𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

" summer's end "

✤ ✾ ✤

. . . AUGUST, 1976

WHEN SIRIUS AWOKE for the second time, the light had changed. Darker now. The house was quiet, save for the faint ticking of a clock in the kitchen. His head ached miserably, but the crushing weight of the day was dulled by the brief rest.

"Maeve?" he called. No answer.

He got up, stretched. His trunk was sitting in the corner next to the fireplace; Maeve must have dragged it in. An odd combination of relief and apprehension flooded over him. Inside it sat everything he now owned. There would be no going back to that house.

At this time of day, Regulus would be sitting in the parlour, reading. Sirius would sometimes walk in and out of the room, humming songs or making passing commentary. Occasionally, he could get a rise out of his brother. Even last week Regulus had begun to laugh so hard that their mother yelled at them from the other room for making such a racket. It was a good reminder that though joy could not be seen in that house it was never more than a few words away.

You've never cared about me. You don't even have a clue what your own father–!"

But Sirius had been paying attention. Before Regulus had even started stealing letters and lurking in Orion's study, Sirius had been listening through walls. Waiting on staircases. Lingering as he picked at his plate during dinner parties. They thought him ignorant and daft. He knew what their plan was, he had been just old enough to understand fully why they had shifted their sights to Regulus. Sirius, the bearer of the Black name, sorted into Gryffindor. Indoctrinated with the ideals of the Muggle world. Filled with the weakness of empathy.

It would have been him they tried to present as a figurehead. To sacrifice for the good of the brewing war. And now, since he had run away, there was no one to stop them from using Regulus.

With tears in his eyes, Sirius grabbed up his shoes and ventured outside.

Cool evening air brushing against his face. The sun was already starting to fall in the sky, but everything was still golden. Sheep, which he had noticed that morning, were now grazing close to the house. Chickens clucked about. The nearest neighbor was a fair distance off, and the Byrne's farm was tucked back from the road enough that it felt like its own world. So unlike London.

There were two barns; one was closer to the size of a shed. He glanced once over his shoulder but he still had no idea where Maeve or the rest of her family had gone. Drawn by the sound of faint rustling, Sirius wandered toward the shed first. It smelled of hay and animals, but it was a comforting scent, one of life and work and care.

There were tools lining every wall space not occupied by shelves. Gardening spades, wrenches, even a saddle for some unseen horse. And, at the center of the shadows was a shape suspiciously similar to a motorbike.

It was covered in a tarp, but Sirius's curiosity overtook him and he rolled it back. Gleaming, freshly polished metal came into the light. It looked exactly like the bikes he had seen in the Muggle magazines. Grey-blue accents, and as he lifted the tarp further, a bullet shaped sidecar.

He was so engrossed in the machine he didn't hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" A deep voice asked.

Sirius whipped around so quickly, the tarp fell completely onto the ground. "I'm sorry, I shoudn't have–" Sirius began.

Maeve's father looked at him with concern. As if he didn't know how to handle this situation. "Don't be sorry. Nothing wrong with havin' a look around the place. You have good taste," he said, gesturing at the bike. He still stood awkwardly in the doorway, his tall, broad frame blocking the light.

Sirius straightened, unsure how to respond. "Yeah," he said finally, glancing back at the bike. "It looks...fast."

"Oh, it is," Mr. Byrne said, finally stepping into the shed. He reached out to pat the seat of the motorbike, his calloused hand gentle despite its size. "A 1959 Triumph Bonneville. Had her for years. She's seen some good roads, this one."

"Do you ride much?"

"Not as much as I'd like to anymore," Mr. Byrne admitted, his tone wistful. "Farms don't run themselves, and there's always something that needs mending."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the day settling back over Sirius like a shroud. The Byrnes had already done more for him in mere hours than his own family had in years, and it was unsettling. He couldn't make sense of them opening their home to a strange boy, not getting upset from the soot he had gotten everywhere, the blankets he had mussed, the sneaking around and uncovering motorbikes.Years of experience had shown him that his choices would upset every adult he came into contact with; the Byrnes were some strange anomaly.

