled out lies like they were sweet candy. The Gryffindors already thought themselves the favored house; Sorcha managed to take it to an entirely different level.

Maeve tucked the half-visible Quidditch cup underneath Sorcha's bed. By the time it was found, the charm would be worn off. Hopefully.

Her heart raced all the way down the stairs, out of the common room, and back down the halls toward Ravenclaw tower. Even as she shucked off the Gryffindor robes, Maeve felt no relief. There was no satisfaction in this. No true reward.

So the next day when a first year told Flitwick that they had heard the older girls whispering that Sorcha Byrne had stolen the cup, Maeve's heart sank. Sorcha had detention for a week for a frivolous prank, and the rumor mill immediately began to churn out a hundred stories from a hundred people claiming they had never trusted that Gryffindor girl, anyway. No one aside from Elara knew what had truly happened.

No one except for Sorcha. Maeve knew with certainty that Sorcha hadn't been fooled for a second. Elara had warned Maeve that it was a terrible idea. To get back at Sorcha in such a brutal way would end terribly for both of them.

And how right she had been. With every new escalation that would come from their next years at Hogwarts, Maeve knew she only had herself to blame. It took two to fight, as the saying went, but she had been the first to take the leap. 

✤

. . . JANUARY, 1976

FILLEANN an feall ar an bhfeallaire.

Treachery returns to the betrayer. The phrase had been running laps in Maeve's mind ever since the night in the library. It had been unearthed from the recesses of her memory, pulled back to life by the stolen, ink stained page that she had read so many times, she no longer needed to look at it. Forwards and back, she still marveled at the ease with which she could read the rise and fall of the Irish words.

When they were in primary school, she and Sorcha used to sit across from each other at the worn wood of the kitchen table and try to talk to each other in Irish. Maeve remembered it always being so much easier to read than it was to speak when she was little. They would shout words at each other back and forth until they dissolved into fits of laughter. Neither of them dreamed of the future; all they needed was sitting right across the table.

Maeve had to wonder if Sorcha could still read Irish. It was inexplicable how easily it had come to her. But treachery always returned to the betrayer. She could ask Sorcha nothing now. All she had left were the words.

And the words spun like dancers as she stirred the alginate mixture in the room behind the tapestry. After Maeve had added her calcium chloride solution, it had thickened up nicely. Tonight, she was dipping, coating, and setting the leaves out on a stolen dinner plate to dry. It was easy to become lost in the methodical nature of the task. James and Sirius were arguing about Puddlemere United's chances for the Quidditch World Cup, paying her hardly any mind. After she had yelled at James for stirring incorrectly, they elected to let her finish the mixture on her own.

Peter sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, chin balanced on a thoughtful fist. He was watching and listening in silence until he asked, "Maeve?"

"Hm?" she responded, more concentrated on avoiding any clumps of the gel-like film as she dipped the second leaf.

"Did you ever want to become an Animagus?"

Maeve looked up to find Sirius now watching her closely as she answered Peter's question. "Maybe when I was younger. I think nearly everyone is keen to try when they first learn about it. But no, I don't think I'd want to do it now. With my luck, I'd transform into a fish."

James laughed. Ever since their exchange in Astronomy, there was a new level of peace between them. Admitting to being behind the Quidditch Cup incident had miraculously given him a new respect for her. "Your patronus is a fish?"

Maeve made a face. "If you did any reading at all you would know that the form one transforms into when becoming an Animagus is not always the same as their Patronus. The more similar they are, the more intrinsically aligned a witch or wizard is said to be. But a Patronus can change over time depending on what your happiest memory is. The Animagus form never changes."

"What is your Patronus, anyway?" James asked, unable to quell his curiosity.

They had begun practicing the charm last week. It was all anyone could talk about. But the Ravenclaws had Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins, so James hadn't seen Maeve cast hers. It was considered an incredibly advanced piece of magic, but there were a handful of people who had been able to cast it.  Elara had conjured a pine marten, and Avanti had managed a large stallion.  Maeve hadn't been very good at the charm; it was difficult to hold onto her happiest memory. Not once had she successfully casted it. All she had managed was the wisp of a patterned bird wing. That had been enough to tell what the pale form was attempting to become.

