In the Melancholy Moonlight, Part 5: Dark Matter

Chapter 203: What Ties Us All Together

The moon is not the only celestial body with cycles. The sun doesn't appear to grow and shrink in the sky over the course of the month, but it does rise in the east and set in the west, on its daily cycle. The other stars, the ones that rule over the night sky, follow their own yearly cycle, as Earth faithfully treads its annual path around the sun. All planets cycle around the sun, on their own time, in their own orbits, their own paths, their own proximity. Their own cycles.

So, too, did Lucy's people cycle around her, when the moon's cycle dictated that she must step back for a night and let the wolf take control.

Lucy was oblivious to these cycles, the routines in which those who love her participated every month.

Certain routines had been curated far enough from Lucy that she was unlikely to ever find out.

Minerva McGonagall always spent the night of the full moon brewing wideye potion. She knew that the Hospital Wing was always well-stocked, but when Remus Lupin had appeared at breakfast on September 6, 1971, wincing as he lowered himself onto a bench and falling asleep onto his toast mere minutes later, she had immediately marched to Horace Slughorn's office and asked for the most detailed brewing instructions he could provide and ordered two copper cauldrons that same morning. She had always secretly resented potions and avoided the subject whenever possible, despite being reasonably gifted at potion-brewing, but she had made an exception for the Animagus potion and she was going to make an exception for the wideye potion too in order to help a student in need. How much she brewed had changed over the years. When Remus was a first-year, she only needed two copper cauldrons, one potion for Remus and the other for Poppy. By his seventh year, she needed twelve copper cauldrons. One potion for Poppy. One potion for Remus. One potion for Cass, who always understood Remus best and always loved him deepest. One potion for Sirius, who was attached at the hip to Remus and who, quite frankly, always looked tired anyway. One potion for James, who was the most visibly anxious about Remus at all times but especially when the full moon came around each month. One potion for Lily, who had grown quite close with Remus after the Severus Snape incident. One potion for Peter, who was always watching from afar and looking for an opportunity to give Remus whatever James and Sirius couldn't provide (such as silence). One potion for Marlene and one potion for Mary and one potion for Dorcas, who kept a watchful vigil all night in the Gryffindor common room with Lily. One potion for Daphne and one potion for Keira, who kept each other company in the Slytherin common room waiting for Dorcas to return in the morning and confirm that everyone was alright. And one potion for Regulus, who looked tired after full moons every month after he turned in a piece of homework after class on behalf of Remus that was written in a handwriting that wasn't quite Remus's but was a very, very close and careful imitation of it. When Chiara Lobosca was a first-year, she used two of her copper cauldrons, one for Chiara and one for Poppy. By her seventh year, five cauldrons were in use. One potion for Poppy. One potion for Chiara. One potion for Adalyn, her best friend. One potion for Penny, who was working with Professor Snape to learn how to brew wolfsbane. One potion for Talbott, Chiara's first friend. When Lucy Everlin was a first-year, she used three of her copper cauldrons, one for Lucy, one for Cedric, and one for Poppy. As August 28 gave way to August 29, Minerva McGonagall was using five cauldrons. One potion for Lucy. One potion for Fred. One potion for George. One potion for Remus. One for Nymphadora. Next month, she'd be using all sixteen cauldrons she had acquired, for Lucy, for Harry, for Hermione, for Ron, for Ginny, for Neville, for Luna, for Archie, for Henry, for George, for Fred, for Arthur, for Alastor, for Remus, for Nymphadora, and maybe one for herself for once. After nearly twenty-five years of one sleepless night a month, she reckoned it was time she brew one for herself too.

Archie Graye waited for sunrise. As August 28 gave way to August 29, he was nose-deep in a book sprawled across the floor of one of Grimmauld Place's few rooms with a window, eyes flicking up to said window every couple of minutes even though he knew sunrise wasn't for another six hours or more.