"It's not easy," Mr. Byrne said suddenly. "Starting over, leaving behind what you've known—even if it's been no good for you. Takes guts."

Sirius swallowed hard, looking down at the motorbike. "Feels more like desperation than guts," he muttered.

"Sometimes they're the same thing," Mr. Byrne said with a small smile. He rested a hand on Sirius's shoulder, firm but not heavy.

A chicken yelped as a dog barked beyond the doorway. Sirius tensed as he heard shouting. He relaxed slightly when he realized whose voice it was.

Mr. Byrne chuckled. "That'll be Mae. Always raising a racket."

Maeve came into view, drenched in the light of the sunset. She wore a pair of rubber boots and a loose tank top over jean shorts. Her now shoulder-length hair was tied in two braids and there was a dog at her feet. It took one look at Sirius and began to growl.

"Tory, stad," she said, scratching the dog on the head. "I see you found the motorbike. I'm surprised he even let you breathe near it."

Mr. Byrne placed a hand on his chest as if he had been wounded. "I let you ride it all the time!"

Maeve rolled her eyes. "You let us ride in the sidecar, and you haven't even done that in years."

Mr. Byrne sighed and stared at the machine. "It's likely time to sell the damn thing. All it does is collect dust in here. It'd certainly help with the finances to have it off our hands."

At the mention of money, Maeve shifted uncomfortably. "Da, there's stew in the house when you're ready to come inside for dinner."

He nodded. "You fed the chickens?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll be inside after I check the horses."

They left him behind to stare at the bike. Sirius glanced back once and saw the man settle onto the seat, as if imagining days past.

"He gets so nostalgic about that bike," Maeve muttered, pushing open the door to the house. The dog, Tory, growled at Sirius as he tried to step over the threshold. Maeve looked at the dog, and then at Sirius. "What's he saying?"

Sirius squinted at her. "I think he's swearing in dog. No good, son of a bit–"

"Maeve, do you want yer stew now?" Maeve's mother yelled from in the kitchen.

"Yeah!" she shouted back, kicking off her boots. The smell of fresh bread wafted towards him as they sat down again at the table. A vase of wildflowers now sat at the center.

"Maeve, I thought you had to work tonight?" her mother said, her voice carrying over the clatter of pots.

"I swapped with Nola. She wanted the hours," Maeve said, pulling a chair out and plopping down at the table. Tory settled at her feet, eyeing Sirius warily.

"Well, that was good of ya," her mother replied, turning towards them with a dish towel slung over her shoulder. She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at Sirius. "Right, then. Bread's fresh; stew'll be ready in a tick."

Sirius watched her bustle about the small kitchen, wiping the counter as she went. The house hummed with life—pots simmering, wood creaking.

"I sent an owl to the Potters while you were sleeping," Maeve told him, drumming her fingers on the table. "And I asked James if he could tell Remus and Peter what had happened."

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be considered.

Her mother ladled steaming stew into two bowls. She set one in front of Sirius before pausing in front of Maeve's hands. "You've dirt under your nails again. What were you at?"

"Weeding the garden," Maeve replied, blowing on her spoon.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "And what else?"

"Just the garden, Ma."

"With or without magic?"

Maeve scowled. "My wands been in my room all day, you can go up and check if you don't believe me."

Her mother didn't believe her. "I know you think you're dead clever. Just 'cause the Ministry can't use the Trace to pin it on you doesn't mean I won't figure it out myself."

This was, Sirius assumed, not a new argument. He took a bite of his stew. It was richer and heartier than anything he'd had at Grimmauld Place.

"And you?" she said to Sirius, her tone much softer. "Have you been put to work yet?"

Sirius blinked, caught off guard. "I–"

"He's useless," Maeve said with a grin, answering for him. "Doesn't know the difference between a shovel and a spade."

Her mother smacked Maeve on the head with the kitchen towel. "Watch your mouth."

"What?" she protested, annoyed.

Maeve's father appeared in front of the open kitchen window. "Niamh, the neighbors are out in the front lawn. Mary wants to talk to yeh."

Mrs. Byrne stared up at the ceiling. "For the love–what on earth is it now?"