"A magpie," she told him.  

Peter perked up. "Is it really? Sorcha's is a magpie, too. Do you think all twins have the same Patronus?"

"Sorcha's is a magpie?" Maeve repeated quietly. Sirius was still staring at her from his spot on the couch and he looked as if he wanted to say something, but the conversation had already moved on.

"So then what would be worse?" James said, standing up and holding his hands out in front of him. "To be a fish, or to be an elephant as an animagi?"

"A fish," Peter said after a few seconds of thought. "You'd be so limited."

"But if you're an elephant, you wouldn't be able to blend in hardly anywhere. You'd have to live in a zoo," James said.

"Or maybe the savanna, which is where elephants actually live," Sirius told him lazily. "A zoo? Really?"

James hardly listened. "But an elephant would be wicked. Can you imagine just being able tower over everyone? No one would get in your way again."

"So maybe the elephant is better," Peter said, shifting his opinion.

"I think the fish is far more useful," Maeve interjected as she dunked the last leaf. "There was a fish Animagus who worked for the Ministry during the 1712 Goblin Rebellion, and they used him as a spy. He could get through all the waterways of England without ever being caught."

"Why do you know that?" James asked.

"It was in a book about the history of the Ministry's most unconventional employees."

"If you dedicated this much effort to your actual classes, you might actually get good marks."

"How do you know I don't get good marks?" All three of the boys went silent. Maeve set down the last leaf and glared at all of them. "Alright, one of you had better start talking."

"Sorcha was laughing about you in the common room last night," Peter blurted.

"She was telling a story to Marlene, and she was talking loudly," James continued, glaring at Peter for telling the truth. "All I heard was when Sorcha said there was a good chance you weren't going to pass any of your O.W.Ls."

Maeve hadn't realized the magnitude to which her personal business was still spread throughout the castle by her sister. It had been Sorcha's favorite tactic since their second year. Maeve wondered if Sorcha knew about their Patronuses, and what she might say when she found out they were both magpies.

"And she said you want to go to a university," James continued.

"Trinity, yeah?" Peter said. "I've heard it's a very good school. My dad almost went there."

"The real question," Sirius said, turning his chair backwards and leaning on the wooden back, "Is why do you want to go to a Muggle university?"

"What, Sorcha didn't get that far in her story?" Maeve said bitterly after they finished their barrage of questioning.

Sirius held up a hand. "I'm just curious."

With all three of them staring at her like she had just grown another head, Maeve had never felt less like explaining herself. "Let's just focus, please. The leaves are done curing."

On the table in front of them was a small spread of mandrake leaves, three coated and five leafy green extras.

"I still can't believe I only grabbed eight leaves, I meant to take nine," James muttered.

"Nine? Do you think it's going to take you three attempts?" Maeve asked. Her alginate mixture wouldn't keep; she would have to keep brewing it each month that they weren't successful. It might become suspicious if Madam Pomfrey noticed her glycerol disappearing.

"If we're lucky," James sighed. "I was hoping we wouldn't have to go out to the greenhouses again. It's difficult to cover the tracks in the snow."

"Then you'd better hope this works on the first try," Maeve said.

The three of them picked up the gel-covered leaves and placed them on the roof of their mouths. It would work as a binding agent to hold it in place, and it would also make it nearly undetectable for the month they would have to hold it.

Peter winced as he pressed the leaf against the roof of his mouth. "'Till tastes 'unny," he lisped.

James gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "Better than it did before. Minty."

Maeve watched them. "Remember, just because it's contained in the alginate doesn't mean anything else has changed," she said, her voice breaking the moment of excitement, "you have to keep the leaf in place at all times. No exceptions."

"We know, Maeve," Sirius interrupted. Then he grinned, and it was as if all of the lights in the room had become a notch brighter. "Look at you, practically a mother hen. And to think you weren't going to help us at all."

"Don't make me regret it."

"Oh c'mon, Maeve. You can stop the act now, just admit that you care about this," James prodded with a lopsided grin. "You're dedicated to the cause."