Mr. Byrne shrugged. "Somethin' about a sheep?"

"Alright, alight," she muttered, tossing the towel onto the counter. "There's more stew on the hob if either of you want more," she told them before walking towards the back door. Tory, sensing intrigued, barked once and bounded after her. Footsteps retreated until the door slammed shut.

Sirius watched through the window as Maeve's parents walked across the grass. Mr. Byrne walked leisurely, whilst Mrs. Byrne marched swiftly towards the road. "What's with the sheep?"

Maeve shrugged. "Keeps escapin', got outta the pen again yesterday," she told him. Her accent, he noticed, was heavier than it was at school. As if she no longer made a conscious effort to keep her words from rolling together when she was home. "Mary just likes to talk to my Mam and she'll find any excuse to do it."

"And your mother doesn't like her?"

"She tolerates her. It's almost like a game."

He took another bite of stew. "Your family–you don't eat meals all together?"

"We do on Sundays. But it's normally just this way, there's always something going on. I'm not home most nights for dinner, anyway."

It was such a fluid routine. No rigidity. Only a singular spoon that had one task and wasn't assigned to a particular food group.

"Do you get along with your mother?"

Maeve finally looked up from her food. "Are you interviewing me?"

"I'm asking a question."

Maeve considered it. "I am not her favorite child, if that's what you mean. Honestly, I think it's that I remind her too much of herself. Except for the fact that she had perfect marks in school at this stage. That's all Sorcha."

"How did she do on her O.W.Ls?" Sirius asked, curious. Sorcha hadn't shut her mouth about her quest for all Os.

"She got almost all Outstandings," Maeve muttered into her stew. She lifted her shoulder in the direction of the fridge. Sure enough, a copy of Sorcha's O.W.L results was hanging by a magnet. "Her only E was in Herbology and I think she started crying."

Sirius pointed at the fridge with his spoon. "Where's yours?"

"They were in the bin. But my Ma found it before I could take the trash out."

Sirius scoffed. "It couldn't have possibly been that bad."

She tore off a piece of her bread. While she chewed, she asked, "What did you get, then?"

"I did fine."

She was looking at him with utmost scrutiny. "How many Os?"

"Four."

"Four?" Her hazel eyes danced with disbelief and she pushed back in her chair. "I knew you were holding out."

Sirius laughed. It was brilliant how good it felt to laugh. "Holding out?"

She waved a hand. "You and James act like you're so above classes and good marks. You're the exact type of people who do annoyingly well without even trying."

"If you want to talk insufferable, Remus had five Os."

"Come on," Maeve groaned, staring up at the ceiling.

"So?" Sirius coaxed, grinning like mad.

Maeve put her hands over her face. "Two."

"Let me guess, Potions and Transfiguration?"

"Is it that obvious?" She got up to rinse her bowl in the sink. Her face was pinched, cheeks slightly pink with frustration.

"It doesn't really matter about your marks though, does it?" Sirius said carefully, still finishing his food. "Trinity doesn't even know what an O.W.L is."

"In theory," Maeve agreed, staring out the window. The sky was purpling in the cool dusk. "But I really thought I was going to turn everything around in the end there. That's how it goes in the films. I realized the err' of my ways and started to focus on the right things. Not soon enough, apparently."

"You'll be fine, Maeve," he said at last, his voice quieter now. "Trinity or not, grades or not. You're too stubborn not to be."

"Maybe," she said, finally turning to face him. She was too proud to admit it but he knew it burned her that she hadn't done well.

This time tomorrow, he would be sitting at the Potter's house begging them to take him in. It couldn't just be for an extended trip this time. What he was asking of them was the impossible. He was showing up with all of his belongings and hardly anything to his name and asking them to let him stay until he was finished with school.

A gentle breeze blew through the window. Maeve moved to open it further and her brown hair brushed over her face. "Sirius?" she said.

The earnestness in her voice twisted his stomach. "Yeah?"

She leaned against the counter and considered her words carefully. "Do you think it's strange that I barely knew you at all a year ago?"

A year ago, when he had ducked into that dusty bookshop to escape his mother and had run smack into Maeve. Ever since, it had been the same action repeated. She was now inescapable, there at every corner he turned. A witness to the worst of him.