"For Remus's sake," she clarified as she stood. "Yes, I care."

Sirius whistled. "Maeve Byrne has a heart after all!"

Maeve rolled her eyes but didn't respond. It wouldn't do to let them know just how much she was invested in this process, how carefully she'd studied it, how many hours she'd already spent researching everything known to wizard kind about it. It had become just like Trinity. Something tangible to work towards that stole time away from her Charms essays and Potions homework.

Time passed strangely that night and it was difficult to say what was more surprising; that Maeve didn't leave right away, or that the boys didn't try to usher her out of the room. Instead, she took up the spot next to Peter on the sofa as the minutes ticked by and the conversation continued.

"Puddlemere United had better pull it off again," James was saying. He paused to run his tongue over the roof of his mouth, still getting used to the leaf. "I'm not going to watch the bloody Irish in the World Cup just because the Ballycastle Bats are having good seasons."

"You should be so lucky," Maeve told him. She had been rooting for the Bats ever since she learned what Quidditch was. They were an Irish team, and she still had an old pennant hanging above her bed that was signed by one of the retired players. "You have tickets for the Cup?" It would be in the summer of 1978, right after their seventh year. Tickets were already nearly sold out.

James seemed confused. "You don't?"

"I'd have to sell an arm."

"We get them every time, we normally go to all of the International Quidditch Tournaments every year, too," James muttered.

"Every year?" Maeve repeated. "I haven't even gone to either once."

"Never?" Sirius said with disbelief.

"My ma doesn't like Quidditch very much, and my Dad doesn't think it's worth the money."

"Is he right in the head?" James practically yelled. "There's nothin' that's worth spending money on more than Quidditch!"

"To be fair, he's a Muggle. Hurling and football are much more his speed. And there's this thing called a mortgage payment that is likely more important than buying Quidditch tickets."

"Who's a mortgage? Sounds like a type of animal."

Maeve just stared at him. "Sure."

Sirius grinned. "Which would be worse, then, being turned into a mortgage or a fish?"

"I'm still against the fish, so let's go with mortgage," James said confidently. "The Muggles have such a strange financial system."

"Okay, what about a mortgage or a goat?" Peter asked now.

"Goat. That one's too easy," Maeve said, laughing. "Why be a mortgage when one could be a goat?"

"I feel like this is going to be really funny later when I figure out what a mortgage is," James muttered to himself. "Seriously, though. We're going to turn into something without any choice in the matter. It could be a dog or a bird or whatever. Is there really a way to say which is better?"

And though James had meant to stop the line of frivolous questions, Maeve and Sirius still spoke. "Dog," Maeve said, at the same time Sirius said, "Bird."

"That's interesting," Peter said. "I would have guessed you'd both say the opposite."

"I've always thought a farm dog has a nice life. Chase the sheep on occasion, sleep on warm blankets, and be a general nuisance. It would be comforting to be a dog, I'd think," Maeve reasoned.

"But a bird can fly. Imagine the freedom—no limits. You could go anywhere, see everything from above." Sirius argued.

"But there's nothing to tether you anywhere. You'd be completely aimless. One strong wind and you're gone."

"And a dog is always answering to someone else," he countered.

"That's not true," Maeve replied, furrowing her brow. "A dog can be fiercely independent. Our dog, Tory, does what he wants about ninety percent of the time."

Sirius shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "But they're still tied down—loyal to a fault. A bird answers to no one. It's free, it doesn't need to belong to anyone or anywhere. It's about the choice to be beyond reach."

"Then I suppose it depends on what you value. Security, or freedom."

James leaned back with a grin. "Why choose? Why not both? A dog-bird hybrid."

"Leave it to James to miss the point entirely," Sirius said with slight amusement.

"A dird," James pondered.

"Or a bog," Peter added helpfully.

"What time is it?" James yawned.

Peter checked his watch. "Nearly midnight."

James jumped out of his seat as if he was sitting on hot coals. "Shit, I have to wake up early in the morning. Riley wants us out on the pitch before breakfast." He glanced at Maeve with narrowed eyes. "So the enemy doesn't find out about our new formation."

Maeve just rolled her eyes. James was gone in minutes, and Peter walked out with him. Sirius, however, lingered.

"Walk you back to Ravenclaw?" Sirius asked casually.

Maeve's brow rose as she slid her bag onto her shoulder. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing!" he said with an easy laugh. "Not everything has an ulterior motive, Byrne."

They walked in companionable silence for a while, the castle's corridors quiet around them. In the past few weeks, she had spent more time with him than she ever imagined she would in an entire lifetime. Sirius was always watching her with that look that made her uneasy—like he saw more than she wanted him to. Ever since that night in London it was as if he saw straight through her. It wasn't like James or Peter, who were oblivious to most things unless they were spelled out.

"For what it's worth, Sorcha didn't seem very happy that her Patronus was a magpie, either," Sirius told her suddenly.

"I'd imagine not." Maeve just sighed. "One for sorrow, two for joy."

"Pardon?"

She just looked at him. "You've never heard that nursery rhyme before?"

"Is this another one of your made up things?"

She shoved him in the shoulder. "Just because the great Sirius Black has never heard of it doesn't mean it isn't real."

He placed a hand on his chest and straightened his posture. "I'd beg to differ."

"Then beg," Maeve snapped, laughing. "It's a rhyme for counting magpies. It's believed that it's unlucky when they aren't in pairs. There's more to it, but that first part was always the most important."

"So you and Sorcha are a pair of magpies," Sirius reasoned.

"We used to be," Maeve corrected. "As hard as it might be to believe there was a time when she was my best friend. I never wanted to do anything without her."

"Sounds familiar," he grunted. "Regulus and I used to be inseparable. I never dreamed there would come a day when he would be avoiding me like the plague. I can't go within six feet of him without him running off."

"I don't know which I would prefer, a cold shoulder or a Bludger to the ribs."

"Not everything is an easy question of would-you-rather. There's something to be said about both of them."

"Maybe it's easier to just let it go." They turned down another dim corridor. She should have been worried about being caught out at this hour, but she was far too tired to care.

Sirius frowned, his gaze focused on the floor ahead of them. "Easier said than done. It's hard to let go when it's all you've ever known."

"But it's not worth holding onto something that isn't going to change."

As they reached the eagle guarding the Ravenclaw common room, Sirius stopped and turned to her, his expression more serious than before. "You're not as detached as you pretend to be"

She met his gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And you're not as carefree as you act like you are."

They stared at each other for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them. There was a vulnerability in Sirius's eyes that Maeve had rarely seen before, and it made her heart clench slightly. She was about to say something when he spoke again.

"Don't let Sorcha get to you," he said, his voice softer now. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

Maeve hardly knew what to say. "I know for a fact that you've agreed with her–"

"I know, I know," he winced. "But I'm telling you now that I've realized she wasn't right."

She gave him a small nod. It was an interesting apology, but an apology nonetheless. "Alright."

"Goodnight, Byrne," Sirius said as he turned to leave, his usual swagger back in his step.

"Goodnight, Black," Maeve replied, watching him disappear into the shadows before making her way into the Ravenclaw common room.

✤ ✾ ✤

a/n chapter 13 on friday the 13th omg.This chapter is currently holding the record for most rewritten and edited.  

some sirius&maeve content! my favorite thing about their current dynamic is how suspicious maeve is even though sirius is genuinely just curious about her.  And yes the dog/bird argument is meant to be some v dramatic irony!!! I feel like it captures their struggles of what they want v. what they need so well. (and there's also a moon song by phoebe bridgers reference in there)

And a little more context on Sorcha and Maeve's lore.  There are other little scenes I have planned that feature their childhood, but I wanted to give context for the incident that James referenced in the last chapter.  There will eventually be a section in Sorcha's POV (it's okay you can boo) that explains her take on everything as well.  nuance, baby!  

I hope that it's incredibly clear now if it wasn't before that Maeve is an unreliable narrator.  This is the first time that I've been very intentional about writing a character as such, and it's going to continue to unfold!