He let out a quiet laugh, more exhale than sound. "If you would have told me a year ago that I would be here in your kitchen I would have laughed. I don't think I ever could have imagined I would spend more than an hour total talking to you over the course of a lifetime."

"And now?"

"And now you never shut up," he told her, grinning. "Why, do you regret it?"

"Regret it?" she scoffed and folded her arms over her chest. "No. I just–you're not who I thought you were."

He froze. Nothing good had ever followed those words. "Really."

"Don't look at me like that. I thought the same thing about James and sometimes even Remus and Peter. That you all had your heads too far up your arse to care about anything but yourselves."

He smiled now. "And I just thought of you as the other twin."

She rolled her eyes. "That is insulting."

"I don't think that now, Maeve," he laughed, enjoying the annoyance on her face. Enjoying too the way her lips curved downwards, the way her braids had come slightly undone.

"I'm glad we're friends now," she told him.

He had been trying to identify the feeling in his chest all afternoon, and the name came to him now. Safety. How strange to find it here. And there was something else, too. Something that he was afraid to even name.

"I am too."

✤

. . . SEPTEMBER, 1976

THE HEAT of August had entirely dissipated with September's arrival.

Even still, the fall had come too soon. It felt like only yesterday that Maeve had taken Sirius to the Potter's home in Godric's Hollow. James had been over the moon to see Sirius, Euphemia and Fleamont less so.

The Potters, though kind and welcoming, wore guarded expressions of worry when they opened the door that afternoon. Maeve's mother had been the one to speak, her calm and composed demeanor filling the silence as Sirius stood stiffly by the door, his trunk strap clutched tightly in his hand. It was as if he hadn't expected that they would welcome him into their home, no matter how many times they had assured him they would. Euphemia had pulled him into a suffocating embrace and Fleamont was already asking what he would like for dinner, but Sirius still looked like a trapped animal ready to run.

On the train back to the portkey, Maeve and her mother sat in silence. The world spun outside the window, fields alternating with villages drenched in remnants of daylight. It wasn't until they were almost at the station that her mother spoke.

"He'll be alright, Maeve," she told her quietly. "It'll take time, but these things have a way of easing."

It was almost embarrassing to be caught in her worry. "You know what his family is like, Ana's told the stories. It's even worse in person."

"I'm sure," her mother sighed. "But that's not his family anymore, is it? Not in the ways that matter. Sirius chose to walk away, and that's no small thing."

Out the window, a flock of birds scattered across the deepening sky. "I can't imagine what it would be like to leave. Where do you even start?" she whispered.

"With rest and good company, I'd wager," her mother smiled. She looked shockingly young sitting there on the train. "No coincidence that he came to you."

Maeve sat straight up and flushed red. "That was an accident."

"There are no accidents, Mae."

The train began to slow, the screech of metal on metal signaling their arrival. Maeve pressed her forehead against the glass and watched as the station came into view.

Now, seated with the Ravenclaw's in the Great Hall, Maeve glanced toward Sirius at the Gryffindor table. He looked far more at ease than he had standing at the Potters' doorstep, laughing loudly at something James had said. Remus was smiling too, his head tilted in quiet amusement, while Peter eagerly ate his soup.

"Why do I feel like everyone has gotten taller?" Mimi remarked as she stared around the Hall. Her cheeks were still slightly pink from all of the time she had spent in the Grecian sun.

"It's the boys," Avanti told her, moving her long braid of hair to the side. She took a bite of soup and continued. "It's like they all grew over the summer."

"Grew more insufferable, you mean," Mimi groused. "Did you know I already had to confiscate a group of puffskeins? A few second-years were hiding a family of them in their luggage and they were using them to "predict the future" by rolling them like divination dice on the train."

Elara laughed loudly. "They're so creative."

"No, they're Gryffindors," Mimi retorted.

From her left, Finn slid a sheet of parchment and a quill in front of Maeve. "What's this?" she asked.

"Sign up sheet," he said through a mouthful of bread. Avanti made an indignant noise of disgust as he swallowed with an audible gulp.

"For what?"

"Apparition lessons," Finn explained, as if it were obvious.

"Ooo!" Avanti squealed, grabbing up the paper and quill and writing her name in earnest. She turned seventeen sooner than any of them. "I've been waiting years for this. Being able to Apparate is going to change my life."

"For the low, low price of twelve galleons," Finn muttered. "You'd think they were running a feckin' scheme, not teaching us how to pop across the street without leaving a leg behind."

"Twelve?" Maeve repeated too loudly.

They all turned to stare at her. "Yes, twelve galleons," Avanti repeated, looking at her strangely. "They told us about this in June. It was in the letter with our supply lists, too."

Maeve felt her cheeks flush. She had completely forgotten. Her birthday was so late in the year that being seventeen was the furthest thing from her mind.

"You are going to enroll in the course, right?" Mimi asked, worried. "I looked at the statistics and students who don't take the tutorial course have a significantly higher fail rate when it comes time to take the test."

"I'm sure they do," Maeve muttered.

All of the money she had been given for school supplies was gone. She had grown another inch over the summer and her body had begun to fill out, all things that did nothing but cost money in the form of new shoes, robes, shirts, skirts. And the supplies for N.E.W.T-level Potions were far more expensive than before.

Elara signed the parchment. "I'm sure people can pass the test without taking the course," she said firmly.

"Besides, Apparating always makes me feel ill," Maeve said.

Mimi eyed her warily. "Haven't you seen the Prophet lately? There was a Muggle-born witch from Hampstead who took her Pomeranian for a walk and only the dog came back."

"I don't have a Pomeranian," Maeve said stubbornly.

Mimi continued on. "They found the woman a week later. She said if she hadn't had time to Apparate she wouldn't have been able to get away from those Death Eaters."

"Didn't she lose three fingers?" Finn said, now slurping at his soup as he spoke.

Avanti now looked at him with open disdain. "Could you please not talk while you're eating?"

Slurp. "Likely not."

"She splinched three fingers in exchange for her life," Mimi said, exasperated.

Maeve stared down at the parchment in front of her. All of the Ravenclaw sixth years had written their names except for her. Suddenly she felt very small, like the time in primary school when she had to wear Aoife's old costume for the school pageant but it had been two sizes too small. Her new robes itched at the collar, and she envied the more expensive material of the ones Elara wore.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Maeve said with finality. Sensing that they were finished, the charmed paper lifted itself into the air and zoomed off towards where Flitwick sat.

Maeve wanted to slam her head down onto the table. Even her pumpkin juice, which she had looked forward to all summer, no longer seemed appetizing. Sorcha had made a point to be frugal when they had gone to Diagon Alley last week and Maeve hadn't thought anything of it.

She was regretting it now.

"This will be a good year," Elara told her, leaning in and bumping her shoulder against hers. "Don't let this ruin it, I'll just tell you everything we learn. I'm sure it isn't anything you can't study on your own."

Maeve squinted. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because you're Maeve."

Maeve picked up her goblet of juice and lifted it towards Elara's. They clinked against each other. "Cheers to another year."

Elara laughed. "Don't sound so upset, six is a good number."

"I'm sure."

Elara nodded down towards the end of the table. "It signifies empathy and care. And also love."

Maeve turned to see William Reed staring at her. Will quickly re-focused on the food in front of him. Her chest flooded with the reminder of the common room that night of the Quidditch final, the blur of color and the closeness of his face.

"Elara–" Maeve warned, but she was smiling.

"I'm just saying," the girl grinned, brushing a stray blonde curl away from her face. She was wearing one of the hair scarves she had gotten in Milan, and with her chunky beaded earrings, she looked exactly like the sort of person who could see the future with clarity. "Maybe this year will surprise you."

Maeve had no doubts about that.

✤ ✾ ✤

a/n welcome to the year of L-O-V-E!

&&& welcome back to rbf! it feels so nice to write again. the situation was so far beyond my control but I am still kind of upset because this story was easily my longest streak of consistent updates! I'm hoping to get back in to weekly updates again but it might be every other friday until I can get more of sixth year fleshed out.

As always thank you for reading!!